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Cyrus is dead, and they've survived three days trapped in a cult compound.
He doesn't quite believe it, yet, but he's scrabbling out of the rubble, Morgan on his heels, his eyes scanning for a figure with familiar dark hair and a light blue shirt that he really, really hopes is waiting for him. Morgan told him she's alright, and he wouldn't lie to him, not about that, so she must be fine.
The smoke is thick, like the guilt roiling in his stomach - Jessica should've got out, she should be here too, looking for her mother - and he coughs, again, knowing he'll need to be checked out before they let him go home.
Home.
Peace. Quiet.
A shower.
That's the first thing on his list, after finding Emily.
The smoke clears, and she's there, a little too worse for wear for his liking - the bruise on her cheek makes him think orbital fracture, which is dangerous, and when he considers the fact she'd taken that beating to protect him - he finds himself almost running into her arms, wrapping her in his as tightly as he dares. He presses his hand to her hair, takes in the vanilla and fresh ink that is Emily without her perfume and feels her shake in his arms, feels the tears soak into his shirt even as he feels her smile.
She's alive. They've survived.
“We’re out.”
“We are.”
“Thank God you’re okay.”
“Mhmm.” He can’t say the same thing back.
But they're going to keep on surviving, which is the main thing.
He only realizes he’s crying when she pulls back and brushes her thumb along his cheek, catching the moisture and wiping it on the front of his shirt.
“C’mon. Let’s go get checked out.”
She presses a hand to his back as Derek does the same, Hotch clearing the path for them to the paramedics.
***
The second they hear the shots ring out, Spencer is making plans. Running through the ones he's already made.
Plan A, getting out as standard, is clearly not going to happen.
Plan B is to try and ingratiate themselves here, protect themselves.
Plan C is to just try and run. Grab Emily's hand, try not to think about it too much because just the idea is making his heart rate increase eighteen percent, and pull the pair of them out as fast as possible. Call Hotch while he hotwires a car, not for the first time.
Plan D is that they will shoot their way out of here.
Plan D is his least favorite, understandably.
The agent with them barges her way out into the main room, despite both his and Emily's protests, and they're held back by armed members of Cyrus’ cult.
Plan B it is.
***
He refuses to let her out of his sight until they're at the hospital and he's forced to.
He's not her medical proxy. He's not her next of kin.
He's…not really anything to her, as much as part of him wishes he was.
They ride in the ambulance together, and Emily has her hand braced on his arm the whole ride.
His knuckles are white as he clenches the sheet on the gurney.
And in the hospital, they're separated, as he's forced to go for X-rays while she's taken for an MRI.
***
The first night is the only one they actually spend with each other in the compound.
They're pushed into a basement room, with a couple of thin mattresses and sheets on the floor.
The door is slammed and locked behind them, and they're plunged into darkness.
In fact, it's beyond darkness - it's pitch black, and all Spencer is aware of is his and Emily's breathing.
His, he knows, is rapidly speeding up, and his heart is beating thirty-five percent faster than it had been, which is bad, because it was already fast.
He can feel the adrenaline in his veins.
And then warm, gentle gun-calloused hands grasp his, and he finds himself gently guided to the floor.
“Nyctophobia.”
What-
“You told me a few weeks ago, I know you remember. It's the scientific term for the fear of the dark. Like coulrophobia is the fear of clown, and anatidaephobia is the fear of-”
“That you're being watched by a duck.”
It had been a rather lovely conversation, because she'd laughed, and his heart had felt like it had flipped in his chest, which, if it really happened, would be a medical emergency and he'd probably be dead.
The memory makes his heart slow down, somehow, and his adrenal glands seem to stop dumping hormones into his body, so it helps as he just focuses on the rasp of the calluses on Emily's hands against his own as she continues to talk.
“I remember a few more that you told me about. Globophobia is the fear of balloons, and uh, omphalophobia is the fear of belly buttons, which I cannot believe they actually have a name for, and pogonophobia is a fear of beards. They have words for so many. What about the fear of, I don't know, getting peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth?” She laughs a little as she says it.
“ Arachibutyrophobia.”
“There's seriously a word for it?”
“Yeah. It's because of the fear that you might choke if it gets stuck on the soft and hard palates.”
“Huh. That actually makes a lot of sense. And you don't sound like you're about to hyperventilate.”
Oh, he does feel a little more centred in his body. “Uh, yeah, much better. Thanks.” He thinks about pulling his hands back, and trying to feel his way towards the mattresses, but there's still a crawling sensation up his spine.
So, he doesn't, and she doesn't let go, either, just slowly eases them along the floor until they reach what passes for a bed in this situation. They lie down, still not letting go of one another, and Spencer lets himself think that he's providing her with a measure of comfort as well.
(He doesn't know how right he is.)
“So what's the plan for tomorrow?”
“Why do you think there's a plan?”
“Because you always have a plan, Spencer. And usually about three or four others tucked away in there too.” She taps the side of his head with her free hand, somehow hitting his temple perfectly.
“My plan was for us to try and ingratiate ourselves with the people here, and Cyrus and his…seconds…in particular. Keep ourselves safe that way.”
“That sounds like a good plan, and what I thought it would be. I think a first step would be to try and get some sleep, though.”
Ah, sleep.
“Definitely worth a shot.” He tries to keep the levity in the moment. “I hope you don't snore.”
“No one's ever complained before.” He can hear the smile in her voice.
“Well, that's…good. Goodnight, Emily.”
“Night, Spencer.”
