A/N: Some dialogue from 8x16 "Carbon Copy", and some spoilers for the episode.
"To have her here in bed with me, breathing on me, her hair in my mouth—I count that as something of a miracle." - Henry Miller
Maeve woke to the exhale of breath on her neck. Her bare back was pressed up against Spencer's chest, the steady rise and fall of their ribs in unison. His arm was slung around her waist. Her hand searched to meet his where it cupped her shoulder. After a few exhales, she turned her head as far as she could to see if Spencer was awake. She was met with a kiss on her cheek. "Good morning," he greeted softly, a velvety rasp in his voice.
"Morning," she whispered, sleep still in her voice.
"You didn't finish telling me how your day was."
Her fingers brushed down her neck, across her collarbone to her chest, retracing where his lips had been the night before. She smiled lightly. "You distracted me." She flipped over so she was facing him.
"So?" he prompted. "How was your day?" She grinned, amused that he was still interested after the lengthy interruption.
"It was nice. But my night was better." A satisfying blush spread over his face. She finished answering him: "I had lunch with Mara. She wants to meet you, by the way."
He smirked. "That'll be different." Maeve nodded. "Exciting, too. Maybe we can find time in between cases when work is a little less hectic."
"Is it ever?" Maeve leaned over him and glanced at the alarm clock. "I should start getting ready."
She sat up and immediately stiffened as she met the chill air. Without the compensation of body heat, the persistence of winter in the early hours was unavoidable. She groaned and snatched the quilt from Spencer and wrapped it around her shoulders, leaving him with just the sheets. She picked up her clothes that had been thrown on the floor and dumped them in the laundry basket on her way to the bathroom.
Spencer rolled over and checked his phone. Garcia hadn't texted him with a case, so he didn't have to go in early today. He watched Maeve putter around for a few minutes before getting ready himself. After Maeve had kissed him goodbye and left for work, he still had time to spare before he was supposed to leave.
He thought over their conversation this morning. The thought of meeting each other's friends was such a weird concept. For ten months, they had kept their correspondence secret, and while he knew that now those days of their relationship were over, it took some getting used to. Still, the talk of introductions reminded him of a neglected obligation.
He hadn't yet told his mom about Maeve. It had initially been for Maeve's own protection, seeing as his mom tended to brag about him. He didn't mind that she shared the content of his letters, but, however unlikely, he had not wanted there to be any chance of his correspondence with Maeve reaching her stalker. Plus, he found that introducing change to his mom was best done slowly, and he had wanted to make sure that everything with Maeve would work out before telling his mom about her.
But now that Maeve was safe, and it was evident that she was here to stay, he saw no obstacle in the way of writing to his mom about her. Despite this, he found himself a bit apprehensive about it still, not because he was concerned for Maeve's safety, but in a much more common way that was typical of introducing a significant other to a parent.
He got out a pen and the stationery he reserved for writing to his mom. He wrote out his usual salutations, asked how things were going, if she had any qualms with her doctors' suggestions, and paused before composing the rest of his letter:
...I've been talking to someone for a while now. Her name is Maeve. She's a geneticist who has helped me with my headaches. They're gone now, thanks to her. We've become close friends.
He had contemplated which word he should use: whether he should call Maeve his friend or his girlfriend. While there was a big cultural and linguistic distinction between the two, he didn't feel that he was being deceptive in calling her his friend, because, really, it was true; they had become close friends, and that didn't stop when they became significant others.
Our shared interests and matched intellect make for engaging conversations that I can't seem to get from anyone else. I hope that some day you'll get to meet her.
He looked at the time and decided he should soon head to work.
I have to abridge this letter or I'll be late for work. Hope you're well. I will try to find time to write again this week. Love you.
-Spencer
After an uneventful day of writing reports and filing paperwork, the bullpen was finally winding down and emptying; Reid was looking forward to heading home. JJ came over to his desk.
"Hey," she greeted.
He returned the sentiment openly. She sat on top of his desk, and Reid knew she had other intentions for walking over here than just saying hi.
"I was hoping I'd catch you alone." Reid gave her a quizzical look. "How's Maeve?" That explained it.
He hadn't brought her up voluntarily since she was abducted a few weeks ago. JJ had laid off, thinking that he'd talk about it when he was ready. She knew that Garcia and Morgan in particular were on his back about it. She had decided to ask him about Maeve out of earshot from everyone else.
"She's good," Reid answered. "She's been recovering well; she just went back to work."
"That's good. So, what's going on with you two?" JJ raised her eyebrows.
"What do you mean?"
JJ shrugged. "Have you gone on any dates?"
Reid nodded, thinking back to when they went to the Smithsonian. And the diner, after Maeve was released from the hospital, if he wanted to count that as a date. "Yeah, we have."
"So things are going good?"
"Really good."
JJ smiled. "I'm glad to hear it."
JJ glanced somewhere behind him and Reid turned around, toward the direction of her gaze. Out in the hallway, Blake appeared to be in conversation with Strauss. "Uh oh," said JJ. "I think Blake could take her. What do you think?"
"Their body language hardly seems adversarial. Blake's making direct eye contact and the tilt of her head suggests she's willingly engaged in conversation." Reid got up and started packing his bag. JJ stood and noticed Garcia strutting into the bullpen, carrying a large vase of white orchids.
"Didn't Strauss throw her under the bus back in the day?"
"There waxs the Amerithrax case about ten years ago. Evidently they apprehended the wrong suspect and she let Blake take the fall."
"Well, I heard they even demoted her a couple grades," JJ finished, as Garcia approached her teammates.
