Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.
"Be careful what you wear to bed at night, you never know who you'll meet in your dreams." – Author Unknown
o o o o
18 December, 2009
"Spencer! Spencer, wake up!" Calliope shook Spencer slightly and he pulled the pillow down over his face.
"What? Did you finally set the house on fire?" Spencer mumbled from beneath the pillow.
"You're decidedly less genius-like when you're still half asleep," Calliope snuggled close to him and squeezed her head under the pillow as well to kiss his cheek.
"If I let myself get genius-like, I won't be able to go back to sleep," Spencer kissed her and buried his face in her hair. "Please, Calliope. If the house isn't in flames, can I go back to sleep?"
"I had a dream," she whispered.
"Congratulations."
"Do you want to hear about my dream?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"I wanna tell you about my dream."
"Tomorrow," he moaned, pushing her out from under his pillow and clamping it down tighter. "Please."
"But…"
"I live with a crazy person," Spencer mumbled.
"Yes, you do," Calliope curled up next to him, resting her head on his chest and smiling. "And you love the crazy person."
"I'd love her a lot more if she'd stop talking."
"See… In my dream, we went to high school at KPA together."
"Terrific. Tell me tomorrow."
"You were valedictorian."
"Of course I was," Spencer refused to open his eyes or remove the pillow from over his face. His thoughts were becoming more lucid as he woke up, but he fought to stay asleep.
"You looked really cute in the uniform. Black slacks and the white button down. Dark green sweater vest and gold tie or the gold tie with the green jacket. You didn't have to wear both, but you had to wear one of them. You look good in green, String Bean. Girls had more choices, but it was still pretty strict. God, those saddle shoes were hell in the winter. No traction whatsoever."
"Sleep…" he pleaded futilely, fumbling his hand over her face trying to find and cover her mouth without moving his head. Calliope giggled and snuggled closely.
"It was senior year and, apparently, I was a lot smarter in my dream than I was in reality, because I didn't have to study nearly as much in the dream as I actually had to."
"Calliope, please."
"Anyways. I was still class president and you were opposed to everything I was trying to do. But you never really had a reason why you were opposed. You were just kind of opposed on principal or something. Like when liberals are like 'I can't vote for him! He's a conservative quack!' or conservatives are like 'Ha! Like we can have a liberal in office! He's nuts!' regardless of whether or not they agree with the persons opinion. Yeah… Okay. So I had, like, the biggest crush on you, but you thought I was a huge bimbo who didn't deserve my class rank."
"I dislike you very much right now," Spencer mumbled.
"I accept that."
"Sleep. Shhh…" he pulled the blanket over the pillow and tried to block her out as she continued to talk.
"I was badgering you about a student counsel meeting. And you just wanted me to leave you alone, much like right now," Calliope snuggled closer and smiled. "So I was following you to your locker and talking way too fast and you were trying to pretend I didn't exist…"
"Spencer, are you going to be at the meeting?" Calliope asked, walking quickly to keep up with his long strides. Spencer stopped at his locker and started rotating the combination lock.
"Of course I'm going to be there. We're voting about library funds," Spencer pulled his calculus books out of his backpack and placed them in the most organized locker ever seen in a high school.
"Why haven't you decorated your locker?" Calliope asked distractedly.
"Because I don't want to."
"You've had the same locker for four years and you never put up anything?"
"I had a calendar at one point, but it fell and I didn't put it back up," Spencer closed the locker door and started down at her.
"Why not?"
"It would just fall down again."
"I guess. I have pictures all over mine," Calliope shrugged. "You're even in one of the pictures, Spencer. The one from when we were in the James Joyce group together. Remember? That was a fun project. I actually enjoyed that one. I didn't like the Romeo and Juliet project. Mostly because I had to be Juliet. I'm just glad I didn't have to kiss Tyler. Oh man. I probably would have thrown up on principle. He needs to bathe."
"Is there a point in here somewhere, Calliope, or are you just trying to drive me crazy?"
"I can't have both?"
"I'm going to be late to microbiology," Spencer rolled his eyes and started walking away, leaving Calliope to try and keep up with him. "Don't you have class?"
"Yeah. I have Italian next."
"Shouldn't you go to it?"
"I am. It's in the northeast wing."
"Don't you need to get your book?"
