Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds

"Words of comfort, skillfully administered, are the oldest therapy known to man." – Louis Nizer

o o o o

8 January, 2009

"What's my String Bean thinking about? You look so far away," Calliope wrapped her arms around his chest and quietly helped him relax against her. She leaned back against the arm of the couch and started rubbing the knots in his shoulders as he settled between her legs and rested his head on the pillow of her breasts.

"Do you remember last November, a little before your birthday, when the team went to Dallas, Texas for a case?"

"Of course, it was all over the news. Megan Kane was killing rich, high profile businessmen who abandoned their ex-wives and children."

"That's the one. It keeps nagging me."

"What about it's bugging you?"

"I just don't understand it. Those men, and all the men like them, shell out hundreds of thousands of dollars to neglect their wives and children and focus on an escort. They ignore the best things in their lives so that they can concentrate on a woman who couldn't care less about them, a woman who's only there because they pay her ten thousand or more for a sitting.

"It makes no sense. Why would anyone throw away what they are most lucky to have? Emily and I went to talk to a Madame, Lauren. She said something that keeps coming back. She said 'what men what, more than the no-strings-attached sex, is a therapist. Someone who will absorb the worst parts of their personalities.' There are therapists all over. Go to a psychologist and talk about your fears and insecurities, not a call girl. You just don't share what should be only for your wife with another woman. These men destroy what they should hold closest instead of protecting it without giving it a second glance."

"I just… I don't get it," he sighed. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his temple, wrapping her arms comfortably around his shoulders. Spencer reached up with one hand and placed it over hers.

"You don't get it because you're a good man, Spencer. You're an incredibly loyal person and would never betray someone you love and care about. Plus, it doesn't hurt that you're dating an artist."

"What do you mean?" He twisted his head to look at her.

"Artists – we're all kind of like therapists, whatever our medium. We absorb things into ourselves that others try and look past or brush aside, try and forget. We express them to the world in ways that, maybe after a while, they won't seem as bad as they truly are. People tell us things because they know we'll understand, they know we can absorb everything they can't and eventually transform whatever it is they're feeling into something beautiful."

Spencer reached up and pulled her head down to his, locking his lips with hers. The kiss was tender and sweet, unhurried. Pulling back, she smiled down at him, brushing his hair away from his face.

"So, I've been using you as a therapist?" He asked her, entangling his fingers with hers.

"Spencer, you see horrific things every single day. You study criminals and murderers so you can help people, but in the process, you keep internalizing all of that pain. You've never let any of it go; you keep everything inside," she smiled sadly at him. "You rarely talk about what you see when you're working. We've been dating going on five months now and you rarely talk about what you've seen. But I can feel it. When something's weighing on you, I can feel it. "

"Talking about my job is a burden I don't want on you," he told her honestly.

"So instead you fall asleep on my couch and start having a nightmare where you keep muttering over and over to save Riley Jenkins. I sat next to the couch and held your hand until you woke up."

"I thought that was a dream… Sweetheart, I'm so sorry," Spencer looked horrorstruck when he looked up at her.

"I'm not," Calliope leaned forward and kissed his temple again. "String Bean, hey, hey, no. Don't you dare look at me like that. Stop it. You didn't do anything wrong, Spencer. Having nightmares is not something to be ashamed of, so ditch the mortified expression."

"You shouldn't have had to see –"

"I'm very happily dating an FBI supervisory special agent, Spencer, and I know what that entails. This is going to happen, I understand that. Do you?"

"Calliope, I don't want my job affecting you."

"Then it's time we break up."

"What?"

"Spencer, you can't seriously think that you can completely separate what you do at work from when you're with me. You're beyond brilliant enough to know that that's just completely idiotic."

"I just –"

"I want to stay with you," Calliope told him, squeezing his hand. "I don't want to let this go. You make me ridiculously happy, Spencer Reid."

Pushing himself up, Spencer turned to look at her, not letting go of her hand. "Calliope, I, uh, I don't want to be without you."

"Then you have to accept the fact that you can't hide behind that excuse anymore. Your job is a huge part of who you are and you can't shield me from you without leaving." Calliope stood up and pulled him with her, leading him down the hallway into her studio. "I want to show you something. Spencer… Baby, I need my hand."

Letting go, he looked around the room he'd never been allowed in before. There were five easels set up in the space and three of them held incomplete canvases. Two were grayscale – one looked like the beginning of a cathedral and the second was a landscape with only a single splash of colour – a bright butterfly in the distance. The third canvas was a vivid and happy shot of him and Calliope kissing at Dahlia a week ago.

The walls were covered floor to ceiling with large, deep shelves full of different sized paintings. Turning, Spencer watched her deftly pull specific paintings off the shelves and lean them up so he could see them. They were all like the first two – grayscale with singular splashes of colour.

"Sarasota, Florida – William Harris and Stephen Baleman. Kingsport, Tennessee – Heather Block. Orange Country, California – Norman Hill. Syracuse, New York – Nicholas Howard. Madison County, Alabama – Kathy Gray and her family. Medford, Oregon – Andrew Michaels." Calliope gestured at each respective canvas as she named the case that prompted the painting. "Seattle, Washington – Roderick Gless. Sante Fe, New Mexico – George Needleman. Cleveland, Ohio – Eric Olson. Dallas, Texas – Megan Kane. Loveland, Colorado – Patrick Nelson. Vancouver, Washington – Don Lutley. Peoria, Illinois – Brian Forester."

