Finley Reid

Finley P.O.V

(A/N: IMPORTANT: I REWROTE IT SO FINN'S ADDICTED TO CIGARETTES)

TW: Cigarettes, lies, mentions of past sexual abuse

“Kid, what are you doing?” Toby, a tall, African American man wearing a bright orange safety vest in front of me, sighs.

“Getting on the subway?” I ask, grinning sheepishly at him and kicking my plain black skateboard so I can catch it and tuck it under my arm near my backpack strap.

I see his eyes catch on my bandages, but thankfully he just sighs and pats me on the head. He then points from his eyes back to mine and then my board. “You know the rules, kiddo. No skateboarding on the subway. We even had to put up a sign just for you.” he gestures to the sign with bold letters that says ‘NO SKATEBOARDING (especially you Fin)’ that I’m honestly pretty proud of.

“I promise I won’t, Tobes,” I cross my heart with my right hand, crossing the fingers of my left and grin when he waves me along.

I’ve known Toby since I was ten and started taking the subway by myself. Of course, dad didn’t know I was taking the subway alone until I was thirteen, and even then he was worried sick and insisted I carry pepper spray, mace, and a knife. He wanted to buy me a shirt with his face on it that said ‘My dad is an FBI agent’, but I quickly convinced him that that would just draw unwanted attention to me.

He hasn’t found out about ten year old me on the subway, twelve year old me going to the public library, thirteen year old me trying a cigarette with some Seniors, or fourteen year old me going to the basketball courts alone (and thankfully meeting a really nice group of teenage boys there who didn’t have any creepy motives and were even impressed by my level of basketball ability), and he never will. Growing up with a profiler teaches you how to lie really well.

That being said, I do feel guilty about lying to him sometimes, but then I remember how much of a helicopter dad he is. After I tried that cigarette I got addicted to the feeling of being out of control, and accidentally got addicted to them, unbeknownst to Dad or Issie. That was also around the time dad had his Dilaudid addiction so that didn’t help.

Plus if he ever finds out I’ve lied, I guess that would be a good time to bring up mom.

Mom. That thought makes me freeze for a second before I sit down on one of the subway seats, ignoring Toby’s shocked look from the platform.

It’s true that I snuck into the Pentagon. I did it when I was thirteen and managed to spend a good three hours in there before security got me and ‘escorted’ me home. The incident almost made the national news, but dad managed to convince them not to go to the media. Of course I helped a bit with that by giving the security my best innocent face and telling them ‘I just wanted to find grandpa’, to which dad explained, in HIS best sad voice, that my ‘pop pop’ had died a few months ago and I was still processing my grief. The security believed us, of course they did, and asked me how I got into the pentagon. I lied and told them I snuck in on the back of the laundry cart (I hacked in) and they smiled sadly at me, wished us both the best, patted me on the head, and left.

Dad grounded me for the first time that week, mostly because I wouldn’t tell him what I went in there to find and if I found it or not.

Of course I found what I was looking for. I’m not bragging, and being completely honest here, I’m currently the smartest person in the world. If I hadn’t been able to find it, no one could have.

The ‘it’ was my mother by the way.

And what I found wasn’t great.

My initial searches through the Pentagon’s records didn’t show anything, and it’s only when I dug into Las Vegas records specifically (which took FOREVER) did I find something that almost made my heart explode.

Dad never pressed charges on ‘mom’, otherwise known as Bailey Miller.

In fact, not only did he never press charges, no one ever did. She still lives in Las Vegas and is apparently now a school teacher for high school in twelfth grade. According to her medical records, she’s given birth two other times without being married or in a relationship, and the kids don’t live with her. The kids are named Bianca Williams and Andrew Smith, they’re my half siblings, and I have no intention of ever meeting them.

Of course my first reaction was to find this lady and either get us both thrown in jail, just her, or straight up un-alive her, but as I was in DC and thirteen I couldn’t. My head was spinning with so many different solutions to the pure rage in my system that after Dad and I lied to the cops it wouldn’t have mattered. I retreated into my head for two weeks, not moving at all from the middle of the living room floor. It got to the point where dad brought in a doctor friend, but I’ve been told I fought him off unconsciously every time he tried. Leading to the doctor having a bloody nose and just telling my dad that it wouldn’t kill me to do this but he should bring me to a therapist afterwards.
After that, I settled into numb acceptance with the single promise that one day I will go to LV, find my birth mother, and… talk to her.

“APPROACHING QUANTICO VIRGINIA,” the loudspeaker announces, successfully knocking me out of my thoughts. I chose to ignore how my hands flutter like wings at the sudden loud sound, and instead latch them around my board and bag as soon as it stops.

