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The chappal was filled with floral arrangements accompanied by thoughtful cards with well wishes and expressions of friendship and gratitude. Victims he'd saved, former BAU agents, and even agents he'd liased with during his unofficial assignments with the CIA had sent arrangements to honor the life, memory, and selfless service of Jason Gideon.
But among the typical lillies and carnations, one bright, colorful bunch stood out.
It was a small bouquet of two-toned pink and yellow-orange tea roses with a sprinkling of lilly of the valley. Even more puzzling than the flowers themselves was the fact that there was no name or card at all, not even a generic one from the flower shop.
In front of the table full of flowers, Reid stood with his hands in his pockets, arms stiff at his sides and his shoulders slumped forward. He stared at the out-of-place arrangement. He tilted his head as he inspected it without touching it, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
He jolted slightly when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Sorry," Morgan said softly, "didn't mean to startle you. I was just making sure you were okay. You've been staring at those flowers for a solid minute."
Reid cleared his throat and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "They're an odd choice."
"What do you mean? They look nice enough to me."
"Oh no, they're lovely," Reid clarified, "but for a funeral, they seem a little... I don’t think inappropriate is the right word? They're certainly atypical. See, in flower language, Lilly of the valley represents deep sorrow, which is appropriate, but it's the roses that confuse me."
Morgan raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
Now in his element, which was rambling on about some obscure piece of knowledge, Reid was able to relax his shoulders a little.
"Rose symbolism is among the most intricate and diverse in all of flower language, with different colors and combinations of colors saying vastly different things. A yellow rose says friendship. Some shades of pink say appreciation and gratitude, some share a niche with red and speak to romantic attraction, while others portray youthful innocence. Then there's the salmon color they make when they mix in these particular roses. Salmon colored roses can, depending on context, indicate excitement and fascination, or... um," Reid hesitated and glanced around, not wanting to say something inappropriate around the wrong person, "or sensual desire."
"So," Morgan mused, "Maybe it was the friendship in the yellow and the gratitude in the pink that they were going for. Gideon had a lot of friends in a lot of places, and a lot of people had reason to be grateful to him. He touched a lot of hearts and saved who knows how many lives."
Reid nodded, but before he could reply, Garcia approached and chimed in.
"They're 'dear dad' roses."
"They're what now?" Morgan asked.
"Salmon hybrid tea roses. Marketed by specialty flower nurseries as the 'dear dad' rose." She playfully swatted Reid's arm. "See? I know things, too."
Morgan grinned. "We know you do, Baby Girl."
Reid's brow furrowed, and he looked back down at the anonymous flowers. "Dear dad?" He muttered under his breath, just before his very next breath caught in his throat.
Reid knew then, as a decade old memory dug itself out of his mind, exactly who had sent these flowers.
"Gideon, will you tell him I don't need to go to the hospital?" Elle asked insistently, brushing her fingers over the corner of a small but deep gash on her cheek that was held closed by two butterfly bandages.
Gideon shook his head and, with a mater-of-fact tone, answered, "Regulations are regulations." He strolled over the police car where Elle and Reid were sitting on the edge of the open trunk. "You alright?"
Elle smiled up at the older agent. "I'm fine, Dad," she answered with a teasing laugh.
Accepting her answer, he started walking back towards the group of officers. He stopped and turned back around before he got far.
"Elle?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't ever call me 'dad' again."
Reid grimaced as Gideon left.
"How do you think he'd feel about 'mom'?" Elle asked.
"Let me know when you're gonna do that," Reid said, "So I can, um. Run."
A heady mix of emotions washed over Reid, some he couldn't quite identify. But before he had a chance to sort and process what he felt at the realization that Elle Greenaway, his former best friend who had resigned under the unprovable suspicion of murdering a suspect in cold blood and was never seen or heard from again, had sent unsigned flowers to Gideon's funeral, He noticed Hotch waiving for their attention.
People were beginning to take their seats in the pews. The service would be starting in just a few minutes.
Reid lingered by the roses a few seconds after Morgan and Garcia walked away hand-in-hand. He let out a wavering sigh before following suit, taking a seat next to JJ.
One last time before the pastor took to the pulpit, Reid glanced over at the brightly colored roses.
Elle was out there somewhere. She was alive somewhere. And she still, at least on some level, cared.
He could sort the rest out later.