COVERT : Spencer Reid (II)

24

My mother used to call into her job and tell her boss she couldn't come in because one of our children was sick. It drove my father mad. He insisted pulling us into her lies would enrage God, and we would fall ill as a consequence. Maybe that explains why we are the way we are.

Of course, I am my mother's daughter even though I despise it. My lie, that I have plans with Spencer, becomes real not ten minutes later, when I am changing out of my work clothes into the only pair of sweatpants I own and he asks if he could see me.

"It's almost nine," I tell him.

"You don't have to," he says through the phone. "We don't have work tomorrow. You could come around to my place, if you'd like. Not that I don't like Rachel and Estelle, but I'm really tired."

My head hurts at their names. Maybe I'm done with their fight, but if I know Estelle she is going to pound on my door in thirty minutes and demand to know why I didn't say anything to Rachel earlier.

"Okay," I agree. "But I'm not taking the bus."

"I'm about ten minutes from yours," he says. "I went to grab some groceries after we landed."

There isn't a lot of time. Instead of putting on nicer clothes, I strip into a sweater I've been wearing while we do renovations. Paint licks the sleeves. I shift out of my jewelry and braid back my hair. In trainers, I wait in the parking lot. The shred of dignity I maintain is a needle in my back, forcing my body upright to prevent me from curling into a ball in the snow. I exhale stress, thick and white. Or it's just cold outside.

When Reid gets here, I waste no time getting into his car. He leans over and kisses my cheek, hand tight on the stick shift, "you okay?"

"I'm just exhausted," I explain. "I'm going into work tomorrow."

Reid starts to pull back onto the road. I let myself relax into the seat. It's daring, but I lean across the console and touch his arm, just gently. He smiles so softly.

"It'll be Saturday," he swallows the words.

I groan, leaning back in my chair, "I know. Hotch will be in anyway. Prentiss mentioned she's going in too."

"While I appreciate Hotch as our leader, I don't think I would recommend learning from his work-life balance," Reid points out. "Hotch wants you out in the field more this year. Did he at all mention needing you to increase your productivity?"

I groan, "must you always be right?"

"I'm not always right but I am usually knowledgeable."

My face can't pin down my smile. It takes over my face.

We wind up back at his place and keep things quiet. I play chess against him, and we both know I'm rotten. He's been teaching me new defenses, but obviously I'm no match for him. Spencer says he's already had dinner, but he offers me a glass of wine.

While he gets it from the kitchen, I sit on the floor of his living room. He owns this condo too, not outright like me, but he has no roommates. The space is entirely his. The bookshelves on the walls are filled with different books. Some fraying older collectors' volumes, others looked untouched. When you can read a book in ten minutes, it takes effort to make them look worn in. None of the trinkets he has look as new. There are some collectors' memorabilia from the show he and Garcia like, and an old microscope and some other scientific things. There isn't a single photo up. It's a cold older place, with dark green walls and brown flooring. It really feels like his home.