He rolls over onto the other mattress, finally letting go of her hand, and covers himself with the sheet, and tries to sleep.
He rolls over.
And again.
And then again.
Then he throws the cover off and wraps his arms around himself. His hand feels strangely cold.
He tries to take some deep breaths, lets his mind wander, even tries counting sheep.
Then he rolls over again, and he hears a sigh.
“Can't sleep?”
“Sorry, am I keeping you awake?” His stomach clenches.
“No, I think we're just both terrible sleepers. Hang on.” A shuffle, then a dip in the mattress.
“I always need a bit of weight to be able to sleep - are you the same?”
He thinks about the pile of heavy blankets on his bed at home. The one in the hotel room he's currently not occupying. “Yeah.”
“Think you can handle sharing sheets for a night?”
Share a mattress - oh, crap. “Uh yeah, I'm sure I can do that.”
“Great.” And then she half flops down onto his chest.
“Wha-”
“I have a feeling you like more weight than I do, and also I'll feel better having you in reach. This isn't the first time I've been in a…difficult situation with another agent.”
“I- okay.” It is comfortable, having her tucked into his shoulder, even if her hair tickles his nose a little bit.
“Great. Let's try that again, shall we? Goodnight, Spencer.”
“Night, Emily.”
He focuses on his breathing, on the warm weight of her in his arms, the way her scent wraps around him. He feels his pulse slow down, his faculties start to wind down.
And impossibly, he falls asleep.
***
He's given the all-clear. He's got a couple of bruised ribs and a hairline fracture on one of them, along with a lot of soft tissue damage on his stomach thanks to the butt of Cyrus’ gun, but nothing that a week of enforced leave won't fix. There's also the smoke inhalation, but they've given him an inhaler for any possible coughing fits.
They did offer him pain medication, but he'd refused it.
The weight of the coin in his pocket is a comfort, now, and he'll stick to taking Tylenol or Aleve.
However, his heart is still too fast, but now it's because he's worrying about Emily.
He runs to Hotch in the lobby. “Any news?”
“Not yet. Are you alright, Reid?”
“Bruised ribs, hairline fracture, soft tissue damage.”
“You're taking the next week off, no arguments.”
“...yes, sir.”
His boss smiles at him, very slightly, then pats him on the shoulder before Morgan practically rushes up to him, frowning. “Pretty boy. You good?”
“Yeah, Morgan, all good. Just wanna get home now, if I'm honest.” A moment. He remembers. “How about you?”
“All good, kid, just a bit of smoke inhalation. You get an inhaler too?”
“Yeah, not sure I'll use it.”
“If you have a coughing fit on the plane I'm going to fish it out of your Mary Poppins-ass go-bag and I'm making you use it.”
“Morgan, I am twenty-seven in-”
“And you act like you're a five year old when it comes to medication when you need it. Try me, Reid.” He raises his eyebrow, and Spencer just…nods.
There's no arguing with him on this, it seems.
“Also, I saw Emily on the way out here to you guys.” He nods at Hotch. “She's being discharged right now. No facial fractures, a couple of broken ribs, and a lot of soft tissue damage.”
“Thanks, Morgan. The jet's waiting for us at the airstrip, go with the rest of them. Prentiss, Reid, and I will catch you up as soon as she's released.”
“Got it.” He squeezes Spencer's shoulder and walks off.
“You know, Reid, he has got a point. Even Jack's better when he's sick.”
Spencer turns to Hotch, who is now smiling a little more brightly, and glares, making him smile even harder.
At that moment, the doors open, and Emily walks out, also clutching a bag from the pharmacy.
The health insurance from the FBI is thankfully excellent, but it doesn't stop him from feeling incredibly guilty that she's only in such bad shape because of him.
***
The moment Cyrus walks in and asks which one of them is the FBI agent, Spencer knows Plan B is also on the brink of falling apart.
He immediately goes to lie.
“Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?” The first thing he knows to try is to turn it around on him.
“God will forgive me for what I must do.” And then there's a gun pointed at his head.
He thinks he’s getting a little too used to it. He hardly even blinks before he starts talking.
“I..I don't know what you're talking about.” He can feel his heart speeding up, again. Please, please don't let him shoot.
“One of you does. Who is it?” Cyrus pulls the hammer back.
“Me. It's me.”
He hears Emily, doesn't dare look over at her in case his body betrays itself.
What?
Cyrus pulls the gun back from his head, but he barely gets a moment to feel the relief before Emily is grabbed by her hair and pulled into another room.
Instead, he's left to sit there with his own thoughts, mind racing with the various horrid things that he knows could be happening to her.
He starts to wonder if she's even alive, even though logically Cyrus would gain nothing from killing her. In fact, he'd lose his biggest bargaining chip. He tries to let the facts, the logic, settle him.
He doesn't sleep that night, either way.
***
When he sees her again, for the first time after she’s taken away, he can’t help himself from walking over when he sees her. Between trying to persuade them, like in Plan B, and worrying about her, he’d hardly slept the previous night. He isn’t thinking entirely straight, can feel the peripheries of his mind giving into his base wants.
And one of those is her.
“He looks pissed.” He hardly notices that she’s spoken - he’s far too busy looking at the bruises across her face, the dried blood under her nose.
It’s only there because of him.
“I am so sorry.” Part of him wants to reach out, touch her face, make her let him check her over, but there are so many reasons why that is a bad idea, the least of which being that they’re not like that.
The biggest of which is the fact that Cyrus is reading out the names his cronies had written down yesterday after Rossi had left.
“Look at who he’s releasing.” He stops staring at her for a moment, and looks towards Cyrus, listens.
