CLANDESTINE : Spencer Reid

33

At the end of my annual presentation updating the team, we only have twenty minutes left in the day. I pour myself a coffee while the others go back to their computers. It's snowing out, beyond the windows, the first fall in the year. I'm sure no one else is actually working. They are probably sleuthing out whoever is their Secret Santa, or coordinating drinks and carpooling for JJ's New Year's Eve party.

Garcia steps in the room beside me. She's cheery once more, or at least appears that way. I'm not a profiler, but I think she's not actually completely coped and grappled with what happened to her. Someone attempted to murder her, but she goes on about her day sometimes like it didn't happen. Reid hasn't said it, but I notice how he was lost today while I talked about adult male kidnapping victims and the typology of the people who take them. It's typically for ransom, although sexual violence is another prevalent cause, if anyone was wondering. I don't think Reid was.

"That was really good," she smiles at me.

I take a sip from my coffee, leaning against the counter to look at her, "I should hope so. I've spent the better parts of two months throwing myself into it."

"You know, I'm not just saying that," she says, but of course I don't know it. It could go very poorly and Garcia would still have something positive to say about it. At the very least, she'd tell me that my royal blue work pants are flattering. "I think the team was impressed."

I shrug. I can't see the bullpen from here, and I've never been good at picturing things easily.

"Maybe," I shake my head. Then, I twist my head, "who do you think has you for Secret Santa?"

Garcia's lips curl up slightly, "now that you ask, you."

I laugh and she joins in.

Actually, I do have her. I was trying to play coy. Maybe I've passed it off well enough. I pride myself on giving good gifts. For Garcia, I made a cookbook filled with all of Estelle's recipes for soups, even if there aren't all that many. I've also made a bunch of sock monkeys for her that she can keep in her office, one to represent each person on the team. I think she'll get a kick out of that. It's been eating through commute, but I know Garcia, and I know she'll like the time I put in more than if I bought her something expensive.

I head back to my desk with my coffee and sit down. Everyone else clearly isn't working either. As the day ends, I begin to write my written reflection about the presentation. We are supposed to have our annual review in a few weeks. I didn't do one last year since I'd only been here a few weeks. It's mostly done, but now I add in the section about my first bi-annual report, and I'm actually feeling good.

"Bouchard," Morgan's voice says.

I look up just in time to feel a scarf thrown into my face. I pull it down, and Morgan is smiling. It's not his scarf though, it's Reid's. The clock reveals its five past the time our workday ends. Everyone has gathered in the bullpen and is staring at me.

"Come on, we're getting you drinks," Morgan says. I go to open my mouth and he cuts me off. "No protesting. I'll fireman carry you out of here if you try to refuse me."

"One of these days, you're going to be the reason I have to sit through a terribly long seminar on workplace harassment," I roll my eyes.

Prentiss laughs. Morgan chuckles too, shaking his head. Regardless, I do put on my coat and shut down my computer for the day. It looks like everyone is coming. Even Hotch and Rossi. The eight of us all squeeze into the elevator and we head out for the evening.