Trajectory

by Abvj

It is slow, the way they grow back together. Emily and Reid in the aftermath of season twelve as they attempt to reconcile certain truths they've been trying to outrun for years.

Author's Note: This story is mostly canon-compliant and takes place in the immediate aftermath of season twelve. It is complete and the second half should be posted sometime early next week. Con-crit is, as always, welcome and appreciated.

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[before]

There is a list of things they don't talk about that can be summarized with a single bullet point:

They kiss once.

It happens at JJ's of all places, after an impromptu dinner they both are invited to at the last minute. JJ and Will retreat upstairs to put Henry to bed and Emily and Reid are left with the dishes – her washing and him drying. There is no mindless chatter, no shoptalk. Just the easiness and comfort of silence only two people who truly know one another can appreciate.

Certain things about the moments compiling that night stand out with more clarity than others. Bits and pieces shining more vividly in the hazy technicolor of her memory. But what Emily remembers most, what she can never forget, is the way his fingers brush against hers as they exchange a plate and the resulting sting of warmth that shoots from the point of contact and settles all the way in the base of her spine. His eyes dart to hers, then flicker to her mouth. It feels natural, almost, the way his gaze lingers there for just a fraction of a moment before moving to settle on his feet.

The touch may initially be mistaken as accidental. They are friends, sure, but Reid has never been one for physical contact. It makes him uneasy, sets him on edge, and this has always been especially true with Emily. Reid is always so careful with her for reasons Emily has never attempted to try and make sense of before this moment.

The intimate knowledge she has of him is how she knows the touch was purposeful, deliberate.

Emily tilts her head to regard him carefully, and a moment stretches between them where she stares at him too long. When she too allows her gaze to linger on his mouth. She scans his face for some indication as to why he has chosen to make himself vulnerable to her now, why this moment with their friends upstairs and a pile of dirty dishes and too much history between them. Too much risk. Her effort does not provide her with answers, which is nothing short of expected. Reid has always been the most expressive out of all of them, allowing his micro expressions to give him away in the moment when he isn't able to practice indifference. It is what makes him genuine, what makes him Reid. But when he wants to, when he puts in the effort, he is able to hide most anything.

It surprises the both of them that Emily is the one to lean in, to bridge the gap and brush her mouth against his at the corner. It happens in an instant, on instinct, and without any thought. There is a flash of warmth and awe, of utter stillness.

When he kisses her back, when he parts his lips and opens himself up to her just slightly, he is tentative, tender, familiar.

It is startling – the sheer intimacy of the moment – and the plate between her fingers slips from her grasp and clumsily hits the sink. The resulting splash of soap and water stains their clothes, the harsh sound of china against metal shattering the moment. They break apart with a gasp and a sigh all at once. She feels the loss of him immediately, and it is that loss, the bereft feeling the loss leaves her with that startles her more than the kiss itself.

After, Emily presses her mouth into a thin line, attempts to school her expression into something resembling calm. Her eyes catalog every movement of his that followed – the way he reaches to his face, allowing his fingers to rest against his lips for just a mere millisecond before rubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand, effectively wiping her away. His back straightens and shoulders move ever so slightly with the weight of his sigh. He scans her face for what she figures is some resemblance of meaning, of purpose, just as she had done to him moments before.

It isn't a mistake that he finds nothing.

Reid's gaze returns to the sight of the dirty converses covering his feet. I'm sorry, he murmurs softly, or so she thinks. It is difficult to make out over the pounding in her head and she reaches for her wine glass out of a simple need to do something with her hands. She takes a long, slow sip, the merlot staining her teeth and covering the taste of him that lingers on her lips.

Me too.

It is easy, the lie, and hastily offered. The glass clinks against the granite too loudly as she sets it to the side again and purposefully reaches for the discarded plate. After she rinses it, she hands it to him.

Reid no longer allows their fingers to touch.

[one]

Everything is different after, but it is also almost exactly the same.

Scratch is still in the wind.

Hotch and Morgan remain gone.

People keep doing unthinkable things and the team keeps fighting to stop them.

The brass censures her for her reckless leadership every which way they can, albeit in private. This time.

They talk about her moral ambiguity like Emily should be ashamed of the things she has done, but she isn't. She is who she is and she will never make any excuses for it. She may be pragmatic most days, but her ability to walk the line between right and wrong, to exist comfortably in the morally gray to save her family and to catch the bad guys is never anything she will apologize for. Cruz tells her next time she won't be so lucky, that this job is not meant for the faint of heart but it also isn't meant for those who lead with abandon. Emily is sure this is true, but she also knows nothing will ever come from it. The BAU is respected. The BAU is revered. It is also well known to leave those who dedicate themselves to the cause an utter mess. They have all served as an example at one time or another.

The world keeps spinning and Emily does her best to keep herself and the team upright in the aftermath.

Reid walks the line of indecision. Considers leaving The Bureau altogether as the higherups decide what to do with him. There is mandatory counseling with report after report detailing his innermost thoughts, his deepest secrets piling up on her desk that Emily refuses to read. She just waits for the eventual notification of clearance she knows will come. He distances himself from all of them afterward, throws himself into taking care of Diana out of what Emily suspects is guilt, some sort of play for redemption that isn't necessary but he feels it is. Garcia panics. JJ and Rossi worry quietly. Emily doesn't. She knows Reid. Recognizes bits of herself in him, especially now after everything she knows he did to survive.

Emily also knows what they all know, but sometimes choose not to acknowledge: this is where they belong.

They are all a little bit broken, all dysfunctional in their own ways, but together they form a nearly perfect, functional whole. Sometimes it just takes leaving and coming back to remember.

[two]

A family in Salt Lake is annihilated except for the youngest child, a four-year-old boy, who is abducted from the scene. The team identifies the unsub just in time and the little boy is saved without a scratch on him, although Emily surmises the psychological scars will be everlasting. She has never fooled herself regarding this aspect of their job – even a win isn't really a win. Some days she finds it wearing on her more than others.

It is Reid's first case back after, well, everything. His reinstatement was hard fought for, an uphill battle. It's only been a week since it has been official, and he stays behind to help her pack up case files. To help clean up the literal mess the team has left in their wake after three days of camping out in the small-town police station's conference room. Emily looks up and realizes it's dark outside; realizes she can barely remember what day it is. Her stomach rumbles for the first time since they landed days before and she's about to ask him if he wants to grab a bite to eat before they meet everyone at the airport when –

"I loved you."

The files between her fingers nearly slip out of her hands. She looks up immediately and towards him, both stunned and confused. She finds him actively not looking at her. There is a silence between them that pops in her ears.

"I thought I was going to die in there," he starts, then stops, pausing for a long moment before trying again. "I thought I was going to die and it made me think about everything, about everyone, and when it came to you, when I thought about you, I realized I was going to die and you would never know –"

Emily murmurs his name, tries to interrupt, to stop him from continuing, but he shakes his head decisively. Determined. His fingers busy themselves with rearranging the files in his hands before placing them in the box at his side carefully. Reid still doesn't look at her and when he speaks again it is clinical, automatic, almost cold. Emily doesn't quite know why that is what bothers her the most about this entire situation. Tries not to think about how this is the first time they've truly been alone together without the others, without Diana, since the prison. Since she sat across from him and was so utterly ashamed when she said you were right. He barely looked at her then too.