“It’s the people who failed the loyalty test.” He’s letting them go? That…it doesn’t make sense.
There’s a churning in his gut that he thinks might be guilt, not that he’s ever been very good at naming what he’s feeling, so he immediately tries to do something, anything helpful. “I’ll get word to the team. Wait for a sign from outside to indicate what time the raid will come.”
It’s the last thing he says to her because he has to walk away, has to walk back to Cyrus.
It’s like there’s concrete in his shoes as he takes the scant few steps.
And then he immediately starts playing the manipulator again. “I told her shouldn’t have lied to you like that,” is what he says to the other man, even as Cyrus stares at her. He doesn’t like the look on his face, wants to block him from having her in his field of vision at all.
“To either of us.” He turns to his seconds. “Take her back.”
He doesn’t see her again until the building blows up.
But he gets the message to the team, at least.
He manages to be vaguely useful, after all.
***
The drive to the airstrip feels far too long, much longer than it felt on the way out. Maybe it’s because he’s tired, maybe it’s because the pain meds aren’t knocking all of the pain in his ribs out, but he feels every single turn, bump and tap on the brakes. He’s not the only one, because he notices Emily’s occasional swallowed, pained, grunts, and each time he really wishes it wasn’t her. She shouldn’t have done that for him. He’s the more experienced agent, he should’ve been the one in charge of the situation.
But no, he wasn’t.
Once again, he’s let the side down.
He thinks about helping her up the steps onto the jet, but she waves Derek off when he tries, so he doesn’t even bother.
Of course her stubborn streak would kick in now, of all times.
He sits himself down at one of the tables, the one closest to the bathroom, and makes sure to face towards the back. He dozes off for a moment against the window, but it isn’t long before he moves and wakes himself back up, pressing his hand to his ribs with a hushed whine.
The last thing he needs is them all worrying about him again.
It’s then he notes that they’re already up in the air.
Huh.
He checks his watch, and takes a couple more Tylenol. He can take Aleve again in an hour.
He’s settled down with a book when Emily walks out of the bathroom and sits opposite him.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” They smile at each other, just the slightest amount.
“I need you to listen to me.” He looks up, really looks at her, and he’s looking at her with wide, dark, beautiful eyes as she leans towards him. She wraps her hands around his, resting on top of them as he keeps hold of the book. “What Cyrus did to me is not your fault.”
He wants to argue, but she keeps talking. He can’t look at her anymore, so he casts his eyes down, the contact feeling too heavy, too much. Intense.
“It was my decision, and I would do it again. Do you hear me?”
She’d…she’d do that for him?
Oh.
Maybe he’s as important to her as she is to him.
Probably not in the same way, but…important.
He’s not used to being seen as important.
So he just looks away, then looks back, doesn’t even really nod. But she takes it as an affirmative anyway.
“Thank you.”
He smiles, weakly, and she returns it, lighting up her face like always.
Then he turns back to his book.
The knot remains, but it loosens, just a bit.
***
The week off feels superfluous, but he doesn’t put it past Hotch and Morgan to literally pick him up and carry him back out of the building if he tries to show up, so he does as he’s told.
He goes to a Beltway meeting, just as a precaution - he knows stress and pain kickstart his cravings, so he takes himself there, just in case.
And it’s good to be able to share it with people too.
John, who is now his sponsor, drags him out for a coffee and makes him actually talk through it.
It helps a lot.
It’s also the end of summer, so he makes himself go outside, gets some fresh air, moves around to try and make sure his muscles don’t completely seize.
He reads.
And on day four, he gets really, really bored.
The apartment is tidy (enough). He’s reread most of the books in it. He doesn’t have a TV for the principle of the thing, but he has a home projector, but even then nothing really takes his fancy.
The existential ennui sets in, and he finds himself laying on the sofa staring at the ceiling.
Not for the first time, he debates getting a pet, but it wouldn’t be fair on a cat or a dog if he went away for long periods.
A lizard, maybe? A fish?
He’s literally pulling on his coat to go to the library and get some herpetology books when his phone rings.
Emily Prentiss.
He answers. “Spencer Reid.”
“Oh good, I did save your number right. I am going insane, and I am this close to buying red hair dye. Want to go catch a movie downtown? I heard there’s a brilliant French New Wave film they’re airing.”
“Oh thank God. I think you just saved me from getting a lizard.”
She laughs, and then groans. “Ow, okay, laughing’s still a bit sore. Glad to have helped. Meet you in ten?”
“But you live-”
“I’m already driving.”
“I’ll give you the statistics on how dangerous using your phone while driving is when you get here. Get off your phone and I’ll see you then.”
“See you soon, Spencer.”
Spencer. She usually calls him Reid.
Huh.
***
The film is good, but it’s even nicer how Emily leans over to him and explains some of the errors in the subtitles, particularly the way her breath tickles against his ear, his neck. It’s intimate in a way he’s not sure he’s ever felt.
Not romantic, not platonic, just...intimate.
So when they find out about the Korean film showing at another cinema the next day, they immediately make plans, mostly so that Emily doesn’t have to, as she puts it, “listen to the tirade about distraction being a major risk and the phone being as bad as drinking and driving, I’ve got the message, Spencer”.
He also doesn’t feel good about her driving in that state, so he suggests they get a cab from hers so she can rest. She agrees to that a bit more readily than he expects, so he’s sure then that she's been uncomfortable.
It’s a bit of a shock to him when he gets the Metro over to her place in Georgetown, and he finds a very nice building at the address she’d texted him.