I’m the first one off the subway as soon as the doors open, and I sprint up the stairs. My board gets thrown down on the sidewalk the minute my nose is filled with the familiar smell of cigarettes, pollution, and gasoline, and I place my right foot on it before pushing off.

Getting to the FBI’s building and getting in is a blur to me as I have one of my earbuds in and really just concentrate on NF blasting into my right eardrum. I do barely register the lady at the front desk laughing at something I said, and eventually handing me a piece of paper that had her number on it (I look a lot older than I am). Instead of correcting her, I think I just winked before making my way to the stairs and booking it up the thirty flights.

All of that leads to me walking facing the doors of the BAU’s office, nervously adjusting the tie around my neck.

The only piece of fashion I inherited from my dad is my love of ties and sweaters, but that’;s where the similarities end. Dad’s always wearing buttoned-up shirts, slacks, ties, sweaters, sweater vests, all practical things. I’m always wearing vintage t-shirts with oversized flannels or jean jackets over them and ripped jeans or leggings. Today I’m in a Van Halen t-shirt with a paint-splattered black jean jacket, black ripped jeans, and a black tie. I re-wrapped my hands a bit tighter after Issie left with some bright blue bandages that match the shirt, and had taken in the damage. My hands are barely burned, but still hurt like a bitch and should be better two days from now (my family heals quickly).

Squaring my shoulders and deciding to ‘grow a pair’ as Darren (one of the boys I play ball with after school) likes to say, I step forwards and push the doors to the office open way too loudly.

I flinch at the resulting bang and give a sheepish grin with a wave when Dad and his teammate’s (save for Hotch who I think in his office) gazes snap to me. “Sorry. I didn’t think it would be that loud--”

The woman I’m 99% sure is Penelope Garcia squeals and launches herself at me, scooping me up in a hug that I freeze at, scanning her in my head. “Baby genius!”
Blonde hair, brown eyes, comically large earrings, slightly overweight, touchy, over-affectionate. The names, illnesses, backstory, and just pure thought swirls in my head and spews out of my mouth before I can stop it. Facts completely overwhelming the trapped feeling I got when she grabbed me.

“Penelope Grace Garcia,” I make an educated guess on the middle name, but I seem to get it right because I feel her let me go, but I can’t seem to focus my eyes, drifting into my mind instead. “34 years old, Caucasian, female, suffers from PTSD thanks to a failed attempt on her life by a Mr. Jason Clark Battle. Placed third on the nationwide watchlist of possible threats to the USA and-”

“Finnie!” Dad snaps his fingers in front of my face, and I snap back. My gaze flies around the room, seeing all the slack jawed agents, including a gaping Garcia.
I immediately gave her an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you to grab me and-”

“You’re a MINI PROFILER!” she squeals, not at all angry, before the expression slips off her face to be replaced by a pout. “Wait, did Spence just tell you all of that?”

I raise an eyebrow at her, then at dad who blushes. “SPENCE hm?”

“That’s dad to you, loser,” he teases, ruffling my short hair.

I gasp dramatically. “Wow, father, wow. I don’t know if I can ever recover from the emotional abuse that comment just put me through--”

“Oh whatever,” he huffs, but I see the grin on his face. He then turns to Garcia who is beaming at the two of us along with Derek Morgan, JJ, Hotchner (who had emerged from his office), and Rossi. “But no, Garcia, I didn't tell her that. I showed her a photo of you guys once and told her your names, but that’s about it.”

“So you got all of that in, what, five seconds?” Rossi asks, approaching the three of us.

“Two point eight, actually,” I correct him, not unkindly, hoping he won’t get offended. Luckily, he doesn’t, and just turns a small smile to Reid.

“She really is a mini you,” he grins.

“Please,” I scoff as sarcastically as I can. “He’s just a grown up me.”

“Omigosh I love her,” Garcia coos, going to wrap me a hug. However, she freezes right before she grabs me, and looks at me for permission. I stare at her for a second, evaluating, before slowly nodding. This time I’m thankful when she just squeezes me for a second and lets me go. However she happens to glance down and notice my wrapped hands. “What happened to your hands?”

“Excuse me?” Dad yelps, and immediately goes to grab my wrists, inspecting the perfect bandaging before turning an exasperated look on me. “Finn,” he draws out my name, and that’s when I know he’s upset. “What happened?”

“I accidentally put the water in the sink too high when I was washing the dishes,” I defend, then, seeing his only half-believing look, I decide to add more to the story. “Then I went to empty the dishwasher but the plates were really hot and the pasta pot burned me.”

He sighs, but I see the relief in his eyes as he lets my hands go. Then, clearly seeing how uncomfortable his teammates’ attention is making me, he changes gears. “So you got up here okay?”