"Guess what just came to the reception desk for an Agent Jennifer Jareau," she announced with her characteristic animation.
"From who?" JJ huffed in mild disbelief.
"It must be from Will, otherwise someone's got some explainin' to do." Garcia handed JJ the small white card that came with the flowers. "Open it, open it!"
"Will's not really a flower bouquet type of guy," JJ explained, opening the card. Her mouth fell open and her eyes grew wide. "Zugzwang."
At the utterance of that word, Reid became weary. "What? Let me see that." He took the card from JJ.
"It's the same thing Diane Turner said to you—"
"When she abducted Maeve," Reid finished.
"But Diane's in custody so who sent it?" Garcia asked.
"No idea."
"Wait, didn't you say the voice on the other end of the phone was computer generated?" JJ asked.
"That means it could be from anybody, that means maybe it doesn't have anything to do with Maeve." Garcia hoped.
"Whoever it was, they knew you would be at that phone booth, which means they were stalking you."
But that doesn't make sense, Reid thought, Why would— The answer seemed obvious. "Or us. What if this is The Replicator?"
Maeve had been busy nearly the whole day—filing paperwork for grants, briefing with Dr. Becker about the upcoming research project, and consulting with a colleague about a medical journal. She finally had a free moment at the end of the day. She checked her phone and saw a missed call from Spencer. She listened to the accompanying voicemail:
Hey, it's me. We got a case in Philadelphia, so I won't be home tonight. Um...this case...it kind of involves my whole team. Hotch thought it best to err on the safe side, for the whole team's protection. He ordered a security detail stationed outside our apartment, so don't worry if you see a strange car outside. I really don't think you're in any danger; this is about the team—the security detail is just hypervigilance. Call me back when you can, and I'll explain everything. Love you.
As soon as the voicemail ended Maeve dialed him. It rang. And rang. She heard his voicemail greeting and huffed in frustration. "Hey, Spence, I just got your message. You're probably already in Philadelphia. I'll try calling again later tonight if I haven't talked to you before then. Just let me know that you're okay. Okay? Talk to you soon. Bye, love you."
Maeve hung up and sighed. In any other situation, this obstacle in communication would be more of an annoyance than anything else, but with Spencer's high-risk job and the possibility of his team being in danger, the uncertainty gnawed at Maeve's gut. She liked to be informed, no matter how harsh the truth was, and being kept in the dark due to circumstances that were outside of her control didn't sit well with her.
She swallowed her anxiety before finishing up and heading home. She was in the middle of making a late dinner for herself when the phone rang. She hastily wiped her hands on a towel and sprinted across the room to answer it. "Spence?"
"Hey." Maeve recognized the heavy tone that his voice took on when he was stressed.
"You okay?"
There was a second's hesitation before he answered. "Yeah." Maeve was unconvinced.
"What's going on?"
She heard him sigh. "This case is...particularly difficult." She had gathered that much, but she recognized his fumbling to explain. "For the last few months, an unsub has caught the attention of my team. He has replicated some of the cases we've solved, down to the most specific details."
"Oh…" Maeve didn't know how to respond.
"Of course, I, and my whole team, feel obligated to catch this guy. So we're really pressed right now."
"Yeah, I can imagine. Where are you now? Are you at a hotel?"
"No, I'm at the police station. Probably will be for several more hours."
"Make sure to get some sleep, okay?"
"I'll try," he grudgingly conceded. "Maeve, sorry to cut this short, but I have to go—"
"Okay, that's fine. I'll...see you soon."
"Bye Maeve, love you."
"Love you, too."
Maeve sighed as she hung up. Spencer seemed distant, and distracted, and somewhat evasive. Granted, he was probably stressed, and tired, and anxious to solve this case, even more so than usual. She dismissed it. He would explain more when he got back, she was sure.
His team had had a somber flight home. A few quiet "goodnight"s were uttered as they packed up and left the empty bullpen, hoping to leave the night's blood and sweat behind them. They all knew it wasn't over; they weren't privileged with the mercy of having it end quite so quickly.
The warehouse had felt like a trap; the team had prepared for an ambush. Somehow, what they found was worse.
Just in time... You found me just in time. The lyrics were still stuck in Spencer's head. So were the pictures—a bulletin board for each team member, the pictures going back weeks, months. And the word zugzwang written over and over. Zugzwang zugzwang zugzwang. You may have found me, the words taunted, but I found you first. I'm ten steps ahead of you. He was drawing out the inevitable checkmate, waiting for the grand finale.
He ambled through his dark apartment warily. No lights were on; the couch was empty: he found Maeve asleep in their bed. The alarm clock, reading 2:37, glowed red over her face. He kept the lights off as he changed out of his work clothes. He didn't want to wake her.
He fell into bed and his eyes already started drooping. Despite the physical exhaustion he felt, it was chaos in his head. He looked across from him at Maeve, hoping for some reassurance, some comfort. Her back was to him, so he couldn't see her face. She had once told him that him simply being there, on the other end of the phone, was enough—that his presence alone was reassuring. Now, more than ever, he understood.
He reached out across the space between them, but stopped just before touching her.
"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown." - H.P. Lovecraft
A/N: Thanks for reading! The emotional jolt from 11x15 gave me the energy I needed to finish this chapter (*sobs for Morgan*).
This story was nominated for a Profilers Choice Award for Best Het Romance! (second year in a row!) Tremendous thank yous for that; I couldn't get a better compliment as a writer! Ballot for voting is on the Profilers Choice Awards 2015 forum.