She realizes now what she hasn't wanted to for months: the distance placed between them was intentional. This knowledge leaves a bitter taste in the back of her mouth that burns something fierce.

"You don't have to say anything," he mumbles. "I don't want you to say anything. I've been carrying it around for so long and I just didn't want to anymore." Reid clears his throat awkwardly. When he speaks again it is so soft she must strain to hear when he says, "I felt you deserved to know."

When he does look at her, finally, his face is one of practiced indifference. It is a version of what he saves for the work, and despite it, despite the cold feeling it leaves her with, it feels almost as if he is looking right into her. It unnerves her.

The edges of her file in her hands crinkle under the pressure of her grip. She counts to three in her head before willing herself to relax.

"Okay," she breathes slowly.

Reid smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Okay."

xXx

It is only on the plane back home when she is running through every word and expression and silence of the conversation that she realizes he said loved.

Past tense.

Emily isn't quite sure what to make of that, isn't quite sure what to make of anything, really. Wonders if Hotch had still been here, if she weren't the boss and Reid her subordinate that needed time off to care for his ailing mother, if he still would have sought her out all those months ago. If he would have confided in her. Wonders if she had still been in London if he would have reached out for help after Mexico or merely kept her in the dark like he did Morgan. She would like to think yes. Would like to think their history still matters, still counts for something. But now she is not so sure.

Emily can feel her mind spinning out of control trying to make sense of it all when Lewis kicks her foot under the table between them, breaking her train of thought.

"You okay?"

Emily's nod is careful. Her mouth twists into a practiced smile. Across the aisle from them, JJ snores quietly. Alvez and Walker are talking in hushed tones a few rows ahead. One of them laughs softly.

She can't see Reid, but she knows exactly where he is – at the table behind her, the one where he and Gideon used to play chess once upon a time. Emily can feel the warmth of his gaze on the back of her neck but doesn't turn to look. He is isolating, closing himself off from the rest of them. It's new, this habit of his, but almost expected after everything that has transpired in the past year. Emily knows she should shut it down, that it is their job, her job to pull him out of his own head, but she doesn't.

It is cowardly, and selfish, and stupid, but it all seems so unbelievably complicated right now, so she just simply doesn't.

[three]

Morgan had been the one to say it first.

It is sometime after Doyle. After Emily died and became reborn. She is right on the cusp of leaving again but hasn't quite figured that out for herself yet. Morgan is watching her carefully, feet up on Reid's desk like they belong there, hands fidgeting with some sort of trinket that usually sits proudly on display. They are the last ones left in the bullpen. Overhead the florescent lights crackle and somewhere in the distance a phone rings and rings. It has been a week, two cases on opposite sides of the continent, so many bodies that she has to count them on her fingers and toes. The exhaustion settles in the base of her neck, right between her shoulders, and when Morgan speaks it takes a second to register, for her to make sense of the words.

"You know he is in love with you right?"

Emily's fingers still over the keyboard. The look she gives him is sharp, guarded. This reaction eggs Morgan on even more and when he laughs, he tilts his head back, makes a show of it, but the sound carries little humor.

"Don't act like you don't know."

Emily does not ask what or who.

The silence she offers speaks for her.

[four]

On Saturdays when there isn't a killer to be caught, the girls meet at JJ's for wine and dinner. Sometimes Lewis comes, but most of the time it is just Garcia, JJ, and Emily, the original three, camping out on JJ's worn couch with a bottle of wine between them. They gossip, they drink, and they eat really good food that Will sometimes (most times) indulges them by cooking. It is a routine, tested and true after all of these years, and Emily always loves how easily they fall back into familiar patterns. How easily they find comfort with each other no matter how long it has been or what sort of catastrophe has occurred since the last time they managed to get together. There have been periods over the years where nights like these became less frequent, and non-existent while Emily was away in London. But after Morgan and Hotch leave and they almost lose Reid, the three of them put forth a new effort, place a higher importance on taking care of themselves and the family they've created amongst each other.

They have rules for these nights, topics that are off limits. They don't talk about the work and they don't talk about the others. These nights are a play for normalcy, an effort to shut out the world and remember their individual existence does not start and end with the BAU.

It is JJ who cemented these rules all those years ago, always more self-aware than the rest of them.

It is also JJ who breaks them tonight when she asks Emily about Reid almost too nonchalantly as she settles onto the couch. Garcia is off searching for a fresh bottle of wine and whatever snacks she can find. The sound of laughter echoes from upstairs where Will is going through the boys' nighttime routine. JJ smiles without even knowing it, her mouth twisting at the corners around the rim of her wine glass. It only lasts a moment, though, because she is very serious when she turns to Emily and asks why she and Reid are acting so weird with each other.

Despite what outsiders may be led to believe because of her shiny hair and bright smile, JJ can be totally fucking scary when she wants to be. And she is looking at Emily so pointedly at the moment that Emily can't help but sit up a bit straighter on instinct.

Emily forces a small laugh that falls flat. "What are you talking about?"

And truly Emily doesn't have any idea. It has only been a week since Reid's quiet, pseudo-declaration in Salt Lake, and they've continued on like nothing at all happened. Likely because it didn't. After much thought and deliberation regarding the entire incident, Emily is nearly certain of this. Even if she wasn't, she knows Reid and she is more than capable of reading between the lines. He had told her loved her and the past tense was deliberate. Emily knows this because she knows Reid does almost nothing without careful consideration. It wasn't meant to be a romantic declaration and it wasn't intended to make her feel a certain type of way. It was only meant to free him of the burden he'd been carrying around with him.

It was entirely selfish, but Reid is seldom selfish, so she is having trouble faulting him for it.

Still, JJ gives her an incredulous look and raises an eyebrow. "You guys haven't been right since he got out."

Emily sighs. This, too, she is nearly certain of. She shrugs in a way that is meant to communicate ambivalence, but likely does everything but. At least not to those who know her. Emily finishes what is left of her wine and wishes Garcia would hurry up with the other bottle. Thinks briefly about deflecting, but knows JJ would see right through it and Emily is honestly too tired to try. It has been a long week and she thinks about all the paperwork waiting for her and knows she should probably be at the office and not here. That skipping out on her duties tonight likely equates to a day of paperwork later in the weekend. But then she remembers Hotch and his quiet disengagement from them. How tired he looked in the end. Emily knows that isn't who she wants to be, title of boss or not.

"I disappointed him," she tells JJ slowly, honestly, and it hurts to say the words because she knows they are undoubtedly true. Still, JJ looks incredulous all over again. "I did. I didn't believe him about his mom. He –"

"He doesn't blame you for all the crap Lindsey and Cat did, Emily. That's the dumbest fucking thing I have ever heard. That's all in your head and you need to cut it out."

Emily smirks despite the severity of the conversation. She simply can't help it. It is a little-known fact that JJ swears like a sailor when she is drinking. Emily finds it both endearing and hilarious and has to press her mouth into a thin line to keep from chuckling as she explains, "I don't think he blames me, but he definitely hasn't forgotten that he came to me for help and I didn't believe him. That I wasted time."

Throwing a hand up dismissively JJ shouts for Garcia to hurry up with the wine and finishes what is left in her glass in preparation.

