Disclaimer: Own nothing of Criminal Minds outside of the individual original storylines.
First Time
The first time, he was too young. So was she, really—at least emotionally—and she would probably be the first to admit it, if he were so inclined to ask. Which he most assuredly was not. Regardless, her emotional maturity, or lack thereof, was irrelevant. More relevant was the fact of the twelve years that yawned between them like a non-traversable canyon.
At his twenty-four to her thirty-six when they first met, there was no way it would have ever worked.
At least, that's what he told himself.
Didn't stop him from wondering though. From dreaming.
After all—from a purely rational standpoint, those twelve years were inconsequential. On the one hand, he surpassed her intellectually—although she was the closest he would encounter until Maeve. While on the other hand, physically…well, women did have longer lifespans than men and she was, as most FBI field agents were, incredibly fit and in fine health so the likelihood that she could more than keep pace with him as they aged had a far higher than average probability.
Actually, the likelihood she would outlast him as they aged had a far higher than average probability.
So to sum up—emotionally, they were both stunted, with intellectual and physical more or less balancing each other out.
But all the rationale and checks and balances in the world couldn't erase the biggest impediment created by that twelve-year chasm—that of life's experience. While they had both had extraordinary childhoods that pushed them toward adulthood far faster than most, there was no denying she was more worldly than he. It wasn't an insurmountable obstacle, of course. Not with their jobs.
Not after Tobias Hankel…
He felt as if he'd aged a thousand years in those few days.
Aged a thousand more in the foggy, muddy, angry months that followed.
She'd been the first—the only, really—to confront him.
In the unique clarity that had enveloped him following his emergence from that drug-fueled haze of terror and misery, he had understood that's when he'd truly, genuinely fallen.
When passing curiosity and the stirrings of attraction had become more.
And more had continued to evolve—becoming something deep and reassuring after Gideon's abrupt disappearance and that letter. She was the only one who'd understood how that letter had gutted him. Who urged him to read it again not with the sense of being betrayed by a father figure yet again, but rather, with the underlying question of why. Why had Gideon only felt the need to explain himself to Spencer, out of everyone on the team?
That's when he knew that he wasn't merely attracted to her because of her beauty or her intelligence or her competence or her nerdy tendencies that were so like his own. He was dangerously close to losing his heart to her because she understood him on a fundamental level that no one, not even his mother at her most lucid, ever had. And she'd come to this understanding without any discernible effort on his part. If anything, he'd fought to keep her from knowing him—because he had somehow known if he allowed her that close, it could have the potential to cause him hurt the likes of which he might never recover from.
The compound and Benjamin Cyrus had provided him with terrifying glimpse of that hurt. The knowledge she'd sacrificed herself to save him was part of it, of course. but, however, was the sheer terror of watching her be dragged off, not knowing if he'd ever see her again or not.
Not knowing if he'd ever have a chance to tell her.
He never could, of course.
Because when it came down to it, the biggest difference between them came down to courage.
She had it in spades.
While the most he could do was tell her about his headaches and his history and his fears and hope she understood all he couldn't bring himself to say.
Because they needed time. He needed time. To become the kind of man she might look at and consider worthy.
And then…
Then…
Then it was too late and all he was left with was a white rose and a granite headstone.