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Counting sheep had never helped Spencer Reid fall asleep when he was a child.
He found that the more he focused on the thousandth sheep or even just the thousandth number in his imagination, the more awake he became. So when he had trouble sleeping then, he would have his mother read him into unconsciousness, and on the days where her schizophrenia was getting the best of her and she herself had yet to remove herself from the bed, he would put on Mozart to soothe himself in hopes of sleep.
Since he was now twenty-four and his mother was hundreds of miles away from him, Spencer had taken out one of his older Mozart compilations to lull himself on this particularly menacing night for his mind.
Even he lay in his bed - sheets up to his chest and arms behind his head - and let the soft melodies play, he just couldn't find it within himself to fall asleep. He could blame it on the fact that he wasn't used to being home after a full week in Phoenix for a case. He could even say that the omnipresent mass of paperwork sitting on his desk at this very moment was keeping him awake. But he knew the real thing to blame was the scene playing itself over and over in his head, stubbornly refusing to fade away.
Spencer groaned designedly and flung his arm across his face. If it was an attempt to blind himself from the memory, it wasn't working. The image of a wilting sunflower ran through his head. He pressed harder on his eyes, but they just kept coming, some in different forms that pictures. The smell of honeysuckle and sunshine, the way it felt to have that hand rest gently on his cheek filled his already overflowing reservoir of memory.
Suddenly, his mental dam busted from the pressure. Everything he had been repressing over the past few hours came whooshing out, and the story played itself again, this time demanding his attention in a way that he couldn't ignore.
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"Spencer." She paused then, her smile turned mocking. "Dr. Reid."
Ignoring her jibe, he again tried to persuade her into lying back down on the bed. Her blatant overdrinking at her farewell dinner would cost her in the morning, but at this moment it was costing Dr. Reid a little more than his sleep and sanity.
She finally obliged, though her eyes were as bright and awake as ever. Her dark hair spilled out across the pillow, making a black halo around her face.
"I'm not going to sleep until we have a very important little chat." her usually vivacious voice was abruptly commanding, and it took Spencer by surprise. He was used to the upbeat, sunny sound that was always distinguishable with her, but now her words were slurring so badly that that all had been lost.
"Talking's no good right now." he answered, pushing her hair back out of her face. Here, in the night-darkened space of my bedroom, it was easier to see how her beauty truly resembled the brightest of the shadows that danced across both our faces from rouge lights.
Spencer shook his head. No, not now.
She grabbed his hand in both of hers and sat up quickly. "Okay," she shrugged. "No talking." she moved her face toward his in a swift movement, catching him off guard enough that her lips had just enough time to brush against his own before he ducked out of the way.
"N-no. None of that either." Reid stammered, feeling as though he were scolding a puppy instead of a twenty-two year old woman. But now he was disheveled, unsure. His lips tingled just slightly from where the ghost of hers now was.
"You're drunk." he said simply. She rolled her eyes at him, an expected gesture.
"Well you know what?" she sat up a little unsteadily. "People say that your real feelings come out when you've had a little too much." she poked him in chest in time with her last few words. "So, technically -" always her favorite word "- I'm just acting on matters of truth."
Reid couldn't help but smile. No matter where, when, or what state she was in, persuasion would always be her guide. And she was so good at getting her way.
But not this time. As much as he wanted, needed for her to share his feelings, he knew that this wasn't really her speaking, but the endless mojitos she had kept coming all night.
"Actually," Reid retorted in the same smart tone she had used, "the brain is greatly impaired by the consumption of alcohol, especially in large amounts. Your senses, your thought process, your judgment...to say the least, you don't feel the way you think you do."
His own spoken words cut him deep, adding to the pain he felt in his chest whenever he would see her with other men, returning their smiles and laughing at their jokes. The pain of being the best friend. Always just the best friend.
"I think -" both hands grabbed the front of his button-down shirt, and she pulled him inches away from face, "- that you need to loosen up."
Reid squirmed uneasily and tried to remove her hands, but she was surprisingly strong for such a small girl. He frowned at her, "I am loose."
Snorting, she released her grip on him. No sooner than Reid had exhaled in relief, did she shove into his chest with her newfound strength, causing him to lose his balance and fall back on the bed. She moved fluidly before Reid had a chance to escape, straddling the young genius's waist and placing both hands on his shoulders.
"You don't know the definition of loose." she whispered breathily into his ear. Reid felt shivers go up his spine at the new intensity he saw twinkling in her eyes.
Reid whimpered at the longing bubbling up inside of him as she began to explore the skin of his neck, her full lips kissing him gently along every inch.
This wasn't right, he was well aware. There was no truth in her actions, despite what she had tried to convince him a moment earlier, and he knew that if this were any other night then she would never have acted this out of line.
"This is extremely inappropriate," Reid squeaked, and then froze.
He remembered dimly a night in the pool, romancing the young actress he was supposed to be protecting from a psychopathic killer. He had told her the very same thing when she had first kissed him. In many ways, Reid realized, Lila and this girl were very similar. They each were very determined, driven and confident; beautiful and good-hearted, as well.
And they both fantsied getting Spencer into very compromising situations with his feelings as the main contender.
A kiss was placed on Reid's tense jaw, snapping him back to reality.
"No," he pushed her back so that he was looking directly into her eyes. She was smiling, ducking her head under and around his restraining arm to try and get closer. Again, firmly: "No."
This time she dropped her grin, looking at him in obvious confusion. Reid made a stern face back, a hard thing to do since he was being slightly thrown off his game by the scent of honeysuckle and sunshine - up until now, something Reid had always found too dramatic to actually happen. She rolled off of him dejectedly and buried her face in the pillow, hiding whatever emotions her she was feeling. She pulled her legs up to her chest.
