CLANDESTINE : Spencer Reid

53

We wrap up soon after, and since Stéphane is not in much of a state, I'm the one who drives home. He naps in the car beside me. He'll have to take over once we get to my place, but I have half a mind to just drive around the country for an extra hour so he can get more rest.

He wakes up before we get back. We're only a twenty minutes drive from mine though. He doesn't speak to me, just sends out a few texts. Only when we are a few blocks away does he turn to look at me.

"You fucked it up, then?"

I don't take my eyes off the road, "I'm not sure what you mean?"

"With Spencer?"

The light turns yellow. I probably could make it through the intersection, but I break. The car slows, thankfully. I was worried I'd rush through, that I wouldn't be able to stop. The car comes still. I can hear it idling over the radio.

"You don't want to talk about it?"

"It's Caro's wedding," I tell him. "About her, not me."

"So, you did fuck it up."

I huff out a sigh, shaking my head. The light turns green, and for a second, I wait. There isn't anyone behind me, and I just take that second before I put my foot on the gas.

"Yeah, I did."

"Cole..."

"I know," I agree with him.

He doesn't say anything back. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel.

"Just, I'm not ready," I tell him. "I haven't even told Estelle."

"You're stuck," he answers. Already, I know my face is going to turn red. "I thought when you came back here you were finally able to talk about it. Maybe you move all the time, but you are stuck in the same pattern. It's hard to help you when you are like that."

"It's hard to help you when you don't tell me it bothers you too," I whisper to him. We are only a few blocks from my building. "You know, like Caro said. You have panic attacks?"

He nods, "yeah. I was in therapy last year. It got so bad that I was on leave from my job. I couldn't... last May when you called me about your coworker, and I found you by the dumpster, I had six panic attacks that week. Two before you called me. One in your bathroom."

I remember him in there. I didn't go check. I close my eyes.

"I'm sorry," I tell him. "I know it happened to you too."

"I'm the only one who noticed," he whispers.

We aren't at my building yet, but I see a spot and park the car. I turn to look at my brother, younger than me by minutes but much taller and broader. He has taken off the sunglasses, and he's wiping away tears.

"Maman didn't notice you didn't come home that night. You weren't at dinner, but I thought you'd be back later. You weren't there in the morning though, when I got up for hockey practice," he said. "And I just kept thinking, if I had said something the night before, after dinner. If I had knocked on your door..."

I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean over and hug him. I can feel him shaking.

"That night I was just happy you weren't banging on my wall telling me to quit playing the sax," he manages. "I was happy you weren't there. I was too busy with my own hobbies to notice you never ended up coming home."