Like most seasoned travellers, planes don't bother me as much as they bother most people. Flying still does make me antsy, somehow more on this private flight. With my hair pressed against the headrest on and my fingers digging into the armrests, I close my eyes and try to sleep. The others move around without care. All I can think about is how if we hit turbulence, there aren't flight attendants to help us. The fear is irrational, and perhaps even idiotic. I've flown on a plane at least two dozen times, possibly more, and somehow I'm still the least experienced flyer here.

"Sleeping now so you can stay all night," Morgan's voice is so thick it's easily recognizable even in my tense and groggy state.

I peek up at him, not moving out of my reclined position, "I need to be rested if I'm going to engage in a hedonistic lifestyle before Lent."

"Are you giving up being bitchy this year?" Morgan winks.

With a head shake, a difficult action given how stiff my shoulders have become, I close my eyes. At least his joke distracted me for a second, and by the time I'm all worked up again we are landing, which really works me up since I'm not sure how smooth our trip will be without flight attendants.

We are in New Orleans in less than three hours, so I don't get all that much of a wink. By the time we are off the plane and have brought ourselves to our hotel, it is well past nine. Honestly, disembarking was so relaxing I feel like I don't need to sleep. There was no one pressed up against my back trying to muscle their way out of the plane, no luggage thrown around in the overhead compartments, and no long lines where I'm watching for my bright blue suitcase. It was always dirty from airport travel but at least I didn't have to worry about missing it on luggage rotation, or someone else mistakenly grabbing it.

Cities don't sleep, but apparently, our contact does because we are told to regroup in the morning. The hotel amenities are nicer than I was ever expecting. Government budgets pay better than the bank account of poor international students anyway. Estelle and I shared hostels in the Netherlands rather than shill out for a nice hotel. In this place, I have my own king bed and a continental breakfast. Though the plane wasn't relaxing, this hotel feels like my very own personal resort.

Usually, cases don't last longer than three days, maybe a week at most. If Estelle weren't off in her weekend paradise, I'd let her know not to expect me home for a while. Roommate courtesy, since we switch out duties every week and mine won't be taken care of. In the private sanctity of my room, I distract myself by thinking of my apartment rather than the flight. I feel like I left a pan soaking but I can't actually remember. Estelle won't be happy to come home to see it. I'll text her around the time Stéphane is planning to drive her back, provided I'm still here.

When the morning rolls around, I am up early. I'm half-expecting to see most if not all of them in the continental breakfast room, but only Reid is there. I put a few items on my plate and pour myself a coffee. He seems distracted when I sit down across from him.

"What time are we leaving?" I ask.

He checks his watch, "ten minutes. I've called a cab."

Thankful I grabbed little more than a muffin and a banana; I try to scarf it down quickly. The coffee is more of a challenge since it is so hot. While I eat, Reid lets me know the others went out for breakfast since the continental here isn't that great, and they'll be off in teams. I'm going to be at the precinct with Morgan, while everyone else moves about town. At least, that is the plan for the morning.

Then, we file into a taxi. The driver is chatty, and I try to play along while Reid is sullen and quiet. He doesn't look any better today than yesterday. A song comes on the radio and the driver turns it up.

"You know the song?" Reid whispers.

I look over at him, my fingers curling. I hadn't realized I was tapping them, ever so quietly, on the passenger's seat in front of me. My head nods slowly.

"It's a pretty popular jazz song," I explain.

Reid looks at me, some specific way I'm sure a profiler would be able to decipher but I can't.

"My brother played in the jazz band in high school," I explain. "Bari sax."

Stéphane was great. I'm downplaying it truthfully, but he was very good. Really, my brother was always good at picking something up and doing it well before dropping it. When he was younger, he did soccer, hockey, and speed skating. He started a composting club at our private school and abandoned it within the year. Then it was watching out for fires, then saving the forest from them, and now it's a biology degree. In six months, I'm sure it'll be something entirely new and different. I went to his soccer games when I was forced, I attended two of his composting meetings before I couldn't take it anymore, but I went to every jazz concert I could. That he did for four full years. He was so very good.

