The next morning, they passed around the crime scene photos of Elle's death, grim-faced, forcing themselves to look at what had been done to her.
Reid stared at her body, sprawled out on her own kitchen floor. He looked at it long enough that the others noticed him lingering. "What do you see?" Hotch asked.
"Single gunshot to the middle of the forehead, looks like a .22. No sign of sexual assault. She's lying where she fell. No defensive wounds, no sign of a struggle, back door lock was jimmied. No signs of coercion or torture." He looked up from the photo, but the image remained floating in the air before him. "She was executed by someone who wanted to get her out of the way. This wasn't a lust murder or a sexual sadist, this was practical."
Rossi nodded. "Agreed."
Hotch sighed. "I don't like it any more than you do, but we shouldn't get involved in this."
"C'mon, Hotch," JJ said. "I can call the Dallas PD and get us an invitation to consult in ten minutes. Once they hear she was one of ours they'll understand that we want to help."
"So we abandon this case, and these people who need us now? For what? To go after a murderer whose crime would not normally warrant our involvement? Elle was killed for a reason, a logical reason to whoever killed her, that means there was a connection between victim and killer, and that means the local police are adequately equipped to handle this case."
"You don't want us getting involved," Morgan said, looking shocked.
"I didn't say that," Hotch said. "I just don't know if we can." He looked around at the expectant faces turned toward him and fetched a deep sigh. "Okay. Can we agree to refocus on this case we have in front of us right now? After we wrap this up, if Elle's murder is still unsolved, I'll call Dallas myself and get us invited in to consult."
The matter settled as much as it was going to be, everyone turned their attention to the current case. Time ticked by slowly, more slowly than usual. All morning, Reid found himself watching Emily. He felt distracted, preoccupied, and over and over again his eyes would wander to her and linger as she read files, made notes, walked across the room. As time went on and he couldn't stop seeing the image of Elle lying dead on the floor in her own kitchen, his brain insisted on substituting Emily's face for Elle's. His Emily, dead on the floor.
Stop it. He shook his head, banishing the nauseating, cold-sweat-inducing image to the netherworlds of his mind.
He stared at her back as she stood talking to one of the local detectives. She'd taken off her jacket, and the blouse she was wearing clung to the curve of her lower back. His gaze wandered down to her ass without him really being aware of it.
"Hey, check out the scenery later, genius," Morgan muttered. "Focus on the task at hand."
Reid harrumphed, flushing red, and bent over the file again. "Sorry."
"S'all right, man. I get it."
Reid met his eyes and saw that he did. "I can't stop seeing Elle dead on the floor."
"I know," Morgan said, his jaw clenching. "Makes you want to grab hold of what you've got, doesn't it?"
He nodded. "Makes me want to go hug my wife. I'd do it if we weren't in the middle of a police station."
"You can hug me instead, if you want," Morgan said with a grin. "I'm secure in my masculinity."
Reid snorted. "Somehow it wouldn't be the same."
Lunchtime rolled around, and JJ started asking what everyone wanted from the deli across the street. When she got around to Emily, Reid looked over at her and found her looking back at him, a speculative look on her face. "Just a sandwich. Whatever looks good," she told JJ. Abruptly, she walked over to him and grabbed his hand. "We'll be right back," she said, pulling him out of the room.
"Where are we going?" he asked, letting himself be pulled.
"I found this wardrobe with all these fur coats in it. I thought we'd check it out." She led him through a pair of double doors into a corridor, then down a flight of stairs. No one was around. They came around a corner and Emily stopped at a door labeled "Storage." It opened when she turned the knob. She pulled him inside, shut the door behind them and turned the deadbolt. The room was full of industrial metal shelves full of unlabeled file boxes. An old metal desk sat in the middle of it. The small space was dimly lit through high transom windows that were probably at ground level. "I did a little scouting around earlier."
"Oh yeah? Why?"
In lieu of an answer, she pushed him up against the wall and plastered herself to him, her mouth pushing against his with rough intent, her tongue in his mouth before he had time to even think of a response.
Arousal slammed through him like a freight train. Yes, this is what I need, I need her, I need to feel and touch and know. He seized her and flipped them around, pressing her against the wall. God, he'd never know how she was able to get him so turned on, so fast. It was like she'd found the magic "off" switch in his brain that he himself could only fumble for in the dark and rarely find, but her fingers went right to it unerringly and flipped it whenever she liked, turning him into an id-driven creature, his libido shoving its way into the pilot's seat, leaving his rational mind stunned and blinking on the floor, helpless.