It’s a weak attempt at a change of subject, but I appreciate it all the same and settle for giving him a shit-eating grin. “Yup,” I say, popping the ‘p’ and holding the slip of paper next to my head. “The cute girl at the front desk gave me her number.”

“WHAT?” Dad full on shouts this time, going to grab the piece of paper, but I’m too fast for him. I easily step out of the way, spinning quickly so I end up by Morgan. My grin spreads when he goes to fist-bump me.

“Daaaang, baby Reid’s got game,” he says, and then snickers at my pout when I hear his nickname.

“Derek, she’s fifteen,” my dad complains, giving me a stern look that makes me raise my bandaged hands up in surrender.

“Please, Reid, do you know how many ‘dates’ I went on at fifteen?” Derek asks, crossing his arms with a smirk.

“Exactly!” Dad says, gesturing to him. “I don’t want Finn becoming a… player,” he scrambles for a word and that’s what he settles for.

“Relax, dad, it’s not like I’m going to go out with her, she’s twenty three,” I reassure him. “She thought I was twenty one.”

He raises an eyebrow. “She told you that?”

“Nope.”

This is where Rossi intervenes. “Wait, Finn’s gay?” Everyone in the office, including me, gives him disbelieving looks. “What?” He asks, on the defensive.

“Mr. Rossi, if I looked any gayer I think I’d turn into a rainbow,” I deadpan, gesturing to my clothes and hair. I then turn my back a bit so he can see the several pride pins on my bag. Dad gives me a fond smile at the pins and rolls his eyes at my over-the-top nature.

The office is dead silent, and everyone has different expressions. Hotch looks exasperated, rolling his eyes at Rossi. JJ is facepalming, but I see the grin under her her hand. Garcia is just staring, once again jaw-dropped. Dad discreetly high-fives me with me slipping him the piece of paper during it. He gives me a shocked look that morphs into amusement as he places the paper in the trash. And Morgan looks like he’s deciding whether to high-five me as well or burst out laughing.

He goes with the former, causing Garcia and JJ to join in and eventually my dad while my gaze stays on Rossi who gives me a grin.

“Fair enough, but don’t call me Mr. Rossi, alright kid? Makes me feel old,” he says.

I shug, looking between him and dad. “So what do I call all of you?” My gaze turns to JJ who looks smug. “Well, besides Auntie JJ.”

“Woah, Pretty Boy, how come she gets to be ‘Auntie’,” Morgan jokingly pouts, but I can see a bit of hurt behind his eyes, and an idea clicks in my head. Dad doesn’t really talk about the team much, but I know Morgan is his best friend besides JJ and Garcia because I’ve seen him text the dumbest memes to the stronger man at three am. I didn’t even know my dad knew what memes WERE but I’m pretty sure Garcia told him.

I discreetly nudge my dad with my elbow, and when he glances down he takes in my expression and makes a noise of understanding before snapping his gaze back to his team. His face flushes a bit, and he scratches the back of his neck. “Well, JJ and I have been referring to all of you as ‘Aunt’ and ‘Uncle’ to Henry and Finn since they first asked, so she could just call you those names if that’s alright with all of you?”

That’s not ENTIRELY true. Dad did muse to me briefly once that it’d be cool if the team met me and we could all be a big family, but I didn’t think he remembered saying that. The only times he’s ever talked about the team at home before I met them was when he was overworked, stressed, and a lot when he was on Dilaudid. He never told me any facts about them, but just told me funny stories from work where they were nice to him. On particularly bad nights, when the drug just made him sad, he’d mumble about how often they tell him to stop talking, which is why I’m doing my best to keep my rambling under control.

The team, however, seems all too eager to accept dad’s statement as true, and they’re all smiling at him as Hotch takes a step forward. “That’d be fine with us, Finn.”

I see my chance, and without thinking I decide to take it.

“Thanks Auntie Hotch,” I grin with a wink. The effect is immediate as Hotch, Dad, and JJ’s faces turn bright red. The two younger agents immediately turn to explain that they didn’t introduce him like that. Rossie looks like Christmas came early, but he’s trying to unsuccessfully hide it as Hotch glares at him. This particular statement seems to be too much for Morgan and Garcia who have to physically place their hands on their knees so they don’t fall over laughing. A grin splits my face at the scene, but I do however quickly interrupt my floundering Aunt and Dad. “Sorry, sir. I’m sorry,” I gasp, trying to stifle my laughter as the older man gives me a stern expression, but I swear his lips tilt for a second. “I just - I saw the opportunity.”

“Finn,” Dad scolds me, his cheeks bright red, but Hotch cuts him off.