She is so serious again when she turns towards Emily and says, "Spence is always so damn touchy, you know. Especially when it comes to you." Pausing for emphasis, JJ gives Emily a strange look that can be deciphered a million different ways. It makes Emily wonder what exactly JJ knows, what Reid may have told her, and she tries to read the other woman's face for answers but nothing is there. If JJ does know anything, she gives nothing away. Instead, she gently kicks Emily's leg with her bare foot in a way Emily supposes is meant to be encouraging, but falls slightly short. Gently, JJ advises, "Reach out to him. He is struggling with his mom. He needs you. He misses you. And I think you miss him too."

This is also true. Emily does miss him. She misses their friendship, their closeness, their connection. There is a moment, brief and insecure, where Emily considers telling JJ about Salt Lake just so she doesn't have to carry it around anymore. Because the burden of it is making her so uncomfortable, causing her to question all sorts of things she thought she understood, and she honestly doesn't know how he did it for so long. Emily thinks about telling JJ because that is the sort of thing any other rational human being would do. She opens her mouth to spill some of her secrets, shed some of their weight, but the words get stuck in the back of her throat.

Garcia chooses that exact moment to stroll back in. Her hands are full of chips, an entire block of cheese, and not one, but two bottles of wine. One of which is already open. She is so blissfully unaware, and happy, not at all shy about the way she drinks right from the bottle.

Emily laughs a little allows the moment to pass.

xXx

Despite the months, almost a year now, that has passed since she has been back in the states, her apartment still has blank walls and unpacked boxes stacked in every corner. Emily nearly trips over them as she makes her way towards her bed and collapses onto it later that night. Slowly, the alcohol works its way out of her system, and with the newfound sobriety comes a blinding clarity. It leaves her cold. She turns the television on in an attempt to fill some of the emptiness around her with white noise, and finds herself flipping through the channels aimlessly until she stumbles upon a Doctor Who marathon.

Naturally, she thinks of Reid. She thinks about calling him. Even reaches for her phone, because that is who they used to be to each other. Thinks better of it mid-dial.

Emily decides on a text, simple and easy: DW marathon on BBC. Tennant version. You up?

It's easy to get caught up in the familiar story and she does. Watches with interest as the story unfolds even though she's seen it countless times before. Before she realizes it, the sun is threatening to rise, the early morning traffic of DC already starting on the streets outside her window. On the television The Doctor wearily says, I'm burning up the sun just to say goodbye as he and Rose stand on a deserted beach, together for the final time.

Beside her the phone sits motionless, the blank screen staring back at her.

She cries and isn't ready to think about why.

[five]

When Emily is in the mood to reconcile certain truths about herself, she can admit that things have always just been fundamentally different for she and Reid.

She cannot pinpoint the exact moment it happened, even with the clarity of hindsight. Emily realizes this is likely because the progression was nearly negligible, the changes painstakingly slow to take.

There are hints along the way, moments that can be identified as precipitants:

The plane ride after Benjamin Cyrus, for one. The careful way Reid held her hand, and the undeniable comfort she felt in the way his thumb drew a line across hers over and over. The way their friendship was solidified and deepened as a result of those three days in the compound, forever changed.

There establishment of routines before Doyle.

The shift in routines in the aftermath of Doyle.

It makes Emily incredibly angry to regard Doyle with any amount of significance, but she cannot help but think of him not as the catalyst for change but as the line drawn between the before and after. Ante et post.

Reid saw her actions a betrayal, which was fair and mostly accurate. She doesn't begrudge him this. Although Emily cannot help but think that for one to feel betrayal as intensely as Reid had, one must also feel an amount of intimacy that goes deeper than colleagues, than friends, than people who simply spent their free time bonding over the work and mutual geeky habits nobody else truly understood. Emily hates Doyle for a lot of things, but especially for this, for changing who they were – separately, together, to each other. For bringing these truths to the surface, making them nearly impossible to ignore any longer.

Though ignore she did – quite well in fact. The ability to compartmentalize was seemingly instilled within her since birth and it is how she has become successful, how she managed to get so deep undercover and not lose herself entirely. It is also how she closes herself off from the world, from those who matter the most. Compartmentalizing makes it easier to file away glances and touches that were seemingly innocent but left an inexplicable impact. Makes it easier to bury the undeniable but subtle shift between them into the deep recesses of her mind and not have to admit things were changing and she had no control over it.

Another hint: Emily dreamed about Reid while she was in London.

The dreams initially consisted of fragments of memories, colorful reminisces of the two of them conducting what had been their normal routines of Saturday morning coffee, movie outings, and television marathons when the time permitted. Then they shifted to a future when he comes to visit her in London, finally. She dreams of the two of them doing the clichéd touristy things like seeing Shakespeare's Globe and Buckingham Palace. But also doing typical Reid and Emily things like visiting the East End and discussing their theories regarding the identity of Britain's most famous unidentified serial killer or researching the best coffee around because as hard as she may try, tea will never be her thing and Reid considers himself something of an expert on the subject.

Emily rationalizes, quite well in fact, that these are simply a metaphor for missing DC, for missing her family. These dreams were her subconscious' way of saying look at what you've destroyed. A reminder that she has a tendency to leave a wreckage wherever she goes.

It's easier for her this way.

Easier for her to ignore the truth.

Easier to believe the weight all this information carries when compiled doesn't signify anything even close to resembling love, but instead something simpler like lust or vague representations of a fantasy that would never, could never be a reality.

It's easier for her this way – until it isn't, of course.

xXx

(She dreams of that moment in JJ's kitchen too and even in the dream Emily can taste him, can feel him pressed against her in all the right places.

But Emily doesn't like to acknowledge this. Doesn't even consider it to be a facet of her reality. She doesn't even begin to put effort into rationalizing these dreams away because in doing so she would have to admit they go far beyond a memory being stuck on repeat or her subconscious longing for what once was.

There is a moment in the dream when reality breaks into something altogether different, when she doesn't allow Reid to pull away, doesn't allow him to murmur I'm sorry. When she doesn't lie as though it meant nothing.

Instead, in these dreams, Emily pulls him closer to her, opens her mouth to his and keeps kissing him until she wakes with a jolt and feels the same coil of arousal in the pit of her stomach and a new, defiant heat between her legs.)

xXx

(A final hint: While she does not think of Reid the first time she and Mark fuck – Emily isn't that cruel, even on her worst day – as she bathes afterward with Mark still asleep between her sheets, she wonders idly if Reid would like it in the shower.

Thinks of him as her fingers lick away the sex between her thighs.

Of course, Emily never acknowledges this either.)

[six]

Someone is abducting children in San Diego. Young girls in particular. It takes two bodies washing up on the beach, mutilated beyond recognition, before the BAU is invited in.

It is a difficult case. The ones with children always are. It is the cruel nature of the work. Children mean the risks are higher, that the odds are hardly ever in their favor. The team has been on the west coast eight days without a break or any new leads. They are stuck at an impasse, that awkward time where they need a fresh kill to continue working the profile, to garner any type of advantage. It makes Emily a bit sick – the waiting game, knowing for the team to catch a break they need another body and that means another child has to lose their life. Another family has to become broken.

They never prepare you for this part of the job. They never teach you the right things to say as a grieving mother falls apart at your feet over the loss of their child and you can't console them the way a decent human being should because you are too busy looking for indicators of guilt. They don't teach you how to handle the dangerous unknown while you work a case, knowing that the next body is on you, on your team, a product of indecision or inability to follow the signs.

Emily learned most of what she knows from Hotch and the rest she finds herself making up as she goes along.

