It's crunch time. My little seminar-presentation-sermon thing is booked the day after my birthday. Hotch certainly did it intentionally, but at least I have a few more weeks to dig into it. All I do is work. I crunch through the data during all hours of the day, and a few at night between working on the research job that I only spend ten hours a week on, that pays worse than this, but is my only hand in the door if I really want to apply for a PhD program next fall. It's too late now to throw it all together. I'll be stuck in DC for another year. I suppose that makes packing easier. At least, I know this move is to another temporary place too.
I get to work before anyone else. I've realized a few of them have started a shift. I'm not sure who the ringleader is, but every morning someone brings in coffee. I'm never asked to take my turn, and I've never had to pay for it. My sneaking suspicion is that Morgan's the planner since he's the one who brings the coffees in most days. During lunch breaks, JJ and Prentiss will force me to go shooting, but otherwise I'm glued to my desk. Even Stéphane has been texting me regularly, although I'm sure Estelle is feeding him information.
That said, I haven't felt better in weeks. Drinking cold coffee, working all hours, running into Estelle's friends cramped in our apartment but only saying hello before I'm elbow deep in syntax errors. Stéphane is now a full-time park ranger so he's really too busy to bother me. The lookout tower he was supposed to work in burned down, and so he's popped in twice to say hello since our vacation together, but only once this month to give me an early happy birthday. It's the life I always dreamed about, in a weird way.
With only a week and a bit to go, I'm typing like mad. My personal phone buzzes. I look down at the lit screen. It's a text from Estelle, so it can wait. I'm almost done finalizing the research. Now, I'm going to be putting together PowerPoints while rehearsing my findings all hours of the day. While getting ready in the morning, in the bathroom at work during lunch, mouthing the words on the train heading through.
"Bouchard."
I recognize Reid's voice. I hold up a hand to quiet him.
"No," I tell him. "Not right now."
Something clacks against my desk. I glance over. He's put coffee in the FBI mug he bought me. The writing is fading, since it got put in the dishwasher one too many times by one of the administrative assistants.
"It's you, isn't it?" I ask, glancing over at him.
He stares at me blankly, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"I thought Morgan had done it," I say.
Reid doesn't answer. Instead, he stares at me, "your workday ended an hour ago."
I look around. There are a few people in the office bullpen still, but no profilers. A few guys sit at the other set of desks. They are the ones who teach new recruits about profiling and data entry regarding statistics related to violent crime. They've got final reports due soon as the year is ending, before all the UCR and NCVS data comes in. Those guys do nothing but talk to people. I don't.
"Overtime," I tell him, even if I don't think I've actually asked for any this year. And, I've just kicked over to salary so I don't think it really matters. The pay increase already feels crazy. I've got vacation time now, not that I'd be able to use it until the summer with how busy I am.
"You've used eye drops twice a day for the past week," Dr. Reid says. "Whenever anyone passes you a paper you push it away from your face so you can squint and read it. Prolonged exposure to blue light can cause serious-"
I save the document and exit out of the application. Then, I power down the computer, turning in my chair to face him.
"Happy, Dr. Reid?"
He rocks on his feet, expectantly. I stand up and grab my coat from the coat rack. It's warm for November. Most people are content to wear thick sweaters, but my light green blouse is too thin for even the softest of breezes. Once it's on, I gather the rest of my things and leave. Reid and I walk over to the elevator together.
"Do you and Estelle have plans tonight?" he asks.
I almost laugh. Estelle isn't here. She left a note for me this morning saying she'd be gone this weekend. She's been doing conferences once a month and has gone hunting for cryptids at least one other weekend. She's not anywhere near ready to defend her dissertation yet, but she says it's good practice. I don't deny it. The cryptid hunting is the only way I think she can tear herself away from the work. Besides, even if she as around, I'd be cracking out this work.
"Suddenly, I'm free."
Reid shoves his hands in his pockets, "want to grab dinner?"
I shrug. Might as well.
We leave the building, but neither of us knows where to eat. He seems like a picky eater, although I haven't actually seen him be all that discerning when it comes to food. Well, he has trouble eating with chopsticks. We end up agreeing to some pizza place only a few blocks away. I follow him along the sidewalk. He's particularly chatty tonight, and honestly my brain usually buzzes after work. I enjoy the commute. Quiet is nice. There is a certain rhythm to the way that he speaks though, and even if his voice seems dry, it might be better than the silence.
