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"Ugh, would you look at him?"
Dave fights back a tired sigh at the pathetic quality in Penelope's voice, tapping his spoon against the edge of his coffee cup a few times before finally looking up. She's not even looking at him - instead her eyes are glued on something in the middle of the bullpen. Dave raises an eyebrow.
"Would you look at who?"
"Reid!" Penelope says, turning towards Dave whilst gesturing in the vague direction of Reid's desk. "Take one look at him and tell me you don't see something wrong with this picture."
Straightening up in his seat, Dave's eyes catch Reid almost immediately and... ouch. Dave has had the privilege of working with Spencer for almost ten years now, and he's come to associate him with his hair. Over the years, he's seen many, many different iterations and styles of one of Dr Spencer Reid's most distinct features. Dave's personal favourite hairstyle of his had been when it was short and carefully coiffed, but now it's almost hard to look at. Reid's hair is more than just messy; there are strands pointed in every which way, a mysterious clump above his left ear that makes Dave's fingers twitch with the urge to comb through it... it's not great.
"Yikes," he says after a few seconds of silence. "Okay. Yeah, I see it."
"See what?" Morgan asks as he ambles into the kitchenette, travel mug empty and ready for coffee.
"Reid's hair."
Morgan scoffs. "Y'all are getting in a tizzy about Reid's hair?" he asks, pouring himself a hefty mug. Dave and Penelope wait for him to finish, twin-looks of expectation on their faces as they watch Morgan put his customary two creamers into his mug before looking over at Reid's desk. Dave smirks when he sees the man startle, coffee spilling over the edge of his mug and onto his knuckles. "Damn. That's... he doesn't normally look like that, does he?"
"He doesn't," Hotch says, seemingly coming out of nowhere. His tone is all business, as per usual. One would think he were talking about more serious matters and not the state of one of his employees' haircuts. "Usually JJ makes him run a brush through it. I think she even keeps pomade in her desk for him, but since she's been on maternity leave, he's just... left it."
"Someone has to do something," Penelope whines, gripping onto Morgan's bicep for support.
"Don't look at me, babygirl," Morgan says after a long sip of coffee. "I haven't used a brush in 20 years."
The four of them all stare at Reid for a moment longer, silence befalling them. Penelope is right. Someone has to do something.
Hotch is the first one to make an attempt, weak though the attempt may be. They're about to make their way to the jet when Hotch stops Reid by the door to the round-table room with a gentle, fatherly hand on his shoulder. Reid turns, the movement causing a few pieces of hair to fall almost artfully over his right eye. Reid does nothing to fix it.
"What's up, Hotch?" Reid asks, hitching his messenger bag further up his shoulder.
"Nothing, everything's fine," Hotch says slowly. "Just... may I-" he doesn't finish the question before his hand is coming up to brush the hair out of Reid's face. It's an action that comes naturally to him now; he's done it with Jack enough times.
Unfortunately, Reid and Jack don't have the same hair texture. Or reaction to Hotch's gentle act of kindness. Reid's hair follows the push of Hotch's fingers before falling right back down over his forehead once again. If strands of hair could laugh, Hotch is certain they would be laughing right at him.
Reid reels his head backwards an inch, eyes narrowing at the sudden, unprompted contact. "What was that about?"
Hotch sighs. "Your hair has been... I've noticed it falling into your eyes now and again and I figured that it can't be very comfortable. Or productive."
Realisation crosses Reid's face and Hotch allows his shoulders to relax. At least Reid doesn't appear to think Hotch is odd or, god forbid, a creep for instigating unsolicited hair-touching. "Oh. I've sort of stopped noticing it, really," Reid says, brushing one of the longer strands behind his ear. "Thanks for trying, though."
Hotch simply shakes his head as the two of them begin to leave the round-table room together. "I have to say, your hair is quite soft," he remarks. "I brush Jack's hair out of his face all the time and it usually works just fine."
"Oh, I've been using a new brand of shampoo," Reid says slowly. "Maybe that's it?"
