Hello, all! Happy Valentine's Day! For those of you saying, "I don't have a boyfriend! Darn you Valentine's Day!" I am right there with you. I don't have a boyfriend, either, but I still pretend like the day is cuter an less mushy than it actually is. Therefore, I decided to try to make Valentine's Day happy for everyone and write a cute little Reid fan-fiction to honor the cuteness of love, and things like it. It was supposed to be a one shot, but twenty pages later it turned into a two-shot, or a double dose, whatever you would like to call it. I will post the rest tomorrow. Although I've continued all my other short stories, I am honestly in over my head with doing so, and I won't be continuing this one past these two chapters. Thank you for reading and you all own my heart.

This story takes place about a year or so in the future. We're going to just go ahead and pretend like Emily never left and all is well and dandy. Who doesn't love Emily?

Chapter 1

A Classic Line

There were a lot of things that Spencer Reid knew about life, but social graces were not one of them. Facts made him confident. Small talk over a glass of wine did not. In fact, he never felt less confident than he did when he was sitting in front of someone he barely knew, searching for words to interest and intrigue them, instead of bore them into an epic snoozefest. He had the latter down pat. That was the problem.

When he found friends, he kept them close, but didn't dote over them if he could help it. It was when you put effort into showing how you felt, instead of naturally letting it flow, that you found yourself getting hurt, or you lost that person. At least that had been his experience and he knew no better. Regardless, he couldn't be anyone but himself, and that was more than enough. His heart was on his sleeve, whether he wanted it to be or not. Hint: he didn't. Even still, as a rule, he didn't bond with people and they didn't get him.

Recently, Reid had life, love and relationships thrown back in his face in the form of demons that had spent the duration of his employment with the BAU haunting him, only he hadn't known it. They decided to present themselves in the form of headaches, ones the doctors insisted were nothing but mental. He skipped through four different doctors, all with the same results, to absolutely no avail whatsoever. Having no other choices left except possibly another stint on Dilaudid, one he wasn't willing to reacquaint with, he decided to suck it up and go and talk to someone.

He had done some tough things in his life, living in a realm of sadness and loneliness that only a handful of people would ever experience. It took him three months to find someone he thought he could talk to, someone who came highly recommended through each of the four doctors he had seen, and someone who he researched over and over again. To be sure he could trust this person, he even made three appointments, all of which he went to and spent the entire time asking the therapist questions, instead of visa versa. He realized he trusted this person in around the time when they told him they weren't going to bother to charge him for those sessions because it was the best therapy session they themselves had. At last, he had found a trustworthy, formidable opponent to confess his feelings to.

It wasn't until he started pouring his heart out on the fainting couch that he realized he had problems, and a lot of them. He knew his life was abnormal, but it was his life. He had been scarred, but learned only to keep it all inside and either hide it, or deal with it in the best way he knew possible and move on. He never actually placed one of his problems in front of himself and analyzed it like he would analyze anyone else's problems. He never stopped swallowing the pain long enough to find that it was a very real feeling, that it was there like an old friend, and it enveloped him, refusing to let him go. His headaches went away with the more pain he talked through, but a lot of fears and more doubts about himself crept into his mind. He spent a lot of time on that fainting couch, but that was just between himself and the therapist. The team never needed to know.

His biggest problem, however, may not have even been the problems he refused to admit. It may have been that somehow, in a turn of events beyond his comprehension, a line had been crossed between himself and his therapist. He knew the boundaries that they were both expected to uphold, he as a patient, and her as a therapist. Yes, her. The line was never sexual. In fact, it wasn't romantic at all. Worst of all, it was all Reid's fault and he knew it.