She was so warm and lively against him, her body slender but strong, her hands sliding up his chest to pull at his neck and shoulders while her hips tilted into his, pressing maddeningly against his erection. He kneaded her breast through her blouse, his fingers itching for the feeling of her skin. Her hand was gripping him through his pants; he felt a little dizzy with the suddenness of all the blood rushing away from his brain. He got her shirt unbuttoned and spread his hands over her ribcage, pushing back against her demanding mouth, and now her fingers were busy undoing his belt. She pushed him away from the wall and they staggered over to the desk. He didn't ask if she seriously wanted to do this. She'd arranged for it, and he knew why, but he wasn't complaining. He wasn't stupid enough to question his own good fortune. It wasn't every man who had a woman like Emily for a lover.
She sat on the edge of the desk and drew him to stand between her knees, kissing the notch at the base of his throat now, her hands stroking his back while his hands tangled in her hair. He tipped her head back and took her mouth again, sliding one hand down the front of her pants, feeling her tremble and gasp as he stroked her. She went back to work on his zipper. She shoved his pants and boxers down, then moved his hand away to undo her own pants. He pushed her down on the desk, damn near frantic now to be inside her. She got her pants off one leg, wrapped her thighs around his hips, grabbed his ass and pulled him in. He pushed in hard and held it, exhaling sharply. She sucked in a quick breath and her eyes locked with his, her hands gripping his shoulders. Her gaze was full of desire, and now a little impatience. "Give it to me hard," she said through clenched teeth.
He needed no further encouragement. Reid let himself go. He hung onto the edge of the desk while she hung onto him, or else they might both have toppled off onto the floor. She felt like a furnace around him, gripping him inside and outside at the same time, her hips rocking to meet his thrusts. He felt her come, her teeth biting into her lower lip as she tensed, her fingers digging into his sides. It didn't take him long to follow, his mind going blank as it burst over him and he spent himself inside her. He propped himself on his elbows so he wouldn't crush her, his breathing shaky, his whole body trembling. "Jesus," he muttered.
She kissed the side of his face, her own breath hot and fast on his cheek. "Goddamn, that was good," she said.
"That was totally unprofessional," he said.
"We're on lunch break."
"Lunch break, not sex break."
"Either way, it's our own time, and you needed that." He lifted his head and looked in her eyes. "I saw you eyeballing my ass all morning, Special Agent Subtle, and I know how people react to death." She kissed the tip of his nose. "You lost a friend, Spencer, the worst way possible. I wish I could make that better for you, but I can't. All I can do is remind you that you and I are both here. We're okay, we're going to keep being okay, and I love you like crazy."
He smiled. "How crazy?" This was one of their stupid, private, embarrassing, sickening-people-in-love games that no one would ever, ever hear about upon pain of death.
She grinned. "Like Flowbee crazy."
"Quantum entanglement crazy."
"Nick Nolte crazy."
"Oh, damn. That's a good one. Umm…Flat Earth Society crazy."
She made a "you lose" buzzer noise. "You've used that one before."
He sighed. "I plead nolo. I'm too brain-depleted to win, anyway." He kissed her, tenderness replacing the urgency he'd felt just moments ago, then gingerly pulled away and stood, pulling his pants up. She swung her legs over the side and retrieved her own. "Please tell me that when you did your scouting, you found an equally secluded bathroom?"
Emily popped her contacts out and washed her face, wincing at the puffiness she saw in the mirror. It had been a long day. Her impromptu lunchtime surprise had seemed to quiet Spencer's jitters for awhile, but he, JJ and Morgan had still been noticeably distracted all afternoon. Even Hotch had been off his game. She and Rossi had kept things on track, but everyone had Elle's death on the brain, and the impatience to work that case instead of the one they had was palpable. At dinner, conversation had centered around nothing else. She could feel Spencer getting tenser and tenser as the night went on. He withdrew from the conversation, crossing his arms and legs and leaning back from the table. Worse, he was getting that shifty-eyed look that he got when he was starting to crave. She wasn't afraid he'd use. She just hated seeing him so distressed. She wished she could fix it with a wave of her magic wand, but she couldn't.
She came out of the bathroom. Spencer was sitting in a chair staring out the window, chin in hand. His other hand was playing with a small round disk – his one-year medallion. Emily braced herself. She went to the bed and sat down near him. "I'll step out for awhile so you can make a call."
He glanced at her. "You don't need to do that."
She trod lightly as she spoke. This issue was...prickly. I've always been the one getting the short end of the stick with his recovery issues, almost since I've known him. Why is that, anyway? "How bad is it?"
Long pause. "It's been better."
"That's what sponsors are for."
"You think I don't know that?" he snapped. Emily drew back. He sighed and got up, pocketing the medallion. "I can't talk about this."
"You never can. You can't talk about it with me, okay, I get it. I've never been there. But you have to talk about it with somebody." He said nothing, just paced. "You could find a meeting here."
"Stop trying to help me," he said. He was drawing in on himself.
Emily was getting impatient. "Why shouldn't I try to help you? Why is that so terrible? I'm your wife, it's part of my job to help you."
