Disclaimer: see my profile
A/n I began this several weeks ago. It does follow canon, slightly, but will become more AU as the chapters progress. I will be going in an entirely different direction with Reid's mother and her illness than what we saw in "Surface Tension." Please enjoy.
Reid found a seat near the window looking out on the airport tarmac. He stretched out his legs and ignored the noise of other passengers around him. He tried not to think about his mother and this new study. If a way could be found for her health to improve, then he had to trust in her physicians.
He looked out the window to see a jet pull into the gate next to his and power down. It was nearly sunset, and the sky was light blue and pink on the horizon beyond the airport. He could see the full moon hanging in the sky and suddenly wondered if Chriscelia could see it out her window. He shut his eyes and felt a little heat in his face for his unexpected romantic thoughts. Still, he couldn't deny that he wished she were there to help him pass the time as he waited for his flight. He wanted to talk to her about the books she'd read and find out if she finished the first draft of her latest book. He wanted to read it. He wanted to drink a fresh cup of coffee and consider her beautiful eyes.
He sighed, stood, and strolled down the hallway to a coffee shop. He found a booth and sat. His server brought him coffee, but he refused food. Instead, he pulled his phone from his pocket and called Chriscelia.
"Hi," she answered, and her happy tone made him grin.
"Hello, it's Spencer."
"I know, caller id, remember?"
"Right, sorry. I'm a little distracted."
"You on your way home?"
"Yes."
"How did it go?"
"As expected. Mom's setup in the program."
"I know this is an incredibly stupid question, but are you okay?"
"I'm fine; it's just that…"
"What?"
"I – this is the best thing for her, but I feel like I yanked her away from her home."
"You did what you had to do."
"What if I haven't?" What if this sets her back? Am I selfish for wanting to do everything I can to help her? Rossi told me I should spend time with her and not to worry about trying to find a way to cure her. He said I have a finite amount of time with her and being with her would help her more than this study."
"Spencer? What does your gut tell you?"
"It tells me I have to do whatever I can to make her better."
"Then you did the right thing."
Spencer blew out a breath. "How do you know the right thing to say?"
"Because I'm a woman and we know things."
He grinned at her half serious tone; then he chuckled at her words. "My mother says that all the time."
"She must be a wise woman."
"She is. Thank you."
"For what?"
"For understanding that I had to do this right now."
"You're welcome."
"I'd like to see you when I return, and take you on a real date."
"I'd like that too."
"Good."
"So, tell me, how did your visit go, outside of moving her. Is she okay? How is she in general?"
He swallowed against the grateful tears that welled up to block his throat. "Good," he squeaked. "Um, she didn't mind the flight which was great."
"Why?"
"Oh, I forgot I didn't tell you. She's always been afraid to fly, but I think maybe with her confusion, she forgot to be afraid."
"Is it insensitive for me to say I hope you're right."
"No, of course not."
"What else besides fear of flying."
"I told her about you. I hope you don't mind."
She was quiet for a long time.
"Chriscelia?"
"I'm sorry. I'm just surprised. We've only known each other for a couple of weeks. With her confusion, I didn't think you'd want to tell her right now."
"She asked me why I was smiling, and it sort of spilled out."
"Oh."
"Don't worry. I didn't tell her anything shady." He teased.
"Ha, ha."
"She was extremely interested to know you're a published author. She loves to read."
"Was she?"
"Yes."
"What did you tell her?"
"The truth, that you're on the bestseller list."
"Number nine," she reminded him.
"You haven't looked at the numbers rankings, have you?"
"No, I did in the beginning, but then I started to lose confidence when I didn't shoot right up to number one like JK Rowling, or someone."
"Well, then I have the honor of telling you that you've risen to number seven this week."
"I guess I better get to work and finish the first draft before my agent and my publisher calls to remind me that I'm only as good as my last book and I need to strike while the iron is hot, yadda, yadda, yadda."
"Then I better let you get back to work."
She groaned. "Do I have to?"
"Yes!"
"Dr. Reid, I'm a writer, we procrastinate."
"You do?"
"Okay, not all of us, but I do."
"Why?"
"Honestly, I'm not sure. I love it, but there's a process involved."
"Really?"
"Don't sound so judgy."
"Judgy," he repeated. "Is that a word?"
"Yes." She said loftily.
"I don't think so."
"Too bad! It's my word."
"I think I need to check my scrabble dictionary."
"No, you don't. If I know you, you have it memorized."
"True, that's how I know you made it up."
"Alright, I admit it."
"So, what's your process?"
"Hm…"
"You said you have a process. I'm dying of curiosity."
