CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:
WHEN IN VEGAS
( aka 04x07: memoriam )

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DALLIS WAS PRETTY SURE her brain had turned into a slot machine after her long night out in Vegas. From the second her head hit the pillow just shy of 3am, the repetitive flashing colours and percussive sound effects of the casino had followed her into her dreams. The noise refused to leave her even when 3am came and went and she woke up ten minutes after she was supposed to have joined the rest of the team.

"Shit," she swallowed against the cotton-dry feeling in her mouth, massaging her fingers against her pounding temples. "Oh, it's too early for this."

Just the thought of moving a muscle made her stomach churn but the idea of Hotch showing up on her doorstep and dragging her ass to the jet was even worse. She wasn't sure how she did it but she managed to crawl out of bed to the nearest bottle of water, then she packed her things, changed her clothes and tried her best not to look like a stray cat the FBI had picked up on the side of the street.

When she limped her way downstairs, Morgan was the first person she found. He was sitting in front of another blasted slot machine -- of course the hotels in Vegas had their gambling areas right near the main entrance, that explained the persistent sounds -- while nursing a steaming cup of coffee.

"Hello, sleeping beauty." Even the quick flash of his teeth was much too bright. "Nice sunglasses."

"Shut up," she muttered, fully aware of how ridiculous she looked wearing her Raybans inside, but desperate times called for desperate measures. "How are you not a walking disaster right now?"

Morgan shrugged effortlessly. "Coffee and charisma, Cohen."

Dallis couldn't deign that with a response. Dumping her suitcase beside him, she shuffled towards the couch where Rossi sat on one end reading the newspaper. On the other was Emily. Her purple shirt needed a good iron and she'd seemingly forgotten that hairbrushes existed. Dallis was just glad she wasn't alone in her suffering. She slumped down beside her, resting her chin on the other woman's shoulder.

"I hate Vegas," Emily muttered into the cushion pressed against her face.

Dallis grunted her agreement. "I second that."

"Come on, ladies, how could you hate Vegas?" Morgan's eyebrows shot up. "This is a grown-folk's playground."

"So you said last night," Dallis scoffed, thinking back to every club Morgan had taken herself and Emily to. Was this his plan all along? To point and laugh at their misery. "And look where that's got us."

"You want some of my coffee?"

"No," she muttered, clutching her stomach. "I want to go to sleep and never wake up." Rossi's hand started to rub soothing circles into the ridges of her spine. Dallis' body immediately slackened with a sigh. "Oh, Dave, you're the best. Thank you."

He huffed out a laugh. "You're welcome."

The sharp sound of heels approaching them was somehow harder to bear than the slot machine (though Morgan fortunately had the good sense to stop pressing that Godforsaken button.) Dallis craned her head to catch a glimpse of JJ approaching with a skip in her step. Sober and energetic, she was a hungover woman's worst nightmare dressed in a soft maroon t-shirt and black flared yoga pants.

"Anyone seen Reid?" she asked, combing her fingers through her shiny hair.

"I know he stayed with his mum last night," said Morgan before gulping down the last dregs of his drink.

"Well, he should be here by now. He knows the departure time." Her eyes landed on the slot machine. "Ooh, this thing still has credit on it--"

"JJ, I swear to God," Emily exclaimed as Dallis let out a cry and pre-emptively clapped her hands over her ears.

"What?"

Dallis' skin pricked with goosebumps as Rossi's palm suddenly lifted away. She watched through the grey tinted film of her glasses as he pulled a funny face and made a drinking gesture. The others (excluding Emily, who was trying her hardest to go back to sleep) started to laugh. Dallis' bottom lip jutted into a pout. She was feeling very attacked that morning.

"Hey, here Reid comes now," Morgan pointed over JJ's shoulder to the gilded revolving door. Reid closed the distance between them, adjusting his leather satchel across his torso. "What did you do, sleep through your alarm?"

"Sorry to keep you guys waiting," he mumbled, ignoring the question.

JJ's smile was easy and forgiving. "Hotch is already at the airstrip. How fast can you pack?"

He visibly hesitated then, his throat constricting with a swallow. "Actually, I'm going to stay for a couple of days."

This caught Dallis' attention. She clambered to her feet, gratefully accepting Rossi's outstretched hand for balance. The others crowded around them -- even Emily, though she nearly yanked Dallis' shoulder out of its socket as she heaved herself up.

"Is everything alright?" Rossi asked Reid, who jerked his head in a quick nod.

"Yeah, I just haven't seen my mum in a really long time, so I'd like a few more days."

"Okay," he said after a moment. "Then take a few days. Do what you need to do."

As soon as they were outside, Dallis stopped on the sidewalk with her hands planted firmly on her hips.

"Everyone knows that was bullshit, right?" At once, each of them nodded. "Good. Just double checking."

