She figured that her feet probably had 20 pound weights strapped to each of them as she trudged down the hallway and towards the stairs.
Stairs.
Those would not serve her well, tonight.
Rhythmic thuds rang through the house as Rebecca carefully – yet lethargically – descended the staircase. She didn't recall feeling this tired a few minutes ago. She should probably take better care of herself, especially since most of her days are spent sitting at a desk or in front of a camera. Making a little more care to fit some light cardio or something into her routine would probably a lot more beneficial than a few extra episodes of some silly television show, anyway.
Olivia was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, her brown eyes wide and her lips sucked in. A few months ago, Spencer had mentioned that the 4 year old only did this when she was holding back a burning question. Hiding one's lips was apparently a sign of suppressed speech, and wide eyes were sign of hypervigilance. She wanted to ask a question that she thought she shouldn't, and that made her anxious. So far, he hadn't been wrong.
"What's up, buttercup?" Rebecca asked as she picked her daughter up, bracing the little girl on her hip.
"What are we having for dinner?" Olivia asked softly. And yet another victory for Doc.
"Well," Rebecca started as they walked towards the living room, "What would you like for dinner?"
Olivia shrugged in response and Rebecca suppressed a sigh. After about five hours of researching the current situation in Syrian and all possible connections it has with the international community (including but not limited to the tensions between Russia and Ukraine and too-soon-to-tell economic tolls on multiple European countries due to an influx of migrants fleeing death and destruction), she had absolutely no brain power left to think of a meal, much less work through cooking one. Instead, she went to their default.
"Would you be terribly offended if I ordered pizza?"
Olivia took a moment to consider her mother's question, probably trying to decode the vocabulary used. Rebecca had never believed in raising children on "baby language" or anything of the sort. She had a strong belief that children could learn anything; including vocabulary and speech patterns others often thought were too advanced. Olivia was reflecting that belief. She absorbed the styles of the adults in her life with little to no trouble, occasionally asking for clarification or taking a little longer to analyze what had been said. After she felt confident in her understanding, she would implicate what she had learned into her daily life – just as Rebecca figured she would.
Currently, the child seemed to be stuck on the phrasing, or perhaps the word "offended". Either way, she had worked through the problem by the time they had reached the couch, as she looked back at her mother and replied with a hesitant "No?"
"So you want me to order pizza?" Rebecca asked, just to be sure that Olivia knew to what she was agreeing.
"Yes!" She responded vibrantly as her mother placed her on the couch.
Rebecca smiled at Olivia as she handed the child the remote control for the television.
"Alrighty then," The mother said, "You find something for us to watch, and I'll go order the pizza."
"And breadsticks, please!" Olivia called out as her mother walked back upstairs to retrieve her cell phone.
"And breadsticks." Rebecca confirmed with a laugh.
~0~
"When did you watch a documentary on espionage?" Spencer asked as he scrolled through the 'Recently Watched' list of Rebecca's Netflix account.
"Oh, never," she told him as she handed him a glass of wine, "Livy picked it. She'll probably never admit it, but you're rubbing off on her."
Spencer smiled and took a sip from his glass, turning on the documentary for background noise (Rebecca could hardly live without it) and leaning into the couch.
"I have a question," he started, looking over to Rebecca who was curled up a few feet away, facing him, "Why does your daughter hate me?"
He watched with muted joy as Rebecca smiled and rolled her eyes.
"Olivia does not hate you," she answered sternly, though her smile was still in place, "She just hates change. And strangers. And coffee. And you, my friend, represent all of these things."
Spencer pursed his lips and shot Rebecca a playful, yet disbelieving look.
"Spence, she's four," Rebecca told him in a soft tone, "And she barely knows you. Most of the time when you're actually available to come over, she's either asleep or at daycare. And she doesn't call or text you like I do. So while we've actively known each other for almost a year, she's only really known you for about a quarter of that time. She just…hasn't gotten used to you, yet."
He seemed to accept that answer as he leaned further back into the over-stuff cushions, a contemplative look on his face as he took another sip of wine. Another few moments of silence lasted between them before Spencer spoke whatever it was that occupied his mind.
"Can you believe it's been a year?" He wondered wistfully.