Reid sighed at the pitiful scene, feeling as though he had been too hard on her. Maybe he had. But couldn't be sure, seeing as he had never had to keep a beautiful girl from seducing him before. He reached out a hand tentatively to touch her shoulder; she didn't move.
Reid made a face. He turned slowly around to leave the room, but the sleepy question from the bed made him pause.
"Do you love me, Spencer?"
For some reason that even he could not fathom, the question did not startle him; it just saddened him.
He remained silent long enough that he finally heard her calm, even breathing before answering.
"Yes, I do."
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He had sat up the next morning, disoriented and forced to rub his eyes several times before he realized that he was in fact still in his own house, just on the livingroom couch instead of his bed. He stretched out his sore muscles, rubbing his smarting back and blinking back sleep while making his way to the bedroom, where he knew things should be back to normal now. This fact would have put him completely at ease if it weren't for the discerning realization that he would never have another true encounter with her like he had had last night. But he knew deep down that he had chosen correctly, so he forced those ideas from his head and pushed open the bedroom door.
Early morning sunlight poured in through the window; Spencer noticed that the curtains had both been drawn back and the window raised enough to let the autumn breeze chase through the room, something he rarely did himself. The cool air had kept the leftover steam from the shower coming in a steady fog from the bathroom, and a dark green towel was thrown over the glass door. The bed was neatly made, everything fixed just as he would have put it. All signs that someone other that himself had been here, but she had simply disappeared.
Spencer sat deplorably on the edge of his perfectly straight bed, unsure of what to do with himself now. She had left him here without even saying goodbye; normally people at least gave a final farewell when they left the state without a return date in mind, Spencer thought bitterly to himself. She was probably ashamed of coming on to him last night, embarassed that she had lowered her standards enough to hit on the eternally awkward and nerdy Spencer Reid. Or maybe she had felt that since they had grown so close over the past month that she she make a clean break, not just from him, but from their friendship.
A small part of Spencer knew that all the scenerios running through his head were unreasonable; he knew her well enough to know that she would never treat someone like that.
But then why was he alone in this empty house on her last day in the city?
But the light voice in the doorway kept him from his rhetorical question: "I would ask if someone died, but knowing your luck I better not chance it."
His head had snapped up, recogizing the tone right away. She leaned easily on the frame, holding two cups coffee and smiling at him.
"You're still here." it wasn't a question, but an awed statement. "I thought you had left!"
"What?" she asked, just as surprised as he was. She walked over to the bed and sat down next to him, handing over one of the cups. "Of course I'm still here. I couldn't leave without saying bye to you, Spence." she bumped him with her shoulder and smiled.
Reid furrowed his brows, wondering once again why there were only two people in the world that ever called him that. It was actually very common nickname in this country.
"But it really is time for me to go. I have an early flight out." she added sadly. Sighing, she rose from the bed and signaled for Reid to follow suit. The pair walked slowly to the front door, each seeming very unwilling to rush the goodbye process, and so when they finally reached their destination they could do nothing but stare off in opposite directions, searching for something to say.
Spencer recalled a quote at that moment in which George Eliot said, "Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love."
As if reading his mind, she asked him then: "So, um, did I say or do anything last night that you want to tell me about? I don't remember anything from when we left the club." she laughed nervously and looked away, textbook signals of a lie.
"Uh, well..." Reid stammered, weighing the pros and cons of a true answer in his mind; the cons definately overpowered the pros. "I didn't understand half the things you said." it was his turn to laugh suspiciously.
"No?" she asked him.
He shook his head and pretended to look at the clock behind him.
"Well what about a question?" she pressed. "I feel like I asked you something really important but you just never gave me an answer."
Reid froze momentarily. She remembered everything from last night, obviously. He just prayed that she had really been asleep when he had given her his answer.
"Nope," he said with a small smile.
"Oh," she replied dejectedly, placing her hand on the doorknob. "Must have been a dream."
"I'm sorry, I was so busy trying to get you to lay down and sleep-" Spencer began his false amends; the look in her eyes made him want to kick himself for whatever he had done. She waved away his apology with a smile, then wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him tightly.
"I'm going to miss you, Dr. Reid," she sighed into his ear. She pulled back to look at him, her eyes boring into his with surprising force. Nervously, Spencer adverted his gaze. He heard her laugh once and felt her lips press against his turned cheek. "Bye, Spence."
"Bye," he said quietly. The word seemed hang in the air.
She was halfway out of the door when she turned around to face him again. She was smiling when she addressed him for the last time: "You know, it was a very good dream."
And then she pulled the door shut.
He watched the unmoving door for another good five minutes before realizing that she really wasn't coming back. It could possibly the last time her saw her, ever.
Spencer shut his eyes, hoping to keep that last memory of Camille Jareau alive as long as possible.
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Reid had thought for sure that she had left him forever from her first step out of the door. And the she makes her grand entrance into JJ's rehersal dinner - very Camille-like, if he said so himself - and the girl of his dreams was suddenly thrust back into his life. The only problem was that she had acted like nothing had ever been spoken between them, that the secret neither of them would openly admit was just something of Reid's imagination.
He had spent the days after her departure thinking that maybe her odd behavior during their last moments hinted that she felt for him, too. But was back to her old self at the dinner that night, turning any hope that Reid may have had into dust in the wind.
So now he was back to the old plan: keep Camille close without being too painfully obvious about the real intentions.
As if that were possible.