If I weren't already useless in the field, I would be now. Not just because I slip out every two hours to check on my brother. Magically, he's free of a concussion. It is my head that hurts. My glasses are sitting in a desk drawer back in Quantico. Although, that doesn't make me useless either.

I sit in on an interview with Emily that ends with a girl screaming. She was taken, held in a closet. Her parents left dead in their beds. My fingernails leave marks on my thighs. I hadn't noticed at the time, since it felt like the lights were buzzing so loudly it was difficult to concentrate on anything else. Still, I listened. My body stayed and I kept working that afternoon. So, more proof that I'm over it.

It's not Him or Basiten who poses a distraction. It's Reid. Not Spencer, I decide. The case isn't dangerous, and I'm not worried about any of the terrible events which plagued him previously. Reid works with precision, slicing cleanly between witnesses and crime scenes, between the other agents and me. You'd think he was a surgeon and not a man with a ridiculous number of PhDs. But when he comes in the room, I don't see a doctor. I see Spencer. That is the distraction.

At the rare meal we all eat together, I ask the people around him questions as best as I can. My eyes scrape over his face. Then when I do actually let myself spare a glance, he is sharp. I expect him to be dusty or hazy, left untouched. It is like how precise he is. The scoop of his jaw, the pitch of his cheekbones, the valley of his nose. It carves through the space between us and it feels so close. Even when I want Spencer to feel far. There he is.

I don't dare let him in my hotel room. One night, when everyone else is sleeping, he calls me. I swear I hear his voice vibrating in the halls, carving through insulation and concrete and steel. I hold my breath, whisper back, certain he could hear me just as well if my lips were pressed to his ear. During the day, I text him updates, and we both hate sending texts.

Outside the interrogation room, I stand with the team. Reid is among them, and I try to focus on the list of names in Rossi's hand. Or Taylor, and the ways her eyes look somewhere. Or maybe Morgan is kind of tall. Nothing though. It's not Reid here, it's Spencer. It's Spencer and I am painfully acutely aware. A sharp angle.

Whenever change they see in the woman as Hotch reads out names, is oblivious to me. She gave something important away. I feel it in Spencer though, watch him shift his weight to the other leg, already about to throw himself into action.

We ger the guy, of course. I've seen the stats, our clearance rate is high.

They bring me along for the arrest, since this is expected to be an easier trip. Rossi and Taylor get the children. It's been a long day, and I trust myself more with a gun in my hand than I do with a child in my backseat. I was older than she was. They are leaving the children unharmed. Better than I can say for myself.

"You okay, Bouchard?" Morgan asks.

We drive back. My gun is holstered, and already my hands miss the feeling of something cold in my hand. The air isn't cold, and neither is the window. I've tried pressing my hand to the metal doorhandle to no avail.

"Fine," I huff out. "Just tired."

"You handle yourself well, you know," he offers. "A lot of agents with desk jobs are shakier."

I shrug, "well then why'd you ask if I was okay?"

Morgan grins. I see it in the rearview mirror. He is all a dazzling smile and sparkling teeth, "last time you saw a dead body, you lost your lunch."

"No dead bodies are there?" I force myself not to smile. His charm makes it damn near impossible. "I can't stomach the sight of brutal violence as well as you."

"Keep it that way."

The smile has dropped from his face.

From here, I can't see Reid's face entirely. I catch the way it shifts, looking back toward me. He doesn't say anything though.

"Actually, I've got pictures of my brother's orbital socket, if you really want something gross," I swallow, trying to paint a grin on my face. "He got rocked hard. He's fine now."

"Is it the handsome one?" Morgan asks, smirking still.

"Pivot to stand-up comedy, would you?" I roll my eyes. "I'll sell tomatoes outside the comedy club before you go on. We'll make a killing."

We get back and I do show him a picture. It's healing well. Originally, his face sagged a bit, but now there's mostly just bruising. Morgan and Emily wince over them.

Eventually, we load up on the jet. It's over, almost as quickly as it had begun. Taylor's last case, and mine too for at least a bit. Hopefully this satiates Hotch for a while. I'm not a field agent; I just need to be elbow-deep in numbers. If I get into a PhD programme in Georgetown, I won't be able to fly out at a whim. Then again, I don't really want to go to Georgetown.

On the cab ride home, I talk to Bastien. He's doing well, apparently. No, he hasn't told Stéphane, and no he isn't going to tell him. I'm not either, but I still text Stéphane on the way home. The last two messages got barely three words in response. He's gotten even cagier since the fight.