Rebecca smiled brightly. "Almost a year," she corrected playfully, "We still got two more months."
"That's gotta be one of the easiest anniversaries to remember, huh?" Spencer asked with a smile.
"You would think," Rebecca laughed quietly, mindful of the young girl sleeping upstairs, "but I've never been good with birthdays."
Spencer choked on his wine and chuckled, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Olivia's birthday?" He asked with smile, "You're not good at remembering Olivia's birthday? Bec, you were there. You were kind of an integral part of the whole thing, actually."
"I blocked it out." She retorted simply, taking another sip of wine. "But I always manage to remember it, which is more than I can say for most other birthdays…"
"Your own, included." Spencer added, alluding to a fairly awkward encounter and seemingly undue explanation a few months back.
Rebecca's only response was a flash of her tongue before finishing off her glass of wine and retreating to the kitchen to rinse it out. When she returned, she had a cold piece of pizza in her hand and a question on her mind.
"What do you call us?" She questioned nonchalantly, sitting cross-legged on the couch.
"What do you mean?"
"Like…when you talk to your friends or to your mom or someone about our relationship, how do you address it? Because I gotta be honest, calling you my 'boyfriend' gives me the yicks, since we're not, like, in high school, ya know? But at the same time, what else is there to call you? So I was wondering what you call me when you talk to someone? Am I your girlfriend or your…"
Rebecca trailed of mid-rambling when she finally took a moment to look a Spencer's face, which was a mix of fear and confusion. What was bothering him? It couldn't be the rambling, since he does it all of the time. And it probably wasn't the question, itself, since he always preferred being open and honest in a relationship. So what was –?
Oh my God.
"Spencer," Rebecca started, adjusting her posture and trying to hide the Cheshire-like grin on her face, "Does anyone in your life know about us?"
He didn't answer.
"Spencer?"
Nothing.
"Oh my God." Her grin got wider. There was no hiding it now. "Spencer Reid. No one? Not a soul?"
Wide-eyed, Spencer shook his head.
"Oh my God," She said again, falling backward onto the couch, "Of course not."
"What do you mean 'of course not'?" Spencer asked with a slight tone of insult as he reached over and pulled her back up into a seated position.
"Spence," Rebecca answered with a slight sigh, "You never talk about your personal life. I don't know how you manage, seeing as I tell Jess and Mom everything and you're just sitting there in your own little bubble. Seriously though, no one? Not even your mom?"
"I don't want to upset her," He reasoned with a shrug, though the higher pitch to his tone counteracted the nonchalant gesture, "And it's never really come up anywhere else."
Rebecca smiled as he tried to work his way around the accusation. "You know you can make it come up," she told him.
"Do you want me to make it come up?" He asked delicately, his puppy eyes showing through for fear that he had offended her by not sharing news of their relationship with the people in his life.
"Oh, I couldn't care less," She answered with a laugh, "I'm just concerned about you. They are going to fucking skewer you when they find out. Keeping a delightful young woman like me and sweet little girl like Olivia all to yourself is a sin in the circles of friendship. And you are in for one wild ride through hell if and when they finally find out about this double life you've been leading, Dr. Reid."
By the time she had finished her little rant Rebecca had dissolved into a fit of giggles and distantly remembered why it was that she didn't drink often. Everybody else in her family could consume their body weight in liquor without as much as a hiccup, and she couldn't even one glass of wine. Spencer also seemed to recognize that the wine had taken over, and set his glass on the coffee table next to a forgotten slice of pizza.
"Come on," he urged, offering her a hand as he stood before her, "It's time to go to bed."
She gladly took his offer, and followed him delicately up the flight of stairs. Or…as delicately as she could. She was right. The stairs were not serving her well, tonight.
A little one-shot written in the throws of insomnia. A closer look into the daily lives of the Griffith girls ft. Spencer Reid. Set about 2 1/2 months before Ill-Intentioned People.
I apologize for any spelling or grammar errors, though some are intentional. If you see one that you think may have been an accident, please let me know and I'll fix it.
Chapter 3 for Ill-Intentioned People should be up before Thanksgiving (Nov. 26), but I make no promises. I've been working on it between assignments, though time is tight. Your patience is appreciated.
Sincerely,
Cut Into Dreams