COVERT : Spencer Reid (II)

31

I press my fingers against the pendant of the necklace, "I'm sorry, I just don't think it's a good time."

It's not what he wanted to hear, I'm guessing. We clean up after dinner, and I try to justify myself o him. Agents can date, but we wouldn't be able to be in the field together. They'd move me over to Strauss, and nobody wants to work for her, least of all me. While it's not certain, I like my job right now.

"I don't think you like your job," he says finally. We've just sat down to finish as much of the puzzle as we can and he's wearing his blindfold again. His fingers strum the puzzle pieces, playing them and me like a guitar. "You don't really believe in profiling, if you're honest."

I close my eyes, "I'm not going to deny that you do important work."

"But you have different work you'd rather do," Spencer picks up a piece and slots it into place. "You like the data collection and running statistical analyses. Maybe you should take up Estelle and apply to Georgetown."

Then, I remember that last month I applied to three PhD programmes. I should be hearing back soon enough about them. It makes me feel sick. All of them were far away, abroad, and I wouldn't take them. At least, I should consider Georgetown and a few others. Maybe I could do one near where Caro used to live, in case she and Cletus decide not to stay in Texas. At the very least, I can drag Bastien out of the city.

"I do like my job."

His head twists toward me, and if he weren't blindfolded, I would cover my face, as if there is some food left on it.

"It's okay that you don't," Spencer whispers.

I rub my eyes. Now, I don't want to talk anymore. I half-heartedly slot a few pieces into place, and eventually Spencer and I head to his bed. We lie next to each other. Stéphane has texted, suggested that sometime soon we get together. He asks if I've been in touch with Bastien and in capital letters he writes NOT CO-PARENTING. I just shut my phone off.

An hour passes, and another, and I'm not the least bit tired. My brain lags and I want to shut my eyes tightly, just close them and doze off somewhere else, somewhere much farther away from me than I am now. I want a plane even though, as Spencer has pointed out, I am terrified of flying, maybe even more than I am terrified of leaving again.

I check my phone. It's nearing one in the morning.

"We could just tell one of them, to ask for advice," Reid whispers.

"What advice?" I swallow. My mouth is dry. I didn't realize he was still awake. "We both know it's not forbidden, just not encouraged. I don't want to work with Strauss, and I can't afford to just up and quit and do a PhD."

"You could sell the condo," Reid whispers. "I know the market isn't great right now, but with your renovations you'd make money off it at least."

"It's not even the PhD fees," I point out. "I wouldn't have anywhere to live."

"You could live here."

I roll over to face him. He's looking at me, a gaze wet and wandering. And I know he means it; not some spur of the moment question to win an argument. An offer, an invitation, a vow. I could live here, and he'd let me. He's bought me a puzzle board and given me space for things in my drawer.

"We haven't been together that long."

Spencer blinks, "when you remember everything, time feels slower, I think. I wouldn't know for certain, but every second of you has been eternity. Agonizing, at first, when you hated me. Sometimes it still feels that way. Every time you avoid my eyes, it feels like all of infinity passes before you look at me again."