Sleep never comes easily during cases, so she stays long after she sends the rest of the team back to the hotel. Makes herself at home at an empty desk in the bullpen and goes over the lives of the victims, their families, their friends, their routines in a search for any connection. There is none, and she knows this already, but their faces are so innocent, their smiles so carefree as they stare back at her from their final resting place on the murder board, that she goes through files and statements until she is able to recall their contents from memory.

It's likely after midnight when she looks up and sees Reid through the glass walls of the conference room. He is bent over a map, likely using guesswork – educated, but guesswork all the same – in an effort to sketch out a geological profile. The tension in his shoulders and the angry way he throws a pencil on the table tells her he is no closer to answers than she is.

The rest of the station is empty except for a skeleton crew, signifying night shift has officially taken over. Emily's eyes are burning from lack of sleep, her shoulders aching from so many hours bent over files. She reaches up, rubs at the muscles at the base of her neck, but it offers little relief. She is exhausted, her reserves are exhausted, and she knows she should pack up and head back to the hotel. Tell Reid to do the same. Instead, she stands, stretches a little, and heads to the small kitchenette to fumble around for fresh grounds to make a new pot of coffee. Throws out the old filter and rinses the pot out to ease some of the burnt taste she picked up on earlier. She pours two cups – one black, the other with too many heaping spoonfuls of sugar and creamer to count.

Reid is surprised to see her but smiles his thanks when she places the cup in front of him. The smile transforms into something altogether different, something brighter when he takes a sip and finds it exactly the way he likes. It only lasts for a brief moment, though, before he schools his expression into something neutral, something she has become all too familiar with.

Years ago, they wouldn't have hesitated when Hotch told them to leave and regroup. More often than not, however, when they returned to the hotel they would find their way to each other, spread the files on the floor of some dingy hotel room, order in something greasy. They would spend a few extra hours playing ideas off of each other, formulating theories, attempting to make sense of the unthinkable.

The distance between them now is palpable. The silence of the empty station presses uncomfortably into her skin and lingers there. This is not how they used to be with each other. Emily wishes so much that she could fool herself into believing the divide is new, a result of her doubt and his disappointment in her. But it's not. It's been there for years, since that moment in JJ's kitchen when she crossed a line and then promptly redrew it more boldly, more irrevocably thereafter.

It is slight, the change, unnoticeable to anyone but her probably, but it is there, and Emily feels desperate to erase it.

Sliding into a seat across from him she murmurs, "You should get some rest," simply because it is the first thing that comes to mind.

He's looking at the map when he replies automatically, "So should you."

Emily nods. Watches as he continues to draw line after line on the map, frustrating himself further. He's drawn and erased so many times the paper is nearly threadbare.

"Are you okay?"

His eyebrows raise. "Yeah, I just…" He motions to the map, the files, the board with the dead girls faces on it. He looks lost for a second before he rights himself. "I just can't get it to make sense."

Again, she nods. Picks up her coffee and takes a sip. Despite her efforts, it is still shitty police station coffee and she winces a little as she swallows it down. They're quiet again and if she focuses enough Emily swears she can hear the sound of the refrigerator humming in the breakroom. Her eyes flick to her watch out of habit. One o'clock in the morning. She knows she should pack up and go, make a try for sleep, but instead she shifts in her seat, pulling her left leg towards her chest so she can rest her chin atop her bent knee.

"Are we okay?"

He gives her a funny look. She knows he is thinking about Salt Lake as he taps the pencil he's holding between his fingers against the desk.

"Why wouldn't we be?"

It probably isn't the right time for this and she knows it. But she also knows there is never going to be a right time, so she presses on.

"You've pushed me away," she says softly. Rolls the coffee cup between her palms gently to keep herself from chewing on her nails. When he says nothing she continues, "I thought it was just since you got out of prison. I knew you were ashamed of things you did in there – although you had no reason to be – but that didn't quite make sense because you know the things I've done. You know I would understand... Then I thought it was because I disappointed you by not believing in you when you told me about Lindsey, which may still be true. But I think this happened long before that. We talked more while I was in London than we have since I've been home. And now, I don't know…" Emily waves a hand between them for unnecessary emphasis. "It's just different."

His fingers are holding the pencil so hard his knuckles are turning white. She is shocked it hasn't broken in half under the force of his grip. His inhale is sharp and pointed as if he is preparing himself for something. Tiredly, he runs a hand through his hair.

He never used to be this way with her, she thinks.

"It was easier for me to be your friend while you were in London."

The words fall out of his mouth in a rush and Reid stares at her hard, his gaze unwavering as if to say you really want to do this now?

Emily does, feel as though she has to before it drives her insane, and knows she is crossing a line as she asks gently, "Why didn't you come see me? I asked you every week for a year—"

"—You know why," he snaps, loudly, and she can see the agitation breaking through the surface. He tosses the pencil across the table and she watches as rolls onto the floor. A few of the officers glance towards them. Reid takes note and adjusts himself accordingly. Clears his throat so when he speaks again his tone is even, but pointed, forceful almost. "You know why. You kissed me. You kissed me and I apologized for it even though it was a lie. And then you left. You ran away, again —"

"—I didn't run —"

"—That's what you're choosing to focus on? Really?"

Emily opens her mouth to say something but the words catch. She feels her throat go dry and swallows around it. Her fingers wrap around the cup in her hands more tightly, her knuckles white now, and watches as Reid watches her, his gaze sharp, in tune with her every move. Profiling her.

She does not look away and she does not attempt to hide anything when she murmurs, "I lied too."

His mouth presses into a thin line and he looks almost pained at the sound of her words. Still, he continues to hold her gaze. It's unnerving, the way he stares at her. It reminds her of Salt Lake, how she had felt as though he could see right into her, and it steals the breath right out of her lungs. She tries to remain still under his scrutiny; focuses her attention on him. Knows how his mind works and knows he is likely running in the same circles she has been, only much more efficiently as he catalogs looks, touches, entire conversations looking for some sort of meaning.

Tiredly, he mumbles, "A lot of good this does us now."

There is no reply she can think of worth muttering, so she simply says nothing. On instinct, her hand moves to her mouth, thumbnail finally finding home between her teeth. She chews until she tastes copper, feels an immediate release of tension as the pain sears for a few seconds before disappearing.

"What do you want, Emily?"

It is a loaded question and it isn't offered kindly. Her eyes flick towards his. He is still watching her. Emily recognizes a certain amount of impatience to him, an underlying irritability that has become the new normal. These things have always been there, threatening just below the surface, but only making themselves known when somebody pushed him too hard or too far. They are brought into the light more easily now, his frustration tolerance drastically lower. It's to be expected, she knows. A person cannot go through what he has and not remain unchanged.

It doesn't bother her, this new version of Reid. Not like it does JJ and Garcia who worry from a distance or Rossi who pretends to be unfazed, but is anything but. Emily accepts Reid for what he is now – changed, for better and for worse. Despite the acceptance, she still feels as though she is losing him. Longs for him in a way she cannot quite explain. That cannot be explained away as friendly or even as romantic or a quiet wish for what was.

It is more than that. It has always been more with him.

"I want us to be friends," she says. The coffee in her hand is already starting to cool and she finds herself missing the warmth. "We were friends before all of this. I want us to be that way again. I want you to let me back in. To stop shutting me out."

It all sounds so incredibly simple and the reality will likely be anything but. She expects him to say something of the sort, to deny her, but instead, there is only silence again.

xXx

San Diego has traffic even at two o'clock in the morning and they sit in it for a good twenty minutes as they travel the few miles back to the hotel.