Morgan pressed a few buttons on his phone then shoved the device into the pocket of his jeans. "I don't know about the rest of you but I'm staying here. I have the feeling I know what's going on with the kid. I can help him out."

Rossi, Emily and JJ, who weren't present when Morgan gave Reid the file about Riley Jenkins, shared a concerned look.

"I'm supposed to have an appointment with my Obstetrician this afternoon," said JJ, glancing down at her wristwatch. "But I should be able to move some things around."

Morgan shook his head at her. "Reid won't be impressed if he finds out you're putting baby LaMontagne's health at risk for him. It's fine, I can handle it--"

"We," Dallis corrected, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He raised his eyebrows. "You sure you're not going to collapse from alcohol poisoning?"

"No," she admitted. "But when in Rome."

"When in Vegas, you mean," his lips curled into a smirk.

"Dallis, you're a stronger woman than me," Emily let out a sigh. She'd taken creative liberty from Dallis and tracked down her sunglasses in her carry-on, though they didn't seem to do much as she also had to shield them with her palm. "I'm going to sit this one out."

It was now down to Rossi. "You can fill me in on the way up to his room," he decided, moving to stand beside Dallis.

"Keep us updated?" JJ asked, biting down on her lip.

Dallis nodded. "Of course."

The three of them stood and watched the girls pack the SUV then drive away from the gutter, quickly disappearing into the heavy morning traffic. Once they were out of sight, Dallis turned back to the hotel, squinting through the shaded windows but Reid was no longer where they had left him.

"So what do we do now?"

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"REID'S GOING TO KILL us, I hope you know that," she said nearly an hour later as she gazed down at the several empty peanut packets scattered across the carpet.

After flashing their FBI badges, the three of them had gotten access to Reid's spare key and settled comfortably into his hotel room. Dallis had switched the television channel over to Young and the Restless, then curled up on the ground between the two recliners with her knees drawn to her chest. Meanwhile, the men had raided the admittedly expensive mini fridge and snack options to pass the time before Reid came back from wherever he'd disappeared to.

"He'll get over it," said Morgan, holding out the salt and vinegar packet of crisps he'd been munching on. "Chip?"

"Why not?" Dallis sighed, stuffing her hand into the silver-lined plastic bag.

All of a sudden, the door swung open, revealing the bemused expression of Spencer Reid peeking furtively over the towering stack of files in his arms. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Oh, hey Spence," Dallis waved her chip at him.

Morgan looked him up and down, adding, "What does it look like we're doing?"

"Uh, breaking into my room and watching Days of Our Lives?"

"Young and the Restless," Rossi corrected without looking up from the television.

Reid rolled his eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be on a plane back to DC?"

"Yep," Dallis grinned. "But so are you."

"Change of plans, remember?" he popped his shoulders.

Rossi nodded slowly. "Hanging out with your mum, right?"

Reid pressed his lips together, uncomfortably scratching the side of his face when they didn't look away from him.

Morgan reached for the can of soda on the sideboard, taking a loud sip then smacking his lips together. He pointed the drink towards the stack of files Reid had placed down on the bed. "Riley Jenkins?"

"No... that's not... that's actually not why I'm here..."

Suddenly unable to return their stares, he got to work cleaning up the mess on the ground at Dallis' feet. Sighing, Morgan sat forward. "Reid, come on, man. Who do you think you're talking to? I know what this has been doing to you."

"Let us help," said Rossi. "Maybe together we can find out who killed him."

Reid hesitated, then muttered, "I think I might already know."

"Okay," Dallis fixed her lip between her teeth, observing the way his hands shook before he hid them in his pockets. He kept his head hung low, eyes working overtime as they blinked at the ground. "So what do you know about the suspect?"

"The truth is, I don't know anything about him."

"But there is a suspect?" she confirmed.

"He's my father."

Oh.

Well, that definitely threw a spanner in the works.

When no one said anything, Reid started sorting the files on his unmade bed, organising them by date. The task gave him something else to focus on as he fought to control his breathing. Dallis contemplated how he would respond to a hug then decided it was better not to risk it. Reid was doing a lot better when it came to touch. During the early days, he refused to shake hands with anyone let alone those he knew best. His brain stored too many facts about bacteria that he freaked out at the thought of spreading germs. Now, on his good days, he'd barely bat an eye if Dallis or one of the others threw their arms around him, but today wasn't one of those days.

She tried to put herself in his position. Believing that your parent, the person who you're meant to love and trust above anyone else, was capable of committing such a heinous act. Dallis could hear Reid's world tearing in two. He didn't know his father, he had left when Reid was only a boy, but even a stranger was still just a man until he became a monster.

Dallis could count on one hand the details she remembered of her own dad.

