I sit in my office on the couch, the curtains drawn, the only illumination which penetratres the darkness is a small lamp on a sidetable. My face rests in my hands and for quite some time, I have been unable to move. It is as if my colleagues have become aware of my abrupt change in mood and have stayed away on purpose since nobody has knocked on my door since lunchtime, and even then, I did not respond. No doubt it has something to do with Dave forbidding the others from interrupting me. Thus, people have been tiptoeing past my office towards the one occupied by Dave, not even daring to make a sound, let alone knock on my door over trifles. God only knows what he told them, but my best friend no doubt realized something was up when I yelled at him this morning over nothing before the others came in. He did not respond, merely stood there with his arms folded over his chest, allowing me to vent before I grew angrier at the lack of response and walked out to my office, slamming the door behind me like a grumpy teenager. I have been sitting here since then, listening to the sounds of the bull-pen and watching the shadows creeps up the walls, as they are doing in my soul.

Once, I thought I could even hear him laugh.

Only one person dared to upset the peacefulness of my lair. Prentiss came and knocked on the door but I did not answer her. When I was sure she was gone, I opened the door and noted a tray on the floor. She brought me a hamburger and I ate it ravenously, grateful for her kind consideration.

The workday is done and everyone has gone home except for me. What do I have to go home to except an empty bed and cold walls that seem to close in on me like a veritable prison since Jack is with his aunt?

There is a knock on my door and by the softness of the sound I know that it is him. I do not answer it nor do I initiate a verbal response. I stay exactly as I am.

He enters and I can feel his nervousness. I know him so well that I am aware of him running his hand through his hair nervously. His voice is shaking as he speaks. I know he is afraid of my response."Babe?"

I do not answer him and he sits down on the sofa table opposite me. Wearily, he reaches out and grabs my wrists, pulling my hands gently from my face. He speaks again, the voice filled with love I don´t deserve. "Aaron?"

I finally look up into the dark eyes of Spencer Reid. "I am sorry," is all I manage to say after having spent the day preparing a whole speech on the subject.

"I know you are," counters my subordinate, knitting our fingers together. The implication in his voice tells me that a mere apology is not enough.

"I was never good at controlling myself when it comes to you," I continue, as I watch our entwined fingers lying on my knee. My mind goes back to those few first few heady months when our relationship began, how my appetite for him was never satisfied. We would have sex everytime an opportunity presented itself. On a few occasions I would send the rest of the team out into the field and chuckle at the thought of how Morgan would feel if he knew I took his "pretty boy" to the storeroom of the local policestation and fucked him senseless while the other man was risking his life. I could not help feeling a little gleeful at the thought, even now. "After all, you are mine."

The fingers of Spencer were quickly dislodged from mine and he arose. From the fury in his face, I knew I had chosen the wrong words. "I belong to me. I am not yours, Aaron, as you have taken such pains to prove."

I wince as I recall how often I have kicked him out of my bed, forced him to keep quiet about our relationship. None of the team knows, or at least they play at not knowing. I have seen Dave shoot me a glance a few times when I have been carefully studying Reid, as I am often wont to do when there is nothing else to focus on. He has probably guessed at the truth, but has kept quiet for diplomatic reasons. He knows of the damage it could to do my career if word got out that I was having an illicit affair with a collegue. Not only is he much younger then me, Reid is also a subordinate and a male one at that. Let us not forget that the affair started while I was still married and the higher uppers, particularly a bitch on wheels called Erin Strauss, would gleefully use the information to get me fired.

Spencer goes to a window and opens the blind, stands there and watches the empty parking lot outside. Lights from the streetlamps shine in and illuminate his face, giving it an ethereal glow so that he looks like a god instead of human. How can something so beautiful be of this world? Pain rips in my chest as the desire to protect him floods through me, to keep him from ever experiencing how truly cruel the world is. The last words Gideon ever spoke to me float through my mind. He told me to take care of the kid, and I have done so to the best of my abilities, though granted, it was probably not in the fashion he had envisioned.

I finally arise from the couch and head over to where my lover is standing by the window. Cautiously, I reach out and cup his cheek with my hand, allowing my finger to graze over the black eye he is sporting. The one I gave him.

The touch reminds of a similar moment after our first proper night together. Hayley had moved out and I had been filled with loneliness. Therefore it was all too easy to convince Reid to have a sleepover after many encounters at the office and seedy hotel rooms. In the morning I had awoken alone and was unable to find him anywhere, until I noted that the door to the deck was open. Spencer was standing outside, holding a cup of tea, wearing only my pyjama bottoms in the warm June sunshine. I walked outside and put my arms around him from behind, resting my chin on his shoulder. Have we not been happy these last three years? As my eyes gaze into his, I can tell he is reminiscing about earlier times as well.

Yet, last night made me question it all. Perhaps it was all a lie, built on shifting sand and bound to collapse like lies often do?