CLANDESTINE : Spencer Reid

38

I wake up with a pounding headache, like I'm hungover. My alarm clock reveals the time, and it's far too late into the morning. I drag myself out of bed, practically rolling onto the floor. From there, I force myself to get dressed. I hurry into clothes and stumble out of the bathroom.

There's a note from Spencer on the counter.

Hey Cole,
Just ran out for a few minutes. I'll probably be back before you read this. Just in case, I'll buzz in when I need to get in. See you soon!
Spencer

My fingers trace the paper. The same lined stuff he used to make a chess board last night. I smile find myself smiling. There is time to get ready.

In the bathroom, I brush my teeth. When I do my hair, pulling it up into a ponytail behind my head, I spend too much time trying to pull out the perfect amount of fly aways. The jeans and pale green cardigan were easy to pick, but I find myself picking at every aspect of myself until the apartment door buzzes.

I rush out into the front room, letting Reid in. I didn't leave much of a mess last night, so I resolve to put on music to keep my hands idle. I get to the jazz station, and it makes me laugh. There is a knock on the door, and I head over to it, pulling it open.

"I left it open," I smile.

Then, my heart stops.

On the other side of the door, I don't see Reid. It's not him, back from whatever errand he was running before ten in the morning. At first, my eye scans the man's face before me. It rests on his jaw, the collar of his shirt, and it takes me a second to realize who is at the door.

"Luc?" I manage.

"Can I come in?" he speaks French, and I don't know if the language or the tone surprises me more.

All I do is stare at him. Blinking. Luc Levesque, on my doorstep. Twelve years older than the last time I saw him. I finally answer him in English, "what are you doing here?"

Luc Levesque is my age, somehow. I had never thought of us as young, back then. Every part of me has always felt this old, even though I do have a birthday every year. Only facing him do I realize how old I've gotten. He is clean shaven, even still a shadow on his cheeks. His black hair is tight and curly. His teeth are straight now, when they were a little crooked when we were younger. We were younger then.

He digs into his pocket, pulling out something, and when he flashes it at me, I recognize it. He's got the RCMP badge. Stéphane mentioned the job. It hadn't occurred to me then that Stéphane's knowledge would ever be important. They weren't really friends back then. Same hockey team, of course, but never as close as Luc and I. Obviously.

I step back in the doorway, letting him step inside.

"You're RCMP now?" I ask, pretending I'm unaware of it, or that I haven't mentioned it to coworkers.

He nods, starting to shrug off his coat. I close the door behind him, making my way to the counter. My hand finds the note from Reid, shoving it into my back pocket. I look at him, waiting, and he doesn't speak.

"I joined a couple of years ago," his French accent is thick and heavy, much more noticeable than mine. "Did my first few months for the government in CSIS before switching to RCMP. I just have a few formalities."

"I figured," I cross my arms.

Reid is going to be back soon. Did the FBI contact the RCMP? Has there been an issue with my background check?