CLANDESTINE : Spencer Reid

39

On Monday, everything is fine.

No one knows Reid came over. When Morgan makes a joke about the hotel, Reid shakes his head, sipping coffee. He doesn't tell them I invited him over, and honestly, I'm glad he didn't. They are all profilers. They'd figure out something was up. Maybe Garcia would actually try to look into me like she's joked about doing before. The people here seem to respect each other's privacy but they still all make me nervous.

Stéphane is at the apartment when I'm back Monday evening. He was waiting at the counter while Estelle cooked. He sees me and stands up. Stéphane hurries over to me, wrapping me up in a hug before I've even put down my work bag.

"I'm sorry," Stéphane whispers. "I didn't know how to tell you."

I struggle out of his grip, but he doesn't let me go. He's even bigger now, burlier. In the winter there aren't as many forest fires, but he's the bulkiest he's ever been. I try to pull again and he squeezes, and I laugh.

"Knock it off," I roll my eyes. "We aren't kids anymore. You can't bully me like this!"

"Say uncle!" he cries out.

I elbow him in the chest and he pulls away, wincing dramatically. I finally let go, crossing my arms over my chest.

"How are you?" I ask. "You seem... you seem okay."

Stéphane nods. I lead him back to my bedroom away from Estelle who stirs her cooking but is leaning away from the stovetop and toward us. We sit on my bed beside each other. When the door shuts, her music is inaudible. I wonder if she turned it down to try and catch a glimpse. If it weren't so undignified, I could imagine Estelle pressing her ear up against the door and cursing the air which clangs in the ducts, heating my bedroom.

"Luc messaged me on Facebook," Stéphane says. "He told me he was the one who told you. You seemed fine, he said?"

I don't have a Facebook account. It hadn't occurred to me that they could still be in contact.

"Not his business or place," I roll my eyes. "Isn't there some confidentiality law he's violating by doing that?"

"We were on the same hockey team," Stéphane points out. As if I don't remember or as if that means laws don't apply. "You seemed okay, he said?"

I nod. The rest of the weekend was fine. Reid and I cohabitated well, I suppose. He ended up grabbing a cheap chess game in the afternoon, and we played Saturday evening as well. On Sunday, we went for a walk even though it was freezing cold, and I helped him move his stuff back into his apartment. The floor is dry at least, and the carpet must be new even if it looks stained already.

"Yeah," I look over at him. "I didn't... you've been going to parole hearings all these years?"

Stéphane nods.

He was Stéphane's friend. His best friend actually. While Stéphane and Luc were friends tangentially, they weren't as close. I mean, I was much closer with Luc. In our rural Québec home, the options were slim for people to know, and being the same age as Stéphane, our circles ran close. There were very few people Stéphane could have become close with altogether, and I remember when things were easy and we fought about having the same friends. Unfortunately, Stéphane was close with him, when I was never.

"Don't tell Caro," Stéphane says. "She's already stressed out about the wedding, and..."

I nod. He doesn't need to ask me. It hadn't even crossed my mind.

"Does Seb know?" I ask.

Stéphane nods again.

I try not to think about Seb. He's the same person as Bastien, obviously, but the idea of Bastien feels more digestible. The adult brother I came back to meet again. Not the child who didn't understand what was happening, why we changed our names and moved countries. Why Stéphane had nightmares for months, dragging himself to the breakfast table with dried tears on his face, nights without screams just quiet sobs. Why I still have nightmares sometimes, though rarely.