"I don't need to be instructed how to handle my recovery."
"Of course not, because you've always made the right choices about that!"
He stopped and faced her. "I have never fallen off the wagon, not once. I've wanted to, I've been tempted, but I haven't done it. I have been sober since the day I quit. What more do you want from me?"
"Me? I don't want anything! The question is, what more do you want from yourself? Is it not enough that you've stayed sober, now you have to do it without any support? You won't talk to me, you won't call your sponsor – it's like you're trying to pretend it never happened."
"I can't do that!" he said, shouting now. "That's what the drugs did! Made me forget!"
"And it pisses you off that you can't have that anymore!"
"Yes!" he said, before catching himself. "I mean...no, that's not what I mean."
"Oh, Spencer," she sighed. "It is. And you've always resented me because I confronted you about it."
"I don't resent you," he said. He sounded exhausted.
"Some part of you does. Everyone knew you were having problems. No one said a word, no one but stupid new girl Emily who didn't quite get yet that things were handled a certain way, and that you had to be protected, especially from the fact that everyone knew."
He shook his head. "I was so awful to you."
"Yeah, you were. That's in the past, but you're still hanging on. You still hate it that I saw what was going on and I didn't let you get away with it."
"I hate it that you were ever in that position. I hate that I put any of you through that. I hate that I let the team down."
She jumped up and grabbed his arms. "You didn't let anyone down. God, what you went through? You're only human! You're not a brain in a vat like some solipsist mad science experiment, you have a body and you can be hurt and you were, and I think it may have been the first time that your body beat out your brain for control. It was something you couldn't intellectualize away, and that's what drove you to the Dilaudid."
He looked at her, his eyes shuttered. "You know me pretty well, don't you?"
"I hope so."
He stared down at his shoes and snorted brief, bitter laughter. "Bet you didn't realize you were signing up for all this when you married me, or you'd have run the other direction."
Anger rushed up Emily's spine. "Why do you always say that?" she exclaimed, her voice clogged. "Every time we fight, you come out with something like that. I want you to stop it, you hear me? How can you think that I'm sorry I married you?"
"Someday you will be!" he shouted.
Emily stopped short and stared at him. "Jesus, Spencer," she sighed.
"You will be," he went on. "You say you won't but I know better. Someday it'll get to be too much. You'll be tired of dealing with me, you'll want..." He cleared his throat and looked away. "Things I can't give you." He ran a hand through his hair and met her eyes again, his own huge and tear-filled. "It'll happen."
She shook her head. "Never."
"You can't know that."
"Yes, I can. This job we do doesn't let us believe in many things, but I believe that I love you. Do you get it? Down to my bones I love you. I trust that. Don't you?"
"I want to," he said, his voice a near-whisper. He held her eyes for a long beat, then turned and walked past her out of the room, the door shutting behind him.
Emily stood there frozen for a moment, then sat down heavily on the bed, the tears spilling over and rolling down her cheeks.
An hour later there was a quiet knock on the door. Emily had gotten herself under control, washed her face again and changed into her pajamas. Reid wasn't back yet.
She got out of bed and opened the door. "JJ," she said, surprised to see her friend there, dressed for bed as Emily was.
JJ smiled. "Can I come in?"
"Sure."
They sat cross-legged on the bed like girls at a slumber party. JJ was watching her with sympathy. "Are you okay?"
Emily nodded, although she knew JJ could tell she'd been crying. "Yeah. It's just been a hard day."
"Emily, I, uh...could hear you guys arguing."
"Oh," Emily said in a small voice. "Sorry if we disturbed you."
"That's not the point. You want to talk about it?"
Emily hesitated before answering. "Every time we fight, he says something about how I must be sorry I married him. I can tell him I'm not sorry, but he's convinced that someday I will be sorry. I don't know what could ever make him think that."
JJ cocked her head. "You don't?"
She sighed. "Yeah, I do. I just don't know how to make him stop."
"Spence's whole life has been about the world teaching him how he doesn't fit in it."
"I know. I hate it. It just makes me so angry, it's like he thinks I don't have any say in it, I'm helpless and he's so horrible and one day it'll just end."
"He really thinks that someday you'll wake up and wonder what you were thinking, and leave him. He's waiting for it."
"I wish…" Emily stopped short and looked away, her throat clogging up. "I wish I could mind-meld with him so he could see. Telling him sure doesn't seem to be enough."
JJ reached out and took one of her hands. "It's going to take more than a year for it to sink in, I think."
"So what do I do in the meantime? Because the martyr routine gets pretty damn old. I can't keep having this same conversation, this same argument, over and over again."
"It's in his head. Just remember that. And I guess just keep…" She hesitated, blushing a little. "Keep loving him," she said, quietly.
Emily sighed. "I don't get a choice about that."