Disclaimer: see my profile
A/n this one shot is set during season four, but at the New Year. It is a Spencer/Emily established relationship story. I hope you like it.
New Year's Day Spa
Sometimes she wondered if it was worth it. On days like today, after all the blood, was it worth it to keep, fighting. How much could one person take day after day? How much was a person expected to absorb from the worst of humanity before going quietly insane?
Her feet seemed to wade through sticky, sloppy molasses instead of stepping lightly to her door. Her shoulders slumped and the muscles in her neck ached all the way up to the back of her head. She heaved out a breath and reached for her keys. It was New Year's Eve, they'd made it home before midnight, but that was a small mercy. She just wanted to sleep until noon and then have something delicious for brunch before going back to sleep for the rest of the day.
After unlocking the door, turning off the alarm and relocking the door, she surveyed her long hallway, and then looked at her bedroom door. It seemed yards away rather the feet and she just wanted to sit down. She kicked off her shoes and dumped her bags on her entryway table.
She decided to get a bottle of water and then take a shower before making a sandwich. She didn't have the energy for cooking. She snorted out a single laugh. If only some of her college friends could see her now. It was New Year's Eve and she was contemplating going to bed at eight pm.
All thoughts of taking a shower flew away when she opened her bedroom door and saw three glowing white candles placed around the room. The light was low enough she hadn't noticed it from her hallway. On one of her end tables, sat a bottle of champagne on ice. Red rose petals scattered over the carpet led the way to her bed. More rose petals covered the comforter and complimented the jewel tones of her bedclothes. The perfume of the roses mixed with the vanilla scent of the candles eddied in the air. She drew in a breath and began to feel her headache recede.
Her bathroom door opened and Spencer stepped out. He wore the terrycloth robe she'd bought for him. He smiled at her and said. "Mademoiselle, your bath is ready." His French accent was better than she expected, but still she smiled at the words.
"My bath?"
"Why yes, it was your wish to have a spa day, no?"
"Oui, it is monsieur."
"Then follow me."
He held a towel over his arm and he bowed when she passed him into the bathroom. It was lit by more white candles. More crimson rose petals lay scattered over the floor, the tub and on the foamy water.
"It is to your liking, yes?"
"Mais Oui."
"If you want another towel, please ring the bell."
"Where are you going, monsieur?"
He stopped at the doorway. "It is your bath, mademoiselle. I will wait for you to finish outside."
"What if I don't want you to wait outside? I assumed this is a full service spa"
"Oui, it is."
"Then take off that robe and make yourself useful."
She'd removed her socks and the blouse she wore with her slacks. He stared at her in a way she recognized, so she unhooked her bra, let it swing from one finger, and then dropped it to the floor. "Please, monsieur, I need someone to wash my back."
He swallowed very hard. "It would not be professional."
"I promise I won't tell your boss."
He nodded and pulled the belt on his robe. She let her slacks fall with her briefs.
"You are beautiful, mademoiselle."
"Thank you… If you're going to wash my back, you should call me Emily."
"Emily," he said her name like it was honey on his lips and she shivered.
The water in the tub was just hot enough to stop her shaking when she stepped and sank beneath the lavender scented suds.
"Oh, this is just what the doctor ordered."
He shrugged off the robe and got into the tub with her. He didn't speak, but his eyes stayed glued to her face as she leaned back against the tub.
"Monsieur, I thought you were going to wash my back."
"Emily," he said and his eyes were Reid again. "Are you okay? You looked exhausted on the plane."
She reached out her hand and touched one of his knees that poked up from the suds. "I was feeling like I could do with about twelve hours of sleep, but for some reason, I'm getting my second wind."
He finally smiled for her. "I'm glad."
"Now, I want you to wash my back and then, we'll see what else needs cleaning. What do you say?"
"I say, Oui mademoiselle."
He gestured for her to turn. She moved to face the wall and he took a loofah from where it hung over the faucet. He dipped it slowly into the water and swished it around. He touched the skin of her back and let his fingers slide down until they disappeared beneath the water. He couldn't see her face, but goose bumps popped out on her skin and he smiled.
"Are you pleased, mademoiselle," he said in his French accent."
"Yes," she said very faintly.
"Good."
He let the loofah roam all over her back and more goose bumps appeared on her arms. He felt her shake so he slid both arms around her shoulders and tugged her so his chest lay flush with her back. "I love you so much," he whispered in her ear.