"Must be," Hotch mumbles. "Must be."
Dave tries next. He arrives at the office one morning and makes a beeline for Reid's desk. He digs into his go bag and brandishes a small tub, placing it in the center of Reid's desk and waiting. He watches Reid's eyes scan the label on the tub before looking up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"Hair gel?" Reid asks. Dave's eyes drift toward Reid's left ear where a piece of hair is sticking out, seemingly defying gravity.
"Not just hair gel," Dave says, taking the tub and unscrewing the lid. He lifts the tub to his nose and inhales slowly. "The best hair gel money can buy, all the way from Palermo, Italy. I had to pull a lot of strings to get this stuff."
Reid raises an eyebrow. "That's great, Rossi. Your hair looks... nice." He gives Dave a wan smile before turning back to his file, under the incorrect assumption that the conversation is over. Dave is having none of that.
"It's not for me, kiddo," Dave says, placing the tub back on the desk. "I bought this for you."
That seems to catch Reid's attention fully. He looks up and puts his pen down. "You bought me hair products? What for?"
"'Looking good and dressing well is a necessity,'" Dave says, ushering Reid up out of his seat. "'Having a purpose in life is not.'"
"You quoting Oscar Wilde at me doesn't exactly answer my question," Reid says, though he obligingly lets Dave lead him in the direction of the men's bathroom anyway.
Dave pushes open the bathroom door and with both hands on Reid's shoulders, parks them both in front of the mirror. "I'm going to teach you how to style your hair," he says, placing the tub precariously on one of the sinks. "First, you're gonna wanna use a quarter-sized dollop of gel. For hair as... unruly as yours, I'd say more is better."
15 minutes later, Dave and Reid emerge from the bathroom smelling of pine-scented hair gel. Reid looks significantly less unkempt than he had before and his hair has been slicked back to within an inch of its life, and Dave has the same self-satisfied look on his face he gets when he knows he's won something.
The two of them separate and Dave heads up to his office to start doing his actual job. After a few hours goes by, Dave can no longer resist the urge. He gets up and groans as his back pops obscenely before making his way out of his office and into the bullpen.
To his dismay, there Reid sits at his desk, hair once again in a state of disarray that was possibly even worse than when Dave had arrived to work that morning. When Dave rushes down the stairs to confront Reid, he notices the slightly damp quality of the individual strands and his heart aches.
"Reid, what happened?" Dave asks. There's too much to take in on Reid's head at the moment, so Dave zeroes in on the multiple cowlicks sticking out of the top of his scalp.
He watches Reid's shoulders freeze before he turns around, smiling guiltily. "I didn't like how the gel felt on my head. It was too sticky and stiff, so I washed it out." Reid produces the tub Dave had given him and slides it to the corner of his desk. "Sorry, Rossi. I don't think gel is for me."
At that moment, Penelope crosses through the office and Dave locks eyes with her. He watches her face crumble when she sees Reid's messy locks and he shrugs.
"I tried, Garcia," he calls towards her, snatching back the tub of gel. He turns the tub around in his hands a few times and shakes his head. If Reid isn't going to appreciate his gift, Dave sure as hell will.
Morgan is no help - but then again, as the only member of the team who doesn't currently have any hair to deal with, that is to be expected.
He saunters into the bullpen early one morning and walks right up to Reid's desk. The man hardly notices Morgan's arrival, not sparing even a second to look away from the crossword he's completing, until knitted wool is suddenly being pulled over his eyes. Morgan watches with a smirk as Reid twists his head around in confusion before lifting a hand to paw at the beanie now covering the top half of his head.
"Wha-" Reid mutters, pulling the beanie off completely and turning around to face Morgan. "What's this?"
"A hat," Morgan replies unhelpfully. "I thought it would help your situation."
Reid rolls his eyes and tosses the beanie onto his desk. "I don't have a situation," he grumbles. "Why is everyone suddenly so worried about the state of my hair?"