“It’s fine, Reid,” he says, then turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “Just… stick with Uncle for now, alright kid?” He gives the smallest grin ever, but it’s so surprising that Morgan and Garcia freeze at the expression. “I don’t think I’m ready for the responsibility of being an Aunt.” He then swings his gaze around the office. “Everyone get back to work, maybe Finn can help with some paperwork if Reid’s alright with it.” And then the old man gives me one last look before disappearing into his office.

“He smiled,” Garcia states the obvious, staring after her boss with a slack jaw. “He never smiles.” She swings her gaze to me, something akin to awe in her eyes. “You made him smile.”

“Finn tends to have that effect on people,” Dad claps a hand on my shoulder and I grin sheepishly at him until he gives me a sincere smile. Pride blooming on his face. “We call it the Finn Affect.”

Derek’s attention peaks from his desk he retreated to after Hotch left. “Like the reverse Reid Effect?” he asks with a teasing grin towards my dad that makes him scowl.

Dad raises his chin in defiance and stares Derek down, to his co-workers’ obvious surprise. “No. Not like the reverse Reid Effect.”

I glance between them, trying to ignore the amazing smell of coffee behind me and focus on whatever it is they’re talking about. “What’s the Reid Effect?”

The two men exchange glances in front of me, clearly having a mental argument they seem to forget I can easily read. My dad tilts his chin up a bit more, signalling that he clearly doesn’t want me to know about it (which does admittedly anger me. I hate not knowing things.), while Derek gives him a smug look and a raised eyebrow, trying to argue that I can handle the answer.

Which seems almost as ridiculous as whatever it is they’re talking about.

Finally, my dad caves, and shrugs his shoulders, tilting his head towards me as a signal to Derek. The stronger man then turns to me in his swivel chair, his hands steepled like a lame cartoon supervillain.

“Ya see kid,” Derek says. “The Reid Effect is basically your… dad’s,” his nose wrinkles ever so slightly, not in disgust, more of mild surprise. “Negative effect on animals and small children.”

My brows furrow, and for the first time in while, I find myself confused.

Not an everyday occurrence, let me tell you.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, glancing around at JJ, Garcia, Derek, and Rossi who are all sitting down now along with my dad and all look equally taken aback. “All the animals I’ve ever seen dad interact with love him, and so do kids. I mean, he did have one of his own.” I gesture to myself for emphasis on that last part and Dad scrunches his face up, giving me a playfully disgusted look that I stick my tongue out at.

“What do you mean?” Derek asks. “Every time I go into a room with Reid in a case the animals and kids always freak out around him.”

I contemplate this for a split second, letting words, numbers, and phrases circle around my eyes before a few sentences light up in bold. Once I realize what they say, my thumb and pointer finger take up residence on the bridge of my nose.

“Have you ever considered that dogs and small children can sense when someone is stressed or uncomfortable, and then mirror those emotions? And that the only times you’ve seen my dad in the same room as either of those he’s been under a lot of stress to solve a case?” I ask, taking my ringers off the bridge of my nose and sticking my hands in my pockets as I give them all knowing looks with the exception of Dad who looks exasperated. He glances at all the thinking Agents, rolls his eyes, and goes back to his paperwork.

One by one his coworkers expressions light up as realization crosses their features, and they turn to stare at my dad who waves them all off.

“I tried to tell you,” he huffs, refusing to look up from his paper. And I know he has. I haven’t ever heard of the name ‘Reid Effect’ but Dad has ranged about the team saying he’s bad with animals and kids before. Of course it always ended with me commenting ‘imagine their faces if they find out you’re a dad’ and him dissolving into giggles.

Usually ‘giggles’ isn’t a term I’d use for adults but my dad is different and I know we have a different relationship that most fathers and daughters. For one thing we’re only twelve years apart, so it’s really less like a father daughter relationship and more like a sibling relationship. Except, of course, for the fact that Dad is super overprotective and doesn’t know about half the things I do.

“Oh… sorry Reid,” Derek says, scratching the back of his neck as the others quickly follow his lead.

My dad sighs quietly so only I can hear, but he shrugs all the same. “Eh, it’s fine. It was kind of the point that you didn’t know.”

Derek’s quiet for a minute after that before turning his swivel chair to me. “Alright then… in that case, wanna help me with some paperwork kid genius?” he asks with a smirk, grinning at me.

I look at Dad who clearly hesitates before shrugging. “I wouldn’t be able to stop you anyways, so sure. Show him how it’s done. And try not to set any computers on fire this time, alright?”

Derek’s face goes pale for a second, but it’s two late, as I’ve grabbed his entire stack of paperwork and sat down on the floor near Dad’s desk. Accepting the pencil he hands me along with the nasty cup of coffee I still appreciate.

The first file is done before I’m even fully settled.
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