I haven't been interrogated by Hotch in a while. He is quiet though, sitting next to me as I get torn into by two men from the CIA.

Based on their questions, it's got to be the morning again. They are allowed to hold me for twenty-four hours.

"So, only your siblings can vouch for your whereabouts yesterday?"

That's not entirely true. Reid could, but Hotch is here. So, I shake my head back and forth.

They've spent the last twelve hours questioning me on my allegiance to the United States of America. It started with my time abroad. That's how it began with Hotchner too. Less than a year in Québec, four years in Australia, one in the United Kingdom, and less than a year in France. I moved too much.

They gave me a break, for I don't know how long. Hotchner left a few times during the break, and I wasn't allowed to leave either. I still don't know why I'm being held. Something happened yesterday, while I was in Shanandoah, that was big enough to warrant this.

Upon their return, I went through the detailed events of yesterday. My voice on the radio, my brother falsely claiming that I was a profiler (which I said they can check and they didn't respond). Rock climbing, fire building, kayaking, all of that fun and wonderful stuff. The flood.

"You didn't bring your laptop?" they ask.

I shake my head, "I purposefully left it at home because I knew I wouldn't get work done otherwise."

"Who can get into your laptop?"

I shrug, "I don't know. My brother, who was also with me at the time. My roommates as well. Sometimes people need to borrow it, but I would never give them my FBI information. Besides, I have dual factor authentication."

"The dual factor authentication system was breached last night," the agent across from me says.

I enunciate each word carefully, "the FBI's dual factor authentication system was breached?"

The agents look at each other and then back at me.

"Listen, can you finally just tell me what this is about?"

Hotch sits up straighter. I cross my arms on the desk and rest my head on them. I'm so tired. My head is pounding. Provided I just said I was with Spencer, I'm sure half of this would go away. If he wasn't here, everything would be fine. Or at least, better than it is now.

"At two in the morning yesterday, the FBI and homeland security suffered a massive breach of data related to espionage," Hotch says. "The CIA still has yet to locate the source, but your information was one of five agents who's accounts were used to attempt to access classified information."

One of five. I look at Hotch, "the rest of the team-"

"Was not used," Hotch says. "The other four agents were all in counterintelligence."

"Rachel's in counterintelligence," I swallow, looking over to the other two. "My roommate, Rachel Kwak."

One of them, the broader of the men, raises an eyebrow.

I swallow.

"You think... you think Rachel... no. I mean, what exactly? You think she hacked the FBI?"

"And what can you tell us about Rachel Kwak?"

I look at them both. I did my dissertation on digilantism, which is... well, this is insane. How would I not notice? Rachel Kwak hacked the FBI, and using my credentials, tried to access espionage information? That sounds as ridiculous in my thoughts as the insinuation does on their lips.

"You've got her wrong."

"Bouchard," Hotch says. He gestures with his head for me to continue.

I huff out a sigh and sit up properly.

"Rachel Kwak is thirty years old, from California. San Francisco, specifically," I straighten out my back. "Anything I know would be stuff you know. She works in counterintelligence. Espionage is her area of focus. We met at a ball. I let her move in with me from FBI housing and-"

"She never was in FBI housing."

I blink, "she told me that she was put up in temporary housing. And her ex-boyfriend was bothering her there."

The agents say nothing. Not even Hotch.

Oh God, she lied.

I feel sick. She used a crazy ex-boyfriend story to get me to move her into my house. Then what, she stole my credentials? She never asked to borrow my computer. Occasionally, Estelle did when her laptop broke a few months ago. The only time Rachel touched my computer was to read over the PhD application.

The one I didn't want Estelle to see, and so both Estelle and I were positioned so we couldn't see what she was doing on my laptop. Oh my God. I'm going to be sick.

"She tricked me to get into my home?" I ask. "I don't have even high clearance!"

"You do have access to confidential information on terrorism," Hotch says. "Interrogation techniques, primarily. That's what she wanted to steal."

One of the agents shifts. He pulls out a newspaper and throws it on the desk. On the front page is a picture of Rachel Kwak, and next to it is a picture that is mostly censored, of a torture in a prison, according to the caption.

WHISTLEBLOWER ACCUSES FBI OF TORTURE, ILLEGAL INTERROGATIONS OF PRISONERS

Honestly, badass.

I look up at them, "well, I didn't help her. You can ask the park rangers, who I was on the phone with. It was a storm. I couldn't get internet in Shanandoah during a flash flood warning if I was the best hacker of the century."

Pausing, I wait for Hotch to correct me and say that Garcia could do it, but he doesn't.

I yawn.

"Gentlemen, are we done?" Hotch asks.

The men get up from the table. The narrower one looks at me one last time, "you are free to go once we check over few things."