When he gets upstairs after she buzzes him in, he remembers that she’s an ambassador’s daughter.
It’s a very nice apartment - not entirely his taste, perhaps a touch too modern for him, but he appreciates the art on the wall and the rug under the coffee table.
It’s warm in the apartment, decorated in different hues of red and cream and gold, and it suits her perfectly.
She’d texted him that it was open when he came upstairs, so when he sees her on the couch in a dressing gown, the bruising looking infinitesimally better than yesterday, he practically drops his bag on the floor to get to her.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Might need a change of plan." She grimaces. "Fancy hanging out here instead? My ribs are very, very sore today. Fancy eating takeout on the sofa with a couple of DVDs? I have a few things I’m pretty sure you’d like.”
She still wants to hang out while she’s feeling rough? “Are you-?”
“I’m sure, Spencer. I still wanna hang out, just don’t want to move.”
“Then yeah, I’d like that. What do you want to watch?”
“I’ll call the place while you pick something to watch. I know what you want - szechuan beef with plain chow mein and spring rolls.”
“How do you-?”
“Because I know you, Reid. I’m on it.”
He picks something and sets the DVD player up - or rather, Emily tries to direct him, but eventually gets up to help him out.
By the time that’s set up, the food’s downstairs, so he goes to collect it, and then follows Emily’s direction to get plates for the both of them and a fork for him.
He’s not in the mood to try and fight with chopsticks again, and he thinks Emily might hurt herself laughing if he tries.
When they sit down and eat, Emily grabs the blanket on the arm of the chair and throws it over the both of them, before pressing play on the remote.
Emily’s right, the film is good.
And she really does know him.
By the time they finish the film, the sun’s gone down, and he can see the really quite incredible view she has over the Lincoln Memorial and the Capitol when he looks out the window.
But he doesn’t think about it for long before he feels a pressure against his shoulder and notices Emily’s head has fallen against it - her hair is covering her face like a veil, and she’s fast asleep, her breath deep and even.
He doesn’t dare move, so he stays put, even when she curls a little more onto him, her arm draping across her chest.
It’s nice. A little awkward, but nice.
Nice enough that he falls asleep too.
***
When Spencer wakes up again, Emily is no longer sprawled half on top of him.
Instead, she’s stood up, holding a mug of what he thinks is chamomile tea and is smiling down at him.
“Come on you, bed.”
“What- what time is it?” He usually wakes up very quickly, straight out of REM to wide awake, but he’s a little fuzzy-headed - it’s been a long time since that happened.
“Two in the morning - there’s no way the Metro’s running at this time. I’ve got a spare room, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got an old t-shirt and some pyjama pants that’ll fit you.”
“O-Okay.” He’s been asleep for four hours?
“You’re remarkably comfortable to fall asleep on, you know. Thought you’d be bonier.” She’s smiling, not self-conscious in the slightest.
“Thank you, I think?”
“Just an observation. Get up, Spencer. Bed.”
He drags himself up and takes the mug out of her hand, then goes up the stairs slowly, determined not to trip.
“Bathroom’s to the left and the spare room’s the last door on the right. My room’s next door. Shout if you need anything. Goodnight, Spence.”
“Goodnight, Emily - sleep well.”
He’s lying down in the dark before he realizes she’s called him Spence.
She’s never said that before.
Huh.
***
When he leaves the next morning, a cup of coffee down and a brief hug from Emily, he sits on the Metro, and realizes he might be in a bit more trouble than he thought.
***
Emily sits on the sofa, and wonders if maybe she was too obvious last night.
They can’t be anything. Or well, they shouldn't be, anyway.
So why did it feel so right when she woke up asleep against his chest, his arm draped over her shoulder and his heart beating steadily under her ear?
***
They don’t hang out for the rest of the week, but they stay in contact. Emily sends him a couple of texts, just checking in, making sure he’s not going stir-crazy enough to buy that lizard, but he’s lucky and he ends up with a stockpile of local newspapers, some scientific and literary magazines, several academic journals and also Anderson, after a brief pleading phone call, sets him up with some paperwork he can complete without Hotch finding out that he’s technically working during his week off.
It keeps him sane at least, and he hopes Emily has managed the same. She’s still got another week, after all.
When he walks into the office, he makes sure to slyly pass the files to Anderson, who welcomes him back and asks if he’s alright before running off to grab a coffee, before heading back to the filing room.
He’s immediately put on a local consult with Morgan, and it’s nice to be back, to have a clear sense of routine again.
The car ride back is good, too.
“So, pretty boy, what did you get up to with your week off?”
“Oh, you know. Not much. Read a fair bit more than usual, saw a few films, tidied the apartment.”
“Wow, sounds like you actually mostly rested. You’re telling me you didn’t go stir-crazy?”
“Well, I almost bought a lizard, but then Emily invited me out to a film, so I didn’t.”
“Good to know she’s as bad at ‘taking it easy’ as the rest of us. Anyway, a lizard? Really? It’s not like you can cuddle a lizard.”
“I just think they’re cool.” He doesn’t mention the fact that some lizards do enjoy being held, because he suspects that might just gain him some teasing.
“You could get a dog - I’ve got a great sitter for Clooney.”
“Yes, Penelope.” He gets texts every hour most evenings in hotel rooms, and sometimes Penelope even puts him on the phone to him. It’s oddly endearing listening to him call Clooney “the best boy” every night.
“And when she travels with us, I’ve got a woman who will walk and pop in. Seriously, it’d do you some good.”
