So Near Yet So Far

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.

. . . . . . . . . .

'Cause you know,

You know, you know

That I love you

I have loved you all along

And I miss you

Been far away for far too long

I keep dreaming you'll be with me

And you'll never go

Stop breathing if

I don't see you anymore

February 2011

Prentiss cut through the tension to get to her desk. Both Morgan and Reid were working hard. Neither spoke, she decided silence was preferable to having to explain her earlier outburst.

Slumping into her chair, she finally took her jacket off and switched on her computer.

Spencer was watching her, over the top of the file he was 'reading'. She looked drained. To the untrained eye Emily was her normal immaculate self. Make-up applied skillfully, dressed smartly, hair perfectly straight. But to the trained profiler she was in pieces; exhausted and running on nervous energy. He wanted to reach out to her help. Even if they were only to be friends, he wanted to know she could trust him. Returning to his file, the words blurred as his mind raced. What was going on?

He was startled back to the present by the ring of Prentiss' desk phone. She was quick to answer. Reid glanced at Morgan, who winced.

"Yes, sir," Prentiss returned the handset to the cradle and shot daggers at Reid and Morgan as she stood, turning towards Hotch's office without saying a word.

"I assume you are ready for the fall out?" Morgan muttered.

Reid just nodded, watching her trudge up to their Boss' office.

. . . . . . . . . .

Entering Hotch's office she noticed he had her personal file open on his desk. He also had the Valentine's card she'd received. So they'd been through her bin too. She had guessed as soon as Hotch asked to see her that Reid and Morgan had told him about her foul mood today, but going through her bin, damn.

"Prentiss," Hotch indicated she should sit, "can you tell me what is going on? And please no lies."

Emily sighed; she had hoped it wouldn't come to this.

"Someone I helped put away when I was in Interpol has escaped. He's been sending the team some messages, just trying to scare us."

"Should I be worried?"

Emily shrugged her shoulders.

"Prentiss do I need to remind you that we profile serial killers and other serious criminals every day. If you need help, the team is here for you," Hotch's tone was stern and firm. "Are you going to tell me what is going on or shall I contact Interpol myself?"

Emily almost shriveled under his stare, but somehow she managed to return with one of her own. She would not be the victim for the team to study. She would not have her life picked apart, not even by her friends.

"It is being dealt with Hotch. Sean is dealing with it. He caught him last time; he'll do it again."

"In the mean time you are not alone, the team will provide twenty-four hour cover."

"Sir," Emily started to protest.

"Don't Emily. I know what it is like to try and face something like this alone. Maybe if I'd been better at letting the team in I wouldn't have lost Haley." Hotch shoulders slumped. "This is not up for discussion, and Reid has offered to come home with you tonight, unless you would prefer to stay at his?"

"Reid," Emily sighed. "What's he going to do? Bore him to death."

As she huffed out of his office Hotch considered bringing her back, but decided talking to her when she was like this was futile.

. . . . . . . . . .

Reid and Morgan looked up as Prentiss left Hotch's office. Her face said it all, they didn't need to ask.

"I hope you two are pleased with yourselves," she snapped, sitting at her desk. Neither spoke, everyone returned to their work.

The rest of the day passed slowly and silently. No one dared to say a thing. Morgan decided he'd be the first to make a move. Packing his things up, he paused by Reid's desk.

"Good luck, lover boy. If you need back up, just call."

Reid shot him a look.

"I mean it. I'm not kidding now!"

Prentiss watched him leave and returned to her work, without saying a word. One by one the bullpen emptied. Soon it was just Spencer and Emily. Both still working. Emily wondered how long it would be before he gave up.

"Shall I order something for us to eat here, or would you prefer to eat when we get home?"

Emily looked up at the skinny genius hovering by her desk, coffee cup in hand. She wanted to be cross with him. She wanted to scream and shout, but she couldn't, not when he looked at her the way he did now. Looking down his socks caught her attention again. Then it dawned on her. She had got so wrapped up in the card from Doyle that she had forgotten the other card she had received with the flowers. They were from Reid. Only Spencer would know what yellow roses with a red tip mean. Even after she had been mean to him all day, here he stood ready to protect her, without even knowing what he was protecting her from. She felt such a bitch, but really didn't want any new complications in her life. Yet she submitted to Hotch's order of Reid being her back up for tonight.

"Depends if we're going to yours or mine?"

Spencer looked confused. "Why?"

"I've not got any food in my house; I haven't been staying there since Los Angeles."

"Mine it is. Though take out may still be the better option. Should we travel together?"

Bless him, Emily thought. She nodded and they got ready to leave. Just before they went Emily reached under her desk, pulling out the roses and the card. Spencer watched.

"Thank you," she whispered.

. . . . . . . . . .

Entering Spencer's apartment, Emily realised he was single, yet at the same time she was curiously interested by all the books. They gave the rooms a kind of musky smell, pleasant and reassuring. Spencer passed her the phone and menus.

"Order what you like, I need to go."

Emily smiled as Spencer wriggled uncomfortably. She realised it was the first time she'd genuinely smiled in weeks.

When Spencer returned, Emily was just putting the phone down.

"All ordered," she chirped. "Have you got any wine?"

Emily hadn't relaxed in weeks, yet somehow she felt secure. She was surprised how safe Spencer made her feel.

"Sure," Reid wasn't much of a drinker, but when he did he enjoyed fine wines and expensive brandy. He returned with a bottle of French red and a two glasses.

Emily looked approvingly at the bottle. He had taste, far more than most guys she'd spent Valentine's Day with in the past.

They chatted as they waited for their food. Emily was glad that Spencer wasn't asking the questions that she knew he was dying to know the answers to. She was glad of the distraction. The last thing she wanted to talk about was Ian Doyle.

When the bell finally rung, Spencer went to answer; usually when he came in from work he took his gun off, but not today. He rested his hand on it ready, just in case. He was aware that Emily still hadn't told him what he was protecting her against.

Looking at the screen, he saw the delivery guy standing outside. He buzzed him in. Spencer opened his front door ready and on guard. As he did he realised his wallet had fallen out of his pocket. Returning to the lounge he grabbed it off the couch.

As he got back to the front door he waited. It seemed to be taking a long time for the food to get up to his apartment. The lift was working, so what was the delay? Sticking his head out into the corridor, the pain from the blow he received barely registered before he slumped into unconsciousness.

. . . . . . . . . .