"I should have splurged on seat warmers," Rachel's teeth chatter.

Complaining would make me a dick. Rachel picked the worst time to buy a car, just like I picked the worst time to buy a condo. Now though, Estelle, Rachel and I have worked out an even plan. Estelle cooks, Rachel drives, and I pay most of the mortgage. We all do renos. If Rachel wasn't carpooling with me, I'd be even colder and I'd be hovering over Bastien's contact. I call him with her beside me, so the journey even brings me peace of mind.

"I'll just run down to the garage early when it's cold and warm the car," I shrug. "And pay for the extra gas too."

"Cole, pick a lane," Rachel huffs. "You can be cool, mysterious and sexy, sure, but you can't also be kind. Unless you want to be my sugar mama."

"I don't need to pick a lane, I'm not driving," I roll my eyes." And I'm not kind. I'm grateful. Besides, I'm used to the cold."

"You act like you grew up in the Arctic Circle, not Québec," she snorts, then covers her mouth. "Fuck, that was so unattractive. This is why I'm perpetually single. Snorting. That, plus the crazy ex-boyfriend doesn't exactly make good first date conversation. I need you and Estelle to become my wing women. There aren't enough cute singles in my area."

I can't help but smile, "Morgan's single."

"Yeah, and if I go after him, you'll never be able to sneak your semisecret boyfriend over," she pauses, waiting for my confirmation. I continue to withhold it. She sighs, "besides, I think he's interested in Estelle, who's clearly a lesbian."

I nearly snort, "no she's not."

"She is."

"Well, if she is now, she wasn't at Oxford."

"Keep mentioning Oxford. It will turn off all the men that will flock to you next time we go out," Rachel starts to pull into the lot. "And Estelle is in love with you, or otherwise weirdly enmeshed. She's weirdly territorial. She and I get on fine until you enter the room. Then suddenly it is like she's a mama bear and I've stumbled into her den during hibernation."

I shrug, "she wanted your room as an office."

"No, she wanted to make love to you on her brand-new kitchen counters," Rachel retorts. "And I'm threatening that. Not just because of the privacy, but also because I'm so pretty both of you would be lucky to have me. Unfortunately for you, and lucky for your doctor friend, I am in fact as straight as I am hot."

"And full of yourself."

"Better than being full of my coworker."

I laugh so hard I nearly piss myself. It doesn't help that Rachel starts laughing too, and she snorts again, and I've barely composed myself by the time we've parked.

Getting through security takes longer for Rachel. I remember my first few months were agonizing. When I waved goodbye, she blows me a kiss. Because of the carpooling, I can't get in early or work late. My flow has been interrupted. I don't say hello when I get in the office. I boot up the computer, throw all my glasses, and I get swallowed by the new data. Someone must refill my mug because at one point it's cold and the next minute it's hot. Or perhaps the next hour. If Prentiss didn't insist I go to the gun range with her at lunch, I swear I wouldn't even eat.

It's shameful to admit, but I wish they were on a case. Maybe it would be nice to see Spencer. We've only been back from today for three days, and we have plans to actually spend time together this evening. Not entirely so I can work late, but not needing a ride home from Rachel is definitely a benefit. If they were gone though, I could work through lunch without Prentiss passing me nervous glances or Morgan talking too loudly on the phone. Maybe I should take up Hotch's suggestion that I get my own office.

"Should I trust you with the gun right now?" Prentiss asks as she passes me earmuffs. "You're a bit spacey."

I shrug, "I'm I think in English. Or French for that matter. Only numbers right now."

"Has anyone ever suggested that you might be a workaholic?" She's smiling though.

"No, it's never come up."

Of course it has. My therapist definitely will next week, when we finally have our rescheduled appointment. Before the holidays, I was busy, and after the holidays, I am still busy. I'm sure she will have some choice words. My list of cognitive distortions is now an excel spreadsheet. There's over a hundred items.

Prentiss goes first shooting the gun. It grounds me to my feet when I shoot it. I think about the night before I went to the Québec border. Then, it was Bastien beside me, Prentiss does a second round and I pull out my phone.

You'd at least tell me if you went to Afghanistan, right?

I should add working on my passive aggressive demeanor as to my list of things to talk about with the therapist.

There isn't a lot of time for me to take a second round. Technically, shooting doesn't count as being on lunch, but there was no way I'd actually take an hour for lunch. Prentiss and I grab falafels before we head back to the office. I keep up conversation with her to the best of my ability. It's hard to juggle conversation with her, the falafel wrap, and constantly touching my hand to my Blackberry every time I feel a phantom vibration. Bastien does not text back.

When we finally get off the elevator, Morgan and Garcia are crowded around my desk. Morgan sees me and taps Garcia, who sneaks away slightly. It's rare that Garcia is in the bullpen. I would worry about a problem with the data if it weren't for her giant rosy cheeks.

What corner I can see my desk more clearly. In the center, displacing my keyboard and blocking my monitor, there is a bouquet. White lilies, indigo irises, yellow roses and tulips, so big it is almost a ball. I look at the desk opposite mine, where Reid sits. He grabs his mug and sips, not glancing my way. I can feel my face right in.

Here? Must he? Even seeing his vengeance, I don't feel badly that I essentially forced him to invent a cougar girlfriend. Actually, it's the kind of thing I think Rachel would find hilarious. If I had to tell someone, maybe I would tell her just so she could laugh at the joke.

"Bouchard," Morgan grins when I step around him to get to the desk, "how was your lunch?"

"Those are gorgeous," Prentiss flanks the other side of me as I sit. "Thought you were too busy for a fling?"

"I am," I frown, "grabbing the letter stuck in the middle of the bouquet."

Garcia rounds to lean in closer, and suddenly I'm surrounded on all sides, with Morgan behind me and Reid across from me. I look to him for help, wide eyes, and he blinks, bringing the coffee up to his lips.

"Bouchard is too classy to kiss and tell," Morgan jokes.

"She knows, she's just pretending not to know."

"No profiling," I snap. I crack open the letter.

Looking at Spencer is easy, mostly because it looks like I'm avoiding eye contact with the others who are focused on me. Reid pivots in his chair. The wheels scrape on the ground. I don't open it though, instead peering around at the others.

"A little privacy?" I pull the letter flush against my chest.

None of them making any gesture to move. Isn't there some fact about sharks not being able to stay still? Or maybe sharks can't swim backwards. I should ask Spencer. Unfortunately, he is the only one giving me space. He lifts up his notebook, covering his lips. Smarmy bastard. I am going to kill him.

"Oh please, I could use a little French love letter," Garcia sighs. "The language of love."

"You've never heard someone from Québec speak then," I snort. "Definitely not the language of love.

Prentiss leans forward, "someone from Québec?"

I don't let my eyes dart over to Spencer.

Fuck.

"So, it is someone from Québec," Prentiss smiles.

You know, I get enough of this from my sister. Now, I don't need my coworkers pouncing on me. All of them anyway, except the mature men relaxing in their private office's, JJ who is still on maternity leave, and Ried, who gets to chuckle to himself about this.

It takes everything in me not to growl, "Garcia-"

She looks at her watch and widens her eyes, "uh oh. I just got an email. I'll see you later."

Garcia hurries out of the bullpen.

Prentiss peels away from the desk. Morgan sits down.

Finally, I crack open the letter. The note inside is red, on it, there is white cursive ink.

Colette Bouchard,

Tu me manques toujours.

Your secret admirer

~~~~~

Lets go. Duh duh duh. I'm excited to hear what you think as always. A little menace coming.