“Maybe. I’d probably prefer a cat, though. Not sure I like the idea of having to go for a walk in the rain.”
“You do you, kid. Either way, something other than a lizard, yeah?”
He wants to get a lizard out of spite now, so he just hums noncommittally.
That evening, he gets home and immediately calls up Emily without thinking.
She picks up on the second ring. “Hey, Spencer.”
“Hi, Emily. How are you?”
“Not quite bored enough to buy red hair dye yet. How was your first day back?”
“I think I might buy the lizard to irritate Morgan at this point.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Nah, just Morgan being Morgan. It's been good, actually. Did you see your doctor today for a checkup?”
“Yeah, I managed to get in. He says I should be fine for desk duty next week, and that the ribs should be fully healed in another two weeks after that.”
“Well, that’s good. Let me know if you want to hang out after work or something this week - I’m open if you’re up for anything.”
“I think I’ll take you up on that - you’re not allowed to fly again yet, are you?”
“Nope, that’s next week. Local consults only for me.”
“Good to know. We could hang out at mine?”
“How about mine? I’ve got some films on DVD and a projector I can hook up to my work laptop.”
“You really are stuck in the Dark Ages of tech, aren’t you?”
“I have a mobile. I’m using it right now to call you.”
“Yes, but no TV?”
“I just prefer not to have one.”
“Never change, Spencer. Never change.”
“We’re all in constant states of flux, Emily.”
“...Never mind. Have a good evening, and try to get some sleep.”
“I will, Emily. We miss you at work, you know.” I miss you, is what part of him wants to say, so he tries to obfuscate it.
“I miss you, too. I’ll be back before you know it, don’t you worry. Sweet dreams, Spence.”
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
After they’ve hung up, he finds himself wishing the English language still used ‘thou’ and ‘ye’ for the first time, because then he wouldn’t be trying to work out what she meant.
He focuses on that so much he manages to miss that she called him Spence again.
***
By the time Emily comes back to desk duty, the bruises are completely gone, and she seems like she’s almost back to normal, which brings him no small amount of relief.
He still feels guilty, of course, but the fact that she’s visibly better is helpful.
He is also very aware that she asked him not to try and blame himself, but he’s failing quite spectacularly at it.
The night she’d come over they’d settled on his couch and had Thai food while watching one of his mom’s favorite films.
She hadn’t fallen asleep on him again, but they’d ended up a little closer together than intended, instead, their legs pressed together and her head on his shoulder.
Not that he's complaining, of course. He does, however, wish that his heart would stop trying to kill him every time she so much as smiles at him.
They have to work together on a consult for the Seattle Police Department, nothing that requires travelling but something that means they're in close proximity for the whole day, trying to build a profile of a killer targeting victims who work just outside of Chinatown.
“So what are we thinking, Reid?”
He's so lost in the files that he barely hears her, just frowns at the papers in front of him.
“You'll catch flies if you don't close your mouth, you know.” He looks up, about to retort something about how flies don't generally go after living beings, but then she's smirking at him across the table. “You're pulling that face again.”
“What face?”
“Your thinking face. The one where you frown and your mouth drops open.”
“Oh, sorry. Didn't realize.”
“Spence, c'mon, I'm just teasing you. It's kind of cute.”
She thinks he's cute.
Adorable, most likely. Like a younger sibling, or a puppy.
But something in his brain still holds onto a tiny bit of hope.
***
The report sent off, Spencer is about to head straight home - he's a little tired, and he really should eat an actual meal with some kind of vegetation, rather than the grilled cheese with a side of LactAid that he knows he's probably going to end up having if he goes home too late.
Of course, Emily leaves at the same time.
“Hey, heading home?”
“Yeah. Need to eat and try and get an early night.” He won't. He never gets an early night when he tries, but he still hopes it might work one day.
“Sounds like a solid plan. I should probably do that too. Although…”
“Although…?”
“There's a really good restaurant that's just opened up a couple of blocks away from your place. How about we go check it out?”
“What kinda food?”
“Korean.”
“...I guess it couldn't hurt, as long as I eat something with some nutritional value.”
“Don't worry, I'll make sure you eat some lettuce or something.”
“Alright, let's go. I assume you're driving?”
“Of course.”
***
The drive to the restaurant isn't too slow - they're a bit past rush hour leaving - and when they arrive, they hardly have to wait for a table before they're whisked back to one near the kitchen, in a quieter part of the place. The lighting is warm, not blinding white, and it doesn't make his eyes hurt.
Emily looks impressed when he orders in Korean.
“Korean?”
“Hangul was designed to be easy to learn phonetically, and I read a couple of books and went to a few speaking classes a while back.”
“Well, color me surprised. The waitress looked pretty impressed, too.”
“What?”
“You're telling me you didn't notice her checking you out?” She laughs at him when he frowns. “Of course you didn't. Maybe you should try giving her your number.”
“Absolutely not, it's apparently a golden rule to never ask out someone while working.”
“You know what, fair point. Besides, it means I get to keep you all to myself. What else can you tell me about Korean history and the language?”
He talks practically non-stop for the whole time they're waiting for their food, bibimbap with a side of kimchi, except to take a sip of tea. Emily has soju, but he's hardly a drinker nowadays, not after...everything.
When it arrives, they eat, hardly saying a word to one another until the plates are clear.
“That was delicious.”
“It really was. I'm coming back here at some point for sure.”
“Me, too, especially since it's only around the corner from me.”
“Come back together at some point?”
“Sounds good.”
“It's a date.”
