Wild Nights, Wild Nights || s.reid

27. I Years had been from Home

The next week and a half passed quickly as you and the rest of the BAU gathered whatever resources you could without alerting your unit chief or any of the other higher ups. Hotch, Prentiss, and Rossi cashed in favors with other divisions—a few agents in Tactical Operations and Anti-Trafficking had come on board the operation—and you had spent the entire time going over the layout of Victor's estate with Spencer and telling him any personal information he might need to know about you to sell your "to-be-wed" status at the gala. There hadn't been time to delve into all the unspoken tension between you; you'd shoved it to the side, and Spencer seemed fine enough to leave it alone for now.

And while briefing the rest of the team on the layout for Victor's estate just the previous day, Derek had laughed to himself with a shake of his head. "What kind of asshole needs that much?"

And though you still owned your family's home out on the beach in Southampton, a short twenty minute drive from Victor's estate, you couldn't help but agree. As a child, you hadn't realized the privilege that your family's wealth provided. Going through every square foot of Victor's estate now just made everything seem... ridiculous, in retrospect.

In response, Spencer had commented, "Well, he does live in Sagaponack. Despite only having a population of 322, Sagaponack has the most expensive zip code in the United States, rivaled only by Atherton, California. The Hamptons in general have historically been notorious for being a getaway for wealthy New Yorkers since it changed from being an agricultural and fishing community in the nineteenth—"

Derek had cut him off with, "It's hot real estate. Got it, Reid."

That had been when you took time aside with Spencer himself to go over blueprints.

Now, you were in your designated room at the motel you were all staying at in Hampton Bays, the night before the gala. Even inside the building, the salty ocean nearby infiltrated all your senses—both a welcome memory of the past and a foreboding cloud of what was to come.

The last time you'd been to the Hamptons was when you'd visited the cemetery. And even then, that was after fifteen years of hiding.

But you supposed you could hide no more.

You lied back on the motel bed, shutting your eyes as another wave of nausea hit. With every day closer to the thirty-first, you had felt increasingly sick, like your body itself was rejecting what you had to do. The idea of being back in that estate, having to be within close proximity to the Marseilles, having to interact with them again, pretending that you knew nothing of Victor's involvement in your family's murder—

You pressed the heel of your palms into your eyes, letting out a groan of frustration.

You and Spencer had gone through several potential outcomes, back up plans, and statistical probabilities of failure based on your understanding of Victor's character and habits. But you still hadn't interacted with any of them for so long.

All you really knew about any of them currently was that Alexander still had feelings for you. If Boucher telling you that a month ago wasn't confirmation itself, Alexander's phone call to you during New Year's was. You'd thought about ways to use that to your advantage if need be, but...

The thought made your gut rile again.

You blew out a heavy breath, dragging your hands down your face. You stole a glance at your wristwatch.

It was only 11pm. Hotch had told you all to get an early night's sleep. You were all to be awake and ready to go over plans and logistics tomorrow morning by 8am.

You'd already showered and gotten into your sleepwear for the night, but you didn't think you'd be sleeping at all, really.

And your mind wouldn't stop reeling through all of the worst case scenarios—Spencer getting caught in the study, or getting targeted by Boucher afterwards, or dyi—