One. His name was Jackson Kelly. She remembered catching a glimpse of it on his headstone, printed above his premature age of death, before her mother slipped her much larger hand in her smaller one and took her away from the grave lost somewhere across the country. Hope avoided his name like the plague, though sometimes she would slip and the nickname Jacks would linger on her tongue along with a bittersweet smile.

Two. He played his emotions like he played the guitar, spanning the spectrum of his vocal range. Supposedly, Austin got his love for music from Jackson, though Austin was a drummer where Jackson thrived in everything else. To Hope, it was like poking at bruises that never faded. Music and her ex-boyfriend's manipulative outbursts came hand-in-hand. Dallis never experienced them herself but she recognised the ache of it from Hope's brief absence when Dallis was four.

Three. One moment her mother was there, and then she was not. Hope never shared why but Dallis and Austin spent a year on the road with their father, then he went to sleep one night and never woke up, and Hope was back in their lives just like that. He became a ghost, one the three of them much preferred to ignore.

From there, Dallis' memories tapered. Her childhood up until the age of nine was a patchwork quilt with holes eaten through it. Even the things she did know sometimes got confused. It never bothered her, she didn't know anything different, but for Reid? He was a man with an eidetic memory. There was meant to be a clear line between fact and fiction, one he walked along everyday. Now that line was blurred, leaving him vulnerable.

"Before we go down this road, you need to be sure," Rossi insisted.

"He's right," said Morgan. "Some rocks don't need looking under."

"My mind is sending me signals," Reid said. "I can't ignore them anymore."

"Mixed signals," Rossi countered. "That's what the subconscious is all about. You know that."

Dallis watched Reid's face falter. Morgan took a step towards him, catching his eye once again. "Reid, your dad left you. You take it to the Freudian extreme, you could say that he killed your childhood."

"It could explain a dream in which you see him as a murderer."

"I've come this far," Reid reaffirmed. "I'm not going back."

"In that case," said Dallis, waving a hand at the landmine of paperwork. "Where do you want us to begin?"

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"RILEY WAS SIX AT the time," Reid said from memory. "His father, Lou Jenkins, was supposed to pick him up from T-ball practice at 4pm but he got delayed at work, prompting Riley to walk the three blocks home. When his mother got home in the early evening, she found him dead in the basement."

"So the offender came to the house after he came home."

The corners of Dallis' eyes creased as she flipped from one page to the next. She was starting to think she needed reading glasses but wasn't yet ready to admit that her eyes were ageing along with her body. Instead, she held her paperwork underneath the living room lamp, propping her elbow against the arm of her chair so she was more comfortable. Morgan watched her move the file at different angles, chuckling under his breath.

"Or picked him up on the way there," Reid suggested.

"Coaxes Riley into the basement where he sexually assaults him," Morgan's laughter soon faded as the grim end this poor boy faced weighed heavily on them.

"The boy's mouth was taped shut," Rossi noted. He'd taken over the seat beside Dallis, one of his ankles propped over the opposite knee so he could balance his own paperwork on his lap.

"Symbolic," Reid posed. "The unsub fears Riley will talk, panics, considers his options."

"Decides to make certain that he'll never talk."

"He finds a knife in the fishing gear under the stairs, stabs Riley nine times in the chest. Stuffs him behind the washing machine."

"If the unsub did approach Riley on the street, it's interesting that he took him back to his house instead of literally anywhere else," Dallis tapped a finger against the corner of her mouth. "Could that be symbolic too? The home is meant to be a safe haven but he's interfering with Riley's security." There was something else that was bothering her. "And there were no witnesses? Unless this man was someone the neighbours saw hanging around everyday, why did no one question this six-year-old boy entering his house with a stranger?"

"It's someone they knew," Reid pressed his lips together. "He would've been a white male in his late twenties to early thirties."

"Which means we're looking for a man in his fifties now," Rossi said. "You mentioned the neighbours, Dallis."

"You think it was one of them?"

He shrugged. "Could be worth considering."

Morgan's gaze lingered on the side of Reid's face. "What is it?"

"My family lived less than a half mile away from the Jenkinses."

"Do you think your dad knew the boy?"

"I don't know," he mumbled. "My memory is... the lack of recall just reinforces how little I knew about him."

"Reid, we're gonna have to track him down," Morgan said. "You do know that."

Tongue in cheek, he said, "We should talk to my mother first, neighbours, get their impressions."

Rossi contemplated him. "Reid, I don't need to tell you that this signature was need-based and sexual in nature. The man we're looking for is a paedophile. So I'll ask you again. Are you sure you want to go down this road?"

They knew his answer almost immediately. It hadn't changed.

Dallis laid down for a brief nap while Reid visited his mother at the facility she lived in. Afterwards, he took a trip with Morgan to ask Lou Jenkins the questions about William Reid that Reid's mother couldn't (or wouldn't) answer. Whatever they discovered led Rossi to wake Dallis up just shy of an hour later. She tried her hardest to resist him but the soft squeeze of his hand on her shoulder was impossible to ignore.

