Page 26 of Small Sacrifices

Silence fills the room. Reid doesn't speak up, convinced this is all the information he's meant to have. Only those accompanying the governor are supposed to know more—and Reid will not be one of them. If Ms. Greene or anyone else needs him, they'll contact him.

"Cool," says Governor Mackenzie, and claps his hands. "Well, then. Back to work, everyone. Wish us luck!"

Only when he pushes his son out of the room does Reid get proof Everett has indeed seen him—a look back over his shoulder. Again, Reid tries to smile.

The moment doesn't last. The governor says something that makes Everett whip around, severing their eye contact and leaving Reid even more puzzled.

His stomach churns, though he's unsure why.

There's no reason for it to hurt. His throat feels dry too, but that might be a side effect of his medication. He swallows and takes a sip of tea.

As the small crowd disperses, Reid notices Mr. Wright still standing where the governor had been.

Mr. Wright is staring directly at Reid, a scowl on his face.

The intense look only adds to Reid's discomfort.

Could this be related to the profiles? Have they not met expectations?

But Mr. Wright doesn't say anything. He simply shakes his head, squints at Reid, and retreats to his office.

Reid's next order of business is to drain his cup and make himself some chamomile tea.

He'd like to talk to Marisol, but she's busy, and he needs to develop some sort of independence in the workplace.

He can't come running to her every time someone looks at him wrong.

So he makes himself a cup of calming tea and returns to his boring report.

Unsurprisingly, the chamomile doesn't make it more interesting to read.

Two hours later, after a solitary lunch break, Reid receives an email with the subject line: "Itinerary for Chesterton Trip.

" At first, he thinks it might be a mistake or additional information for everyone.

But the email is addressed to him personally from Mr. Wright, detailing the events and their order.

"Hospital visit with Stephanie Greene and her son Robin," the email reads.

Oh. Is that why Mr. Wright was looking at him so intensely? Was he still deciding? Reid understands if he wasn't the obvious choice for this trip, but now he's been included.

The email further says: "Mr. Maxwell, to ensure that the parents feel taken seriously, you’ll be traveling with the team. Since you handled the bulk of the communication, we will need you available at all times to provide support, should the need arise."

Reid reads the message again, trying to make sense of it. There's always a chance he's reading too much into it, but it doesn't sound like Mr. Wright is thrilled about the decision. It seems more like a last-minute realization that maybe handing off this task to Reid wasn't the best idea.

A small spark of triumph flares up behind Reid's sternum, but it quickly dims as he considers the implications. He'll be away for the rest of the week, out of his routine and his comfortable environment. And he'll need to be at the airfield by six a.m. tomorrow.

Can he even manage that? Instinctively, he shakes his head. The real question isn't whether he can do it—it's how much it will cost him. The email states he'll return on Friday evening, which means he'll at least have the weekend to decompress.

"Everything alright?" Marisol asks.

When he turns his head towards her, Reid realizes he's been gnawing on his lip. It's only then that the sting of broken skin registers. Ouch. Okay, maybe everything is not alright.

"I'm going to Chesterton," he says, because that's the heart of the issue.

"Oh really? That's so cool!"

But Reid can't join her cheer. When he tries to smile at her, it only turns into a grimace. Marisol's face falls as she sees it.

"Not good?"

Reid sighs. This likely isn't a good idea. He can try to explain his apprehension to her—but will she understand? Most people don't. His parents don't. His sister says she does, but the way she reacts and gets annoyed sometimes shows differently.

"Well, it's a great opportunity, and I'm happy about that. It's just that it's going to be exhausting, and I've never done anything like it, so I'm not sure how well I'm going to cope with it." His lip wanders back between his teeth without any of his own input.

Marisol tilts her head. "Are you sure that's gonna be an issue? It'll only be three days."

Only three days. Reid wants to laugh. "I don't sleep well when I'm not in my own bed. And you know how I get when I don't have enough control over what happens in my day."

That's a thing people say, right? I need to sleep in my own bed? He's heard his mother say it, and the woman is very intent on being normal, so it must be.

The statement draws a mild snort out of Marisol. "Yeah. And this would be like that?"

"It would be worse."

He sees recognition in the way her eyebrows rise. "Oh. D'you wanna stay? Maybe you can call out sick."

The suggestion is tempting—one he hadn't considered. But it's not an actual solution. It won't help him prove to his parents that he can handle a job like this. He'll never get accustomed to these situations if he keeps avoiding them. But there's a catch, isn't there?

Who says he can ever get used to this kind of stress?

He never adapted to the smell of cheap perfume, either.

This trip could be a valuable test, or it could be a disaster.

Everett has already seen him at a breaking point, even if he doesn't know what he saw.

The next person to witness that might not be as understanding.

They might even consider him unfit for the job, which would be a problem.

"No, I want to go."

There's a moment of pause. Then Marisol rolls her desk chair closer. "Well, can you plan for there not being a plan?"

Huh? That doesn't sound like it makes sense. She laughs at the face he pulls. "I just mean that you won't be able to plan anything. But you also won't need to plan anything. Can the plan just be to do whatever Mr. Wright tells you to?"

The idea feels wrong, not least because Mr. Wright seems to be in the habit of expecting Reid to fulfill orders that haven't been given to him yet. It might work with someone Reid trusts. But he's not even sure that it would work with Marisol, so Mr. Wright definitely isn't cutting it.

