In the dark room, I nibble on a nacho while Spencer leans over my brother. Bastien lies in my bed, wincing as Spencer touches his ribs, feeling along the bones off his skin. Of course, Dr. Reid has PhDs and does not practice medicine, but he does have field training for medical issues. He shines the small emergency flashlight in Bastien's eyes, and I feel my shoulders relax as I watch both his pupils dilate evenly.

At the end, Spencer passes me back the flashlight. I have to stuff the nacho in my mouth to take it, since my other hand is wrapped tightly in Bastien's. He doesn't complain, even though I'm sure my grip is hurting him.

"You're very lucky, Bastian," Spencer says. I think he knows he's not saying Bastien's name in the proper French way. "I don't think anything is broken, or that you are concussed. You should go to a hospital."

"I can't," he doesn't explain any further.

I glance at Spencer, just for a second, to offer him a quick shake of my head. Spencer notices everything. I'm sure he's seen my brother's knuckles. My stomach churns, as I try to imagine whoever did this to my brother, and if I hope they are alive or not.

"Seb-"

"They want to send me to Afghanistan."

I didn't think my grip on him could tighten. Yet, it does. The smell of the sweat and alcohol on his clothes and skin starts to ferment in the room. I can't tell what part is making me sick. Spencer doesn't move next to me, standing up above us. I wish he was closer, filling in the gap between me and the rest of the world. Spencer's always so close, but suddenly Bastien feels far away, and I need something in that space.

"Afghanistan?" I swallow. "I thought they had you on a special project."

"With the financial crash, they were hoping recruitment would've increased more," Bastien pulls himself up so his back rests on my headboard. I tell myself he grunts because I have one hand occupied, and that's what makes it difficult. "But it doesn't look great. They're going to ask me to go in January."

"When... it wouldn't be a full tour, would it?"

Bastien's face falls.

"Four years," Spencer whispers. The sound traces the shape of one thousand, four-hundred and sixty-one days.

I was gone longer, and I've only been back for three years, or about that. Four years. I know what that war does to soldiers. If it had to be any of us siblings, I wouldn't pick him. Stéphane is strong physically, maybe even more so than Bastien, but he couldn't be away from us that long. Caro may bark orders, but I can't imagine her taking them, or spending years doing manual labour. If it were possible, I'd take his place. It's not fair.

"Would going sooner get you out of whatever this is?" I whisper.

I try not to think about what happened. It helps that my imagination isn't very good.

Bastien shakes his head. He rips his hand from mine to wipe his eyes, covering them from my view.

"Let me fix it," I get in closer, resting my elbows on the bed.

Spencer puts his hand on my shoulder. Pull back. I can feel the suggestion through his palm. Spencer does interrogate people, interviews victims, investigates crimes, and so I should trust him. Fuck, I know about how he profiles more than anyone else. Yet, I can't listen. I want Bastien to tell me.

He shakes his head.

"S-"

"I'm a grown-up," he murmurs, muffled by his hands. "I'm a man. I can handle it."

My head droops. I pick myself up, standing next to Spencer. His hand is still on my shoulder. I do what I can, which means slipping out of my bedroom with Spencer.

When I step into the hallway, I realize how the smell permeates my bedroom. It's contained to that, not a waft of it here. Only Mexican food. Spencer squeezes my shoulder. I stop to look up at him.

"If you profiled him, I don't want to know what you've figured out," I keep my voice low. "I want Bastien to tell me."

Spencer shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants, "I didn't. Profile him, I mean."

I tilt forward, resting my head against his collarbone. The fabric of his shirt is soft, and warm. It's Friday night, not that late I guess, but he just got off the plane from another trip. They flew out by lunch after my party. It feels strange, seeing him here and now for the first time since then.

Finally, I walk out into the kitchen.

At least when Estelle gets her way, she doesn't gloat. Spencer is here, and she hasn't said anything about him stepping into our apartment, or how happy she is to see him. Maybe she granted him some niceties when she let him in the building. I was glued to Bastien's side while they talked in the hallway.

Now, she's at the kitchen table, picking at a churro. She looks over at Spencer, lingering on him.

"Is he okay?"

Spencer nods, "drunk, but not concussed."

"What happened?" she asks me.

I just shrug. She huffs. Maybe I should be pushier. The parts of Bastien that I don't like are the parts of him that I recognize the most in me.

"You need to call Stéphane and Caro," Estelle tells me.

"I'm not going to betray him," I shake my head. "Not tonight." When Estelle gives me a look, I push on, "Bastien's trusting me right now. I think he'd forgive me if I told Caro, but Stéphane? He babies Bastien. If this happens again-"

"Again?" Estelle asks.