The conversation continues, as easy as breathing, and by the time Spencer gets home, he's ready to go straight to bed.
He sleeps for nine hours and wakes up to his alarm, and barely thinks about how she said she wanted to keep him to herself.
***
Two weeks later, he's surprised by a card and a box of donuts on his desk.
They're chocolate frosted and covered in sprinkles, his favorite.
The envelope says Spence, so he assumes it's JJ, until he opens it up. The card has two atoms on it, with one saying “I've lost an electron”. The other says “are you positive?” He actually laughs out loud.
Then he opens it.
Happy birthday Spencer - have a great day.
Emily
X
Of course she remembered.
And to be honest, it makes him feel a bit better when he puts the Kurt Vonnegut book she mentioned last month on her desk with a card from him.
His is a little less fun, but there's a cartoon cat on the front, so he thinks she'll like it.
He makes himself scarce so she can open it without him staring at her, goes down to Penelope who squeezes him and leaves a bright pink lipstick mark on his cheek while singing to him and handing him the still-warm pastries and fancy coffee she's grabbed for him.
When he goes back to his desk, Emily is smiling at the book on her desk, a first edition he spotted in a vintage bookstore for an extremely low price, and practically runs over to him and hugs him the second he sees her.
“You remembered! I mean, of course you did, eidetic memory, but you got me the perfect book!” She hugs him, and then eyes the pink lipstick on his cheek. “Garcia get you?”
“That she did. And thank you for the donuts, they're lovely.”
“Did you open the box?”
“No?”
“Open it.”
He does.
Inside, taped to the side of the box is a small wrapped gift. He opens it to find a purple palm-sized leather notepad, monogrammed with S.R. in gold on the front.
“It's for your drawings, so you have somewhere to keep them rather than just on napkins and random sheets.
He hugs her back, surprisingly hard, and she laughs into his shoulder. “Thank you, Em.”
“You're welcome, Spence.”
He lets her go to find JJ waiting patiently, holding a cupcake with a candle in it and the hat she makes him wear for his birthday every year, and snaps a pic of him on her camera as he blows the candle out.
Spencer then passes the hat to Emily. “If I have to, so do you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
She puts the hat on, and poses with Reid and his cupcake, kissing him on the cheek in the process and making JJ promise to send it to her before she goes on maternity leave.
Two days later, the picture is stuck up on her desk by her computer.
Of course, he barely gets a chance to think about that before they're called into the conference room.
And then they're on the jet forty-five minutes later, the donuts in the fridge for when they get back.
The notepad is in his pocket, though.
His first doodle is of a dark-haired woman with beautiful, large eyes.
***
The case is largely conventional, or at least as conventional as cases with the BAU ever get.
It's the takedown where things go a little wrong.
They profile that the UnSub will try to commit suicide-by-cop when he's cornered, but that doesn't exactly pan out. He's taken the lives of three women, shot them execution-style in the back of the head.
It's him, Emily, Derek, and a couple of local SWAT officers who have tracked him to the warehouse, but it's Emily that finds the man first.
Which is why when Spencer finds him next, he sees the UnSub's arm around her throat, his other hand pressing a gun to her head, blood dripping down from her temple where he's hit her with it.
It's the only way he could've subdued her.
“Drop the weapon.”
The man jostles her again, and sneers at him. “No way, man. This pretty lady's my bargaining chip. You drop your gun, and I don't shoot her.”
“Drop it, you're surrounded.” He sees Derek and the other officers appear from the other door, also training their guns on him.
“Like hell am I going with you.” He goes to pull the trigger, but Spencer is quicker, and shoots the man in the leg, making him lose his balance and his hold on both Emily and the gun.
He's immediately running over to Emily, catching her and leading her to the ground as the adrenaline in her system causes her legs to fold under her. Derek cuffs the guy and leads him over to the paramedics to get checked out before he can be taken to the jail, and Spencer focuses on Emily.
“Hey, can you lift your head for me? I want to check the bleeding on your temple.”
“Spencer, it's fine-”
“You're bleeding, ergo, you're not fine. Let me have a look before I drag you over to the paramedics.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine.”
“Thank you.” He's careful not to press too hard, and thankfully it doesn't seem too bad. “Did you lose consciousness at all?”
“Nope, was awake the whole time.”
“Okay that's good.”
“I thought you weren’t an MD?”
“I'm not, but I've taken first aid courses every two years since I was sixteen and have memorized every medical textbook I could get my hands on since I was eight.”
“Oh.”
“You should still get checked out by the paramedics, though.”
“But-”
“Please?”
“Fine, but only if you stay by me the entire time.”
“Deal. Thank you.”
When she tries to stand again, she's a little wobbly, so he threads his arm around her back under both of hers, keeping her steady until she's at the ambulance.
When the paramedics check her over, they're not as gentle as he tried to be, and she ends up wincing and reaches for his hand when they rinse the wound out, before they determine that it's minor and doesn't need stitches or further into further.
He decides he'll watch over her anyway, just in case.
They have to stop by the station to pack up before heading to the flight, and Emily seems just fine for a while before she freezes and heads down the corridor in a hurry.
He's worried, so he follows her, sees her duck into the record room at the back.
He knocks on the door.
“Emily? Are you okay?”
When she doesn't answer, he tries the door, finds she hasn't locked it. He opens it up, and steps in, half expecting to find her curled up in a corner.
She's not, she's just stood there, looking down, frozen in place, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s physically trying to hold herself together.
“Emily?” She jerks when she hears her name, and she looks right at him.
