The man who steps out of the car is in black and white, like an old movie. It's only when he steps up to the tape that Rogers can see the red tie, the only spot of colour. Guy's pale as his shirt, and has the kind of look that says that by rights he should look more crumpled than this, except he's done this before.
He looks through Rogers, not at him, as he waves that FBI badge. That was an FBI badge on the table inside, too.
Rogers nods at him and lets him through, and then keeps turning so as to keep an eye on the guy. Haven't done this before, huh, buddy?
When Rogers steps inside moments later, the guy - can't think of him as a civilian, can't think of him as an agent - is in the cleared corner of the room, holding the victim's son while Carson is still looking sick. Being useless is sure ain't helping.
Rogers approaches them. "Sir," he says, and then again. "Sir, we're going to need a statement from Agent Gideon's son." The guy has a funny look about him, like he can't quite make sense of things - figures, as that's his colleague's body that was just wheeled out and as he's that close with the victim's family - so Rogers continues: "Agent Gideon left a letter for him. We'll make a copy for him, the original will go to the lab." He makes his voice apologetic as he says: "The ME is saying suicide, but we'll still have to investigate."
When the man says, "I'll call his son," Rogers begins to think that they might need a shrink or a social worker at the station, or something.
Or maybe not, because the man's gaze clears, turns sharper, and he says: "This is Special Agent Spencer Reid, he's Agent Gideon's protégé."
Special Agent? Rogers thinks, a little incredulous, as the victim's colleague rattles off the next-of-kin information; kid looks young enough he ought to be fresh out of the academy. Not a whole lot of reasons for the kid to be up there at that hour, for the victim to have left him a letter. Rogers liked it better when he thought the kid was the victim's son.
The other agent glares at him. It's a very impressive glare, intimidating despite the evident exhaustion, the crumpled shirt and the pale-as-said-shirt complexion.
Dead guy was an asshole. Explains why he put himself out of everyone else's misery. Good. In the long run, at least; the present is one man at the end of his rope, one grieving kid, and Carson, still green.
Rogers swallows back a sigh, and gets them out of there.