There is a brief discussion of the case before they both realized they were too tired to make any sense of their scattered thoughts. Otherwise, they barely talk at all. The exhaustion continues to dig in without remorse and most of the time they just sit there, listening to the hum of the engine and blinking at the break lights in front of them. Emily chews on her fingernails and Reid taps his fingers against his knee in a rhythm she recognizes but cannot quite place. It isn't comfortable, the silence, but it isn't uncomfortable either.

It's only when they are in the elevator of the hotel, Emily watching the numbers climb higher and higher as it nears their floor that Reid speaks again.

"I have been shutting you out," he admits quietly. He makes a show of adjusting the strap of the messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He doesn't look at her then, instead focusing on his feet. His converses have dirt on them, the shoelaces fraying at the ends. "I am sorry for that, Emily. It was for all the reasons you said and also because I was just being stubborn. Especially since everything with my mom. I've –" he stops and takes in a deep breath. His fingers continue to fidget with the strap over his shoulder. "I've been struggling. I can admit that now. The things I did in there and the downward spiral my mom is in… it has been difficult for me … And I do need help."

At her side, her fingers itch to reach for him, to offer some sort of comfort. Emily finds herself having to curl her hand into a fist to keep from reaching out.

"Then let me help you."

He doesn't respond, but he does look at her then. She watches his mouth turn just slightly near the left corner. The smile he offers her is brief and a little bit wary, but it reaches his eyes. He looks older than she remembers, faint lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes and mouth. She remembers the first time she met him then, how the youth and innocence still radiated off of him in waves despite everything he had already been through, despite how unfair life had been to him at such a young age. She hates the job for taking so much of that away from him, for hardening him in all the wrong ways.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. When they step onto their floor they both murmur goodnight to the other almost simultaneously.

Reid goes left and Emily goes right.

When she reaches her door and slides the key card into the slot, she looks back with a brief glance over her shoulder.

He is already gone.

xXx

What sleep she did manage was restless. She tosses and turns, jolts awake at the smallest of sounds. She is the first one to return to the police station later that morning. Officers are filtering in and out continuously, signaling yet another change of shift. She smiles polite hellos to faces she barely recognizes, nods to those she doesn't. She's tired and she knows it shows. The murder board is the first thing she sees as she turns the corner towards the still half-empty bullpen, those innocent faces with their toothless grins reminding her that she is no closer to justice.

It is day nine and Emily wonders if today is the day she gets the call informing her another child has been lost and then found, their life lost too soon to a violent end.

Emily isn't quite ready to face the reality of it all yet, needs a few more moments of quiet to get herself together, to prepare herself for the day ahead.

Backtracking, she takes the stairs and heads to the roof.

The metal door is heavy as she pushes it open. The sun is just starting to grace the horizon and the humidity of the early morning presses into her skin. Warms her to the bones. This isn't the first time the team has been in San Diego and it likely won't be the last. Years ago, one of the local detectives had told her about this spot, how on a clear day you can see and hear the ocean. He told her this is where he went after long days and even longer weeks. After those cases that haunted him. His name was Daniels and he retired a few years before. Died not long after – or so she heard from the detective working the case with them now when she asked after him.

It's a trend she sees in those who make a career at catching murderers – the body doesn't know how to exist without the constant stress of the job and has a difficult time compensating without it. If it hasn't already, illness rears its ugly head not long after retirement commences, and people find their reserves have already been used up. She knows Daniels' fate is likely similar to what the future holds for her.

Peering over the edge of the building Emily watches as the street comes to life below and feels wonder at how she can feel both giant and insignificant at the same time.

Behind her, the door creaks open again and she knows it is Reid without having to look. Recognizes the sound of his gait, the initial hesitation in his step and the eventual commitment. He comes to stand next to her, pressing a cup of coffee into her hands. He is careful not to touch her. The coffee is fresh, something local, and no doubt delicious because he always manages to scope out the best places. She allows him to see the surprise on her face and smiles her gratitude. Welcomes this for what it is – an attempt at reconciliation.

Nodding, he murmurs good morning as he settles in beside her.

On the street below a siren wails and offers a crude interruption. She ignores it. If she squints hard enough Emily thinks she can actually see the ocean in the distance as the sun continues to rise, and for a brief moment, with Reid beside her, it seems as though the world is bathed in brilliant hues of orange and pink.

[seven]

"I thought about leaving."

They are on the plane, somewhere over Arizona. The killer eventually gets sloppy, but only after another body washes up on a beach. It takes thirteen days for the BAU to close the case. None of them consider it as a tally in the win column.

Around them, everyone is asleep in their respective corners, worn out from jet leg and the constant rush of adrenaline that always accompanies a case. Reid sits across from her, gaze fixated out the window, on the sun dying on the horizon. Between them sits empty coffee cups and a few files, photos of their next case on full display in all of their morbid glory. The work never stops, and she was lost in it for a while, had to wait for a beat before Reid's words sunk in and made sense.

Her fingers reach for her empty coffee cup, fingering the lid. She presses her mouth into a thin line and nods. Waits.

What she wants to say is: You forget, I know you.

There is a span of time where neither says anything, and Reid simply continues to stare out the window, and Emily at him.

When he does speak, finally, his voice is quiet, thoughtful almost. "I thought I had finally reached my limit for the horror and obscene. I was tired of this job taking things away from me. I even wrote my resignation letter and thought about giving it to you. But when I thought about what I would do, what my life would be like…" he trails off slowly and sighs.

"We are the job," she supplies for him quietly.

What she means is: We are the same.

Reid looks like he knows, like he is reading between the lines. Emily figures he probably is.

[eight]

After San Diego, Emily reaches out to him because she knows his biggest weakness is his desperate need to not appear weak, even to those who know him best and know he is anything but.

So, Emily simply shows up on a Saturday, fresh coffee and his favorite donuts in hand, and doesn't leave when he tells her to after it becomes apparent Diana is having a particularly bad morning. Reid can't afford the nursing care Diana needs around the clock, so at night and whenever they are in-between cases he takes over. It's wearing him thin and it doesn't take a profiler to see it.

Today, Diana's paranoia is in overdrive and when she sees Emily she recognizes her, but can't place her, and becomes fixated on the idea that Emily is a government agent sent to spy on her. Diana starts hitting her own head with her fist, insistent there is a tracking device that has been implanted in her skull. At one point, she even goes for a knife to cut it, which doesn't scare Emily as much as it probably would an outsider. Luckily Reid has long since taken anything that can be used as a weapon out of the apartment, but all that does is fuel Diana's paranoia and anger further, making her even more desperate.

Reid attempts to play interference, to soothe his mother, but Diana doesn't recognize him as her son, only as a stranger, and the whole situation is horrible for a good forty-five minutes before she simply decides to settle down.

And then suddenly Diana is lucid – still paranoid, but lucid – and recognizes the both of them with a blinding smile.

It is surreal almost, the sudden shift, and Emily watches as a part of Reid breaks in the aftermath.

After, Emily sits comfortably on the couch between them and listens to the older woman intently as she alternates between showing Emily endless pictures of Reid from all ages of life and discussing the intricacies of 15th-century literature in the most obscure and tangential way. Reid is impressed she can follow his mother's loose train of thought and Diana voices appreciation that Emily can recite Margery Kemp from memory. Together the two women gush over how adorable Reid was with his long legs, toothy grin, and wire-rimmed glasses that were too big for his face. For the most part, Reid pretends to be unmoved by it all, but Emily can see the way the tips of his ears turn pink and cheeks flush when she smiles at him.