"It's in my backpack."
"I'm running out of ways to get you away from me."
"Hey, Callie. Hey, Spencer," a brunette greeted them as she fell into step by Calliope.
"Hey, Jill," Calliope smiled and Spencer raised a hand in greeting.
"Are you coming to the meeting this afternoon, Spencer?"
"I'll be there," he answered in an exasperated tone.
"Good. We're trying to get people there who actually care," Jill rooted around in her backpack as she walked and people jerked out of her way before they were knocked to the ground. "I really don't want to spend the entire years budget on SparkNotes and Stephen King novels."
"You like Stephen King," Calliope reminded her as she steered Jill away from the trashcan she almost ran into.
"Yeah, I do. But I don't want to waste Kingsway's budget on them. We have two copies of Carrie. Three of The Shining. I lost track of how many copies of It we've gone through. We don't need anymore. Plus, if they want to read books for fun, they should go to the public library."
"I know," Calliope agreed. "I have a list of books I think we should consider. The encyclopedia set desperately needs to be updated, for one. And there's a bunch of new critical essay anthologies that should be considered."
"The engineering section needs some attention," Spencer commented as they rounded a corner.
"Yeah? I have a few titles down, but I'm definitely open for recommendations," Calliope looked up and clicked her pen to start writing.
"I'll give you a list at the meeting."
"Oh. Okay."
"Ah! I passed my classroom," Jill looked up from her backpack. "Crap. Bye guys."
"Bye," Spencer and Calliope said in unison.
"The northeast wing's that way," Spencer pointed when she kept walking with him.
"I know. But I had something to ask you."
"What?"
"Can you stop for a second? There's another four minutes before the bell rings," Calliope reached out and grabbed his arm to make him stop.
"What?" Spencer looked down at her and waited.
"I'm having a party at my house this Friday and I was really hoping you'd come."
"At Dahlia?"
"That would be where I live. I have my own bedroom and everything. Well, technically, it's a storage closet in the cellar, but I don't have to sleep in the chair by the fireplace anymore. Grandpa even got me my own bed recently so I don't have to sleep on the floor either. Hopefully, he'll get a blanket next because it sure does get chilly sometimes."
"Your sarcasm's hilarious."
"The question warranted a sarcastic response. I said 'at my house.' Dahlia is where I live, so you kind of asked a question you already knew the answer to," Calliope smiled.
"When is it?"
"Friday at seven. Don't be late."
"I didn't say I'd go, Calliope," Spencer said when she started to turn around.
"We're in five classes together this quarter. We'll probably be in at least four next quarter and then quarter after that and then the quarter after that. And then there's the Winter semester that we both know we'll be signed up for. Plus student counsel and academic decathlon and debate. You can't avoid me. You might as well accept that you can't put off being friends with me anymore and just come to the party."
"I'm not much of a party kind of person."
"Come on, Spencer. It's not going to be a big deal. It's just a party. There'll be our friends in bad dresses, Sarah will get a run in her pantyhose and spend the rest of the night freaking out, John will hit on everything with a pulse, I'll have way too much sugar, and then we'll all get kidnapped by gypsies who still have yet to accept that Czechoslovakia has been split into the Czech Republic and Slovakia. We'll be sold to the Russia circus, travel all over Europe enslaved and living on nothing more than a crust of bread every two days and half of us will die in a valiant but ill-fated escape attempt. And there'll be cheese."
"Your mind works is terrifying ways."
"Did I mention there will be cheese?"
"You did. Czechoslovakian gypsies?"
"Then sold to the Russians."
"Not ex-patriots who can't accept the end of the USSR?"
"Nope. The communists are lost without someone to lead them."
"Ah. Of course." Spencer glanced down at his watch. "There'll be cheese, huh?"
"Probably several varieties. I tried to get Mammy to let me serve chips. It went about as well as the Native Americans asking the European explorers to just leave their land alone. She stared at me. For about an hour. I did, however, talk her out of the frilly white dress. I'm not holding my breath, but I think she might let me dress myself."
"Can we debate this later? Class is about to start."
"You don't care that I finally get to dress myself?"
"I care very much."
"Liar."
"Bye, Calliope."
"Bye, Spencer."