Reid's only way to calm himself upon inching up on life events that would require him to dust off the not always so metaphorical skeletons in his closet of his mind, was to ask her questions, too. This went past the first three sessions, and she quickly picked up on what he was doing. Although she tried time and time again to get him to stop doing it and focus on himself, she finally came to the conclusion that this was who he was. Knowing that he, too, had studied psychology, she saw no harm in giving him a little bit of comfort and being honest with him. The more honest she was with him, the more honest he was with her, and, as a result, himself, which is what helped him heal, but caused lines to blur.

He knew their professional relationship was over when, one evening after his session, as he was gathering himself together and taking a few moments with a tissue to pull himself together on that fainting couch, he temporarily stopped thinking about her as someone he paid to talk to him. He may have had a chance of keeping things professional, only, when he got up to leave, walking out of the room where she had given him time alone post each session to gather his thoughts, he found her shutting down the office for the evening. Small talk ensued and they both admitted hunger. Somehow, by his own suggestion that he hadn't realized he made until just after doing it, they ended up at a casual little restaurant across the street, talking and laughing for nearly three hours. Neither talked about their problems, but she knew all of his, and he knew some of hers, and it was comfortable. Nothing was comfortable for Reid.

Reid, without realizing it, and probably never knowing it, was a gentleman. It was clear to him that she had been hurt in the past. Well adjusted people rarely become therapists. It takes some event, some way of knowing others' pain, to cause someone to want to help others. Reid knew that first hand. She had dealt with her problems, though, in a healthy way, but still seemed to find no company in men. She had admitted to Reid she knew a few guys, but he had really become the only one who she felt had no agenda. He opened doors for her and paid for dinner, and she didn't get any of that, but she liked having a platonic friend, as far as he knew.

He finally had someone to bide his time with; his Saturday nights and his days off. He didn't feel like the odd man out when he went into work and everyone spoke about their weekend, then, as a courtesy, asked him about his. He always shrugged, admitting he had no plans. He never realized it bothered him until he had her, until he had Abby. Everyone would just pat him on the back and assume what they would assume. He never corrected them, not because he wanted to be having those kinds of relations with her, but because he didn't mind people not looking at him like the sweet, adorable kid of a coworker that deserved a nice girl, but couldn't get one. In therapy, he realized he really hated when they did that.

All was well and blissful in friendship land. He even found himself opening up, knowing there was no pressure for anything more, and appreciating that more than he thought he would. Eventually, things progressed to the point where, during their movie nights when the cold weather moved in, the two would curl up against each other underneath a blanket. Sometimes Abby fell asleep that way, and when that happened he would gently wake her with his snoring, and allow her to take his bed, while he stayed on the couch. He never felt weird about it, he never wondered what his body was doing to him, or questioned his feelings. From his end, everything was perfect.

That was until the day Abby stopped picking up when he called, or texting him back right away when she couldn't talk, after taking all that time just to teach him to text. At first she would apologize when she did finally get back to him days later, claiming she was busy. Then, she began to decline his invitations for dinner or movie nights. Soon enough, she ignored his calls all together, but would apologize through only a single text and leave it at that. Reid couldn't profile that to save his life, and when brought up to his colleagues, they told him anything from, "I'm sorry, Kid, but it sounds like she's just not interested anymore," to "give her a few weeks, and if things still are the way they are, keep calling her until you get her. Ask her to talk. You don't have to be harsh, but you deserve answers." Obviously, they didn't know how to profile her, either.

Reid tried out both ends of the spectrum. First, he let her be. But it ate at him until he eventually flowed into the second option. He did a horribly naughty thing, at least by his standards, and called Abby at her office, right when he knew she'd be taking her lunch break. She used a landline with no caller ID, so he knew she'd pick up, although he felt like he was railroading her. He didn't know what else to do, because it suddenly seemed like all of his therapy was erased. Until he knew what he had done wrong to chase her away, he wasn't sure he could feel whole again, but when she picked up the phone, he felt guilty for blindsiding her.

"Hello, Abigail Autumn's office." Reid smiled to himself, imagining her with a mouthful of salad, while she tried to make herself sound like her mouth wasn't full. She did it to him all the time.