The only other thing that I attended was his hockey games. Even though they were cold, and there was ice in the air. I wasn't paying as much attention to him as I should have been there. The concerts were just his and his alone.

"Is he the one who had his birthday in the fall?" Reid asks, and I am brought back to the cab.

Reid was there when Morgan was teasing me about my hot date, which I explained was a cabin with my siblings. I hadn't realized he was listening. That's the sort of thing I should start paying attention to anyway.

"Yeah," I explain. "Two brothers. One sister."

Reid nods, "I'm an only child. One of my friends from back home is here. I haven't seen him since he dropped out of Quantico."

"Maybe you'll have the chance to catch up in the next few days," I shrug.

Reid doesn't answer. He seems pretty absent-minded.

Soon enough, we separate. I go to the precinct while he goes to the morgue. Once I'm there, Morgan walks me through everything. We set up and talk to some of the officers nearby. My French, of course, is not of any use, but at least I am here. Saturday goes by with mostly no hang-ups, and nothing much happens until around dinner on Sunday.

Then, Reid's just as absent physically as he is mentally. Prentiss asks me if I know where he's gone, since Reid is supposed to catch a flight with her and Morgan later. I've got no clue. After calling him a couple of times she leaves.

Maybe he ended up finding that friend of his. I don't pay it much attention. There isn't as much work for me to do here. Only two days in New Orleans and already I'm missing my desk. There isn't much to do but think about the team. A positive to the whole thing is that I know what's going on. At least, I know what's going on with everyone except Reid.

Also, one of the officers sees me doing work and I end up showing him and a bunch of his coworkers how to use a shortcut when updating their UCR data. That knowledge earns me a coffee from some local café the next morning instead of the shitty stuff in the precinct. It's a nice gift in the morning. Right when I sit down, I get a text from Estelle asking if I came home since last night.

Shit.

The phone rings twice before she answers.

"Sorry, FBI business. I should be home in a few days," I say so she can't pester me with questions first. "How was your trip?"

"You're on FBI business, I will bother you when you're home," she answers.

"Please, I could listen to you rave about it for hours with the cost of that guide alone," I point out. Someone taps my shoulder and I flinch. Prentiss looks at me with a furrowed brow. "I've got to go though, so later."

She says goodbye and I hand up.

"Another body," she tells me.

I look at her, waiting for her to elaborate. She gestures for me to follow her and I do. Reid is in tow with us and so is Morgan. We drive to the site in a rental car. Morgan's jaw is tighter set than usual but he doesn't say anything. If I had to guess, Reid didn't show up for them last night.

Then, we get down the alley. They flash their badges and I pull out mine, not as smoothly as they move theirs. I'm not used to having it ready. The gun in my belt feels holster feels awkward and heavy now that I'm moving around outside with it.

I can see where the body lies, with the numbers set up next to it. Morgan snaps his gloves onto his hands. I hang back, sipping my coffee. It's too sweet. My head swivels away. This is any other Monday for them. I've not actually seen a body outside of photographs before.

"Come closer, Bouchard," Morgan calls.

One step closer and I smell it. Death. My head spins and I lean over, puking in the alleyway. My hair is already up, but Prentiss helps hold it anyway.

"Send her back to the hotel," Gideon says.

Prentiss tries to stay by me, but Reid is the one who ends up getting shooed away by Morgan to accompany me in my illness. He seems really pissed. We wait at the end of an alley while Reid calls me a cab. I feel awfully stupid about the whole thing. He doesn't say anything while we wait. Maybe he's the kind of person who wants me to ask.

"Reid," I manage.

He glances at me. My heart feels like it's in my throat. I might puke.

"I can probably go back to the precinct," I answer. "I'll keep working there."

"You're sick," he says.

I can feel my face narrowing, staring in at him. His face is sweaty and still tinged yellow. There are dark circles under his eyes. More than that, his gaze feels hollow. He looks as bad as I felt on the plane.

"You're sick too."

A car honks. My taxi. Before either of us can acknowledge what I said, I hurry off to the cab.

~~~~~

I dig it. I dig it so hard. Let me know what you think in the comments! Any predictions, or anything in particular you've noticed? Feedback really helps motivate me to keep updates consistent and well edited, so I always like hearing from you.