I'm as useless as I always am on trips. This time, at least, I didn't puke at the sight of a body. I could look at it and listen to the conversation even if I didn't have anything of value to add.

On the first night we are there, I stand on the balcony of our hotel. The river isn't far away. From up here the waters look like a tar pit. The lights of the buildings don't illuminate its depths. It's uncomfortably still. It looks more like putty than water.

It reminds me of late nights in Oxford, which felt even later when the sun set at 4:30 PM. In the depths of night, the puddles on the ground were imperceptibly deep.

The glass of scotch in my hand feels ridiculous. The team didn't eat together tonight even though Hotch and Prentiss showed up today. After lunch with Strauss, no one has been keen to speak to each other. I ordered a drink at the bar, and then this one, which I carried up to my room. I suppose it is better to drink alone in private than publicly.

I pull out my phone from my pocket. Two missed calls from Stéphane. Three texts from Bastien today. Caro hasn't spoken to me since her aggressive text before the plane took off. It shouldn't surprise me since I didn't reply to her. Perhaps that is cruel of me.

It's at times like these I wish I was a practicing francophone. Cigarettes are only appealing when I'm alone, usually when I feel like I'm staring at nothing.

There is a knock at the hotel door.

I cross off the balcony, heading through the room. The balcony makes our accommodations seem nicer than it is. I have been begrudgingly using the towels here. I sleep on top of the sheets in case there are bugs in them. A habit from hostel life that I should drop by now. I peer through the doorknob.

Reid is on the other side.

My fingers trace the latch. I blink, but he doesn't move. Reid's looking down the hallway, but I don't hear any noise. The walls are unbelievably thin too, so I'm mostly surprised by this.

I flick open the latch and open the door. He stares at me, blankly.

"No one has heard from Gideon still," Reid says.

I take a step back and let him in.

"I didn't know you and Gideon were close," is all I can think to say, shutting the door behind me.

Gideon has collectively said fewer words to me than I've said to my mother since I went back to Australia after my father's death. I always got the feeling Gideon's distaste for me was something he also felt toward Reid. Maybe no one has heard from him in days, but I feel like I'll never stop listening to the sound of his sigh whenever Reid and I bicker.

"We were supposed to meet to play chess," Reid tells him.

I smile. I know. He's mentioned it twice since the plane took off. In any other moment, I'd remind him that just because his memory is perfect, doesn't mean mine is terrible. His forehead is creased though, his eyes wide, and he's wearing only a t-shirt even though the air in here is freezing.

"If Gideon were in trouble, he'd actually call you, right?"

It's a guess. Something just to reassure him.

Reid makes a bit of a face, and I realize I've used the word actually wrong. Fucking faux amis.

"If he could," Reid points out.

My hands need something to do. I cup the glass with one of my hands. The liquid is sloshing. I'm freezing and the balcony doors are still open. One summer in Québec and I think I'm more immune to the cold than I am. It's all pretentious fodder from laughing at people in London and Melbourne when they insisted it was cold outside. It never was. Certainly, it is now.

"He's Gideon," I tell Reid. "He's fine."

Reid looks at me. He looks so much healthier than he did in the spring. I never visited him in the hospital. It's impossible to stop myself from picturing it. I'm fine at thinking abstractly, but there is a reason I tend toward numbers. Images aren't something I can conjure easily. When I read books, I don't picture anything. Now, it's unavoidable.

"You're not doing well," Reid notices.

I breathe in through my nose. If I deny it, he'll think I'm feeling worse than I actually am. There isn't any hiding from them. "I'm not, you're right."

Reid heads to the balcony doors. With his back turned, I finish the drink, and put it down on the desk. He slides the door closed and turns back to look at me.

"It's not Hotch or Prentiss that are bothering you," he looks over at me, then blinks. "Is field work really this sickening for you? Sorry, I shouldn't profile. It's a bad habit of mine."

"It's fine," I tell him. I lean against the desk and it creaks under the palms of my hands. Reid averts his eyes, and I wonder if I look sick too. I was fine three days ago, before I left. "It's not the case. Well, in a roundabout way I guess, but I'm not upset about the stuff that's been going on here. My sister called. She's pissed I'm missing my brother's birthday celebration in New York this weekend."

Reid looks at me.

Heat rushes to my cheeks. I can't believe I just told him that. I wouldn't even tell Estelle unless she pressed me with her entire body weight. I run a hand through my hair, bite back a smile. Bastien and Stéphane can be disappointed and frustrated all they want, and it doesn't even bother me enough to mention. It's Caro who upsets me, even though she's nothing but angry at me.

