We wrap up soon after, and since Stéphane is not in much of a state, I'm the one who drives home. He naps in the car beside me. He'll have to take over once we get to my place, but I have half a mind to just drive around the country for an extra hour so he can get more rest.

He wakes up before we get back. We're only a twenty minutes drive from mine though. He doesn't speak to me, just sends out a few texts. Only when we are a few blocks away does he turn to look at me.

"You fucked it up, then?"

I don't take my eyes off the road, "I'm not sure what you mean?"

"With Spencer?"

The light turns yellow. I probably could make it through the intersection, but I break. The car slows, thankfully. I was worried I'd rush through, that I wouldn't be able to stop. The car comes still. I can hear it idling over the radio.

"You don't want to talk about it?"

"It's Caro's wedding," I tell him. "About her, not me."

"So, you did fuck it up."

I huff out a sigh, shaking my head. The light turns green, and for a second, I wait. There isn't anyone behind me, and I just take that second before I put my foot on the gas.

"Yeah, I did."

"Cole..."

"I know," I agree with him.

He doesn't say anything back. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel.

"Just, I'm not ready," I tell him. "I haven't even told Estelle."

"You're stuck," he answers. Already, I know my face is going to turn red. "I thought when you came back here you were finally able to talk about it. Maybe you move all the time, but you are stuck in the same pattern. It's hard to help you when you are like that."

"It's hard to help you when you don't tell me it bothers you too," I whisper to him. We are only a few blocks from my building. "You know, like Caro said. You have panic attacks?"

He nods, "yeah. I was in therapy last year. It got so bad that I was on leave from my job. I couldn't... last May when you called me about your coworker, and I found you by the dumpster, I had six panic attacks that week. Two before you called me. One in your bathroom."

I remember him in there. I didn't go check. I close my eyes.

"I'm sorry," I tell him. "I know it happened to you too."

"I'm the only one who noticed," he whispers.

We aren't at my building yet, but I see a spot and park the car. I turn to look at my brother, younger than me by minutes but much taller and broader. He has taken off the sunglasses, and he's wiping away tears.

"Maman didn't notice you didn't come home that night. You weren't at dinner, but I thought you'd be back later. You weren't there in the morning though, when I got up for hockey practice," he said. "And I just kept thinking, if I had said something the night before, after dinner. If I had knocked on your door..."

I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean over and hug him. I can feel him shaking.

"That night I was just happy you weren't banging on my wall telling me to quit playing the sax," he manages. "I was happy you weren't there. I was too busy with my own hobbies to notice you never ended up coming home."

"I've never blamed you," I whisper, still holding onto him.

"I had to be there," he says. "I had to make sure Caro and Bastien didn't go back to Maman, since she never paid attention to them. I kept switching clubs and sports and hobbies and jobs because every time I'd really start to like something, I'd think about how if I got to distracted, I'd forget what really matters."

Then, I pull him in tighter, holding him in close to me. This job at Shenandoah is the longest thing he has had in years. Soccer, speed skating, jazz music, composting, rock climbing, putting out fires, growing gardens, and every other hobby collected over the years and put on a shelf when he finally started to love it.

"I just..." he hesitates. We let go. His face is bright red, bright the same way mine gets. "I don't want you to miss out on good things."

"Okay," I manage, looking at him. "Okay."

"Good," he relaxes, and the movement is so big I didn't realize how hunched he has been. Maybe he's been like that for years. "Okay. Good."

Then, he drops me off at my apartment. I get settled in, returning to the way things are. Estelle is nothing but questions. She has always had more of a knack for research, I guess. Who and what, and the play by play of the night. She's meal prepping so I stand in the room with her while offering very non-committal answers. She threatens to go Stéphane, a mischievous grin on her face and an eyebrow cocked. Maybe he betrays her to me more than I like, but he will let me keep this information just to myself. At the very least, he had better promise me that he will.

On Monday, I'm the only one at work. Well, I'm the only one on our little team who is here. The administrative assistants gossip and whisper about the big New York case during the lunch hour. Without Garcia to fill me in, I end up googling the situation. Murders on the subway line. I try not to think much of it.

The days repeat on Tuesday and Wednesday. I get more work done. I just did my biannual report so things feel slower right now. I try not to google what is happening. If anyone was in danger, they'd at the very least send me an email. Most likely, the Erin Strauss would call me in and tell me. Then, my hands would go numb and I'd find a passport and flee the country. Well, I would specifically if it was a hostage situation. I know my patterns.

By Wednesday night, Estelle has stopped interrogating me with questions. She's still working on research through the summer, grinding through paperwork even though the semester ended last month.

"Do you want to go anywhere this year?" she asks that evening, curving around the doorframe to peer at me. Another question. "I was thinking Inverness."

I peer at her. We visited Scotland during our time at Oxford, but we were so busy back then we didn't travel much. Besides, that was a few months before her obsession with cryptids really took off. She says she was always interested, but I think it was the only night we drank absinthe that really did it.

"Loch Ness?" I ask.

She rolls her eyes, "are you complaining? Daniel, Martin, and Bill asked if we wanted to join them. A bunch of the criminology students are getting together."

"You keep in touch with them?" I ask.

She laughs, "I have a life outside of you. Anyway, the middle of June. Are you in?"

My eyes shift slightly from the book I'm reading to the drawer where I keep my passport. If I go, I don't know that I will come back. Last year, when I went to Spain with Bastien, that didn't even feel this tenuous.

I went to Carnaval with my family the winter we lived in Québec. Stéphane loved the maple syrup and the different competitions. He did laps around me at an outdoor rink and explored maple tree routes in a nearby forest. Caro was twelve and just wanted to stay out late listening to musical performances and wandering through the market. Bastien only nine, just wanted to watch the ice sculpture carvers since they had chain saws. The ice was less fragile than it appeared.

I think somehow, I would manage to break it. Or maybe, the ice would somehow break me.

Then, Estelle pouts her lip.

"I'll consider it," I answer, shaking my head with a smile.

She nods, before ducking out of the room.

In here, I don't feel alone. Not even with my thoughts, ones that I would never share with her. Actually, I feel incredibly and terribly claustrophobic. It's not late, but I can feel something is wrong. I pull out my phone. I hover over Spencer's contact.

I shouldn't call him. I pissed him off and it would just be selfish to want to hear that he is okay, to know in the moment. It's not to hear him, or to feel him beside me. Even alone with my thoughts, I don't feel alone. It feels like he is here with me.

My suspicions are proved partially correct on Thursday. The case is complete, but no one is coming back yet. Hotch was injured, but he should be okay. Maybe he'll have to do desk duty for a while. It isn't Erin Strauss who fills me in though, but JJ over the phone, apologizing that she isn't there in person to tell me herself.

"We're all tired," she says. "Hotch gave us the day off, but we're coming in tomorrow for paperwork."

I nod. It's fair enough. I'm so tired too.

After work, on the subway on the way back to the apartment which Estelle and I share, I realize that I was wrong. I missed my stop, sitting idly and staring at the shining metal pole in front of me. The line ends. I should've gotten off fifteen minutes ago. I'm in a state too.

~~~~~

Cole is so self-destructive it breaks my silly little heart. As always, let me know what you think in the comments!