At the apartment, Bastien is in the kitchen. His face is bruised and swelling still, but it doesn't look deflated anymore. Estelle isn't here either.

"You look like shit," Bastien smiles. He pats me on the back when I come in close and start to skim my fingers over the side of his face. "It's fine. Really."

"Don't tell me I look like shit," I mumble. I poke my finger down on the most prominent part of his cheekbone.

He hisses then shoves me, "arrête! Honestly, I'm fine."

"Calm down!" I shout, rolling my eyes. "God, you're so hormonal."

Still, I pull back. It's late in the evening and my stomach is aching. I open the fridge, and there is a container in there, labelled with my name. God, I've missed Estelle.

"How was your vacation?" I can hear Bastien's smirk.

I start to put in the microwave, which is blasphemous, but I can't tolerate being in here with Bastien much longer.

"Just great."

I wasn't as into Maslow's hierarchy of needs during my undergrad. I mean, I understood it, but I was more into sociology then psychology. Funny that I'm working for the BAU. Regardless, with food on the way and knowing Bastien is safe, I feel a bit calmer.

Then, I pull out my phone. Bastien keeps talking but I put my finger to my lips.

The phone rings twice.

"Hey," Spencer says.

I huff out a sigh of relief, "hey. I know it's late, but do you want to come over?"

"Yes," he answers quickly. "Is everything alright?"

Bastien is mouthing words across from me, in French. He's better at rapidly switching between the two languages than I am, even if his vocabulary is minimal. I put my finger back up to my lips, trying to listen to Spencer.

"Can't I just want to see you?" I ask.

Bastien's eyes light up, and he must know who I'm talking too. He lunges forward, trying to wrestle me for the phone, and I have to kick him twice to keep him at bay.

"Do you have a specific plan, or-"

"I can't talk right now," I tell him. "Just come over whenever you can. I'll wait up."

"Okay."

Bastien snatches the phone in my hand and I manage to hang up before he can bring it to his ear. He scowls at me.

"You're so annoying."

Heat flashes on my face, "I'm annoying? Me?"

He smirks.

The microwave dings.

I eat the food standing in the kitchen. Bastien finally finishes making the chicken fingers he had in the oven. He stands there too, pestering me with too many questions. It's a distracting tactic, since I'm trying to pester him with questions too and it isn't working. That is, until I switch tactics.

"Did you talk to Stéphane?"

Bastien throws the chicken finger down on his plate. He wipes his fingers on the counter and I grab a cloth to clean up. I throw him a napkin as he finally swallows.

"No, why?" he looks at me. "Think something is up with him? Caro said something to you?"

"Caro?" I ask.

He nods, "she texted me for the first time and asked me if I'd talked to him. I said no, and then she stopped responding."

"Why wouldn't she ask me?"

Bastien shrugs, "twin telepathy bullshit? I don't know. Have you talked to Stéphane recently?"

I haven't mentioned Stéphane and I are currently fighting because I'm keeping Bastien's secrets. Caro and I are on good enough terms though. The fact that she turned to Bastien before me is kind of appalling.

"I've not told him if that's what you're asking."

"That wasn't what I was asking."

The door buzzes and I'm saved. I let Spencer in, and a minute later he is coming through the door. He's still in his work clothes, but he's got a bag with him. If Bastien weren't currently already crashing at mine, I'd think about maybe buying his things. His home is so much quieter, so much of him there. This place is mine but not only mine. With four bodies here, it feels harder to fit us in.

"How is he?" Spencer's voice is but a whisper.

"He's himself," I whisper back.

"I can hear you."

I turn around, where Bastien is poking his head around the corner and staring at us both. He has a sneaky smile on his face. God, I thought that getting taller he wouldn't be able to sneak around and annoy me like he used to when I was a kid. Eavesdropping on my conversations with Luc outside of my bedroom door, going through my stuff when I wasn't home, anything he could to be a pest.

I'm about to tell him off but Spencer drops the bag and steps past me, "Bash, it's good to see you."

"The pleasure is mine," he grins. His wound looks more bruised since the lighting in the entryway is harsher. "Come here to make an honest woman out of my sister?"

That's it. I lunge after him. He giggles, letting me chase him down the hallway. We get into my bedroom where I finally shove him on my bed. He rolls onto his side, looking up at me with a smirk.

"You're such a child."

"You chased me!" he covers his chest, aghast. "Stéphane would disapprove."

"Well, good thing I'm not Stéphane."

Spencer rounds into the room, bags in hand. Bastien pulls himself up off the bed. He gives a pat on Spencer's shoulder as he heads out of the room.

