Summary: Everyone thinks that Reid is a genius. Reid's cat thinks he's an idiot. Follow the adventures of Schrödie the cat as he attempts to cat-train his human. Remember, the best laid plans of cats and men often go awry. Domestic fic with some unique guest appearances. Follows 'Animals Your Soul Will Guide.'

Genre: Family

Setting: Early Season 9

Musical Inspiration: 'My Father's Father,' by The Civil Wars. If you're a guitar person, this is the prettiest song.

"I didn't want to tell Morgan because I was worried that he'd treat me like a child."

Garcia made an affirming noise, swirling her spoon in the depths of her mug. "What did Morgan say to that?"

A hazy grin flickered across his multicolored face. "He said, 'Come on. Like a single bizarro moment of oversight in the brilliant life of Doctor Reid would make me forget all the times you've come through for the team. All the times you've had my back. Are you kidding me?'"

Lips glossed light pink quirked into a familiar grin. "That's my chocolate thunder."

"He also said, he might laugh at me, but that didn't mean he doesn't respect me." Reid refilled his mug, watching patterns rise in the steam before adding a couple of heaping teaspoons of sugar to the scalding liquid.

Garcia took a sip as he stirred. "And what do you think of that?"

He shrugged thin shoulders. "I mean, I haven't had a lot of experience in this area." Brown eyes swept over the muted green walls, not daring to look at his friend. "The only constant thing in my life is people leaving me. On some level I believe that people can be reliable, and yet simultaneously I have thirty years of evidence that says they won't be there for me."

Her voice was thick with emotion. "Yeah? Well, I think your sampling is flawed."

Reid looked up, surprised to see that Garcia's eyes were suspiciously bright behind electric blue frames. "I don't know why bad things keep happening to you, but don't you say that you're alone in this. That's not fair. What about me? What about Morgan, Hotch, JJ, Rossi? Even Emily isn't too far away when it counts!"

She placed her hand on the dusky orange sofa behind his neck, her gaze piercing in its intensity. "Reid, for once, could you look up from your pain long enough to see that you are surrounded by people willing to carry it with you?"

The growing scratch in his throat made it harder to breathe. He glanced away, flushing with sudden shame. "I-I don't know what to say."

"Say you're sorry. Say you love me, and never say anything like that again." Garcia huffed, turning away and folding her arms over her chest.

Caught between smiling at her affection and trembling at her ferocity, Reid replied in a quiet voice, "Sorry, Garcia."

"Good." She let out a frustrated sigh, leaning her head against the soft spot below his collarbone. This was twice today she'd intentionally invaded his fairly strong touch-bubble, but it didn't bother him. The contact helped to ground him in a moment when his self-control was buckling.

Besides, she smelled like citrus and sunshine.

Then, the odd sensation of rumbling as he felt/heard her disgruntled voice echo within his thoracic cavity. "I'm not going anywhere, you know. You're pretty much stuck with me. If you get transferred to Antarctica, I'll Skype you. If I get married, you had better be there for it. Even if I die in a freak computer explosion, I'll haunt your skinny butt."

His lips quirked. "My butt?"

"Your butt." Garcia affirmed, deadpan.

Reid smiled at the blonde crown. "That's... oddly specific."

"Yeah, well, you'd better believe it, buster." She shot back, distracted.

Across the room Schrödie appeared to be stalking one of Reid's slippers. They watched the hunt progress with detached amusement. The slipper never stood a chance.

When Garcia spoke again, her tone was soft and uncertain. "So, you got a cat because it can't run out on you?"

"I got a cat because I realized that I wanted a companion, but I wasn't quite ready for a relationship." Emotion stole his voice. Reid was glad Garcia was focusing on Schrödie's movements rather than applying the mind that could tear down firewalls to his vulnerable expression. "I got a cat because I'm not- I'm not giving up yet."

She hummed in acknowledgement, a tactile affirmation of her approval. Shortly after, tiny paws padded soft across the living room floor and began batting playfully at Garcia's toes. She reached forward and swept him off the ground, then leaned back against Reid and started a lazy game of capture-the-finger with the tabby.

Reid quirked an eyebrow. "I don't get it. Schrödie never lets me pick him up. He bit Morgan when he tried."

The technical analyst chuckled, stroking the cat and kissing him on the head. "Hmm, that's where the bandage came from. I told you before, genius: none can resist my goddess-like charm."

He took a breath while they played, summoning the courage to ask the question that had been plaguing him for days. "Garcia, you watched Sergio for Emily while she was in Paris, right?"

"Yeah. What's up? Need a cat sitter while you're out on cases?" Garcia replied, playfully booping Schrödie on the nose.

He pursed his lips. "No - well, maybe, Mrs. Cavanaugh doesn't really get along with Schrödie - but that's not what I was getting at. When you were looking after Sergio, did you ever, ah, talk to him?"

"Course I did. Cats are pretty social. Talking reassures them; they might not get the words, but I think they get the inflections. Plus, Sergio was more responsive than mumbling at my monitor. Why do you ask?"