He's talking about Rossi. I can't believe he works in an office just a little bit away from us. Gideon had one this whole time, but he worked in the bullpen half the time, probably just to complain about how loud I type.
"It's crazy," I agree.
"Well, it makes perfect sense that he's back, in a strange sort of way."
"I meant it's crazy that we're working with him," I smile, then try not to laugh. "At least, it's crazy that I am. I suppose it's not crazy for you and your three unnecessary PhDs."
"Only two of them were superfluous, really."
I laugh. Reid joins me. It feels nice, the cold air in my hair. Now that the sun is setting, cresting over the river we can't see past the tall buildings and narrow alleyways, it's really picking up a chill. I huddle next to him once we get in the pizza restaurant so that I'm out of the way of the door. He doesn't seem to mind, but I watch just in case, since he's a bit of a germaphobe.
"Did you end up applying to the PhD program here?"
I shake my head. My shoulders are scrunched up to my neck, trying to keep the exposed skin warm. He's got a scarf, but I don't.
"I don't know exactly how committed I am to working here for the next seven years," I admit. It feels weird saying it to him, a co-worker.
Reid grabs his pizza off the counter. I grab mine. There's only one table still available, next to the window, and the table is so small I'm sure his long legs will press up against mine beneath it. Still, we walk over to it. With our pizza slices, we curl up together beneath the window. The air is coming through, weak sealing on the window frame. I let my knees touch his, just to steal some warmth.
"I thought you were starting to feel better, after our last trip," he pulls hand sanitizer out of his bag. He offers me some before himself.
After I nod, he pours the sanitizer into my hands. I rub them together, the alcoholic smell stinging my nose. The skin on my knuckles is chapped and my hands burn.
"Yeah, it's fine," I tell him. "I just haven't lived anywhere for longer than a year since I was a teenager. In undergrad, I moved every year trying to find better roommates. I mean, I'm not sure DC is the place for me." I grab the pizza, about to take a bite. "Do you like it here?"
He furrows his brow. I wonder if he is thinking of every memory he has in DC over all the years he has been here. His mind astounds me.
"It's nice enough," Reid offers. "I think once you spend time anywhere for too long, it starts to feel dull."
He's probably right. Québec winters are wonderful but too cold. After a while, the rain and the stone buildings in London make the entire world feel grey. I paid more in rent in Melbourne than I do here, and I pay too much here as it is. The reality isn't just mine. Stéphane can't pick a job or a hobby or a park to live in to save his own life. Bastien rotates through dates like any proper twenty-one-year-old man. Caro won't ever change anything, and maybe she's the happiest out of us all. She's frozen, like she's still stuck in a snowstorm in Québec. And me, well, I'll never be satisfied.
"Everything gets boring over time," I tell him.
"I don't think so," Reid pauses for a second. "I mean, profiling doesn't get old. At least, it doesn't for me."
"Your brain works differently," I brush him off. "You can read a book in ten minutes. Most people our age are lucky to read a book per month with the responsibilities of life. Nothing gets old for you because you can experience anything you want in the blink of an eye."
Reid grins but shakes his head, "I feel like it's the opposite. I never forget anything, so nothing feels entirely new."
His phone rings. I take the first bite of my pizza as he pulls it out of his pocket. He introduces himself on the line and then doesn't speak. His face drops. He looks at me, and then back down at his plate.
"You don't need to call Cole," Reid says into the line. I peer at his face. "Yeah, it's fine. You're busy enough as it is. I'll be there as soon as I can."
He hangs up the phone. As he does, he stands up. He grabs the pizza and takes a bite while he stands. I move as quickly as I can. I don't know what it is, but something is wrong. This doesn't feel like a standard call-in for a flight out. I wait for a response.
I don't think I've ever heard Reid say my first name before. It slipped from his lips so easily just now.
"What's happened?" I ask.
Reid pulls out his phone. I watch as he scans through the contacts, clicking through them.
"I'm calling us a taxi," he explains. "We've got to meet the others at the hospital. Garcia's been shot."
~~~~~
I don't know that I really like this. But, it's out for you all, so do enjoy it!