"Hello, Abby. I just wanted to call and see if you wanted to have dinner with me this evening. I'm sorry I haven't stopped in to see you, but we've been on a case for the last couple of weeks." Although Reid had rehearsed these lines over and over again, having to sit down and think them out first, he still stumbled all over his words and screwed it all up. All he wanted was to sound casual, like he had been the one who was busy and neglecting her, and not visa versa.

"Oh, shoot, Spencer, I can't. I'm really sorry. I...I'm just...I'm really busy...right now." She, too, stumbled all over her words, stopping several times, like she had to regain what she was trying to say, instead of speaking freely with him like she usually had.

"That's okay. How about the day after tomorrow? I'm off all day, you know, unless I get called in." He tried again, knowing the answer was going to be much of the same. That's what hurt the worst, though, and the part he couldn't figure out. Although she didn't seem as though she wanted to talk to him, she said nothing that would back that up. Even in her texts she was sweet, cordial, and if he really needed her, she was there to talk to and she made that known. He was confused and hurt all the same.

"I'd love to, but I can't then, either." It was apparent now that something was wrong, and even she couldn't deny that, so she decided to stop trying. "I know I've been a bad friend to you, Spencer. I haven't meant to be. You have to believe that. I just...I need a couple of weeks to myself."

"Is something going on? Did I do something to you? I just feel like you don't want to be around me anymore." Abby didn't answer him right away, instead taking deep breaths. She was trying to steady her voice, but he didn't know that. In his sensitive state, he took it to mean what he wanted it to mean. "I just don't understand what I did wrong."

"Oh, Spencer, it's not you. Trust me, it's not. It's me. I just...I have some things going on in my life that I have to deal with right now, and I can't do that unless I'm alone. I know you probably don't understand that, but I just ask you to respect that." She knew he wouldn't take that as an answer, that he wouldn't believe her and keep pressing. He was becoming defensive and it was her job to diffuse him, or at least she felt it was, considering she started out at his therapist, but she just couldn't bring herself to handle this properly.

"I don't know what to say to that. You just gave me the 'it's not you, it's me,' speech. I may be dense, but I know that's usually not good. Just come and have dinner with me. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on. If it's something really bad, I'm FBI, I can help you. I just don't like this right now, and I don't think this is really about anything like that. If I did something..." Abby butted in curtly, her voice wavering, and even now Reid, too, caught on that she was crying.

"Spencer, I have to go. I...you didn't." The phone went dead just that fast. He hit the redial button right away, but, as he expected, she didn't pick up. He tried her cell, and he even texted her. It only took a few minutes for his phone to vibrate in his pocket unexpectedly, but she had answered him back.

Spencer, I promise that this isn't about you or anything you've done. You've been nothing but good to me. I enjoy our friendship, but I need time away from it right now. I know that you can't understand this, and I can't talk about it, because this is a me thing. I promise I will call you when I figure some things out, but please give me some time.

It took her a grand total of three texts to get it all sent, and as Reid read each one, he felt more confused than finite. He almost thought he'd feel better had she been mean to him, or told him straight out to get lost. Nothing about what she said profiled that she wanted him gone, only what she did. She was too kind to him, almost as though she was desperate not to lose him, yet all of her actions showed she was desperate to be anywhere but near him. He no longer knew if he was going left or right with her, but he suddenly remembered why he had never kept anyone too close. It hurt when, not if, there was a fallout.

He didn't answer the texts, instead respecting her wishes and letting them linger in his phone aimlessly. He was hoping they would fall into the back of his mind, but they never did. In fact, they tortured him so heavily throughout that day and the next that his colleagues were starting to question him. Normally he lied, badly, but he did it anyway and everyone dropped it. This time he didn't even try to lie. He just walked away. No one let it go.