The door shuts behind them, and I feel myself collapsing back onto the table, my head in my hands.

"Hotch, you have to believe me," I croak. "I'm so tired. I didn't do it."

But honestly, badass of her.

"I believe you," he says. "You're a member of my team. I have the utmost confidence in your judgement. But you're going to be suspended pending an investigation. I have full confidence that in two weeks you'll be back to work."

I had better.

The sun is well up by the time I sign my statement. Rachel's car isn't going to come pick me up. I imagine her, rolling up asking why I'd stay out all night without her. While I'm unimaginative, I can picture her so clearly.

Instead, I take the subway. It's up and running, and less crowded in this direction at this hour. There is space to sit, and sleep licks at my feet and then my calves and thighs, and then I stand up so it can't take me.

When I get back to my apartment, dragging my feet in, it's an absolute mess. I shut the front door behind me.

"You're lucky everything is backed up!" Estelle shouts from deeper into the house.

I step down the hallway. All of the picture frames are on the floor, and all the photos have floated on the ground.

"They took all our electronics."

They brought in dogs. I can see footprints on the ground in the living room. Every drawer had been opened and the contents thrown out. The cushions have all been thrown aside, every book taken. All of the movies are gone from the drawer. I'm surprised no one is in here still tearing the place apart.

"She screwed us!"

I make it to the kitchen. Estelle is still putting everything back where it belongs. I can't tell how long she has been working, since I don't know what it looked like before I got here, but it doesn't look like she's made much progress.

Finally, she looks at me. She screws up her face, "you know, they held me for twelve hours? I asked for a lawyer."

"As you should," I say. I check the clock. "They held me for nineteen, I guess, and I'm suspended."

"With pay?" she asks.

I shrug, no idea.

My bills are about to get more expensive too, since I wasn't stupid enough not to charge Rachel rent.

"Bastien's still not back," she snaps at me, like it's my fault.

He probably had the good sense not to say anything. They must have arrived here in the middle of the night and taken Estelle. It's the only explanation I can think of for her more put together demeanour.

"I'm sorry," I switch to French. "She tricked me."

"She was very good at manipulating you," Estelle says. "But not me. I saw right through her. It's not your fault, but I'm going to act like it is for a few days, just to maintain my sanity."

I sigh, "I deserve as much."

From there, I begin to help her tidy, but she shoos me out of my room. I go to my bedroom first, where most of the damage is. All of my electronics have been taken. They also took both my work and personal phones, haven't returned them. They had a warrant of course. Maybe it'll be days before I touch them again.

I start to put back together my things. Rachel's room is down the hall, and I'll need to start getting that ready for Bastien. My body is so damn tired. I barely slept for a few seconds yesterday. I collapse in my bed, looking at the piles of paper from the shredder left spilled on my floor. Red strips among them.

Then, I bolt up. All the letters were hand-delivered to my place. They started showing up when I got in contact with Rachel. They never were explicit, just referenced my shorter hair. She could have seen that in a photo at my desk. Maybe I mentioned the haircut.

And suddenly it starts to slip into place. Rachel, mentioning an ex boyfriend who she was scared of, because of course her new friend would offer her a place to stay to escape him. And then that new friend starts to get scared. Maybe more paranoid, and maybe Rachel offers herself as a place of comfort. The kind of person you can trust around your computer, unlike your crazy stalker.

Oh my God. I burp, covering my mouth. I race to the bathroom, forcing myself to brush my teeth so that all I taste is mint, and not the bitterness of betrayal.

Was she just guessing about the ex boyfriend? Or did someone tell her about Him?

I need to call Luc Levesque and apologize, but more importantly, I need to sleep.

I all but crawl back to my bed. My pajamas feel soft, too much so. The entire world is static and my body is primed for the sharpness. I'm not aware I fall asleep, just suddenly aware of pounding on my door.

"Cole, come on!" it's Estelle's voice.

Rolling out of bed, I am careful to avoid the haphazard mess of red paper strung out on the floor.

On the other side of the door, Estelle stands, and next to her is Garcia's boyfriend.

"Kevin?"

"Sorry, but Pen sent me," he fiddles with his hands in my doorway. "She knows you don't have a phone and no one can get a hold of you otherwise."

"Well, I'm... surely everyone knows I'm suspended!" I lean back into my room to peak at the alarm clock. It is well after the time that everyone would be expecting me at work.

"It's not that," he says. Then, he swallows. "It's Dr. Reid."

~~~~~

Another cliffhanger?? And a tieback to the beginning?? WTF. Anyway, love this chapter, I think it's great. But alas, we are slowly dwingling to the end here. Did you see this coming? What are you expecting is up next?

(Also, it's late because like Cole, I'm writing my own mini dissertation at a British uni, so I'm a BIT BUSY).