I close my eyes. I don't have a good imagination. It could've been just a drunk bar fight, but Bastien has been in fights before. He dodged juvie twice for it. If he's upset, there is no doubt in my mind that whatever happened is remarkable in how awful it was. In our family, a single bad thing is abnormal. When things go bad, they crumble. Our parents divorce and Him in one year. My departure, our dad's death and the custody battle in another year as well.

Now I've decided. I hope whoever did this to Bastien is alive and in better shape. The second bad thing cannot be Bastien and a failed third attempt at escaping incarceration. I hope for the health of his attacker or attackers more than his own, unfortunately.

"I don't feel good about keeping this from Stéphane."

"Of course you wouldn't," I snap. "Can you mind your own fucking business for once?"

She glares at me, dropping the churro, "don't take out your worry on me."

"No, I mean it," I snap. "You're always running your mouth to my brother. Can you knock it off? They are my family, Estelle. It's my call."

Her mouth contorts. The chair groans as it slides on the floor. She walks out of the kitchen, heading into her bedroom. The door slams shut behind her. I run my fingers through my hair. Was that fair? It feels like three years boiling over, her messaging Stéphane every time something goes wrong in my life.

"You know, Estelle thinks of you as her family," Spencer whispers.

For a second, I forgot he was standing beside me. It takes a second more to register his words. Just tonight I bought a condo for Estelle and I to share. She makes most of the meals I eat. God, I'm such an ass.

"I'm worried about Bastien," the words leave a slime on my teeth. I'm trying to get better at sharing how I'm feeling, and it still is terrible every time.

Spencer has a small smile, one I might miss if it didn't bring out a dimple, "she knows. She's worried about you both too."

Finally, I make my way around to the counter. There is still food. My stomach aches, and I'm grateful. So, I start to heat the oven, ready to throw some of it in. The microwave will make everything unbearably salty. Spencer comes over and takes over for me. Our oven is old but tiny, so it should be warm within a few minutes.

I try my best to tidy up in that time. The dishes need to be put away, the chair Estelle scraped across the floor needs to be tucked back in. I wipe off the table too, removing any fingerprints my brother left. I try not to fixate on the erasure of him from my home. Maybe he smells bad today, but I do like having him here.

As I finish, I wash my hands in the sink. My skin smells like lemons.

With everything clean and dry, I look Spencer up and down. You can't tell he was on a flight earlier today, coming off a difficult and long case. He should be more tired, especially after coming here and dealing with my mess. Estelle's and Bastien's and mine. He doesn't seem bothered. Finally, I put the cloth down on the counter.

"Hello," I move in closer, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

Reid smiles down at me, hands resting on my hips and pulling me in closer, "hello."

I lean up and kiss him. Just for a second, allowing myself this one quick pleasure. I pull away as the oven dings.

He slides the tray in my oven before I can.

"Was the case fine?" I ask.

Spencer nods, "yeah. We're um, we're actually flying out again tomorrow."

I nod slowly. They'll be gone again for a while, so another week alone in the office. Garcia will be around at least, to keep me company.

"Hotch told the team he was going to invite you, since we're all overworked and we could use an extra hand. Did you not get a call?"

I move over to my coat, hanging up in the closet. My work phone is in there. Usually, I have it on vibrate, since unlike Spencer nothing I ever get is urgent. There are two missed calls from Hotch, both two hours ago. I pinch my nose.

"Wait, before you call him."

Spencer stands at the island, sleeves rolled up and gripping the edge tightly. He swallows.

"We're going to Las Vegas," he manages. "I don't know how long we will be, but maybe... well, if you came you could meet my Mom?"

The old oven clicks, the mechanical sound it makes as it heats up. In my bedroom, my brother's sleeping. That should be my excuse not to go. Bastien needs me here. I'm supposed to go in the field at least once a year. My last case out was this summer, so I'm not due for another case for several months. Then again, I'm not actually sure I can refuse a case from Hotch.

Spencer writes his mother a letter every day. He's probably mentioned my name. We are different. Out of everyone in my life, coworkers, siblings, only Estelle knows I'm seeing Spencer. It has been months and of course I haven't told any of my siblings since our trip to the border that I managed to fix my colossal screw up with Spencer. Really, I was getting around to it. When I sure things were fixed. Now it's been three months and I've cleaned up all my excsues along with the kitchen but I still can't come to speak the words to any of them.

"You don't have to come," Spencer offers. "If it helps, she's not in a hospital. I know you aren't really a fan of those."

I never told him that. Not explicitly. Spencer knows my Dad is dead, but doesn't know about the hospital trips I took with him leading up to his death. He doesn't know about my stay either.

His mother is ill though. I'm not entirely sure how cognizant she will be of what is going on around her, but if she isn't then that's ideal for me but pitiful for Spencer. If she is aware and lucid, well then Spencer will be happy and I'll be okay too. So, I nod.

"Okay," I shrug. "Yeah, I'll come."

~~~~~

We've got a little meet the family action going on! I am so thrilled.