At the end of the second day of torture, he decided he had to talk to someone about this, and he had to make a decision as to who. He didn't know what he was doing when it came to friendships, at least not ones outside of the BAU, the ones he forged through work and unintentionally. He had his choice of five different colleagues to chose from, all of which understood friendships and would be honest with him. What it came down to was the one he was more comfortable with.

He knew Rossi wouldn't be the right person to talk to right off the bat. He was level headed, honest, and would be gentle with Reid, but he was also no good at relationships himself. He had a little bit of animosity in his heart towards them.

Although Haley's death had happened quite some time ago, Hotch had never really recovered from it, leaving it fresh in his mind. He had not been his usual self since, not even with the team, and he felt it selfish to bring up his own problems when Hotch had enough of his own.

Morgan was Morgan, smooth and effortlessly able to navigate the social barriers without much thought. It was second nature to him, and Reid just didn't have his swagger. Whatever Morgan told him to do, he'd surely screw up. Besides, a man probably wasn't the right person to talk to about a woman.

That left him with Prentiss or Garcia. Prentiss was sweet to Reid and truly appreciated who he was. She was older, more mature, and understood the ins and outs of women, which almost made him not want to talk to her about this, because he was afraid she'd think that he was just being silly, or that she'd tell him something he didn't want to hear. He was also afraid she'd ask him about what happened, and if things didn't work out, that every time they boarded the jet, she would just sit across from him and give him that look, the one that said she felt sorry for him, or she'd blame herself for leading him astray, if that were to happen. He needed someone cheery, someone he could talk to casually, but of whom would be extremely caring toward him and the situation. Maybe he was just over thinking this altogether.

He made his way to Garcia's office as everyone else was clearing out for the weekend, just hoping he'd catch her in her cheery little room filled with various amounts of cute. When he arrived, he didn't have to knock on her door. It was open, and there she was rearranging the furry, fluffy, and adorable to best suit her current mood. Even though she was in her own little merry world, he cleared his throat, managing to catch her attention nearly immediately and be greeted by one of her snappy little quips.

Garcia could tell immediately that something serious was going on. Not that she hadn't caught it the ten other times she happened to pass by him that day, but this time she knew he was there because he was ready to talk. She sat down in her chair, and he pulled up one, too, evening out the playing field. She sat back, relaxed and ready to listen to whatever he had to say, making sure to close the door before a single word slipped from his mouth, making him feel more comfortable that it was just them. She listened while he explained everything that had gone on, and even went as far as to show her the texts, and then it was his turn to listen to the happiest girl alive explain women to him.

"Well, my darling, I think your lady friend had some unresolved feelings she is trying to deal with. She certainly doesn't seem to be lying to you about you not doing anything wrong and this not being about you. If it was that, she wouldn't bother to get back to you, far more be nice about it." It was in the way Abby handled things with Reid, trying so hard to make things easy on him, showing him compassion, yet not able to bring herself to hear his voice or face him if she didn't have to, that told Garcia all she needed to know.

"That's true. Feelings about what?" Reid sat there, his face blank, completely clueless about what feelings Abby could have. Of course he knew she had them, but he didn't foresee them disrupting their relationship to this extent. His social graces may not have grown as much as he hoped they had.

"Feelings for you, silly." Garcia leaned forward, reaching her hand out and ruffling his hair. He gave her a sour face, trying to fix it. Ever since he had cut his hair short, he was less and less fond of people messing it up.

"No. We're not like that." He was quick to talk, to correct her, and he made it clear that's what he was doing.

"Fine, my little wonder, don't trust my womanly intuition. Did you come to me for help or to sass me?" It deterred Garcia not, but she did digress back into her chair, playing with her fuzzy pen between her fingers and secretly smiling to herself. Reid had a lot to learn.

"Help, but it would be beneficial for you to know that there's no emotional feelings past friendship in our relationship. It's uncomplicated." Garcia shook her head, shutting him down as quickly as he had done to her.

