COVERT : Spencer Reid (II)

17

That night, drooped from the events of the day, I change my pajamas quickly after brushing my teeth and I crawl into bed. The sheets feel tight and the air spoiled. Even with the central heating on, the whole condo feels freezing. Somehow.

Even though it is the warmest December I have ever experienced. Well, not accurate. I lived in Australia. Correction: it is the warmest December I've experienced in this hemisphere. Warmer than London's winter, which was mild despite what every British person insisted.

I'm too tired to think about traveling, or Christmases alone without my siblings. This must be better. I've decided it. This hot holiday where I steam and sweat in my condo

Estelle insisted on putting all the food away herself. I think she was shocked I hugged her as tightly as I did and whispered thank you in her ear. She wasn't alone though. When I came out of the bathroom, I heard Bastien's voice in the kitchen. Speaking hushed in French, and he was eating from a plate. I could see the steam rising from the food. Estelle seemed happy. Though I wanted to interrupt, I didn't. All the exhaustion slammed into me before I hit the mattress.

The door opens, light slipping into the room, thin and sharp like a sliver. I turn my head to look back as Spencer slides in the room. He shuts the door softly behind him. A wince already on his face, I know I must look as exhausted as I feel.

The bed is big enough for both of us, even though he is so tall. His feet might hang off the edge, but I don't give myself the time to worry about it. Instead, I squeeze over toward the wall so that Spencer can climb onto the bed. I'd rather be the one on the outside, but it feels rude to get up and force him against the wall. He lifts the sheets, climbing in. I'm still on top of them, not even having thought to move the quilt before collapsing on the bed.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks.

I turn my head to look at him, chest against the bed still. He brushes hair out of my face, lying on his side to look at me. My face is smushed against the pillow beneath me, so it is hard to smile.

"Yes," I tell him. "Now that everyone else has quieted down, I'm okay too."

Spencer leans forward. He leans close, planting a kiss on my cheekbone, the spot on my face which mirrors where Bastien punched him.

"You seem a little stressed, I guess," he mumbles the words against my skin. "I just wanted to check in and make sure. The whole night was a lot to deal with, I'm sure."

He lies back down next to me. The mattress groans under his weight. It's just as unfamiliar with sharing space as I am. Only after a minute passes do I turn as well, daring the mattress's strength. I lie on my back and close my eyes, ignoring the feeling of Spencer looking at me. His hand takes mine, skin so deeply cold. He was warmer on new Year's Eve, with the balcony's metal pressed on our forearms and his shadow blocking the blue light from JJ's party. It's warmer today. Neither of us move, but the mattress groans again.

He falls asleep before I do. The change in his breathing is the first thing I notice. It hadn't seemed off when he was awake, but now it is thicker, heavier, and I wonder if he had been holding it in before, pocketing air in his thin cheeks. At this time of night, still awake, I might attempt to go to the kitchen, or stand on my own balcony. Pretending to sleep only leaves me more restless and exhausted, stressing that I must sleep or all the things I want to accomplish tomorrow will be failed. Trying is futile.

Sleep must come for me though, because I wake. Startled, awake, without Spencer's hand in mine and lying on my side. My bedroom door shuts softly. I screw my eyes shut tighter, blocking out the thin stream of light which enters. I must have woke when the mattress groaned as he slipped out. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I can catch a few extra minutes of sleep.