His obliviousness to how ridiculously adored he is by those around him never ceases to amaze Emily.

While Diana naps in the other room later in the day, Reid confides that the stress of her abduction has seemed to heighten the severity of her spiral from wellness, hastening it dramatically. Her good days are becoming less frequent, and he forewarns Emily that when she wakes again there will likely be a repeat of this morning as her sundowning behaviors have become almost unmanageable. Reid lists off statistics on how people with higher cognitive function often see faster declines, about the genetic heritability of the disease, the proposed efficacy of the medications. He tells Emily that he feels stuck because he realizes now there is no way of stopping the progression of the dementia, and the focus needs to instead be on managing her schizophrenia, making her comfortable, but the neuroleptics used to do so are likely worsening her cognition. It's a vicious, never-ending cycle. He talks to Emily in great detail about the structural changes that are occurring within his mother's brain – the death of neurons, the creation of plagues and tangles, the shrinking and shriveling up of the hippocampus and cortex which is causing the inability to create new memories and recall old ones.

Reid usually talks in facts and statistics because it helps him to remain impersonal and detached, but in this situation, it only heightens his emotions. It frustrates him that he can discuss every intricacy of the disease process, recall with accuracy exactly what biological process is happening to cause his mother's symptomatology, but he cannot stop it.

There is no stopping this.

The more he talks, the more frustrated he gets. She can see it in every inch of him – in the rigid line of his shoulders, the way his left hand clenches into a fist in his lap then releases, palm pressing flat against his thigh for a few seconds before the process repeats all over again.

At some point, Emily acts without thinking and reaches for him. Bridges the distance and lays her hand over his clenched fingers, tries to ignore the burning rejection when Reid recoils the moment they touch. He doesn't move away completely, though, and Emily stays patient, waits for him to respond in kind, to open his palm and allow their fingers to tangle. The sigh he releases when he does is one of both relief and exhaustion and she feels it reverberate through her.

In the other room, Diana stirs, the sound of the mattress creaking as she wakes. Emily watches as Reid squares his shoulders, steels himself as if he is readying for battle. Something deep within her aches for him.

He tells her she should probably go.

She stays.

[nine]

The following Saturday when she knocks on his door, Reid doesn't even bother to argue with her. He merely opens the door wider, his version of an invitation to enter. Emily is one step ahead though, already crossing the threshold.

It does something funny to the inside of her chest, the way Diana recognizes her immediately. It's a good day, Reid tells her, and the older woman's smile is bright and wide as it stretches across her mouth, her excitement growing as she tugs Emily's hand and guides her over to the couch. As they settle Emily spares a glance over her shoulder towards Reid who is still standing dumbly in the middle of the entry way, emotions flickering across his face in rapid succession as he watches them carefully.

When he smiles at her then it is both kind and just so typically Reid.

She welcomes the familiarity.

[ten]

It is slow, the way they grow back together.

It has to be. Emily knows this and tries to practice patience where she has very little. It is slow because they are different now – older, wiser, forever changed by circumstance and time. They are not the same people they were years before. Experience has taught them not to be so reckless with their trust, with the way they open themselves up to the outside world.

Years before Emily had kissed Reid as if on a dare and didn't stick around to deal with the fallout.

He had accused her of running away once, and if Emily is honest with herself she knows there is quite a bit of truth behind the accusation. Always, she has loved fiercely those who mattered, those she felt deserved it, but when it came to allowing others in, allowing others to see the truth of who she is at the very core, it has always been a near impossible task. Emily could blame this on a lot of things, she does blame this on a lot of things – her dysfunctional relationship with her mother, for starters, the way she was taught at such an early age to depend on herself first and others never. The way she played fast and loose with morals in her formative years, not caring who it affected, and the bitter taste she still gets now, years later, when she thinks of those who may have been caught up in the messes she created. There is also, of course, the years spent undercover and all of the morally ambiguous things she did in the name of democracy under the guise of Lauren Reynolds and all the other aliases the agency gave her and she seamlessly made her own.

Emily is who she is, a summation of all of her choices both good and bad. While she will never apologize for it, experience has taught her to be wary of allowing others to know these parts of herself she tries so very hard to keep hidden. For allowing others to know you, all of you, makes you vulnerable, and vulnerability is a weakness Emily never felt she could afford.

Years before, Emily kissed Reid and Reid kissed her back like he knew her, all of her, and it scared the hell out of her.

London was an easy choice, one that felt right at the time. It had both everything and nothing at all to do with Reid, with that moment in JJ's kitchen where a line was crossed and then hastily redrawn. Emily hadn't lied when she told Morgan that it was difficult for her to be comfortable in her old life after everything that happened with Doyle. But the real truth is it made her unbelievably uncomfortable how ready she was to put down roots, to lay a foundation for a future in DC. It felt completely unnatural to her, to someone who had spent decades trying to keep the outside world from getting too close.

Now, Emily and Reid grow back together, slowly trying to repair the damage time has caused. They cement new routines and make attempts to re-establish old ones. It's different, this new version of them. Better in some ways.

On the job, nothing essentially changes. Even when all else fails, the work never changes. It remains their constant, their common ground. The most comfortable and consistent aspect of their lives.

What is different, what is better, is the way they are slowly carving out spaces for each other in their lives again.

Text messages sent on a whim in the middle of the night simply because something reminds her of him no longer go ignored. When he finds out Solaris is playing at a local theatre in town and asks her to go with him, again, she doesn't say no. Makes time for him despite the piles of paperwork on her desk. Emily is bored out of her mind, has difficulty making the translation because her Russian is still only passable, but Reid's wide-eyed enjoyment, the way the outing seems to lift his spirits and cause him to grin like a lunatic, makes it worthwhile. Saturdays become a trusted routine. When they aren't traveling for a case she shows up at his apartment and sits with Diana while he reads. Helps him deescalate her when she is having a particularly rough day; knows when to step back when she is having an awful day. It becomes an art form, Reid tells her, the way Emily is able to disarm his mother on her some days with nothing but misdirection and soothing tones. Reid never tells her how thankful he is to have her there, to have somebody to have patience when his ends, to tell Diana Spencer is coming later, try not to worry when she doesn't recognize him standing right in front of her. He never tells her because he doesn't need to. Emily sees it in the way he regards her after, in the thankful turn of his mouth as he smiles at her fondly.

There are nights when Emily will stay for dinner and others where she doesn't. Sometimes they will order in, others they will cook, together. Diana does whatever it is that is keeping her calm and content in the moment and Reid agonizes over the details of a recipe his mother sometimes picks, making sure it is precise and exact.

Emily merely sips her wine and watches, mouth quirking as she tells him to just wing it, that things will be okay if everything isn't exactly as it should be. She ignores the irony.

[eleven]

It is important to note, Emily thinks, that this restructuring, this attempt at finding a new normal has nothing to do with love, and everything to do with the understanding they once had of each other that somehow managed to get lost along the way.

Reid had told her he loved her once, and the past tense was deliberate, intentional. Served as another line drawn between them.

Emily is sure to remind herself of this all the time.