He holds his arms out, and she practically flies into them, wrapping hers around him tight as he strokes her hair, tells her that he's right here, that she's alright as the last of the adrenaline works its way out of her body.
When she looks up at him, there's something there that he's surprised he hasn't noticed before, and her gaze moves to his lips before looking back at him, a silent question.
He's not sure who moves first, but one second they're wrapped up tight, and the next his lips are on hers, his hands holding her face tenderly as her arms pull him to her, fingers running into his hair and holding his lips against hers. He aims for gentle but misses, instead finds himself overcome by everything he's felt over the last few months and kisses her like the desperate, wanting man he is. She pulls back for just a second, only to murmur “it's alright, Spence, I can take it, I want it,” and he gives up completely on holding anything back, moves them until they're against the door, holding it closed and making sure no one can come in and see them.
She's right here. She's fine. She's warm and soft against him, her perfume mostly worn off but carrying the subtle scent of iris and rose.
Her lips are-
He remembers with a shock where they are, that this is Emily, and he pulls back almost robotically, half-ready to run out the door before she catches his wrist.
“Don't you dare go anywhere, Spencer.”
“We shouldn't have-”
“Oh, like hell we shouldn't have done that. Sure, maybe the record room in a police precinct wasn't the best place for a first kiss, but I don’t know about you, but I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”
What? “You have?”
“Oh you are just so…you. So wrapped up in whatever's going on in your head that you didn't pick up the signs.” She presses a hand against his chest, over his heart.
“Signs? For what?”
“Sometimes I forget that for all your brains, you really are a man.” She threads her fingers through the hair he's tucked behind his ear, and he leans into the touch. “I've been trying to get your attention for weeks.”
“You've had it for months.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You could've said something.”
“And cause issues at work and maybe lose you as a friend? Absolutely not. Too much to risk.”
She smiles, and pulls him back to kiss him again. It's not as desperate, now, just very nice, her lips soft against his. When she pulls back again, her eyes are soft.
“You really are ridiculous, Spencer.”
“Says the woman who just made out with me twice in a storage cupboard.”
“I never said I wasn't. Anyway. We should probably get back before someone wonders where we've gone.”
“Good idea.”
“How about, when we land back in D.C, you come over mine and I don't set you up in the spare bedroom?”
“I'm assuming you mean-”
“I do. As long as you're okay with that.”
“I am, I just - I don't do casual, Em.”
“That's alright. I don't think I’d ever be able to be ‘just casual’ with you.”
Oh. He kisses her again, one last quick peck for good measure that has her laughing as he smooths his hair back down and straightens his clothes. She leans over and rubs the lipstick off of his face.
When they walk out, they keep a reasonable distance, and Spencer tries not to look at her too often.
But every time he dares look over, she's already smiling back.
***
The flight back, despite only being an hour, feels like the longest hour of his life.
He tries to read, but ends up going over the same page three times before giving up, and instead convinces Morgan to play a game of cards with him.
Naturally, he wins.
He tries not to count the cards, he swears, he just…does it. Automatically.
But either way, it stops him from looking at Emily more than every seven minutes.
***
The debrief goes a bit more swiftly, and then he's on his way to the elevator with everyone. He's at the back, with Emily on his left and Morgan on his right.
“Hey pretty boy, need a lift home?”
“Thanks Morgan, but I'm good.”
“You sure? It's like an hour on the Metro back to yours.”
Emily jumps in, thankfully. “He's staying over mine to keep an eye out for a concussion.”
Morgan, incredibly, seems convinced by this, which Spencer isn't sure if he should take as an insult or not. “Makes sense. Best to have someone keep an eye on you, and who better than this one?” Morgan nudges him in his side, grinning.
“Exactly what I thought.” Emily's hand presses against the small of his back, and then drops lower, and squeezes his-
“Uh, yeah.” His pants suddenly feel a little tight, and he has to try really hard not to squeak on the last work.
When they get down to the parking lot, they each make their way to their own cars, except, of course, for him and Emily.
Reid climbs into the passenger seat, and he's not even done up his seat-belt before Emily has opened her door, climbed in, and pulled his face to hers to kiss him again. He immediately responds, abandoning the belt and taking her face in both of his hands. She sighs, and he slips his tongue into her mouth, stroking it against hers. She moans, and he's half tempted to try and pull her onto his lap in the car, but she presses a final soft kiss to his lips and pulls back, smiling.
“Save it for my place, hey, Spence?”
“You started it.”
“You're right. I did. And I plan on finishing it.”
And neither of them say another word until they're back in her apartment.
The second they walk in, Spencer spins her and pushes her up against the closed door, capturing her mouth with his and taking her face in both of his hands again. He pushes one leg between both of hers and she gasps, rocking against him. Her arms wrap around him, one around his waist and the other into his hair, and he whines into her mouth, which makes her pull back and smile up at him, just on the edge of wild.
“Bedroom. Now.”
He quickly slides his shoes off, then presses his mouth to hers as their hands make quick work of each other's clothing. Emily's shirt ends up on the banister as his vest falls on the back of the sofa, and his shirt is…somewhere, he doesn't really care where right now, because he's in Emily's bedroom and she's in her underwear, which is red and therefore looks amazing on her, so he just sort of stops and…stares.
She catches him, of course, her dark eyes shining. “See something you like, Spence?”
“You're beautiful.”
She blushes, and he just has to kiss her again, and relishes in the way she melts into him, the way her skin feels under his fingers. Her fingers move to his belt, and then she undoes the zipper, letting them fall to his feet and leaving him in his boxers. Emily turns him to sit on the bed, and she straddles him, deepens the kiss and rocks down against him. He’s hard, so he moans, and when she does it again, he makes a sound he refuses to call a whimper.