"Oh, sweetie, every relationship is complicated. I mean, just look at me and my chocolate God. We're perfect for each other and he just hasn't figured it out yet." She didn't linger on this, but kept her same amount of pep, partially joking and somewhat serious, each at the same time, like she always was. She was, however, fine with their relationship how it was, make no mistake about it.

"Not ours. No. Since that's not it, what else could it be?" Reid shot her down again, never hesitating. He was dead set on this, and she realized if she were to argue with him, he would just become defensive and she didn't want that.

What Garcia did want was to help Reid solve his problem and, deep down, she wanted Abby to get what she really wanted, thinking it could benefit Reid as well. Garcia knew exactly what it was like to be Abby, and in that, she knew what it was that would make Abby happy, so she shifted her approach, trying to outsmart the genius into doing what she wanted him to do without realizing he was doing it.

"Well, something could actually be wrong, but it would have to be something that she's embarrassed about, or else she'd be able to face you and talk to you about it." Garcia knew Reid rarely ever didn't form an immediate hypothesis regarding a situation, so most likely he already had an idea of what he thought was going on. Although wrong, if she was careful how she worded things, she was sure she could drag it out of him.

"Do you think someone could be hurting her?" There it was, Reid's suspicions. That wouldn't be the first

place Garcia's mind would have gone to, but he was a profiler, he did this for a living and he may have had a point, although she didn't have an answer.

"I don't know. Do you?" His suspicions almost seemed too fitting, and she began to worry if she wasn't wrong about this. She knew how it was when she had first met James Colby Baylor.

She and Morgan rarely argued, but her feelings of knowing something was wrong is what forced her to be angry at him, even when she knew he was just using his profiling skills to try and forewarn her of danger. In hear gut, she knew something bad was going to happen, and she avoided Morgan because of it. If something bad was happening already, would it be so far fetched to think that, if it was something that happened, something that could be shameful for her and she could blame herself for, that she'd want to hide that from Reid? If she was terrified of someone, it would give her an even better reason considering he was worse than the police, he was FBI. It could spell more danger for her.

"I don't know. It makes sense. If she's preoccupied with someone harming her, and knowing that I'm FBI, she may be deliberately avoiding me. Her calling me back or texting me may be her way of letting me know that this really isn't about me. When I talked to her on the phone she sounded sad, and she was crying. I still can't be sure that I didn't do anything wrong, but if you don't think this is about me, then that's the only conclusion I can readily come to." Reid was beginning to rethink the entire thing, just like Garcia hoped he would. She knew Abby was chasing him away so that she didn't lose him in the long run. It was a classic move from a woman who found the one she could trust, but he couldn't see more than friendship, and she didn't want to ruin that.

"I don't think this is about you. You shouldn't either. She even told you that it was about her. A quality woman will usually tell you exactly what she means and what she wants if you men would just open your ears and listen to us for one gosh darn minute!" Garcia got herself worked up, not sure if she was doing it for herself, or passionately trying to get something across to Reid. When she looked up at him, he was stunned, swallowing uncomfortably. "Oh, I'm sorry. Just a little glitch in my hardwiring."

"So what do you think I could do?" It was easy for Reid to be insensitive when he got caught up in his own troubles. Normally he'd ask her if she was okay, since she could obviously use an outlet herself, but he barely thought the incident anything other than Garcia being herself.

"I think you should go over to her home and check on her." He was buying what she was selling, and she was secretly excited for what could happen if he listened to her.

"I can't do that." But he had to argue. He always argued about something. You couldn't tell Reid anything, even when he asked you.

"Why not?" She would play his little game. It just helped her twist his words to her advantage.

"She asked me to give her some time." Garcia shook her head. She knew how to handle this.

"She asked you that before and you still called her yesterday. Just take her some pretty flowers and tell her you were worried about her. Women love stuff like that. All will be forgiven." If Reid was willing to go and pick up his friends flowers, it would mean he sincerely cared for her. If he could apologize and mean it, he was clearly going to be a man about the situation.

