In May, Estelle's meals fill me. I don't even have the energy to get groceries in the second week. While my work on the seasonality of serial killings isn't all that conclusive, many other crimes do increase in the summer. It's mostly about opportunity rather than the psychological effect of the heat. Summers mean vacationing families and open windows. It's not quite summer yet, but it certainly doesn't feel much like spring before. I'm starting to think spring is a myth. There is summer, and there is fall, albeit only briefly, and then winter lasts forever. It snows one week and then people can open their pools the next.

The team is out for half the first week in May and then half the second. I'm left in the office alone repeatedly. Without coworkers to distract me, I should be getting more work done. From Morgan, who keeps leaning over to comment on the photos of my siblings and me and swooning over a different one each time, to Reid, who laughs and smiles more in one day than he did in the weeks after his abduction, my days in the office are hectic with them around. Alone though, I feel like I stare at my computer screen for hours. The text cursor pulse through the screen. My heartbeat pounds in my ears. My fingers graze the keys but do not press them.

On the second Monday of May, when I am in the bullpen alone, I get a phone call. It's Bastien, not work, so I ignore it. No one is around to tell me I shouldn't take the call. Jane Hillier and the other administrative assistants are behind a different door. Garcia is too. The Section Chief and the other stations in ViCAP are housed elsewhere.

I should be with ViCAP. As far as I understand, my position is located within the BAU to help them compile data after their trips and to navigate SPSS for the profilers. However, no one needs to ask for my help. Garcia is clever enough that she could access the statistics I can and probably just as quickly. It's all wrong.

At noon, Bastien calls again. I'm in the breakroom, the mug Reid bought for me in my hands. The coffee isn't helping my stomach ache. It's probably the frozen food. I haven't bought groceries this week.

I pick up the phone, "hey."

"What, too important now to answer my calls?" Bastien chuckles through the line.

"I'm working," I roll my eyes. I feel myself pause. "Aren't you on assignment?"

"They have me in DC for a few days," Bastien answers. "Want to grab dinner? I haven't seen the inside of your place yet either."

There's no use telling him that my lease came up last month and Estelle and I are considering a change in place. Now that the first year is up, we've switched to a month-to-month. We want somewhere a bit nicer. It'll mean we'll move further from her college, but she's more than happy to do so for an actual dining room table. We've already discussed plans where I will pay the difference in rent and she'll pick up the slack from cleaning. She already cooks for me enough anyway that I don't mind. My job this summer is supposed to be looking for a neighbourhood or building and sending in applications so Estelle can sign the lease through email. She trusts me to get the work done. She shouldn't.

"I'm pretty busy with work," I tell him.

"Oh come on, I'm in the country just this week," I can imagine his face. Bastien's phone held in place by his cheek and his shoulder pushing it together, a smile on his face but his head shaking. He could probably use his hands, but he's always fiddling with something or on the move. "Please? We can shit talk Caro's wedding plans."

I sigh, "Bastien-"

"Look, I've got a higher security clearance than you. I don't mind showing up to your work. I won't even tell you which day either. I know how you love surprises."

"Fine," I snap. "If only you had applied this kind of energy to your studies."

"You applied enough energy to your studies for the entire family, thanks," Bastien must be rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. "I'll be at your place around six if that's okay. You good for Thai?"

"You going to blackmail me if I'm not?" I sigh. "Yes, I'm good. I'll see you then. Bye."

It's rude, but I hang up before he can respond. I don't want to risk him droning on about anything. With the office clear, I should be getting work done. Warmed by the coffee, I make my way back to the desk. Everything is moving in the same circles. Working on it gets less done than if I didn't work on the project at all. There's nothing left of me in these files.

The workday ends soon enough. I take the same route I took to get here the first day I worked. Everything is the same. I need to move. It's this country. I can't handle being in the same place for longer than a year, and I've just spilled into a bit longer than a year.

I get a taxi home. Standing on the bus feels impossible. Walking home would be even harder. I'd sooner sleep at the office. With all the taxis called during rush hour, it takes twenty minutes for one to come. I barely make it back to the apartment in time to change out of my work uniform before the door buzzes. I let Bastien in.

He knocks on the front door and doesn't wait for me to let him in before bursting inside. In one arm, he's got a take-out back and it sways beside him as he abruptly stops in the entryway.

"Damn girl," he looks around. "You live like this?"