“Someone's responsive,” Emily laughs against his lips and when he takes the opportunity to undo her bra with one hand, laughs again. “Clever with your hands, too.”
“Well, I am a magician,” he jokes, and then rolls her to lie flat on the bed, her legs wrapping as his hips as he does. He kisses her again, deeply, then kisses down her neck, before taking one of her nipples in his mouth as his hand teases lower.
He might not be particularly experienced in practical terms, but he's read plenty.
He slips his hand under the fabric, and finds her wet, so he runs one finger over her clit. She gasps, and it might be his favorite sound ever, so he does it again.
“Looks like I'm not the only responsive one,” is what he says with a smirk, and she playfully goes to smack him on the shoulder until he sinks one finger inside her and she drops her hand into his hair instead.
Spencer eases her underwear off and shuffles down the bed to settle between her legs, lifting one onto his shoulder before he licks into her.
He pays attention to what makes her make the most noise, and repeats it, moaning when she tugs on his hair. He slides two fingers into her, and she whines, and he can hear her breath quicken, feel the way she clenches around him as she gets close. He presses down with his tongue as he presses up with his finger, and she comes, moaning his name as he works her through it, not stopping until she collapses back into the pillow and starts to twitch away from him.
“You really are very good with your hands, and your mouth,” she murmurs, almost to herself, and he kisses her again, ignoring how hard he is for a moment and just enjoying having her like this, for him. She welcomes the kiss, but after a few moments she rolls him over and runs her hand down his chest, his stomach, his-
He gasps as she wraps her hand around him under his boxers before she lets go to pull them off of him, along with his socks.
“Let me show you what I can do,” is all she says, before she sinks her mouth down onto him, her hand wrapping around the base as her tongue strokes along the underside. He forces himself to keep his hands from pulling her hair, just strokes over it as he thrusts shallowly into her mouth.
He has to stop her all too soon, guides her head off of him with a slightly sheepish smile. “Em, I'm not going to last if-”
“Got it. I'll stop, because I want you inside me before the night is over.” She reaches over to her bedside table and grabs a condom, tearing open the package before rolling it onto him and then sinking down onto him not a few seconds later, her hands braced on his chest as they groan in unison.
“Fucking finally,” is what she says before lifting herself and dropping down on him again.
He makes sure to commit the moment to memory - Emily smiling down at him, moaning in pleasure with her hair falling over one shoulder, her skin slightly dewy and golden in the lamplight. His hands grasp her hips as he helps her, chasing her upward movements with his own hips. One hand drifts away from her hip, playing with her clit instead, trying to get her to come again before he does.
“Fuck, Spence, yes, God, like that-” she moans, and he circles once more before pressing and she's coming again around him, dragging him over the edge with her as he pulls her back down to kiss her.
He doesn't move to pull out of her, but she eventually lifts herself off him to lie down next to him, before going to the bathroom. He disposes of the condom, then knocks on the door when he hears the shower running.
“Fancy some company?”
“Why not?”
He walks in and joins her in the shower, taking the shampoo and washing her hair off, before massaging her shoulders.
He kisses her shoulder, then moves his hands down, pressing his thumbs along her spine, and making her moan in relaxation. It's then that he gets a bright idea.
He unhooks the shower head, which makes Emily look at him with confusion, until he changes the setting and drops it lower.
She gasps, and drops her head back onto his shoulder, and she kisses along his jaw.
“Spence, honey, I'm not sure I-”
“Just one more, please, sweetheart?”
She nods, and he takes her weight onto him, holds her legs open as he positions the shower head in the way that makes her make the most amount of noise.
He can tell when she's getting close again, and when she finally breaks, her fingers pull on his hair as he kisses behind her ear.
“Thank you,” he murmurs into her skin, before putting the head back to where it was, washing her down again before he gets himself clean.
He turns the shower off and wraps her in a towel, drying her hair before wrapping himself up and running downstairs to his bag to grab his toothbrush and a pair of pyjama pants.
When he gets back upstairs, Emily surprises him against the door and takes him in her mouth again, this time finishing him off on her knees.
They go back to the bathroom and brush their teeth before collapsing into her bed, Emily curling up against his chest and swirling a strand of his hair around her finger.
She feels just right, tucked up against his side.
He kisses her hair, then yawns.
“Tired you out, did I?” She yawns too, and he laughs.
“Looks like I returned the favor.” She laughs back, and settles next to him, eyes half drifting closed.
“I meant it, you know.”
“Hmm?” His finger is trailing over her bare shoulder idly when he responds, relishing in its softness against his calluses.
“That I don't want to be just casual with you.”
“I know. I figured you wouldn't be lying about that to get me into bed.” She laughs a bit, and taps him on the shoulder before she sobers again.
“I don't know if I'm going to be any good at it, but I'd like to at least try.”
“I'm not sure I will either, but…it's you.”
“And it's you.”
He brings her hand to his mouth and kisses each fingertip, and she giggles. Actually giggles. “Such a romantic.”
“What do you expect from the son of a professor of medieval literature?”
She kisses him, and yawns again. “Yeah, you’re right. Come on, you, we should sleep.”
“You're right.” He kisses her hair. “Night, Em.”
“Night, Spence.”
When they fall asleep, they're curled around each other.
***
When they wake up, he's pressed up against her back, and her hair is tickling his nose.
He finds he really doesn't mind, and just pulls her closer against him.