"Let me know if you need her ring size," Bastien calls out.

My face is bright fucking red. It's so red that I can feel the heat on my chest and in my ears. Spencer drops his bags on the floor.

"He seems really happy here."

I exhale. The room is quiet. My bag is unpacked. The only thing I've done since coming here, other than making dinner, was change the sheets. Bastien is relegated to the living room now. His things are still in here too. Already in his sweats, he won't have to come back in for a change of clothes. He's got little trinkets, photos, boxes of things. I haven't asked him about the army.

Once again, incompetent. Spencer is right though. He seems happy.

"God, I hope he is," I sit down on the bed. Spencer comes down next to me. He laces his fingers in with mine.

It always feels like he's so close, but I hadn't realized what physical contact might do. His body is so warm, but somehow it is like holding an ice cube in my hand. Maybe I'm always with him, but when I touch him I become here. I am this land, this place. Wherever I am, it turns home.

"I wanted siblings, when I was little," Spencer leans in close. "Watching you with them, well, I wouldn't say I'm jealous. Envious, maybe I suppose, but... it seems so nice that he has you."

He didn't though. Maybe that's why I run chasing him through the halls. When I left for Australia, he was twelve. Still a boy, who liked to wrestle and play hide and go seek and who had only stayed awake until midnight on New Year's Eve for the first time that year. He liked to play imaginary games, and cops and robbers, and he liked ice sculptures. And I left, and Stéphane stayed. So I get to be the fun older sister who still acts like he's twelve, and he gets to be my baby brother. He had Stéphane to rely on. And unfortunately, maybe that's why they don't talk.

"I wish..." I trail off. "I wish I had been around more. It makes me... well, I've been thinking about those two little girls. Orphaned, now. Bastien was not even a teenager when it basically happened to him."

I lean in closer to Spencer, our arms touching. Another case, another exhausted day, another minute with him at my side.

"When I was twelve I graduated high school," Spencer's body feels stiff beside me. I reach across both our bodies, letting myself envelop him in a hug. Our closest hands still grip each other tightly. "I was smart, of course, but I wasn't emotionally mature. I never really socialized with people my age."

He's born in 1981, and I was born in 1980. Not even a full year older than him, but older still. Caro was born in 1983, and Bastien in 1986. I wonder how many people he talks with are as young as my brother. As far as I can tell, Spencer doesn't have many friends in the area. Certainly, I've never met them. He's close with people on the team. Everyone on the team is close. He goes over to JJ's house to help with housework while she's nursing, he and Garcia talk about nerdy things that I'm not into, and he even hangs out with Morgan which I do not understand. JJ and Penelope are about our age, but they are still older. Everyone is.

"You're welcome to hang out with Bastien more often," I smile. "He is kind of a nightmare."

"I think that's his job, as a younger sibling," Spencer smiles down at me.

He's tired too, sleepy smile and glossy eyes. But he still looks at me.

"Do you..." he hesitates. I lean in closer. "Do you want kids?"

I feel suddenly cold, deep in my chest. My eyes are dry, or they must be because I blink once, and then again. Spencer goes hard in my hands, his whole body rigid and brittle. It would be more like a statute if he wasn't so lanky. I'm worried if I shift myself even a little bit he'll physically crack down the centre.

Do I want children?

Something pops into my head. I try to swat it away, thinking instead of how I left when Bastien was a little boy. Instead turning my mind to the children who were taken and now orphaned, children abandoned who should have someone there for them. How can I ever guarantee I will stay anywhere? I can't make that promise to Spencer, and that's okay because he can live without me. A child. I can't be responsible for fucking someone up that badly. I'd even have to have sex to do it, which I haven't done without being black out drunk, maybe ever.

And still, I try to think about that. Instead, I think about the barbeque at Hotch's home, where I was crouching on the ground with Spencer, and we watched little children playing in between the sea of adult legs. Sticky hands, soft giggles, mischievous grins.

"Yeah," it comes out more breath than voice, more innate than choice. "I do."

"Me too," Spencer swallows. "I want at least two."

I close my eyes for a second. I care for him. He is my, well, my boyfriend. Apparently. And he deserves the entire world and more, and I can barely even admit that he is my boyfriend. I care for him deeply, and even if I want his happiness for myself, even if I want children, I don't think I can ever give them to him.

Once again, I'm fucking useless.

~~~~~

This is a long ass chapter, but I'm happy with it. They are cute, and maybe serious? Lol, as if Cole would know. What's up with Stéphane? And why wouldn't Caro call Cole?