(Would Reid disapprove of her sleeping with the senior agent in his bed? Surely not...)

"Good morning," she mumbled, swiping at the corner of her mouth where she'd no doubt drooled onto Reid's pillow.

Rossi smiled. "Try good afternoon, Dolcezza."

What was time, really, but God's worst creation for a woman who worked every other day.

"I'm guessing Reid needs us?"

"At his dad's work." The edge of the mattress dipped as he took a seat beside her. Dallis hummed as his fingers continued to trace patterns onto her skin. She could barely feel the faint throb of her headache now, faded but not quite gone as the alcohol lingered in her system. "I can always meet them on my own if you're not feeling up to it."

But Dallis couldn't do that to Reid. She'd stayed in Las Vegas to support him, so that was what she was going to do. "Give me twenty minutes to freshen up and drown myself in tea."

Rossi glanced at his wristwatch. Up close, with little space between them, Dallis caught a glimpse of the glittering flecks of gold inlaid into the silver links. "I can give you ten maximum."

"I'll make it work," she declared, regretfully casting aside the blankets which prompted Rossi to retreat into the living room.

As promised, Dallis took the next ten minutes to brush her hair, fix her makeup and make herself a cup of tea. Rossi watched her flutter around with soft eyes. He couldn't help but think of how domestic it all was. If only the bed in the other room was theirs. If only they were an ordinary couple enjoying a romantic getaway in Las Vegas. Reality was a bitter pill to swallow when she attached her holster to her waistband and slipped her socked feet back into her ankle boots.

"What's the name of this place?" she asked, bringing up the GPS system on her phone.

"Summerlin."

Dallis' eyebrows shot up. "Looks like an attorney's office."

It wasn't that far away, either. Barely a dozen miles from the hotel, surely even closer to where Reid grew up with only his mum around. The man in question seemed to have had the same realisation. When they pulled into the Summerlin parking lot, they found him staring at the intricate pattern on the frosted-glass doors. Morgan hovered beside him, scanning the details of every passing face for one that was similar to Reid's.

He came up empty.

"You can wait out here if you want to," Dallis cautiously nudged Reid's arm with her elbow.

Swallowing thickly, he shook his head. "It's fine."

The inside of Summerlin operated in controlled chaos. There were dozens of doors on either side of the main hallway. Some were open. Inside, they could see people of various appearances sitting behind their desks or taking phone calls while looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows. Behind the main counter, several phones rang persistently but the woman in the thick of it only had eyes for them.

"Can I help you?" she asked, gazing warily at their exposed weapons.

"Yeah," Reid said, and then the rest of his words failed him.

Rossi flashed his badge over his shoulder. "We'd like to speak to William Reid."

"Okay," she nodded, leaning back into the cracked leather of her seat. "Is he expecting you?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, he's in a meeting right now. Why don't you have a seat and I'll tell him you're here?"

While she was gone, Dallis continued to observe the room. Pale blue walls, dark carpet that had thinned over the years. Bright yellow flowers of some kind overflowed from a vase. Some of the petals had scattered across the plush cushions of a couch tucked into the corner.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Reid declared before taking off down the hallway.

"I've never seen him like this before," Morgan frowned as they watched the door click shut behind him.

Rossi grimaced. "Seventeen years is a long time to go between visits."

"Not long enough. The kid's still angry."

"Yeah, I'm starting to get that."

"Can you blame him?" Dallis' sigh was loud.

Whatever Morgan was going to say went forgotten when footsteps approached them from the opposite end of the hallway. Handing the receptionist a stack of files to look over, the man who regarded them could only be William Reid. His eyes were brown like his son's but William's were monotonous where their Reid had eyes like warm coffee. The sandy hair around his receding hairline was combed to precision, tie tucked against the thin column of his throat.

Dallis immediately hated him.

"You're from the FBI?"

"Yes, sir," Rossi nodded. "I'm Agent Rossi, these are Agents Cohen and Morgan."

"This wouldn't be about the City Council investigation, would it?"

Rossi glanced briefly at Dallis, who had flattened her palms against her thighs from the effort it took not to jump the desk and shake all the answers out of him. "No, this is more of a personal matter."

"It concerns your son," said Morgan.

At once, William's face slackened. He tugged furiously at his tie, struggling to steady his breathing. "My son. Did something happen?"

"That's what we're trying to find out." Slowly but surely, Reid approached them until he was nestled between Dallis and Morgan. "Hello, dad."

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A/N: Here's a gif I originally made when I first published this book. It doesn't quite fit what happens in the scene but I love it and my babies so much!

Speaking of graphics, everyone take a look at the absolutely stunning instagram edit obliviates made for Dallis. It's so perfect, I had to get y'all to show it some love!