When he walked out of microbiology an hour and a half later, Calliope was standing there waiting for him. He rolled his eyes and started walking as she continued talking as if class hadn't interrupted her. With a stop at each of their lockers, they walked to the classroom and Calliope darted in first. Spencer sighed and followed, taking his seat behind her.
"Your hair's on my desk," he told her.
"I know. I'm getting my rubber band. Just a second," Calliope pulled her hair up into a ponytail and bent down to pull her binder out of her backpack.
"Class, we're going to continue with our discussion of Mr. Brooke's poem 'The Dead' and Mr. Owen's poem 'Dulce et Decorum Est.' Ms. Summers, would you like to share your fascinating insight with the class instead of just Ms. Knight?"
"I…" the girl in the back of the classroom looked up and then back down at her notes. "I was just saying that Rupert Brooke's poetry is highly unrealistic because he never saw a second of the war he wrote about. He, uh, Brooke lived a life totally devoid of contact with the First World War, so his poetry is based on what he was raised believing and the propaganda issued to support the war."
"Exactly right, Ms. Summers. Next time, Ms. Knight can wait to hear what you have to say until the rest of the class can hear as well."
"Yes, Mrs. Bonderant."
"Ms. Sellers – can you enlighten us on how Mr. Brooke transfers his beliefs through 'The Dead?'"
"Well, his choice of diction for one," Calliope picked up her annotated copy of the poem. "He used soothing, pleasing words. The poem begins with Brooke calling the dead soldiers the 'rich Dead!' and saying that bugles played over them. This specific word choice gives a highly romanticized and beautiful idea of the men scattered dead or dying over the battlefield and reveals the fact that Brooke lacks any practical exposure to war. Brooke describes the soldiers as 'rich' because he truly believes that, by dying for their country, they gain a wealth that cannot be achieved in a monetary way. Their deaths are, in a sense, a gift to both the soldiers themselves and their country. Their country, in return for their lives, has gifted them with 'Honour,' 'Holiness,' 'Love,' and 'Nobleness' unsurpassed. The graceful elegance of the line 'dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold' reinforces societies belief that going to war and defending their country at the sacrifice of their lives is a man most honourable action."
"Well said, Ms. Sellers," Mrs. Bonderant nodded. "'Dying has made us rarer gifts than gold.' How eloquent. Does anyone care to expand on Ms. Sellers' analysis of these 'gifts?'"
Class passed slowly and Spencer had added thirteen pages worth of notes before he packed the papers back into his binder and grabbed his backpack.
"Come to the party," Calliope said just after they walked out of the classroom.
"You're really not good with 'no,' are you?"
"Ya know, I'm really not."
"I'm going to hear about it for the rest of the year if I don't go, aren't I?"
"What 'rest of the year?' You'll be hearing about it for the rest of your life."
"There'll be cheese?"
A/N:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DantanaMM! You're so old! XD Hahaha, jk. This piece is DantanaMM's birthday present because today's her birthday! No way, right? Okay, seriously though. Happy Birthday, Beautiful! I hope it's unspeakably awesome.
Anyways! This story is sort of a deleted scene from my multi-chapter story about Spencer and Calliope entitled Mystery Muse. I hope you liked this story enough to go check it out and see more of them.
OH MY GOODNESS! Hockey season started THURSDAY! I'm so excited. XD Everyone who knows me or reads my stuff knows I'm a die hard Toronto Maple Leafs and Vancouver Canucks fan. Leaf's played Thurdays! Against the awful, disgusting Montreal Canadiens. EW GROSS! I looooathe the Canadiens. It's a deepseated rivalry that only hockey fans can truly understand. AND WE CREAMED THEM! INTO OBLIVION! I'm so excited. And then we destroyed the Ottawa Senators last night! 5-1! it was AWESOME. Unfortunately, the Canucks lost yesterday. But the Canucks did lose in a shoot out AFTER an OT, so they played an epic game. I'm not worried - they'll kill on Monday. I love hockey season. Shesh... I really should be medicated.
I'm gonna go find some Diet Dr. Pepper (my drug of choice) and do some self-medicating with it while I drive back up to school. I came home to see my little brother play football. They won. Yay! Okay. I really need to get off now. Thanks so, so much for reading! I really hope you like it and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!
Love, Thalia
P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DANTANAMM!