Reid fiddled with the edge of his patterned sweater. Phrases jumbled in his throat as he tried to give voice to his demons. "Well, I talked to Schrödie when I first brought him home from the shelter. Then I realized I was sitting in a room talking to myself. I just got... worried."

Some things did not need to be said to be understood.

Garcia squared her shoulders to look at him. Somehow, the serious expression on her face was not disrupted by the tabby kneading biscuits on her lap. "Boy genius, if your brain weren't off limits right now, I bet you'd have a dozen statistics about bonds between pets and owners. It's totally normal for people to talk to their pets. Reid, the only thing that worries me about your head is the dent you put in it. How is that, by the way?"

He smiled weakly. "I'm doing alright. My doctor was concerned about a blood clot, considering the amount of time I was unconscious and, you know, previous head injuries. But it looks like I'm in the clear, barring unforeseen circumstances."

"Like falling again, hitting your head and dying this time?" Garcia let out a strained chuckle before leaning back against him. "You gotta be more careful, doc. We've only got one of you."

A knot of tension he didn't know he'd been carrying released. Reid took a long breath, letting his shoulders fall. "I'll do that."

Tossing his keys on the side table, Reid resisted the urge to scratch his forehead as he shut the door behind him. Though it was a relief to be rid of the nagging itch of the sutures, the glaring fluorescent lights and bustle of the doctor's office had done nothing helpful for the tattoo beating against his temples.

Illumination drifted through the curtains from the fading afternoon sun outside. Shadows drifted lazily across subdued green walls. He pressed perpetually cool fingers to his eyelids and savored the momentary relief, debating whether to start dinner immediately or attempt to pass out until his headache sheathed its claws.

Then, cozy pressure at his feet.

Schrödie rubbed against his ankles and looked up at him expectantly, purring a welcome-home. His tail was upright with a lazy hook at the tip.

Warmth spread from the pit of his stomach up through his chest. Reid smiled, bent down and stroked the tabby's head to set him at ease.

Yeah, it was good to be home.

His phone chirped angrily at his belt, a beacon of light in the dark room. The caller ID informed him it was Will.

Surprised, he unlocked his phone and answered. "Hey Will, what's going on?"

The familiar Yat annunciation caught his ear, atypical tension distinct even over the line. "Reid, I'm glad I caught you. Listen, I hate to be a bother, but I'm kind of in a tight spot here. D'you hear from JJ?"

"No, why? What's happening?"

A breathy sigh. "JJ and the team're off to Cheyenne for some arson thing. Garcia's gone with 'em. Problem is, there was just a threat by the Capitol building, so Metro called for All Hands on Deck. I gotta get out there and there's no one to watch Henry."

Eyes widening, Reid sunk into an armchair and wrapped a slender arm around his middle. "You can't reach his regular nanny?"

"No, she's out of town. I can't reach anybody and I have to get out there, now." Will replied, voice strained with pressure.

"Will, I'd love to help, but I'm concussed. I can't drive over to your place. If my symptoms start coming back, I don't know if Henry would be safe with me. I don't want anything to happen to him."

"I could drop him off on my way over. Do you feel like you're gonna start seizing or passing out anytime soon?"

He paused, trying to clear his head enough to think. Statistics on brain injuries started making their way through the fog, lingering just out of focus. If he tried, he thought he could access them, but in that direction lay murderous pain. "Um, I don't think so? Not unless I hit my head again. That would be... pretty bad."

"Reid, if there were any other option, trust me - I'd take it. Can you help us out?"

He dug the palm of a shaky hand into his thigh. "Okay, sure. Could you, ah, make sure he has something quiet to do, just in case?" He finished weakly, the 'in case of what' hanging heavy in the air.

"'Course. An' he's got our numbers in case he needs to call someone. We'll be over in about twenty minutes. Reid, I can't thank you enough."

A crooked smile tugged at his mouth, watered down by nerves. "Hey, it's for Henry. I can't say no to him. See you in twenty."

He looked around the apartment and chewed on his bottom lip. Change of plans.

Twenty minutes later, he had spaghetti and a can of sauce simmering on the stove. (Rossi could suck it. His head hurt too much for culinary creativity.) The doorbell rang as he was putting blankets on the sofa.

Light from the hallway sliced into the dim apartment and stabbed into Reid's eye sockets. Grimacing, he barely had time to raise a hand to shield his eyes before a slight form collided, shrieking, with his middle.

"Uncle Spence!"

He grunted slightly at the impact, twisting his face into a weak grin and returning the hug. "Ahhhh, hey buddy."

Will stood in the doorway, clad in his uniform and clutching Henry's messenger bag. "I really appreciate you doin' this, Reid. How's the head?"

"Sore. A little photosensitive at the moment, but it should pass." The taller man replied quietly, squinting.

"You bumped your head, Uncle Spence?" Henry looked up seriously, blue eyes intent. "When I bumped my arm falling outta tree, it broke. Did you break your head?"

Fighting the urge to smile at the boy's sincere concern, Spencer crouched down and allowed tiny fingers to explore his face. Henry might not follow a medical explanation, but he could understand what he could see and touch. "It's not broken; just a little banged up." He said.

