CLANDESTINE : Spencer Reid

43

"You've got to be kidding me," I say, looking up at the building.

It's a dance class studio. Through the fog outside the cab, I hadn't really thought much about where we are going. I had assumed it was a men's clothing store or something of that sort. Etched on the glass is a logo with a couple dancing and the phrase Ragtimes to Riches. I look over at him, cocking an eyebrow.

"Ragtime?" I look over at him, my brow furrowed.

He shakes his head, "it's just the name of the studio. I haven't been learning ragtime."

I'm surprised he's found the time. There haven't been too many active cases lately, certainly not ones that have necessitated travel, but classes.

"How long have you been going?" I ask, staring up at the building.

He shrugs, "weekly since you invited me to the wedding. I know I can't dance, and I figured you would prefer I didn't embarrass you."

"I'm worried you're going to embarrass me for entirely different reasons," I bite back my grin.

Reid looks over and then he laughs, "come on."

So, I follow him inside the building. He leads me up a set of stairs to the studio. We check in at reception and hang up our coats. Reid bought shoes for both of us to change into. I stare down at them, before looking up at him.

"How do you know my shoe size?" I ask.

"Six months ago, Garcia and you were talking about shoes and you said it was easier to find shoes in your size since you're feet are a size seven," he explains. "Her feet were a ten."

I barely even remember the conversation. Still, I put on the little black shoes. They've got a slight heel, but they aren't anything flattering. I had my wedding shoes picked out by Caro so very long ago. Soon enough, we are ready to go.

Once we are in the room, the instructor leads us through a stretch. I try to concentrate on her, and not how Reid stretches out with ease. It still looks clumsy. Really, I can't picture Reid looking anything but a bit awkward. He catches my eye and smiles at me. I take a deep breath in, hoping the flush just looks like it's from the movement of my body.

Then, we move to the bars and she teaches us a few steps but soon enough I've got the hang of it. Reid seems to know what he's doing. I can see how he thinks on his face though. How his eyebrows and nose both scrunch every four bars or whenever we have to switch steps. It's the smallest of reflexes.

It goes by too quickly, because soon enough we are paired together. There's no escaping it now. I face Reid. He reaches his hands out.

I slide my hands into his. His skin is firm. It's much more callused than I'd expect from a month without much fieldwork at all.

"I thought I had cooties," I smile.

He shakes his head, "I can always wash my hand after."

"You certainly know how to woo a woman."

The colour leaves his face, but then I laugh. He chuckles a bit, nervously. His free hand reaches up and scratches the back of his neck. The dance instructor calls out instructions, and he moves it quickly, grabbing my waist and pulling me in to the proper position. I feel myself stiffen, all the way from the base of my spine up to my neck. I wouldn't say I'm average in most regards, but I'm about the average height for a woman and so he has half a foot on me.