When the taxi I booked pulls up about a block away from the venue, Reid is already waiting on the corner. He helps open the taxi door as I step out. He cleans up nicely, I suppose. His suit and bow tie are black, and his shirt is crisp and white as the dress code would suggest. The only splash of colour is his pocket square, a deep red, only just off from burgundy. The colour of pomegranate, perhaps.

"You..." he looks at me. "Well, I mean..."

"Hey lady, you going to pay?" the driver calls.

I head back toward the driver, bending over and digging through my wallet. I throw him twenty dollars, telling him to keep the change. He barely smiles at me and then drives off. The smoke clouds the air, and I brush it out of my face.

It's the first gala I've been to since my days at Oxford. In France, I was too focused on my studies to go to costume parties. This time, it took me as long to get ready as my first dinner at Oxford. I had to buy a new dress since the gold one from my Oxford days seemed too much for tonight. Teal should suit me fine, and at the very least help me blend in a bit. I'm glad I brought along my pearly pink shawl since my arms are freezing even though it is late August.

"Do you think it's not too late to sneak away?" I whisper to Reid.

He looks over at me, furrowing his brow, "I thought you had warmed up to going."

It's impossible to warm up as fall is approaching us rapidly. I shrug.

Truly, I didn't mind the process of getting ready, even if I haven't spent that long on my hair or make-up in years. Galas and nice events are usually places I thrive. Still, my stomach churns just as it did the day that I met all those profilers. I don't want to be found. And we are getting closer, and already I can hear the sounds of chatter and music.

"I'm just posing a hypothetical," I offer. "Do you think Hotch would find out?"

"Section Chief Erin Strauss will be there, so I imagine so," Reid offers.

We finally reach the entrance. I pull out my badge and the invitation from my purse. Reid offers his up and then we are let inside the entrance. There is less security here than I usually face every morning. I suppose the Intelligence officers are less likely to carry, but it's just speculation.

Cocktail hour is in full swing when we arrive. Reid gave me the program since he only needed to glance it over. All of us have one drink ticket and Reid gave me his. I get a glass of wine from the bar and then Reid and I hover toward the side of the dance floor.

We're approached within seconds. Three DEA guys come up to us. They clearly aren't as interested in Reid as they are in me.

"What's your agency?" Scott asks after he's finished introducing himself and his buddies, Vince and Will. It doesn't escape me that they haven't asked for either of our names.

"FBI," I answer.

"FBI?" Will asks, looking us over. "Let me guess, he's weapons of mass destruction and you're counterintelligence."

Reid looks at me, a soft smile on his lips. I ignore it and shrug, "what makes you that?"

"You've just got international spy written all over you," Vince decides. "Bet you could steal anything out of us."

"We're Behavioural Analysis, actually," I explain.

The men smile, and the chatter dissolves as no other questions are asked about Reid or myself. He seems content to sip on his water while I listen to them drone on about border patrol and huge busts and shootouts. They explain their job titles, and I get the sense that they don't actually go out in the field at all. Data collectors like me, although their need to talk up their fieldwork is a bit irritating. Soon enough, it's time to settle in our seats for dinner.

"They never stop," I whisper to Reid as we make our way to our seats.

Reid shrugs, "we could have walked away."

"We would just have been bothered by other people," I say. Then, I look at him. "Why didn't you talk about your experience in the field?"

"They were clearly lying," Reid explains. "I don't feel the need to point out their inaccuracies. It would only result in more chauvinism."

We sit down, and the dinner is duller than the conversation. Speech after speech goes by, none of them particularly interesting. The food is fine, but I'm more entertained by Reid and I whispering. He recognizes some of the men and women in the crowd, who have written books or solved cases or otherwise done remarkable things. Somehow, the lives of everyone else become more interesting when I hear it through his mouth. At least we don't have to hear about those DEA idiots.

I wonder if there are any people here that Bastien knows.

We clap between speeches and eat food as we can, and I try not to giggle as Reid and I talk about some drama between the administrative assistants in our office. They don't interact with me all that much since I am in charge of my own schedule, but Reid pays more attention than anyone else.

"So, has Janet confronted her husband about the whole thing?" I ask, whispering.

He shakes his head, "as far as I can tell, no."

"And Georgie, why is she up in Stace's business?"

He shrugs, "I was hoping you might understand it."

"Listen, I can understand cheating as an act of revenge," I whisper. "Well, I can't understand it empathetically, but cognitively I can understand it. I don't understand the logistics behind sleeping with the man your friend wants to date to avenge your other friend whose husband slept with the first friend. I don't understand how those three women work together. You're the profiler. Shouldn't this be your thing?"

Reid smiles at me, "it doesn't bother me not knowing. Garcia just wanted all the details, so I investigated for her. There's only... well I didn't tell Garcia everything. There's one thing I didn't mention."

"What?" I feel myself leaning in.

Gossip is not really something I enjoy, but I guess it's nice being distracted from the terrible speeches. My chair is pressed against his so our whispering doesn't bother the others. Spending time with Reid is not as awful as I had imagined it would be. At the very least, I doubt I'd be having this much fun if Gideon was here instead.

"The guy Stace wants to date is our pilot," Reid says. "Tim McGuinty? You've met him."

"McGuinty!" my eyes widen, and I cover my mouth to contain the sound of my surprise.

Reid nods again, smiling a bit. I catch his eyes.

Microphone feedback shrieks from the stage. I flinch away. Reid and I both cover our ears, grinning at each other. Another speech has started and I don't even remember clapping for the last one, don't remember the sounds of other people at our table chatting to each other.

They all must be so bored. I mean, the night must truly be awful if Reid is really entertaining.

Dinner is over, which is the announcement. Reid and I have untouched desserts on the table. The others at our table stand up.

Technically, we are allowed to leave. Other people are heading out. It's probably around 9:30, certainly cold out and the night is only getting colder. The dance floor will be open for another two hours, as well the bar. People aren't going to go crazy, as far as Morgan explained it. He and JJ hightailed it out after ten minutes of trying to mingle.

I still have the other drink ticket though.

"Was it as bad as you thought it would be?" Reid asks.

I grab my fork off the table and take a bite of the cake we were served. It's better than anything else put down before us tonight.

When I smile, it is softly, "it was fine enough."

"Well, I'll probably stay for a bit longer," Reid looks around. "There are few people I'd love to chat with still. It seems a couple of them are staying. You..."

I look over at him, catching him staring at me. His eyes linger on my face.

Fuck. I spent so much time on my make up and obviously I've gotten food on it. God forbid it's chocolate or something that won't come off easily.

I drop the fork and grab a serviette off the table. My fingers brush it over my lip, hoping to catch any chocolate that might remain. Nothing comes back. My hands reach up to the few loose curls that frame my face, falling from my updo.

"Did I get something in my hair?" I ask.

He shakes his head and blinks away, "no. I was just... anyway, you don't have to stay."

He's right. I could give someone else my drink ticket as I head out, or just toss it in the recycling when I get home. I could order a drink and chug it before I leave, though I don't see much point in guzzling down wine let alone at a work function.

Reid tilts his head, looking behind him. I've never noticed the shadow of his jawline before. His pocket square is the colour of pomegranates.

I stand up, "Hotch has been begging me to socialize, so I should probably stay. I'll go grab my last drink and catch up with you later."

Before I can look at him any longer, I head over to the drink table.

~~~~~

Oopsie. Woopsie. I... hehehehe.

Thoughts?