Chronicles of a Spemily romance, told in vignettes throughout their years together.
Agent Prentiss.
That's who she was.
Emily looked across the room at the tall, slim, caramel haired man bent over a file, and hesitantly approached him. "Why do you think it was James?"
His head jerked up. "Why do you think it wasn't?"
She shrugged. "Well, there's the obvious placement of him at the scene. Further than that, in his interview—"
"He wasn't lying," Reid said, almost sharply.
She shoved her hands into her pockets. "Why do you say that?"
"Agent Prentiss, I've been doing this a little longer than you have," Reid said. "Just a bit. So please, don't doubt my word. If you have an issue with me, take it up with Hotch."
With that, he stood up and left the conference room. Emily scraped her hair back into a ponytail, pretending that she wasn't shaking inside from their encounter. Why did Reid have such a problem with her? What had she ever done to him?
And why did it hurt so much?
Agent.
That's who she was.
Reid met her gaze from across the room, and loped over to her side. "You're here," he greeted.
"I am," she said. "Where's the team?"
"Stuck in traffic," he answered, crossing his arms. "This looks like a bad one."
She spoke in Russian, and he grinned, his whole face lighting up. Emily felt a tickle in her stomach when she realized that he was most definitely smiling at what she'd said.
"It does indeed," he said. "I've always meant to say how envious I am at your thorough understanding of russian, Agent."
Emily.
That's who she was.
"Emily, I have an extra ticket, and I just want you to say yes," Reid pleaded, holding said ticket in his hand. "I know that you'll like it as much as I do."
"Well, I don't doubt that," she said, shoving a bookmark into her well worn copy of Mother Night and looking again at the ticket. "But I'm so busy."
The look in his eyes, the spark, began to fade a bit. "Of course," he said. "Never mind, Emily. I forgot."
"Wait, Reid," she said, and he paused in getting up.
"Yes?" He asked, a bit stiffly.
"I was going to say, I'm so busy, but to hell with it all," Emily said and he started to grin. "I'd love to go."
It was after the show that she kissed him, unable to hold it back any longer. He was surprised into stillness, and she pulled back after a moment, afraid that she'd broken him.
He looked up at her, his eyes like fire. "Why did you kiss me, Emily?"
"Because I wanted to," she said simply.
He inhaled sharply, suddenly, like he'd only just remembered how to breathe. Then his lips fell onto hers and Emily thanked the gods that brought about this moment, this man.
Dead.
That's what she was.
Emily stared out the window of an airplane, watching the DC airstrip fade away.
"I don't want to leave him," she said, in a broken voice.
JJ, next to her, reached to touch her arm. "I'll help him through it, as much he'll let me."
Emily glanced up at her friend. "What if he starts using again?"
"I won't let that happen," JJ insisted.
"We were in such a good place," Emily lamented. "And now it's all gone."
"You'll go back to him," JJ said. "I promise."
Emily just turned away, listlessly watching the view out the window, imagining Reid. Spencer.
Alive.
Alive and hated.
She'd been so excited to return to him, but now he was barely speaking to her, and not to JJ at all. The look on his face cuts her, and she can't stand how quickly he always turns away when he catches her watching him.
Her heart ached, and the night at Rossi's, she followed him outside and put her arms around him, holding him tight. "Don't go yet, Spencer. Please."
"We...I can't let myself do this again," Reid said, but he wasn't moving; wasn't trying to leave her.
"I couldn't stand those months apart," she said, tears in her voice that she wasn't going to let fall. "They hurt me, because I was away from you, away from everyone, because I knew how much it would slay you to think I was dead."
He turned his head, and she met his gaze. "Please, Spencer. Let me know you don't hate me."
"I don't hate you, Emily," he whispered, agonized. "And that's the problem."
She had a chance. He'd called her Emily.
From that moment on, Emily tried harder than ever to get back on his good side, and it was working. He lit up to see her again in the mornings, cautiously letting himself be happy that she was here, that she was back.
And one night, when she was utterly exhausted, when it was all too much to handle, when she'd finally told Hotch that she needed a moment...
Her doorbell rang. Her doorbell rang and she went to answer it, in an old bathrobe and nothing else because she'd been planning on taking a bath, anything to get her tired and aching body to relax.
Thinking it'd be her neighbor, she checked the spy hole and jerked back, opening the door in an instant when she saw Reid's face.
"What are you doing here?" She asked, knowing she sounded frantic.
"I'm here to see you," he said, suddenly uncertain.
"Come in," she said, ushering him inside and closing the door, as if ensuring that he wouldn't get away from her, not again.
"Emily, I thought we could watch a movie," he said. "I got some DVDs and—" He turned around to look at her again, and paused. "Are you wearing anything under that?"
"No," she said.
His pupils dilated.
"We could," she breathed. "Do more. Than watch a movie, I mean."
The DVDs slipped to the floor. Reid just stared at her for far too long.
"Don't leave me again," he finally whispered.
"Do you think I could?" She said in a choked voice.
He pulled her to him, and the bathrobe fell to the floor.
And it turned out she didn't need the bath to relax.