COVERT : Spencer Reid (II)

37

At work, I'm halfway through the day, a quarter of the way through my paperwork when my voice rings. Estelle is calling.

She never calls.

"Hello?" I say into the phone.

"Bastien hit his head," her voice is winding, racing, and her rapid fire French is hard for me to parse. "An ambulance came. They're taking him to Medstar Georgetown. You have to go to the hospital."

"He hit his head?" I am up out of my chair, racing to get my coat on and hold the phone and contain myself. "What do you mean?"

"I was moping the kitchen floor, and he ran into the, I didn't know he was home, but then he slammed into the counter. Cole, there was so so much blood. And I don't I have to call Stéphane. Please, let me call him."

"Yes!" I snap. Half the bullpen spins to look at me. I lower my voice but I can feel it shaking. "Don't mention the alcohol. Or that he's been living with us. Let me handle all of that. I'm going to go to the hospital now. Was Bastien conscious?"

"Well, he was but then he passed out."

Shit. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"I'll call you with an update," my knees feel weak. I fumble to put the phone in my pocket.

My moron brother. I'm going to staple his head together just so that I can kill him personally. Then, I'll become Dr. Frankenstein so I can bring him back, just to kill him a second time.

Oh my God.

"Do you need a ride?" Prentiss asks.

Desperately, but her eyes are dripping with concern and she speaks French. I can't talk about what's happening in the car. She has a better idea than anyone else.

"I'll call a cab."

"Bouchard," Morgan stands up.

The whole team is standing around me. Spencer is too, across from me. He can't say more than hello and good-bye with proper French pronunciation. He knows me though. He knows me better than anyone else in this bullpen, and I can't talk about it. And he'll ask, just like he asked about Karien.

"Fine," I decide. "Morgan, can you take me to Georgetown's University Hospital?"

He grabs his keys and jacket and he's jogging to the elevator without even saying yes. I spare Spencer a final glance. All the colour has drained from his face. I can't let myself spare him a thought.

Morgan is quiet during the carried. Maybe he's only intolerable under most circumstances. He's not pestering me, or even asking who I need to meet at the hospital. Prentiss probably has some idea, the closest out of everyone in the bullpen. Well, other than Spencer, who's already accompanied me to the hospital a few times. Still, I wish she didn't speak French. At least Morgan doesn't. At least he's speeding on the way there, so focused on the road he cant' look at me.

Finally, Morgan parks the car, "I'm coming in with you."

"It's fine," I insist.

My hands are shaking though.

"Bouchard, I don't know what happened, but I'm not sending you up there alone."

My phone starts to ring. It's not worth a fight. We get out of the car. The phone number isn't saved in my contacts. It's not Stéphane, or Estelle. Or even Spencer.