The one That Got Away

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Chapter Two:

Some melodies are best left undone

I feel the time pass away

But in my songs, you'll always stay

I don't need you to tell me I'm the one

The One - Vanessa Carlton

Blindly, Spencer reached for his scotch, swallowed a mouthful, and tried to pull together his scattered mind. As he did so, the object of his surprise watched on, that same, all too familiar smile on her face, a glass of wine in hand, and apparently entirely content to watch him process her appearance in front of him.

"Charlotte Saunders," he rasped, and his gaze flicked across her features.

Her face was thinner, older,bright eyes enhanced by thick black liner and mascara. Her black curls had been straightened, done up in a high ponytail, with the exception of the box fringe that framed her face, accentuating her high cheekbones and her thin nose. Gone was the gothic makeup and accessories she'd once favoured, the combat boots and spiked collars, but the woman she'd become, in her cocktail dress and stiletto heels, was a sight to behold.

"Hello, Spencer," she answered, and her smile was fond. "It's good to see you. You look well."

"As do you," Reid acknowledged.

He set his scotch on the tray the bartender had offered him, and he hesitated. A part of him wanted to return to his friends, to pretend as though he'd not come across this surreal blast from his past, but a bigger part of him, a nostalgic, reminiscent side of him, wanted to sit down and catch up on her life, learn what he'd missed, discover how much she'd changed beyond her sense of fashion.

As Amy Winehouse's 'Will You Still love Me Tomorrow?' filtered from the bar's speakers, and as Reid caught Morgan's eye across the room, the scientist made his decision, and he smiled at his former flame.

"Did you want to go for a walk?"

Charlotte nodded, a coy, enigmatic kind of smile on her face, and informed Reid that she'd meet him outside in ten minutes. Spencer acquiesced, gathered up the tray of drinks he'd ordered, and made his way back to his friends. Drinks were distributed, scotch was drained, and Spencer smiled at his friends, sheepish.

"This is where I leave you," Spencer informed them, "I uh… ran into an old friend. We're going to go… catch up."

Morgan looked skeptical. "Is that a euphemism for 'have hot, wild monkey sex'?"

Reid's responding stare was deadpan, but before he could reply, Garcia and Prentice shooed him away, and he left willingly, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, thoughts on the past, gaze on his future.

He made it outside, settled against a light post, and cast a wary gaze around him. He lived in a safe part of town, and the jazz bar was a reputable one, but night had a tendency to bring out the worst in people, and Spencer had learned years ago never to be caught off guard.

"I'm surprised your here," Charlotte spoke, and he watched her approach from the bar, "I figured you'd still be at Caltech, teaching egocentric grad students the finer details of Mathematics."

Spencer's smile was rye. "I've been here for three and a half years now, actually."

"Yeah?" She enquired. "You'll have to show me around some time. I started my internship at the Quantico Memorial hospital in August."

"Congratulations," he acknowledged, and they walked on, the silence between them easy, mindless.

He thought about that summer so long ago, when there had been so much to say, and not enough time. He remembered when they'd sprawled out in her twin sized bed, and stared at the stars through her loft apartment skylight, the silence between them a blanket of contentment, their fingers entwined, and the promise of forever in every gesture. He could still imagine the caress of her skin, and the brush of her lips, the sensation of her silken heat wrapped around him, and the love in her eyes.

"What brought you to Virginia?" She enquired, and Spencer pulled off his jacket, draped it over her shoulders, and tried not to bring attention to the glock under his arm.

"Work," he answered, "I'm employed with the FBI these days."

She hummed thoughtfully. "That's not really what I expected of you."

"I get that a lot," he answered sardonically, and he wasn't inclined to pursue the topic.

"Is it worth it?"

Reid sighed. "Most days. Then there are others, and sometimes, it feels like I lose faith in humanity with every case we close."

After that, they stuck to the lighter topics, like holiday destinations, and mutual friends, and their respective academic accomplishments. She'd received her Psychology doctorate at seventeen, but she'd recently completed med school, and she was on her way to becoming the countries youngest neurologist.

Though they had different interests, and contrasting fields of expertise, Spencer had never met someone who could match him mind for mind the way Charlotte Saunders did. Their first encounter had seen them in a battle of wits before the hour was out, they'd been solid friends shortly thereafter, and he was in her bed days later. The rest was history, as the saying went, but the ghost of the girl had lingered years after she'd left his life, and even as she walked on beside him, he found himself pondering that same persistent question: what if?Absently, he slowed to a stop outside of his apartment building, Charlotte followed suit beside him, and they stood in silence, weighed down by the things left unsaid, by the possibility of now, and the aftermath in their future.

Spencer took the plunge.

"Did you want to come up?"

Charlotte nodded her agreement, and she followed Reid up the three flights of stairs, down the long, carpeted hallway, and into his house, still not nearly tidy enough for present company. He helped off his coat, deposited it over the back of an armchair, and gave her an awkward half smile.

"I'll be right back. Just make yourself comfortable."

Spencer retreated into his room, stored away his gun, badge and wallet, took the opportunity to kick off his shoes and carted his hands through his hair. The urge to laugh, amazed and disbelieving an just that little bit awed, was almost irrepressible, but he'd become an expert in compartmentalising, and his emotions would simply have to wait.

Before he returned to the living room, Spencer stopped by his spare bedroom turned store room, approached the back wall, and retrieved a dust covered bottle of wine stored on a wine rack there. Napa Valley, 1964, and a swing back to the nights where they'd guzzled down cheap wine like water, and consisted on a diet of tofu burgers and vege chips.

A brief stop in the kitchen to gather a pair of wine glasses and a bottle opener followed, but when he entered his living room, he was unsurprised to find that she'd settled herself comfortably on his sectional, his battered acoustic in her lap, and her dexterous fingers confident along the frets and steel strings.

"Do you still perform?" Reid enquired, for lack of anything else to say.

"Not nearly often enough," she answered, "Do you?"

"It's cathartic," he admitted, "Takes my mind off work."

Her gaze flicked across the case files, all blessedly closed, and he briefly thanked himself for his paranoid tendencies.

"Guess you need an escape in your line of work…"

"Something like that," he agreed. He set down the glasses of wine, arched an expectant eyebrow, and smiled fondly when she gave a nod of ascent. He unstoppered the bottle, poured them each a liberal amount, and set down the bottle on the end table, far from any files, research papers, or music sheets.

"No girlfriend?" She pried. He should have felt awkward, and perhaps it was because of the alcohol, or he was simply still too dumbfounded by her presence in his living room, because all he could manage was mild curiosity.

"Are you interested?" He teased, and ignored the fact that he was genuinely interested in her answer. Their time, he knew, had passed them by.

She laughed, swirled her wine around in her glass, and answered, "I just figured your hypothetical girlfriend wouldn't appreciate her boyfriend's ex in his living room."

"Touche," he conceded, and continued, "No girlfriend though, so no worries."

She pretended to wipe sweat from her brow and again, they chatted of mindless things, and before he knew it, it was as though no time had passed at all, Charlotte was curled up against his side, and this time as they dreamed together, it was of the past, and of the what could have beens.

It seemed only natural, then, to wind up with her in his bed, tangled between the sheets, and the world faded, forgotten beyond the dimensions of his queen size and the shadows of his room.

With a reverent, almost desperate, whisper of her name on his lips, Spencer trailed his fingers along the familiar, yet not, contours of her body, the satiny feel of her skin, the glide of her tongue against his own. Here, with her velvet heat tight around him, and as he watched the nirvana that flit across her expression, as he came down from his own glorious high, he imagined he'd found paradise, and he never wanted to leave.

Not for anything in the world.