[twelve]

The first time Reid comes over to her place he shows up unannounced, late on a Tuesday, just a mere few hours after they parted ways at the office. It is not a rule that Reid never comes to her place, it is just the way things have worked out. So much of his life now is consumed with all things Diana and Emily knew that if they were going to make a go at regaining what they had lost in terms of their friendship, she would have to do most of the leg work. She accepted this the moment she went to him all those months before. It is likely overcompensation, a twisted form of penance, nut it felt necessary in the beginning, and now it feels something akin to habit.

Emily hadn't known any other way to fix things besides just simply showing up.

Outside it is spitting rain. His hair is wet at the ends, his shoes muddy. Reid stares at her both expectantly and unsure, waiting for an invitation in as he rocks back on his heels. Emily opens the door wider, steps to the side to let him pass. It is awkward, the way they stand in the foyer for too long of a moment. Emily watches as his eyes flick first towards the sight of her bare feet against the dark hardwood floor and then to scan the contents of her apartment. He catalogs the bare walls, the unpacked boxes, the suitcases still sitting upright and tidy in a corner collecting dust. Reid's eyes squint like he is considering something, and she sees the unspoken question there.

With a shrug, she murmurs, "Never got around to unpacking," and walks further into the apartment. Motions for him to follow. He does but doesn't exactly look convinced at her explanation. Which is mostly fair. Her track record does not help her here.

In the beginning, before the truth about Hotch came to light and her temporary assignment became permanent, there had been a hotel. This was the first and only place she looked at and it was chosen mostly out of sheer convenience and need. She had sent for her things in London and Mark had boxed them up neatly and with care, organizing them by matter of importance rather than by room. He had known it would likely be some time before she would settle. He had also known what she was too busy to admit: he would not be coming to join her. Most of those boxes remain untouched, piled in stacks in what should be her dining room but is mostly just storage. There were cases that stretched on for too long, one right after another, and the adjustment to her new position was more difficult than she had anticipated. Then, of course, Reid went and got himself arrested and the whole world just sort of stopped for a while. There has been little energy left for much else.

With him here now, standing amongst her mess, it is stifling to her just how empty the place feels.

In the living room, there is a microwave dinner mostly forgotten on the coffee table, a glass of wine nearly gone sitting next to it. The television is on low, barely discernable, but she still reaches for the remote to mute it. Moves files off of the couch to make room for him. When Emily turns towards him again she finds him still cataloging her things, an odd look on his face she can't quite pinpoint. She murmurs his name, drawing him out of his thoughts, and when he takes a seat next to her he just sort of collapses into it, hands scrubbing over his face tiredly as he leans his head against the back of the couch.

He is quiet for a long moment before he starts to talk. "I know what I have to do. I know what I need to do. And I need to say it aloud so I can get used to the idea.".

It makes almost no sense on the surface, but Emily knows exactly what he is trying to say. Diana almost burned the apartment building down last week. It was a fluke, a lapse in the overlap between Reid and the in-home nurse after his workday ran long. He was five miles away when the nurse called and told him Diana was asleep and medicated, but her own child was sick, and she had to go. She'd already stayed hours past her allotted time. Reid felt guilty and figured it was only ten minutes before he would be home. He thought it would be okay. But then there was a backup on the freeway, and ten minutes turned into twenty-five, and when he finally got home he rushed through the door to find his mother attempting to cook herself a second dinner and half the kitchen was on fire.

Emily and JJ had gone over the next night to help him with the mess. Cleaned up the ash and soot and tried to put things back together. From afar, Emily watched Reid carefully and knew he was struggling internally with an eventuality he had been trying to outrun for the past year – his mother needed more care than he was able to give.

"It's okay," she mumbles, reaching a hand to rest on his arm. "It's okay, Spencer."

His hand is steady when it reaches for hers, his fingers warm as they tangle between her own. Emily stares at their joined hands for longer than she probably should. Ignores the coil of something unfamiliar but wonderfully pleasant in the pit of her belly. Tries to figure out when this change occurred, when he stopped shying away from her. When he began reaching for her.

The sudden influx of noise when he begins to talk again startles her out of her thoughts. Emily finds herself having to focus on the movements of his mouth to make sense of what he is saying.

"I am so angry with myself," he says. "I spent so much time trying to outsmart this fucking disease. I almost ruined everything trying to fix something that I knew couldn't be fixed. And now all I have to show for it is all this wasted time."

He is wrecked and on the verge of tears. The topic of Diana and her future has never been strictly off limits, but rather something Emily knows not to bring up and Reid doesn't like to put into words. They talk around it mostly. Make vague allusions in conversation, and exchange quiet looks as his mother unravels more and more each day. Her periods of lucidity are becoming less frequent, her mood swings more frequent, and her ability to reality test in regard to her paranoia and delusions all but non-existent despite a hefty neuroleptic regimen. Reid has exhausted nearly all of his resources for the in-home care, for Lorna the only nurse that Diana can tolerate and has been able to build a rapport with. Something had to give, and Reid decided it would be the work. Asked Emily not to send him on cases and rather consult from Quantico, hanging back with Garcia so he can be available if his mother needed him. And the team has made it work. It has been a struggle, but they've dealt with it accordingly. But now something else needs to give and Emily has been waiting for this moment, for Reid to figure out what he has likely known the entire time.

"I used to make things better, you know? That's partly why I brought her home. I used to be able to offer some sort of comfort just by being here. But now I am not even her son. I'm just some stranger that looks like Spencer," he tells her, laughing a little, but it is bitter and angry. He lets go of her hand to wipe at his eyes, at the tears threatening to fall there. "I don't think I can do it anymore."

Emily shifts until she is mostly facing him, her back settling against the corner of the couch. She draws up her knees to her chest, considers her words carefully. Knows this is a decision that has to be made by him and him alone. Even though she wants to tell him she believes it is the right one, wants to give him reassurance, to tell him she doesn't think Diana would want him to keep punishing himself like this, the words don't feel right, so she continues to say nothing.

Instead, she merely listens as he talks – sometimes too fast, sometimes too slow. She listens carefully and waits patiently for him to continue when he has to stop and take a breath because the emotions just become too overwhelming. Reid tells her about Ellendale, a place recommended by many colleagues that is practically equal distance from work and his apartment and how the location alone makes it ideal. He likes that he can be there in less than thirty minutes in the event of emergencies, that he can still have control over isomething/i. It is a nice place, he tells her, although he explains the term nice is relative and it is as nice as nursing homes can be. He went to look at it earlier in the week with Lorna and it reminds him of Bennington. Reid thinks his mom will like the familiarity even if she can't figure out why. He tells Emily that he spent hours with the doctors discussing her treatment regimen, making sure they could keep her neurologist from Houston in the loop even though the disease process was too far advanced and there is nothing much they can do for the dementia. It has taken over, slowly taking everything he knows and loves about the only person who has known him and loved him his whole life.

Reid also tells her how surprised the staff was that he was able to manage her for this long. How they told him that time was a gift, how he should be proud at how well he managed. He is especially angry when he talks about this, how the words that he knows were meant to be kind only made him sick with guilt and how he can't get rid of the nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach. His hands clench at his sides as he talks about the way one of the nurses had laid a hand on his shoulder and told him we'll take good care of her, son like she already knew everything there was to know about his mother. Already knew how to distinguish between her constantly shifting moods, how to qualm her paranoia when it terrorizes her, that she likes to read Kemp in the morning and Chaucer at night, and, most importantly, how her scrapbook needs to be at arm's length at all times because it is her grounding mechanism.

