CLANDESTINE : Spencer Reid

19

Morgan gives me props for going in, but Reid doesn't speak to me. Actually, on the entire way back to the hotel to grab our things, he doesn't say anything. Everyone else who didn't attend the scene is already there. It wouldn't be so awkward if Reid and I weren't in the back together, and if Morgan didn't congratulate me for pulling out my gun for the first time and not choking. Hotch even said something in the cat. Reid's silence feels almost pointed. Maybe he's still pissed from our last conversation yesterday. I didn't think he'd be so insulted by an observation. After all, he's proficient in the art of accidentally insulting people by observing them.

When we get back to the hotel, we even mostly ride the elevator in silence. I walk into my room. During my stay, I made sure to keep my bag as packed as I possibly could. Still, I take my time, since being stuck on an airplane seems quite awful. Brushing my teeth, changing my clothes, washing my face and my armpits so at least I won't reek like the sprint I did just an hour ago. We aren't going to get back until the early hours of the morning. We won't have to contend with jetlag. The paperwork that awaits us back in DC seems terrible, and I'm going to have to help since I was there, and I was the first on the scene. Truly, fieldwork isn't something I am keen to try again. Let's hope there are no cases that come up where my French skills might actually be of use.

Knowing that delaying the ride won't actually get me to bed sooner, I finally leave my hotel. Reid stands in the hallway, his back to me while he leans against the hall waiting for the elevator. It dings while I'm still approaching, and it starts to close. I barely stick my foot in to catch it before it leaves without me. Then, I shuffle in beside him and we are trapped together.

It's my own doing, but I'd rather be trapped in the elevator with him now than on the long flight that awaits us.

He doesn't speak. We are on the twelfth floor. Eleventh. Tenth. Ninth.

"I think I preferred when you insulted me," I say. "I'm not a psychic or a profiler, you know."

"I don't think you actually want me to say what's on my mind."

My body flinches before I do. The sound of what I thought was a gun just a few hours ago didn't scare me half as much. Reid is always smiling, or at least perplexed. Something is deeply wrong. I'm not even sure if it's something I've done.

Sixth. Fifth. Fourth.

"I regularly get cursed out in multiple languages," I roll my eyes, recovering. "I know nearly twice as many ways to be insulted as you do. You aren't going to surprise me."

The elevator doors ding open. We head outside. We only got one rental car for our time here, and it seems they have left because Reid pulls out his phone and calls a cab. What a fun Mardi Gras vacation it's been. On a night like tonight and at a time like this, I don't fancy our odds of getting a cab soon. I put my bag down on the bench in front of our hotel and sit down. Reid finally gets off the phone. He shoves his phone in his pocket, still facing the road.

As much as he annoys me when he speaks, his quiet demeanour right now is somehow worse.

"Look, I didn't intend to upset you when I said you looked sick yesterday."

He turns to look at me, staring.

I look at him, blinking back. He isn't going to speak, "would you please just-"

"You don't even know?" he asks. "You were a Rhodes scholar. Two masters degrees, a good enough training score at Quantico to get you into one of the most exclusive divisions of the Bureau, and you think... No, you didn't think not to bust down a door by yourself!"