Morgan rests against Reid's desk and snatches the beanie back with two fingers, re-placing it snugly until it sits right above Reid's eyebrows but over his ears. There's a hint a brown curl peeking out from the edges of the beanie that makes Morgan chuckle. It's an odd look paired with his customary tie and sweater vest combo, but at the very least, it looks entertaining.
"Because your face is your best asset and that mop on your head is distracting us all from it," Morgan says, smiling when Reid doesn't immediately take the beanie off. "Would it kill you to run a comb through it every now and then?"
"This coming from the man who hasn't had to own a comb in 20 years?" Morgan's gotta hand it to him, Reid gives as good as he gets at the best of times. "I do brush it sometimes, I just... forget. I don't know if you've noticed but looks aren't exactly on my list of top priorities these days."
"And that's why JJ has to practically force a brush through you," Morgan replies, tilting his head when Reid's cheeks go faintly pink and he looks away. "Hey, we're just playing, kid. If all this talk about your hair really bothers you, we'll stop."
Reid shakes his head. "It doesn't bother me. Not really, I mean... I guess it's kind of nice?" he says, voice lilting upward, almost as if he's unsure of his own feelings. "You guys are trying to look out for me in your own weird ways. Makes me feel like you guys care."
"That's because we do care," Morgan says, placing a finger in the center of Reid's forehead and pushing his head backwards playfully. "Ah, well. I guess it doesn't matter that much anyways. You're still pretty."
Morgan's chuckles fill the bullpen as Reid takes the beanie off and throws it at him. He easily catches it against his chest and watches Reid ruffle his hair in an attempt to tame it. It doesn't work, but the smile on his face more than makes up for it.
Garcia's attempt is temporary, but at least semi-effective.
They're all gathered in the round-table room together, quiet small talk filling the space as the team waits for their briefing to start. Morgan, Rossi, Hotch, and Garcia have long since arrived, waiting on Tara and Spencer to show up so that they can get started.
They show up just in time, talking animatedly to one another about a serial killer that Tara had interviewed a few years back. Despite the fact that she hasn't been a part of the team for very long, it's astounding how easily she seems to fit in amongst them. The two of them take their seats and the small talk draws to a hush as everyone looks at Garcia expectantly.
Garcia smiles and clasps her hands together, brightly manicured fingernails drumming against her knuckles excitedly. "Before we get started, I have one small manner of business to attend to," she says. She pauses (for effect) before producing a small pack of butterfly clips from the pocket in her skirt. She takes a few short strides towards Spencer, who's eyeing her with mild amusement and suspicion. It's clear that he already knows what's about to happen. "Keep still, pumpkin."
Garcia carefully scoops up a section of Spencer's hair that has fallen over his forehead and sweeps it to the side so his features are now uncovered. She playfully boops the tip of Spencer's nose before deftly unclipping a purple butterfly clip with her free hand and sliding it into place. With fast fingers, she brushes the rest of his hair until it's as neat as she supposes it will get before stepping away so that she can admire her handywork.
"Better?" Spencer asks. From across the table, Rossi stifles a chuckle behind a hand.
"Much," Garcia says, letting out a relaxed sigh as she pinches Spencer's chin and wiggles it. "It even matches your scarf."
Spencer smiles at her and unconsciously tugs at the end of his scarf before placing his elbows on the table. "Thank you, Penelope."
She winks at him in response before taking the TV remote out of her other pocket, twirling it easily in her hand and pointing it at the TV. Without anymore ceremony, she's walking back to the front of the room and pulling up photos of their most recent crime scene. "You all will be heading to sunny California for this case, folks."
The tone in the room shifts as they begin discussing more serious matters, but there's still a hint of levity that can be felt. When the group is dismissed, Tara stands and closes her tablet, tucking it securely under her arm before turning to Spencer and gently nudging him with her elbow. "Nice hair, Dr. Reid."
Spencer smiles at her, one hand reaching up to lightly touch the butterfly clip still sitting securely amidst his dark brown tresses. "Thank you, Dr. Lewis," he says with a satisfied grin. "It was a team effort."