number22 | (no subject)

In a rather odd way, Philip has noticed that he hasn't seen much of Agent Reid lately. He's noted the absence and slowly come to the conclusion that it doesn't bother him exactly, but that he does want to do something to remedy it. It's not that he misses the man, not by any means, but his presence in Philip's life gives him a little bit of excitement it's difficult to find elsewhere and perhaps it's stupidly playing with fire, but after losing his job with Todd Chad, he's of the mind he needs a little bit of that.

It becomes clear with a little bit of investigation that Agent Reid has been injured in a car accident and instead of showing up with flowers or some other gift to indicate he hopes he gets well soon, he bides his time. Right now, Reid's husband will inevitably be hovering over him, getting him water or tea or something to eat, making sure his pillows are fluffed properly, making sure he has something to read or a television show to watch. Whatever he's doing, he'll be there far too much and Philip doesn't want to have to deal with that.

So he gives it a few weeks, then a little longer, then finds himself across the street from the bookstore one day. Reid isn't back to work yet, he'd made sure of that, but he seems to be in better shape than he had been those first few weeks. He's healthy enough that Philip's bearded doppelganger is comfortable kissing him goodbye and leaving the store in his capable hands.

Philip waits until he gets into his truck and drives away and once he's out of sight, he saunters across the street and opens the door to the very charming Graymark Books, a little bell tinkling overhead to let Agent Reid know someone has come inside.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Reid studies Lombard for a moment, finding himself less disturbed when the other man keeps a steady hold on their shared gaze than maybe he should be, but he decides it's pointless to really ask questions. Lombard always knows more than he should, always has more information that he ought to have access to, but Reid can't prove that he goes about getting any of that in a way that's anything less than legal. Does he have his suspicions? Sure, of course he does. Has he looked into it at all? No. No, he hasn't, and Reid doesn't have an explanation for why but that's how it's worked out so far.

They're not friends. Reid reminds himself of that every time they end up in the same space. That's why it's worrisome that talking to Lombard has become so easy. In some ways, he's more open with Lombard than he is with some of the people he considers close.

"Nobody's found anything, no," Reid finally answers, and he's a little bit frustrated with himself for making his disappointment evident in his tone. "Whoever was driving that truck did a damn good job of making sure they wouldn't be found. I'd say it was a professional job but it's like something went wrong." If it'd been a hit, something coordinated by the unsub or hell, anyone Reid had played a part in putting away, he really doesn't think he'd still be standing here. He can't help but shake the feeling that whatever had happened, it hadn't been intended. The accident had really been just that, an accident.

The problem is, it's hard to let it go when he still has so many questions.

"I think it was someone I know," he admits, nose twitching as he bites down on his lip. "They called Luke right after it happened, they knew to call him, it wasn't random. He wasn't the last person I'd called, not even the last person I'd texted, but they knew." Reid's shared this theory with Luke, too, of course, but it hasn't gotten them very far. There are too many other possibilities, too many other explanations. With a sigh, he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I want to know what the hell happened but at the same time, a part of me wonders if maybe it's just better left a mystery. I'm alive, I can still walk. I should just be grateful for that."

"Perhaps a professional job that wasn't aimed at you," Philip suggests, although he truly doesn't know anything more than what Reid does. But from what he does know, he has a feeling Reid is right. Whoever was driving that truck knew how to keep themselves to the shadows, they knew how to be, more or less, a ghost, which is a talent Philip can admire. But if it was a hit, he doubts very much Reid and the officer in the car with him at the time were the targets.

Reports had made mention of another car fleeing the scene and Philip has wondered if perhaps Reid and the officer were chasing someone else. And if that person, assuming they were a criminal, could very well have been the target of some kind of professional hit. There are certain people in this city who don't take kindly to that kind of behaviour and might take it upon themselves to assist the police.

He's lucky he hasn't run into someone like that himself. Not yet.

"You can be grateful for your good fortune without losing that need to know," he answers with a shrug. "I would want to know. It's especially interesting that they called your husband first. I'd ask if you're friends with any of the superhero types around this place, but I feel like they'd sooner pick up a truck than drive one into you."