"I love you, too."
She tried to twist in his arms, but he held her still. "Close your eyes."
"Spencer."
"Please."
"They're closed."
He released her and she turned in the water. Her eyes were closed, but they trembled as if it cost her great effort to keep them shut. "What do you see?" He asked quietly.
"Nothing," she said as if stating the obvious.
"Come on, Emily. You know what I mean."
"I don't see the blood," she said. "It's gone."
"Good."
"May I open my eyes now?"
He grinned at her irritation. "Yes, you may open your eyes."
She opened her eyes and once again, he found he was lost in their deep, dark depths. Then she splashed water at him and he cursed as it hit him in the face. "I'm going to make you pay for that."
"Oh yeah, I'm not afraid."
"You should be."
He grabbed her shoulders and ravaged her lips with his mouth until she relaxed and pulled him close enough to feel the heat of his arousal on her abdomen.
"Stop playing games," she ordered. "Touch me."
"As you wish."
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She lay on the bed with a glass of champagne near her on the end table and her chin in her hands. His long fingers whispered over her back and down her torso to her buttocks. "Hm… you have amazing hands."
"Thank you. Did you know that archival evidence of massage in ancient times has been found in China, India, Japan, Korea, Egypt, Rome and Greece, to name a few."
"That's interesting, but I'm only concerned about the fact that your hands are on my back. My headache is gone and I'm feeling extremely relaxed. Thank you, babe." She turned over and reached up to hug him tight.
"I'm glad. I couldn't stand to see you so unhappy."
"I don't see the blood and the horror in my head, at least for tonight. That's all I care about."
"Me too," he whispered and kissed her.
It was a good she didn't have clothing as a barrier, because the heat of his fingers would melt them away. He always touched her as if she were the only thing in the universe, as if his brain weren't in control of his hands, as though they had a mind of their own, as if their only job was to make her skin sing across her nerves.
"You make me feel like there's nothing else in the world." She sighed.
"You saved me," he said.
"I saved you."
"Yeah, after Tobias Henkel kidnapped me and made me an addict, I nearly gave up. It was your friendship that pulled me back from the brink."
"Spencer, I didn't do it alone. The team and the BCC were there too and -"
"Yes, they were there, but I fell in love with you almost from the first day I met you. I couldn't admit it to myself for a long time and then after the drugs you called me out on my bad behavior and it turned things around for me."
She brushed his hair back from his forehead. "I was worried about you."
"Now, I know you were, but at the time I just thought you were a bit "holier than thou."
She smacked him on the shoulder. "Excuse me."
"You know what I mean."
She kissed the same shoulder. "Yes, I know what you mean. I only wanted to help."
"You did. That's why I'll always love you."
She sat up and reached for her robe. "I for one can't live on love alone. I'm starved."
"That's not very romantic."
She laughed when he wiggled his eyebrows. "I suppose that's true, but I want food."
He went to the bathroom and retrieved his robe. "Then let's go see what's in the fridge."
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Emily fell asleep around ten, but Reid couldn't sleep. Instead he felt elated, and it was better than any high he'd ever found in a bottle of Dilaudid.
He slid from under Emily, who lay with her head on his chest. He carefully shifted her head to a pillow and slipped out of the bed. Just as he walked out of the bedroom to her living room, popping sounds of fireworks began, with flashes of light in red, green, gold and blue. It was midnight and a new year was beginning.
"Hey," said her voice from behind him. "What are you doing?"
"Sorry if I woke you. I wanted to see the fireworks."
She wrapped her arms around his waist. "They're so beautiful," she said.
"Happy New Year," he said.
"Happy New Year to you."
"Do you think it's possible to start over just because the date's January first," he asked.
"I'm not making any resolutions if that's what you're asking," she quipped.
"Ninety percent of people that make resolutions at the New Year break them in the first three months."
"That's why I don't make them. I did last year and it was broken in three hours."
He laughed. "What did you resolve?"
"To stop thinking about you every moment of the day."
"Emily!"
"I'm serious. You're very distracting."
"Sorry."
She shrugged. "It's not a problem. I like thinking about you."
"I want to do more than think about you," he informed her with a grin.
"You're not only smart, but you read minds, too."
"Do you want to watch the rest of the fireworks?" He asked as more green and red light exploded in the black sky.
"I can see fireworks anytime. I'd rather create them, with you."
"I think that can be arranged."
THE END