Henry nodded and examined him seriously, small fingertips brushing gently from his vibrant forehead to his cheeks before squishing them playfully.

"Why don't you take your shoes and jacket off, Henry? There's a big surprise for you somewhere inside." Reid said conspiratorially, capturing Henry's hands with his own.

The boy needed no further prompting. Coat and converse went flying in a preschooler's rush to discover something new.

Will shifted from one foot to the other, eyes flickering to his watch before handing over Henry's messenger bag. "Right, everything he'll need's in here - clothes, toothbrush, teddy. There's an iPad and some headphones if you need a break. I'll try to be back by eight to take him in for daycare." His empty hand slapped the door frame lightly as a thought occurred. "Oh, and one more thing - no Doctor Who bedtime stories. JJ says he's been playing Daleks with the salt and pepper shakers again."

Reid bit his lip, but failed to hide the mischief in his eyes as he straightened up. "Right."

Elsewhere in the apartment, there was an cry of ecstasy, followed by childish giggles.

Will sniffed. He looked away and rubbed absently at the corner of his eye. "D'you get a cat?"

"Yup." Reid replied, popping the 'p.' The shaggy-haired doctor shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, feeling distinctly like not explaining himself.

An awkward pause as Schrödie ran out of the kitchen, giving Reid what he swore was the feline equivalent of a dirty look before dashing into the bedroom. Henry came bounding after.

"Well, I'd better be, ah.." Will gestured toward the stairs with his head, then called into the apartment. "Henry, I'm heading out!"

Mismatching socked feet pattered into the living room. Henry clutched Schrödie protectively to his chest, his face positively radiant. "Bye Daddy!"

The detective's gaze softened and he ruffled his son's hair to avoid touching the tabby. "G'night, Henry. See you in the mornin'."

And then there were three.

After dinner Reid had a lie-down while he waited for the drumbeat to slow. Henry had been content to sit watching a movie for a while, but eventually was drawn away by the living, breathing new-thing occupying the apartment.

As the blinding haloes surrounding the dim corner lamps faded away, Reid noticed his godson lying on the carpet facing Schrödie. Blue eyes gazed wondrously into amber, blinking slowly. The boy had his chin propped up on his hands and was imitating the tabby's occasional mews.

Smiling to himself, Reid was about to comment on the ineffective nature of their 'conversation' when Henry made a particularly convincing meow. Startled, Schrödie's ears flattened and he drew back, turning away and stalking out of the room as though offended.

Reid wasn't sure which he found more amusing - the oversensitive behavior of his cat or the expression of guilty horror on Henry's face. In either case, he started laughing harder than he'd done in a long time.

They made magic mud and elephant's toothpaste. When twilight fell, Reid demonstrated the practical applications of his doctorate in engineering by recruiting Henry to construct a couch fort. Henry drifted off to sleep to his godfather's voice spinning fantastic stories of the enigmatic doctor who wandered the stretches of space and time in a flying police box.

As soon as his brain was declared open for business, Reid put on his deerstalker and commenced investigating the conspicuous gap in his eidetic memory. There had to be a valid reason why he'd tripped that fated night.

True, Reid wasn't the most graceful of men, but he honestly wasn't that clumsy. The team had just completed a stressful case, but the fatigue shouldn't have distracted him that much, should it? He'd come home later and more exhausted than he had been the night he'd fallen. Why had he been so distracted?

Retracing his steps, Reid looked at the mail he'd hastily filed away, unopened, in his cleaning binge.

Most of it was pretty standard. Junk mail, recent editions of a few of the small-town newspapers he subscribed to, flyers for a grocery store he never frequented, an invitation to Lila Archer's latest movie premiere (with an enclosed photo of her, her fiancé, and their tremendous Siberian Husky), a postcard from his mom - and a letter from the South Padre Institute for Mental Health.

Addressed from Adam Jackson.

Reid's hand flew to cover his mouth.

Whoa, who was expecting to stumble into a plot? We've mostly wrapped up at this point. There will be one more (probably brief) update, but beyond that, there is a more pressing thing brewing in my brainpan.

Shameless self-promo: I'm working on a Broadchurch/Criminal Minds crossover. Not a one-shot, an actual casefic. If you haven't seen Broadchurch, go do that immediately. It's eight episodes of the phenomenal David Tennant (in his original Scottish accent) basically angst and solving crime. The case is compelling, the drama is real, the whump is glorious, and it is cinematically gorgeous.

This prompt terrifies and exhilarates me at the same time. If anyone is interested in being a beta (especially a British person or someone exceedingly familiar with Britain) or following me in this adventure, check out my tumblr for real-time updates.

Shout outs go to ssdub, autumnamberleaves, and Jean-Moddalle for their suggestions. This is a happy chappie, to balance out the heaviness of last chapter.

Sorry about the delay in the posting. I spent so much time on the conversation with Garcia that I entered a perfection/paralysis cycle. For reference, that scene is meant to be platonic, but you are free to squint.

As always,

Don't write the story. Live the story.