"Fall birthday one, I'm guessing?" Reid looks over. "Which brother was that?"

I shake my head, "the older one. We've all got complicated schedules, so it's a late celebration for the younger two as well. I think I've told you the youngest in the army now, so he's always in places we aren't allowed to know about."

"You don't talk much about your family," Reid says. He's still clinging to the balcony door.

"You don't talk about yours either."

I pull myself off the desk, offering him the desk chair. He looks at me funny, but I move and sit on the bed. The room feels too large for its sparse decorations. There are miles and miles between the bed and the chair. Reid only moves to sit once I'm leaning against the bed, presing my weight into the palms of my hands.

"Gideon will be fine," I recite the words rather than speak them.

Reid nods his head solemnly. His eyes narrow in, but not at me. He looks just past me, at something I can't see.

"Profiling the wall now, are you?" I ask.

Reid blinks and then looks back at me. His smile spreads thinly across his face.

I'm still shivering. He's in a thick sweater vest over top his shirt. He's changed into something more casual. We worked until late tonight and we will be up again early in the morning. I'm not supposed to be drinking at all, in case there is an imminent emergency. Two drinks isn't anything substantial. He of all people obviously cannot say anything about it.

"I was just thinking," he looks back at me. "You told me you're technically the oldest. At Hotch's barbeque on Memorial Day."

I try not to shift. Out the window, the lights from the buildings seem to blur into each other. It's overcast, so you can't see any stars. There is only darkness beyond the buildings. I shiver again. I shouldn't have kept the balcony doors open so long.

"Why technically?"

"Misspoke," I answer, looking back at him. "French is my burden. I do it often enough."

"Did a sibling of yours pass away?" he asks, his voice quiet.

I flinch, "no. God no, Reid. I just misspoke."

He doesn't pretend he believes my lie, "he's your twin, isn't he? If there are two younger siblings and you are only technically the oldest, you've got to be twins. And if it's his birthday, it's yours as well. You're missing your birthday celebration too, aren't you?"

I look over at him, studying his face. I don't know how he does it. I see nothing there. Truly. No matter where I look I just see skin. Occasionally imperfections. Creases from where he smiles and where his brow knots together when he thinks. Some stubble peaking in through his chin.

"My birthday isn't for a while anyway," I explain, shrugging. I stretch my neck to the side, exhaling. "To be completely honest, I don't care. I mean, it's nice to see my siblings. Fun, even, but we're all older and busy, and most of us live hours away from each other. I'm doing important work too."

"You're allowed to take personal time," Reid offers.

I almost laugh, "this is a glorified vacation for me. I'm somehow less help in the field than Strauss. At least I'm not blowing up on the locals like she is. By tomorrow, I'll have an officer brewing me coffee."

He chuckles just a little. When I peer at him, I cannot help the smile that takes over my face. I try to concentrate on my shoes. Maman would kill me for wearing them indoors, even in a hotel room. She hasn't seen this place. She hasn't meant Reid either. I wonder what she'd think of him, but I've never been good at imagining things.

I don't think Dad would like him. At least, it's hard for me to tell. It's less painful to imagine Maman's reaction than his.

"I think you are helpful," Reid stands up from his chair. He paces around. "I mean... you clearly aren't as familiar with profiling as the rest of us-"

"If you're going to rehash Mardi Gras-"

"You work well with the officers," Reid decides. He pauses and then continues to pace the room. "You're right. Agent Strauss' difficulties interacting with local law enforcement in the field make establishing relationships more difficult. It's JJ's job to make sure lines of communication between us and police agencies stay clear, but she's also busy liaising with Garcia and the press and covering for Hotch and Prentiss. Just having you in the office, chatting with offices in a casual capacity opens them up to viewing us as people too and not just arms of the federal government."

I adjust my hair so it covers my cheeks. Nobody has ever described me as friendly before. In fact, I'm inclined to say I'm anything but welcoming. When he looks over at me, even though we aren't close, I swear I notice my own shadow in his dark pupils.

"Next time, just rehash Mardi Gras," I force a cough so I can lift my hand to my mouth and hide my smile. It's probably pointless. Even if we aren't supposed to profile each other, I'm sure he connects the dots faster than I can. "Save the flattery for Garcia."

He laughs.

The trip doesn't feel so bad now.

~~~~~

Okay, I'm only a little obsessed with them. Like, such grumpy sunshine vibes actually lmao. The tropes are troping.