CLANDESTINE : Spencer Reid

44

For the rest of April, it is foggy. The rain is dreadful, pouring and pouring at all hours for weeks on end. I'm sure there are breaks, but I don't notice them. I'm so busy preparing my second bi-annual report. Practically no one is in the office for the entire month. Even through May, it seems like they are always whisked away on a case. We managed to squish in time for my presentation in the morning and then they are called to jet out in the afternoon.

And worst of all, it's May. Again. And I just want to be lying in bed and not here.

When I pull up to his place early Friday afternoon, I turn up the music in the rental car. We've got five hours of driving to do tonight round trip just for the rehearsal dinner. My brain is too loud. I have half the mind to turn off my phone just so I don't think about the acceptance email from Georgetown sitting alone in my inbox. I try not to think of what excuse Reid gave to have this weekend off, especially with so many calls happening in the last two months. I also try not to think about how I haven't had the chance to tell Reid about the plan I've roped him into.

I dig my fingers into the steering wheel.

Someone knocks on the passenger window. I flinch. Of course, it's only Reid. He smiles at me before pointing down to the lock. My fingers find the locking mechanism in the door before my brain can really catch up. This is it. We're going now.

"Hey," I smile at him.

He smiles back, climbing in the car. I'm grateful the car has air conditioning, which I turned on before I even pull out of the parking spot. Already, it's warming up in here. It's already warm for May, summer rearing its ugly scorched head earlier this year. I have a cardigan in the backseat that I'm planning on wearing since it's only going to get colder as the evening goes on.

"How have you been?" he asks. "It's been a while since we talked. Have you kept practicing dancing?"

I nod my head. While I didn't go to the studio again without him, I'd practice the moves in my apartment at least twice a week. Once, Estelle caught me and I didn't hear the end of it all week.

"Everything's ready," I tell him. "All the stuff is already packed for tomorrow, so I'll just swing by to pick you up at around seven, if that's all right. You'll have to find some way to entertain yourself before the ceremony starts. Stéphane and Bastien will have dates there that you can chat with. Although, I don't know if Mylène speaks English, honestly."

"I can bring a few books," he offers. "If it's okay, I'd appreciate you leaving the car keys with me. That way, I can read them more discreetly."

"Haven't you done enough reading on all the flights this month?" I ask, a smile playing at my lips.

He sighs, so deep and low. I watch as signs pass us by. It might have been years since I last drove. Probably the last time I drove was when my father died. For some reason, I'm worried the breaks aren't going to work. As if I'm going to push them and they are going to slow me down, but not quick enough. I'm worried I'm going to blow through stop signs, only able to honk my horn as I blast through intersections toward oncoming traffic. It feels contradictory, to be in here. I'm inherently a passenger.

Passengers shouldn't be given keys.

"When does dinner start?" he asks.

"We're supposed to be there, parked and settled at six," I bite my bottom lip. "So, we should get there on time. I'm more worried about getting home. Since the rehearsal is earlier, I'm hoping we can leave by eight at the latest, but we could eventually be looking at something more like ten if we are unlucky."

As I merge onto the highway, my heart begins to race. It accelerates, forty-five miles, fifty, fifty-five. Counting up, somehow, is scarier than counting down.