CLANDESTINE : Spencer Reid

11

I manage to get to JJ's flat just after half past ten. My finger finds her buzzer, only daring to dart out of my coat. It's frigid outside. My breath is thick in the air. I should have worn pants.

Someone, maybe JJ but maybe not, lets me in the building. I can hear music coming from behind multiple doors. When I find the number she gave me, I make myself knock before I can decide to turn around. Some other woman lets me in. She introduces herself as Amy.

There are easily about twenty people in here. She hangs up my coat in the closet and lets me know where the two bathrooms are. Then, I make my way through the people crowded around. The space is open concept, so I don't have trouble finding the dining room table with all the cups and the alcohol that the hosts have provided.

I haven't caught a glimpse of any of my co-workers. Maybe I can blend in and find them in an hour and then disappear into the crowd. If I'm lucky, I can make it home by midnight. Still, I grab a cup and put down the small bottle I brought with me. As I uncork it, I feel someone's shadow cast on me despite the little light in here.

"Honey-flavoured whisky?" Morgan reaches behind me and picks up the glass bottle, examining it. "You seemed more like a shots girl."

I roll my eyes. I'm beginning to get used to how the profilers manage to sneak up on me.

"What are you drinking?" I ask. "Aren't you a little old for shots?"

"You're never too old for shots," he says. "Also, I'm only thirty-three."

He grabs tequila off the table and pours two glasses. He passes one over to me, and the two of us cheers. Then, we do the shots. I let myself glance over his clothing. He is wearing a grey button-up and jeans. I think I'm dressed appropriately. The thought prickles in the back of my mind, mostly because I'm worried Reid will try to correct my dress.

"Take a picture," Morgan jokes, grimacing as the alcohol goes down.

I roll my eyes, "where is everyone else?"

"Spread around," he says. He leads me over to a corner of the room. "JJ's floating with some of her other friends, and Prentiss is only starting to mingle. Garcia and I are having a good time over here. Reid is trailing along."

I quickly bring the whisky up to my lips. It's a drink that is supposed to be enjoyed, but I force myself to down it. Then, I show the empty bottom to Morgan.

"I need more," I say. "Catch you later?"

"Man, I forgot what it was like before thirty," he shakes his head. "If I drank that much, I'd be hungover."

All I can do is shrug. He's six years older than me, but I've been going to bars for almost as long as him. The drinking age in Australia is eighteen so I went throughout my undergraduate degree hungover between lectures. As young as twelve I can remember Maman pouring me a glass of wine for dinner. I can hold my own better than one might expect looking at me.

So, I pour myself another drink and force myself to keep moving. I find Prentiss and make my way over to her. More people are filling in with every passing minute. I can hear the apartment buzzing. It's gone three times since I've gotten here. Now, we are pushing thirty people. Yet, I manage to get to Prentiss. She is chatting with a couple of women, and she introduces me to them. It's hard to chat with the music over our conversation. One of the women seems really drunk. I doubt she is even able to hear Prentiss.

"Yeah, I wouldn't do it again," Prentiss says, looking over at me. "Cole, do you have any tattoos?"

"No," I shake my head, then look at her, "you have tattoos?"