Spencer stared, slack mouthed, at the thirteen paintings in front of him, simply soaking in the scenes that had somehow managed to completely capture how he felt about the cases without giving anyone any reason to believe they were the products of murder investigations. One for each of the cases the team had taken since he had started dating her. He was so engrossed in the paintings that he didn't sense Calliope was now standing next to him until her arm slinked around his waist and she leaned her head against him. Holding her gently, he closed his eyes for a moment, realizing for the first time just how much she felt, how well she knew him after so short a time.

"Georgetown, D.C. – Father Paul Silvano." Calliope told him softly, motioning at the early stages of the cathedral on the easel. "And Riley Jenkins."

"Riley's the butterfly…" Spencer looked at the painting and held her tightly. Turning, he enveloped her completely in his arms and buried his face in her hair, shutting his eyes against the well of emotion building. "Calliope, you are, without a doubt, the most wonderfully amazing woman I have ever met in my life. I have no idea how I got so lucky as to have you."

"I'm the lucky one," she whispered, snuggling closer into his embrace. "I'm not ready to give this up, Spencer. I'm falling in love with you, Dr. Reid."

I'm falling in love with you, Dr. Reid. Spencer tilted his head down and caught her lips with his, trying to show her how much he loved her without saying anything.

"Stay with me tonight? Please." Calliope asked, looking up at him with pleading doe eyes. "We both need this… I need you here and I think you need me."

"I have work tomorrow, Sweetheart," he reminded her, kissing her forehead.

"I'll make sure you get up."

"I want to, Calliope, but I don't have anything to sleep in."

"I have some exercise cloths you can sleep in."

"Calliope, I'm, uh, I'm thirteen inches taller then you. The chances of anything you own fitting me is exceedingly low." Spencer stared at her, laughing a little.

"Grandpa left some old pajamas out here somewhere," she offered.

"Sleep with you while wearing your grandfather's clothing?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Calliope giggled and pressed closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist more tightly. "I don't want you to leave," she murmured, rising up onto her toes and kissing his neck. "But you can't stay if you're not wearing pajamas."

"I – I, um…" Spencer was sputtering, trying to make his brain function through the fog she was creating in his head. Focusing on anything but her and the soft, wet trail her kisses left was proving almost impossible. "I think I might have – Calliope, please. I need you to stop – I can't think when you do that." Calliope pulled back, tucked her head down against his chest and fit her hand in his, but Spencer caught the pleased smile she tried to hide from him. "I think, um, I think I might have a go-bag in my car."

"What's a go-bag?"

"Um, it's like a, um, a sort of emergency bag that everyone on the team has for when we go on, um, when we go on cases. It has clothes and all the stuff we'd need when we leave home."

"Does it have a pair of PJs?"

"Yeah, but I'm not sure if it's in my car."

"Go check," Calliope said, pulling away from him to put the paintings back where they belong. By the time Spencer returned with the bag, Calliope wasn't in her studio anymore, everything was back where it belonged. He took a last look at Riley's butterfly before closing the door behind him and walking towards her bedroom.

"Sweetheart?" He called, knocking on the bedroom door before opening it. The room looked empty at first glance, but he could hear her changing in the closet. A few seconds later, Calliope came into view clad in red plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a grey cotton tank top. Seeing the bag in his hand, her face lit up and she motioned towards the bathroom. He kissed her quickly before continuing onto the bathroom.

The image he saw when he came out of the bathroom in sweats and an threadbare old t-shirt was one he knew he would give anything in the world to see for the rest of his life. Calliope was propped up in the left side of the bed, the covers bunched at her waist, setting the alarm clock and the comforter on the right side was pulled down, waiting for him.

Dropping the bag by the wall, Spencer slid into the bed next to her and waited until she put the clock down and turned the bedside lamp off. She shifted herself down, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders and patting the bed next to her. Smiling, he slipped down next to her and wrapped his arms around her when she snuggled close to him, wrapping her arm around his waist and using his chest as a pillow.

"Thank you for staying," she whispered.

"Sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere," he said, giving her a tight squeeze. "Not tonight and not anytime soon. You were right and I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry for trying to protect me."

"I thought about what you said –"

"You think too fast. I can never keep up with you."

Spencer chuckled and kissed the top of her head, gently running his fingers through her hair. "I won't leave you behind," he assured her.

"Good. You thought about what I said?"

"Mhmm… You're right. You have been like a therapist for me, except better. When I'm with you, no matter what I've been looking at at work, the world's right again. You bring a balance to me that I haven't had in a long time, Calliope. Because I know that, even if I don't, I can always talk to you if I need to. After I've seen you, I can look at the world again and see good."

"I bring balance by filling your life with chaos and insanity?" she giggled. Spencer smiled, knowing she was starting to fall asleep.

"Didn't you know? Everyone needs a little chaos and insanity. A very wise woman I know told me that."

"You probably shouldn't listen to anything she says. She sounds crazy," she told him, unable to keep a straight face while yawning. Her voice kept getting softer, and Spencer watched her as her breathing settled into the heavy, consistent rhythm that came with sleep.

"I'll keep that in mind, Sweetheart," he whispered, kissing her forehead once more, and pulled the covers around them more securely. He closed his eyes and felt sleep creeping up on him.

I'm falling in love with you, Dr. Reid.

How could anyone throw this away?

A/N:

Hey! Thank's for reading! Yeah, I just re-watched 4x16 Pleasure is My Business and I wondered how our little nerd would respond to rich men throwing away what he's always wanted. And thus, this fic was born!

Please, tell me what you think, good or bad!

Again, thanks for reading. :)

Love, Thalia