He talks until he is too tired to do so anymore and after the silence stretches on until it becomes comfortable. Outside it is still raining, although harder now. The steady cadence of it hitting the glass of the windows filling the space around them.

The television remains on mute as the eleven o'clock news plays. They watch in silence. Read the headlines as they scroll across the bottom of the screen.

There was a shootout in East Baltimore. Three dead – all cops.

A kid is missing in the district.

Out west a forest burns.

Both of them look away.

xXx

The rain has finally decided to let up when he goes to leave.

They stand half in her doorway and half on her porch as they say goodbye. Above them, her porch light flickers on and off, the dim glow hiding some of the wear and tear the years have caused, the marks they carry from their collective failures.

Her stoop is a tiny stretch of concrete that is barely made for two people, yet neither move to make room for the other and instead stand mostly in the other's space. Reid draws her into a hug and Emily folds against him easily. She isn't sure which of them lingers; isn't sure it even matters. He smells like rain and coffee, like Reid, and when he pulls back he searches her face for something. His own expression is unreadable. Emily briefly wonders if he learned that from her, the art of hiding himself away so efficiently. Hates herself a little for the likely possibility.

It's brief, the way his eyes flicker to her mouth when they pull apart, and if she were someone else it likely would have gone unnoticed. Would have missed the sharp inhale and the eventual sigh.

They've been here before, she remembers. Experienced a moment like this just before a line is crossed and all the possibilities of the future spill out before them in a jumbled mess of maybe and what ifs and do not venture here. Emily shivers as she plays back the last and only time they've ever kissed. Steps closer to him. At their sides, her fingers graze his, and Emily finds herself wanting for so many things in this moment that she is overwhelmed with it all, her head spinning with the possibilities, and –

Reid clears his throat and steps away. It's jarring and sets her world right again.

"See you tomorrow?" he asks.

Emily nods. Her mouth forces a smile. "Of course."

xXx

There is a string of particularly good days the week leading up to Diana's move to Ellendale. Reid prefers to refer to it by name, rather than simply as a nursing home and Emily abides, makes it a habit even in her own thoughts simply because he asks.

The week of relative calm leading up to the transition makes it easier for Diana, but near impossible for Reid. She is still mostly aware of her surroundings and is clearly afraid, but manages a good show for her son. Grabs his hand and tells him it is okay. Tells him he is doing the right thing, that she understands when he begins to cry as they unpack what little belongings she has into a tiny room where she would likely spend the rest of her life. The good days used to rejuvenate him, now they only wear him down. Make him feel weak and selfish because they provide a false sense of security and lead him to believe he can still manage everything when in reality he cannot.

JJ is the one to tell him this, and Emily is grateful that it didn't have to be her to break his heart with the painful reality of the situation. Both women go with him to take Diana, a front of unwavering support. They are both there to coax him away when the staff requests politely for him to leave so his mother can get acquainted. They are both there in the car on the way home as he tries desperately to hold it together. And they are both there much later when he finally unravels as they start to clean his apartment and rearrange furniture and he tells them to stop, tells them he feels as though they are erasing his mother from his life piece by piece and he can't stand it.

He falls apart and for the longest time, Emily and JJ find themselves at a loss as to what to do, how to make this better for him. JJ is the one to act first, to go to him, to pull him into a hug and not let go. When some time has passed and he is calmer, JJ carefully says I wish I knew her before. Carefully asks Reid to tell them his favorite memory of her. The three of them spend the afternoon huddled on Reid's couch, exchanging stories and listening to him talk about the woman she once was and still is some days, and how proud he is to be her son. It gets a little morose at times, probably because Diana isn't dead but rather alive and mostly well today, but it helps Reid to remember who she was to him before the dementia starting take parts of her away.

Sometime around dinner, Garcia stops by, bags of takeout from his favorite Thai place in hand. Together they all sit on the floor, using his coffee table as a buffet, and eat together. Reid has to use his fingers because he has never been able to figure out chopsticks and he can't remember where he hid all the silverware. He starts laughing the third time he drops food on the floor, and it is how Emily knows he is going to be okay. She is reminded then, as she watches him listen to whatever story Garcia is telling him that makes him smile so easily, that he has always been stronger than they give him credit for.

Later, Emily stays long after JJ and Garcia leave. Continues to pick up here and there. Tries to rearrange some of his books the way she knows he likes although his system is complicated and makes sense only to him so she gives up halfway through. She cleans the kitchen instead. Reconnects the stove. Makes a mental note to bring some groceries the next time she stops by.

She finds him in the room that hasn't really been his for a long time, sitting at the foot of an unmade bed. There is a photo, worn and fraying in his hands. His fingers worry the edges. For someone who takes up so much space and is so vital to the lives of those around him, he looks so small in this moment and the sight unsettles her.

"You can go," he says. "I'll be okay."

"I'm good here."

The smile she offers is small but kind, and she moves without thinking and crosses the distance between them. Finds home next to him on the edge of the bed. Her shoulder is flush against his and he leans into it, allows her to carry some of his weight. His fingers still worry the edges of the photograph in his hands. Emily can't see what it is but imagines it is something from yesteryear, a younger Diana, and even younger Reid.

"She told me she is looking forward to my letters again. That she's missed them."

The smile he wears as he talks is both sad and wistful. He reaches for a book somewhere near his feet and presses the picture between the pages. Carefully puts it back.

"It's been a good week."

He shakes his head. "It's been a difficult week."

"Yeah," she acknowledges softly, "that too."

The mattress creaks under his weight as he shifts until he is lying down on his back, his head somewhere near a pillow. She twists her neck to glance at him. Notes that his eyes are closed.

"What can I do?"

"I'm tired," he tells her with a sigh. "I can't remember the last time I slept through the night."

Emily imagines there is quite a bit of truth in that. Sees the way the past has aged him in just about all that he does and everything he is now. The careful way he carries himself. Reid didn't want to be changed by his time in prison, by the mind games Lindsey and Cat subjected him to, but it is impossible not to be. It is impossible to remain unchanged in the face of all the evil they've stood witness to.

The point is to not let it ruin you, and Emily is trying her best to help him figure that out.

There is probably a line she should be mindful of now. A line she drew herself years before and was meant to be respected and never crossed again. Emily knows this. She also knows Reid. Knows his instinct is to want to be alone even whilst knowing he probably shouldn't be. Knows he doesn't know how to ask for such things. Knows he would never ask her to stay, would never be able to find the right words to tell her he didn't want to be alone.

So, she simply moves to lie with him on the bed, shifting until she is comfortable, until her shoulder is once again flush with his and the mattress molds around her.

When she turns her head to look at him she finds his gaze even with hers.

"Try and rest," she murmurs.

Reid nods once and startles her by moving until he is on his side facing her, his head resting somewhere near her shoulder but not quite on it. The sudden closeness makes her breath catch. The rush of warmth from having him so close mingles with the rising panic swelling in the back of her throat. She swallows around it. Hears nothing but the thrumming of her pulse echoing in her ears, and the silent counting of her breaths as she tries to even them. Reid notices, of course, but does not move away. Only gives her a questioning look, as if he was asking for permission.

All Emily can do is nod as he settles closer to her.

[thirteen]

It is wrong to think about kissing him then.

Emily knows this.

She does it anyway.