If he could do both of these things, he deserved to go over there, and she deserved to see that he was worthy of hearing how she really felt and letting him have some input on what she was feeling. Garcia understood, but never thought it fair when a girl decided to make a decision for two people. She thought Reid should have a chance to see how a pretty young woman of whom he trusted really felt about him. It might finally give his smaller-than-healthy romantic ego a boost. He may be able to see himself as desirable. He had worked through a lot of things in the last several months, but this was one thing he'd never be able to get past until he had first hand reassurance.

"You think so?" No, she didn't. She thought Abby would be a little upset that he came over when she asked him not to, but mostly mad at herself for pushing him away the way she was, because she knew it was wrong. Deep down, she was lying on her couch looking a mess and fantasizing that she would open her door and he'd be there, flowers in hand and the willingness to be a man about the situation.

"Go, my genius. Go." Since she couldn't answer that question honestly, but still wanted him to fall into her little plan, she decided to chase him out of the room before she gave herself away. "Come on. Shoo. Shoo. Out the door you go."

She helped him out of his chair, literally pushing him out her door a little too quickly, and shutting it behind him before he had a chance to contemplate the situation or ask more questions. With him gone, she debated calling Abby, knowing she could find out this girl's phone number on just the information she had about her. She rarely debated if her snooping skills were wrong if it benefited her friends or a case, but this time she seriously contemplated it and realized it would be creepy. Reid would just have to deal with Abby looking her worst. He was Reid. He didn't see things the same way others did. If anything, seeing her like that would only make him worry more, which, if Abby played her cards right and Reid didn't get himself too nervous, could work out even more nicely for Abby than a forewarning, one of which would give her a chance to panic and leave, would.

Reid grabbed his things, Garcia having planted his worst fears in his mind without actually saying anything at all. He would never think that out, though. As far as he was concerned, she had agreed with him. He headed out the doors of the J. Edgar Hoover building, prepared to follow her instructions and advice to the tee. The only problem was that he had never bought flowers for anyone before. He had seen flower shops, but although he was an incredibly intelligent individual, he had no idea how to handle himself in a flower shop.

Yet he still pulled over at the first one he saw, carefully picking out purple lilies and white orchids, the same flowers she decorated her office with. He then rethought that. Would she want her house to look like her office? Would it remind her of work? Did she not want to bring those thoughts home with her? Or were they truly her favorites and she brought a bit of her home to work to feel comfortable? The office never felt cold and contrived, much like a therapist's office could, so maybe he was getting her the right ones. He argued with himself for several minutes, until a sales girl finally came over to help him, befuddled over how someone could get such a terrified look on their face over just buying flowers.

The sales girl went through the different kinds of flowers with him. Roses were too romantic, carnations too formal. In the end, she convinced him into a gorgeous bouquet that consisted of the two flowers he knew she loved, mixed in with some purple calla lilies and lovely yellow tulips. After a twelve minute long conversation about how flowers could be so expensive, including, but not limited to him asking what kind of pesticides were used, where the flowers came from, and how they were transported, he left the store, proud of himself for making it out with something he thought Abby would enjoy. The sales girl was just glad he was gone.

He drove over to her brownstone condo, knocking on her street level door with the flowers in his hands, pretending the lightening illuminating the night sky was not at all disturbing, or a warning of an impending storm. He would wait awhile. While he knocked on the door, shifting his weight consistently from foot to foot impatiently, Abby was inside, a gallon of chunky monkey ice cream in front of her with a lone spoon, in her too large pajamas on, watching a sappy movie and crying. She thought if she held out long enough, the person who she was not expecting would just go away. After five minutes, when they had not, she dragged herself off the couch and to the door, intent on getting rid of whomever it was immediately. She doubted that the way she looked would attract them to her, so she didn't think that would be much of an issue. If she only know who was standing on the other side of her door, she may have turned the volume up louder to tune out the truth.