I shrug, glancing around. Estelle's mail has piled up on the island so there isn't much space for anyone else to sit. The shoe rack is empty except for her winter boots. All of my shoes have been on the floor. Putting them back feels impossible. There are popcorn kernels in the rug from two nights ago. I haven't gotten around to cleaning it yet.

"Please, I've been to your place," I shake my head. "It's a frat house."

"Yeah, but you're too respectable and posh for that shit aren't you," he rolls his eyes.

Bastien kicks off his shoes and lets the door shut behind him. It's so loud I wince. He drops the takeout food on our island and digs under the sink. Bastien pulls out a reusable grocery bag, stuffs Estelle's mail inside it, and then sits down on the bar stool next to me. The takeout bag is in front of me, so I dig through it.

"Where'd your hot friend go?" he asks.

I wack him with napkins but then pass it to him. We eat the spring rolls in silence. He gets up and turns on the radio. He laughs, "you listen to hip hop?"

"Estelle is in The Hague," I tell him. "Also, you are banned from hitting on her."

He has a quirk of a smile on his lips. Bastien drags over his pad thai and digs into it, standing and staring across from me. For a whiz kid, he can't sit still. My brain can't wrap my head around how he did an engineering degree. If he was more focused, he'd have enough energy to run marathons at the Olympics.

"You taking any vacation this summer?" he looks up at me.

I shrug, "I'm off next week. It's still technically spring, but then I can do spring cleaning."

"They are sending me to Spain in August," Bastien swishes his head from side to side to the beat. "Legally, you don't know that."

"You shouldn't tell me confidential stuff. I don't work for the military," I point out.

Bastien looks at me, "please. It's the least of my worries. You ever been to Spain?"

No, I haven't. Travelling for school is so expensive that I didn't have much time to travel. I went to New Zealand while in Australia, but nowhere else over those four years. At Oxford, I visited England obviously, and Scotland, and Ireland as well. With Estelle I went to the Netherlands, and Côte d'Ivoire. I spent a weekend in Belgium once during my year in France. I visited Germany too, and Switzerland. Maman lives in Canada, and outside of a trip to Mexico and another to Cuba that we went on before the divorce, that's it. Sure, it's a lot of an American, even one in their late twenties, but by the standards of a lot of the people I met at Oxford, I haven't been around to all that many places.

It's hard to imagine leaving when I haven't left to get my own groceries in a while.

"No visit, no patch," I tell him. Then, I furrow my brow. "Don't get any smart ideas about my birthday."

He waves me off, "I've already got your gift. Did you know they give you deals for buying Shenandoah patches in bulk?"

I go to poke him and he recoils, laughing. We finish up our meal, and thankfully there aren't dishes to do. He makes me put my shoes away while he vacuums my rug. It's nice to have him around, even if temporarily. It's even nice to hear him yelling over the vacuum about how much of a disaster the wedding planning is, and how terrible all of Cletus' groomsmen are. There's one cousin and two dudes from his job that isn't a job I understand. All of them are openly homophobic, Cletus included, when Caro isn't around.

"He calls her the wife," Bastien stomps his foot. "Like, they aren't even married. The wife. He also says her name in a Southern accent around his friends even though he doesn't have one. Not even the regular English way, which would at least be better. He grew up in fucking Milwaukee until he moved when he was fifteen, and he says Caroline like he's a general in the civil war."

"Sounds miserable," I point out.

"Yeah," Bastien says. "Speaking of miserable, how's work? I can't wait for my army contract to be up. I just need the student loans gone."

"The Morel Well's run dry for a few years now," I agree, but shrug it off. "Works fine. Also boring. One of my coworkers is trying to convince me to do a PhD."

"You should," Bastien says. "You're clearly miserable here. Just, please wait a year at least. Caro will detonate like a nuclear warhead if you miss the wedding."

"We're already looking into a second place," I tell him. "You know, change of pace. Keep it fresh."

Bastien nods. He thinks for a second, and then doesn't say anything.

"Come on," he turns off the vacuum cleaner. He digs into his pocket and pulls out keys. "Army gave me a rental. We're getting groceries."

~~~~~

Bastien is maybe my most underrated sibling. Since we've seen them all a bit more now, do you have a favourite? What do you think about Cletus? Also, next chapter is one of my favourites, so I look forward to showing you!