"You've got to be kidding me," I say, looking up at the building.

It's a dance class studio. Through the fog outside the cab, I hadn't really thought much about where we are going. I had assumed it was a men's clothing store or something of that sort. Etched on the glass is a logo with a couple dancing and the phrase Ragtimes to Riches. I look over at him, cocking an eyebrow.

"Ragtime?" I look over at him, my brow furrowed.

He shakes his head, "it's just the name of the studio. I haven't been learning ragtime."

I'm surprised he's found the time. There haven't been too many active cases lately, certainly not ones that have necessitated travel, but classes.

"How long have you been going?" I ask, staring up at the building.

He shrugs, "weekly since you invited me to the wedding. I know I can't dance, and I figured you would prefer I didn't embarrass you."

"I'm worried you're going to embarrass me for entirely different reasons," I bite back my grin.

Reid looks over and then he laughs, "come on."

So, I follow him inside the building. He leads me up a set of stairs to the studio. We check in at reception and hang up our coats. Reid bought shoes for both of us to change into. I stare down at them, before looking up at him.

"How do you know my shoe size?" I ask.

"Six months ago, Garcia and you were talking about shoes and you said it was easier to find shoes in your size since you're feet are a size seven," he explains. "Her feet were a ten."

I barely even remember the conversation. Still, I put on the little black shoes. They've got a slight heel, but they aren't anything flattering. I had my wedding shoes picked out by Caro so very long ago. Soon enough, we are ready to go.

Once we are in the room, the instructor leads us through a stretch. I try to concentrate on her, and not how Reid stretches out with ease. It still looks clumsy. Really, I can't picture Reid looking anything but a bit awkward. He catches my eye and smiles at me. I take a deep breath in, hoping the flush just looks like it's from the movement of my body.

Then, we move to the bars and she teaches us a few steps but soon enough I've got the hang of it. Reid seems to know what he's doing. I can see how he thinks on his face though. How his eyebrows and nose both scrunch every four bars or whenever we have to switch steps. It's the smallest of reflexes.

It goes by too quickly, because soon enough we are paired together. There's no escaping it now. I face Reid. He reaches his hands out.

I slide my hands into his. His skin is firm. It's much more callused than I'd expect from a month without much fieldwork at all.

"I thought I had cooties," I smile.

He shakes his head, "I can always wash my hand after."

"You certainly know how to woo a woman."

The colour leaves his face, but then I laugh. He chuckles a bit, nervously. His free hand reaches up and scratches the back of his neck. The dance instructor calls out instructions, and he moves it quickly, grabbing my waist and pulling me in to the proper position. I feel myself stiffen, all the way from the base of my spine up to my neck. I wouldn't say I'm average in most regards, but I'm about the average height for a woman and so he has half a foot on me.

He looks down, "are you ready?"

No. Never.

"Course," I say.

He nods his head and starts to lead. I'm not sure if it's his hand that is sweaty, or mine. The song is slow, but more upbeat than I was expecting. At first, I'm not sure where he's stepping. It takes a second to find my footing, or two, or really a couple eight counts, but soon enough we are moving. He leads, stepping certainly. I keep my head looking straight, past one of his shoulders mostly so he can't see the look on my face.

"Have you managed to finish the speech you have to prepare?" he asks.

I shake my head, "no. I have everything else though. Shoes, dress, rental car booked, and all of it. I'm still stuck on all the words, or what I want to come out."

"Well, what are Caro and her fiancé like?"

I try not to laugh, "kind of insufferable. They're both homebodies who don't want to live where the other one lives. She seems to think she can fix him, unfortunately. Worst of all, I think she thinks he can fix her. It's all nightmarish."

"Maybe you could write about that then," he says. I glance up at him and he's looking down at me. "Obstacles, I mean. She might like it if you just talk about how much you don't understand her, and how you're happy she's found someone who does."

I close my eyes for a second. It's my fault I don't understand her. I left. Over and over and over again, I left her.

"Caro doesn't seem like the kind of person who wants to be reminded on her wedding day that I left her," I close my mouth.