He smiled when she snorted in his ear. "Right. Well, I usually write the outline and the first draft in long hand. I find it tough to sit and stare at a computer screen and wait for inspiration to strike."
"I'm not a big fan of technology." He admitted. "So, I get it."
"Also, I like to listen to music when I write. It helps me think."
"May I ask what genre?"
She was quiet for so long, he said. "Chriscelia, you still there?"
"I like eighties big hair metal. Go ahead and laugh."
"Music with a strong beat has been known to increase blood flow, and improve your mood."
"Thank you, Dr. Reid."
"Funny."
They laughed together, and Spencer felt a headache that lurked behind his eyes recede just a little. Then, he saw the clock on the wall behind the bar and sighed. "I better say goodbye. They should be calling my flight in about ten minutes."
"Call me when you get in?"
"I will."
CMCCMCMCMCMCMCMCMCMCMCMCMCMCM
Chriscelia pulled out her notebook and began to work on the last chapter of her current novel. She made a deal with herself to write a least a thousand words that day. She knew how it would end but getting it down on paper was proving difficult as her concentration was shot after talking to Spencer.
She pushed back from her desk an hour later and shook out her hand. Sometimes the words came so fast her hand cramped. She looked over what she'd written and was glad that no one else had to worry about deciphering her chicken scratch handwriting. Her mother had been on her case about her handwriting up until she died. "You should practice," her mother used to say. "How do you expect anyone to read it?"
Chriscelia always reminded her mother that it was the twenty-first century and everyone communicated by email and text message.
"I don't write checks anymore," she remembered telling her mom. "You can pay for everything online or with a credit or debit card."
She sat back and stretched her arms over her head. Thinking about her mother made her sigh and as she always did, wish for more time with her. It was time for a break. She'd read over what she wrote and make the necessary changes to the dialog.
An hour later, she dropped her pencil and pulled off her glasses. She looked at the clock and saw that it was coming up on noon. As if the organ were aware of the time, her stomach growled irritably. She sighed and thought about ordering a pizza, then decided she needed to eat healthy for a change. She also decided that she needed to get some exercise.
After a sensible lunch, she changed into workout gear, and on impulse grabbed her coat and hat. She'd take a walk outside instead of walking on the treadmill. It was cold, but no snow and getting out of the apartment was just what she needed. She hurried down the stairs and out the door, putting her headphones on to listen to a recorded book on her phone.
The air smelled cold and clean. She breathed it in and headed to the sidewalk. The park was three blocks north of the apartment, so she turned in that direction and set off, listening to the latest Dean Koontz book. The voice of the narrator was engaging and made the walk to the park enjoyable instead of a chore. She felt the stress of the last couple of months lifting off her shoulders, and she smiled.
Just as she entered the park, her phone signaled a call. It was Spencer's number. "Hey," she greeted. "you back."
"Yeah."
"I'm glad, how was your trip."
"As good as it can be flying coach."
"You're just spoiled by the company jet," she teased.
"You're right."
"So, what's the plan now?"
"I thought we agreed we'd go out on a real date when I returned."
His statement and question raised her heart rate more than the effort of her walk. "Yes, we did."
"I have the afternoon free. How about I pick you up in an hour, and we do something this afternoon?"
"Hm, I'm not sure you've giving me sufficient notice, Dr. Reid."
He was silent for a minute, and her heart began to sink, then he said. "Are you playing hard to get?"
"Perhaps."
"Good, no one's ever played that with me."
She laughed and he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. "I've never had the chance to play hard to get."
"I guess we both missed out."
"Nevertheless, Dr. Reid. I think my calendar is booked until next month."
"Next month," He squeaked. "I don't like this game."
She chuckled and then cleared her throat resolutely.
"You're not supposed to like it; that's the point. It's supposed to increase your desire to spend time with me."
"We haven't seen each other for a week," Reid squeaked. "Believe me, I desire you."
It was her turn to go silent. Did he just say that he wanted her? She liked him very much, and they'd had a couple of intense moments since they met, but he'd said they should take it slow.
"I'm sorry, that came out wrong," he said. "I mean I do like you and – I'm saying all of this wrong, Chriscelia."
"It's okay. I do know what you mean. Why don't we start over?"
"Alright. I'll pick you up in an hour if that's okay with you."
"Yes, I've missed seeing you."
"Good."
"Where are you taking me?"
"It's a surprise."
The playfulness had returned to his tone, and it made her grin as she turned back toward her apartment.
"What should I wear?"
"Something casual," was all he'd say.
"Sounds good. I'll see you in an hour then."
"I'm looking forward to it."