"No," he says. "I can really just sleep well, medicate, and hope for the best."

Sometimes, he has good days—days where it feels like he's functioning normally.

The lights are bright but not painful, the scents are strong but not overwhelming.

On those days, he can think I want to do that, and then just get up and do it.

But those days are rare and always catch him off guard. He can't rely on them happening.

Marisol's eyes widen. "Oh. Medicate like..." She moves her hand away from and back towards her mouth a few times, pointer and middle finger pushed together.

"No, smoking isn't for me. I have a prescription."

It's deliberately vague. One of the first things he learned at college, when he had first gotten diagnosed and finally had access to medication, is to never tell anyone he takes Ritalin.

Ever. Because there are many people who ask to "borrow" some, like his prescribed meds are cigarettes.

Or they would just steal it outright. Even now that he's out of school, Reid only ever carries what he thinks he might need for the day.

Apparently, that's not a problem for Marisol, though. She just nods and moves on. "Cool. So you leave early today."

"What?"

"Ask to leave early today. Make sure you sleep enough the night before you leave. Would that work?"

Honestly, sometimes Reid could kiss her.

Asking Mr. Wright to be allowed to go home early feels dangerous, like an admission of weakness that could damage his standing here. But to his surprise, the man immediately nods. "Good idea. You might be able to sleep on the plane, but you never know."

For a moment, Reid doesn't know what to do. It's disorienting that he doesn't have to fight for this, or to justify himself. "Thank you," he says. The pause is slightly too long, but Mr. Wright accepts it.

Still, all is not alright. Reid makes to turn on his heel and leave before Mr. Wright changes his mind. But the man isn't finished yet. "Wait a minute."

Reid waits.

"Mr. Maxwell, how well do you know the governor's son?"

What? Reid can feel his eyebrows draw together and deliberately smooths his forehead. It won't do to look angry when he's just confused.

"I wouldn't say that I know either of them. I've met them both now, and I've exchanged a few words with... the older one." How is he supposed to refer to Everett in front of his colleagues? Just by his first name? That feels wrong. "But to say I know him would be a stretch."

What is this about? Did Everett complain about him? Did he say something wrong at lunch yesterday—is that why he left?

"Then why did you smile at him earlier? Were you flirting with him?"

Reid loses control over his facial features, feels his jaw drop. He can't have heard that right.

"Why would I be flirting with him?"

"Why would you be smiling at him?" Mr. Wright counters.

His face is as smooth and expressionless as Reid would like his own to be.

But even he can't seem to prevent the minute little twitches of instinctive movement.

And that... something heavy settles in the pit of Reid's stomach.

That's deliberate. Is this an official inquiry?

Is Mr. Wright asking, in a professional capacity, if Reid is flirting with Everett? What the hell?

"Because I'd just spoken to him earlier that day. I just... It was a greeting. Don't you do that? Smile at people to greet them?" Reid's voice sounds way too high for comfort, too defensive. But he can't help it.

"Spoken to him about what?" Mr. Wright asks, face still carefully blank.

Reid pauses. Something about this feels off, almost dangerous.

Even though he has nothing to hide, the idea of telling the truth makes him deeply uncomfortable.

He doesn't want Mr. Wright to know that they had lunch together.

And then there's also the fact that he feels like maybe he's not the only one who could get in trouble here.

If this really was about Everett, then they could just ask Everett.

Unless they don't trust him to answer honestly.

So Reid lies. "Just small talk."

It's not a good lie. For a second, the squint on Mr. Wright's face makes him think that maybe he does know Reid well enough to know that he can't conduct small talk to save his life. Or possibly his job, in this case. But then the man nods.

"Right. Well, make sure it stays that way. You wouldn't want anyone to think that you're trying to sleep your way up, would you? Never mind the fact that Mr. Mackenzie would never be interested in you."

Reid nods. "Of course." Behind his back, he pinches himself to distract himself from all the questions swirling around in his head. Like "Huh?" and "What the fuck?" and also "Why did that last part sound so unconvincing?" He just breathes through them. "Do you have any other questions?"

An indulgent smile spreads on Mr. Wright's face. "No. You just get home and pack your things. Do you have a garment bag for your shirts? There might not be an iron."

"Of course," Reid says again when he has the feeling that he won't scream at the man upon opening his mouth.

Mr. Wright has the gall to look surprised for a split second before he has his face under control again. Then he smiles. "Great. See you tomorrow, then."

Reid forces himself to smile back and nod his head in acknowledgment.

When he leaves Mr. Wright's office, he feels weirdly betrayed.

Not only by Mr. Wright himself, but also by circumstance.

Because he wants to tell Marisol about this.

All of it, immediately. But he can't do it here.

When Marisol looks at him questioningly, and he says he'll text her when he gets home, she purses her lips.

"Text me tomorrow," she says. "You need to actually get some rest when you get home."

Given his current state of emotional upheaval, Reid doubts he'll get much of it. He's laid awake all night about things way less... interesting. But her face tells him she won't budge on this, so he just nods.

And then, he drives home, where he packs his garment bag and a small backpack, heats up some leftovers, and sets his alarm clock for way too early.