COVERT : Spencer Reid (II)

29

Reid bought me pajamas. Theoretically. He bought me a pair and he bought himself some that he's going to leave here for when he wants to come over. He carved out space for some emergency clothing in one of his drawers, my own personal go-bag at his. Well, a stay-drawer. An offer, a promise.

He bought me the shampoo that I like, and he bought me my own mug. The feminine products were already there, but now he's bought a puzzle table so we can do them at his too and not just chess. Puzzles are easy for him, so he's bought some that can be moved around, with wonky shapes, and we've planned a date where he can only move the pieces while blindfolded so that we have a fair playing field.

And God, I don't think I love him. I don't even think I want to love him. I need to. I need him to be mine, full body and soul, every part of him down to the hair that desperately needs a trim to his short fingernails. Every single unfinished sentence and every one he's already spoken. All of it.

Of course, that isn't healthy. I say as much in therapy. No conclusions exactly are met. I don't know why I feel the need to claim him as my land. I am an explorer, not a conqueror, but for some reason it feels like there is a flagpole in my hand. Mary has her questions. They are suggestions or statements really. I think she needs therapy to figure out why she can't just claim anything, but has to do it in the most passive of ways.

Oh, and we take up the homework. For the first time in my life, I get a failing grade. It's abysmal.

"I want you, this week, to tell someone something personal," she says. "Think of it as exposure therapy."

"I don't have a fear-related disorder," I point out.

Mary doesn't speak. She pushes her glasses slightly up her nose.

I'm wearing mine too. They've become more of a constant on my face. I've gotten some compliments from Estelle, but man do I hate how they look. Somehow, it makes me more nerdish. And I like fashion, but I can't seem to style these. It makes me feel old, like I should have them on a chain around my neck.

Mary has a chain.

"I would like if you can try," she says. "Tell one of your roommates, or perhaps a sibling, something they don't know but that has meaning to you. Another idea would be telling your partner that you are in therapy. How does that sound?"

"Like I'm going to fail therapy once again."

"Do you think you are failing me?"

At least in school there was a bell that could save me. Theoretically.

On my way into work the next day, get a text I'm not expecting.

Stéphane: U free for lunch?

I reply quickly, leaning against the metal pole on the subway to balance myself.

Cole: Are you in town?
Stéphane: Yes
Stéphane: Are u free?
Cole: Yes. I can do lunch. I know a place near my work.
Stéphane: Ill meet u at ur office
Cole: It's the FBI. You can't just walk in.
Stéphane: Challenge accepted

Doesn't reply after that, even when I spam him thrice in a row. I cancel my lunch plans with Spencer via sticky note. He shoves it deep into his briefcase after he reads it. Honestly, I'd prefer he eat it to eliminate the evidence, but I can be accommodating.

"How are things with your lady friend?" Morgan grins, leaning across my desk to talk to Reid.

He bumps into my picture frame. I roll my eyes.