The dance instructor tells the men to spin the women, and we begin to turn. Reid lifts his hand to make the space for me to fit through, pulling me along. I come back in to meet him, our hands pressed together before I lower mine. It finds purchase on his chest, my fingers trembling as they wait on his collarbone.

"I told you about my mother," he tells me. "About the letters. You can love people without being close to them."

Maybe, but proximity is so tied up in how I experience life. As far and far away from other people I can get. I like stars more than the sun. I like things that are far away. Québec winters are comfortable for me. The cold chilling me deep through the bones, freezing me solid. If I could, I'd like to spread every piece of me all over the globe, so even I'm far apart from myself.

He's so warm, and he's so close, and God I'm an idiot. I don't really know anything about Spencer Reid. I know the kind of things co-workers share. I know how he takes his coffee, how his brow knits when he thinks. I know he's a technophobe, that he loves his friends and mother more than any material thing even though he likes trinkets. Reid likes to dress formally. He likes magic tricks and making people laugh, and he loves to play chess. Spencer likes to go on long walks. While he doesn't shake hands, he hovers. His hand on the back of my chair as he bends over to look at my computer, our shoulders grazing in packed elevators. Contact is uncomfortable, but so is space for him. He tries not to be picky about foods but I can tell he doesn't like bitter things, or spicy things, or even things that are particularly salty. He's sweet, a lip-puckering sticky syrupy kind of sweet. The kind of maple syrup you get from rural Québec, the only kind that's acceptable.

Reid spins me again, and I feel myself flowing into his arms. There's no turbulence, not like on the plane heading toward Mardi Gras last year. Has it only been a year? How could that be possible? Time feels so much longer now, space all that much shorter.

The instructor claps her hands and the song stops. We sway for a second too long before pulling back. She switches it now, something even more upbeat that requires us to move our feet much quicker. It takes a bit longer for me to get up to the speed Reid is moving. He tries to help me, he does, but I'm not all that good.

"You just..." I can feel the smallest of my baby hairs stuck to my forehead, "you brought me here so you could correct me one last time, didn't you?"

He chuckles, "is that actually what you think?"

"No," I roll my eyes. He moves and I start to follow him, staring down at my feet.

"Look up."

My eyes meet his. He looks even warmer in the studio light.

"It's..." Reid hesitates. His shoulders tense, and his chest too. I can feel every small twitch underneath the thin fabric of his button up. "You don't need to look down. I can lead you. I mean, if you really want to look down you can. I'm not going to stop you. Even if I wanted to, I don't suppose I could, but I've actually improved substantially over the past two months and so I think you're okay just to look at me."

I let out just the beginning of a laugh. There's Reid, again, rambling. So, I nod my head. He guides me, more quickly around the room, back and forth in a straight line at first just so I can get used to where I have to move my feet before finally we are moving a bit more.

"Two months of this then?" I ask. "No wonder you're good. I'll have to actually make an effort to dance with you at the wedding then, so it doesn't go to waste."

Reid looks at me. Every inch of my skin relaxes. I feel my pulse slow, half the speed of this fast song surely, and I can feel my chest rise and fall and rise again.

"When I was at your apartment after mine flooded, well, in the morning after I went to go get breakfast and we ate it together, you were playing jazz music on the radio," Reid points out. "And I know you know a lot of jazz music since your brother played the saxophone in high school. Maybe it's a bit... well, when the song came on I thought... you seemed upset. That morning. And I wasn't profiling, but you seemed really upset and I just... I know you like dancing. I wanted to dance with you, but I'm quite bad at it."

I don't take my eyes off him. I don't know what to say. Someone grabs my elbow and I tear my eyes away. The instructor adjusts my posture, fixing it so that I'm stiff and upright and proper again. When she steps back, the feeling that I don't know what to say is gone. I don't care what I could have done. The sting of shame isn't there.

I mostly thing about what I havedone, and what I'm currently doing with him holding onto my waist.

~~~~~

And I oop. Teeheehee