Chapter Eleven: Apeiron
Her head tilts slightly to what catches her attention. "What are these?" Emily cranes her neck forward, putting her question past the walls of his study and into the bathroom.
She hears a few taps of his razor on the sink before the water stops running. "What are what?" The question is mumbled into a towel as Spencer walks out towards her, wet hair slicked back.
"These." Emily holds the papers she's pulled out from a folder. "These reports." With the way he's written his name, she knows it's been a handful of years since he's taken a glance at them.
"Those are just…" Despite the lack of distance he squints his eyes, "papers. From my first year at university."
"You were like, what, twelve?"
"Uh, seventeen." She takes notice in the light clench his fist makes at the towel before throwing it over his shoulder, the wetness seeping onto the grey cotton. Before apology can escape her lips, she hears his ask innocence. "What was it like?"
"…What was what like?"
"Being seventeen." Just as judgment reaches her tongue, Spencer shifts, and the light that casts over him makes Emily see just how… old he's gotten. She sees the maturity swirling in his eyes, the wisdom darkened beneath them—she sees the years have weighed on him, the previous one especially, and to that she feels great fault in herself.
Emily takes a small breath, letting out the obsession of blame and focusing. She can't go there. "I don't know. Hectic, I guess." She looks into his eyes, and suddenly the maturity disappears, the hunger for experience replacing them. "That was the peak of my rebellion. I snuck out and did a lot of things my Mother told me not to do. I loved antagonizing her." Her lips curl as she imagines how many times her Mother must have dyed her hair within that year, certain it had been at least four.
"Why?" Her thoughts are too vivid and loud with remembrance to take notice of his tone. She shrugs her shoulders with exaggeration, her mind coming to a blank. "She was my Mom. I was seventeen and—" Emily stops.
He's still; more so than the air in Hotch's office, and though she's used to the silence, the one she now hears deafens her.
His eyes are staring straight into hers. His jaw is subtly clenched. His lips are closed, but not sealed. His brows refuse to give into the height of his emotions. He's blocked himself from her, the coals of his eyes guarded with thick glass.
This isn't like Spencer. Emily traces back her words, going over each one in the hopes of finding what exactly it was she said that made him so cold. But she can't, because what she sees before her distracts her from delving so deep into her thoughts. The anger on his face forces her to put her walls back up in fear. "If I said something to—"
"You did."
She stares at him for moments uncounted, failing to read his thoughts and refusing to show the frustration that begins to stain her. Emily considers apologizing, and though she doesn't know what for, it could be less dangerous than treading angry waters. But she doesn't. She knows it's the easy way out—a step taken back. She doesn't want to move back but can't move forward. Stuck is what she is, until he blinks, and his lips move, the one word bringing Emily utter confusion.
"Storge." Her eyes articulate the uncertainty she's filled with, causing him to continue. "Greek, for a love that blossoms from friendship." He stuffs his hands into his pockets with force, beginning to rock back and forth. Emily's noted many times that he does this out of nervousness but his voice emits nothing of the sorts, betraying her past judgement. "Pragma," He continues. "A love controlled by the mind and not the heart."
She knows where he's going, what he's implying. Emily lolls her head to the other side, making sure not to narrow her eyes. She knows he would mistaken the gesture for annoyance if she did so, the purpose of it simply due to the pain in her neck. It doesn't work. He reads her action wrong and continues to bat off words in the foreign language, explaining the kind of love they embody. The frustration begins to fade as she begins to see his pain, evident in his words and features.
"Which one is it, Emily?" He pulls her from his thoughts. "Which love do you have for me, because the one you had for your Mom was clearly not a good one."
"I may not have been an angel to my Mother but the regardless the amount of times I've hurt her, I loved and continue to love her." Her voice is louder than she expects, with much more emotion than she intends.
"Then why did you hurt her?" She can see the shape of his knuckles through the fabric of his pants, and their prominence makes Emily realize just how much fear he's holding on to. "Why does everybody do that?" His voice breaks and his failed attempt to cover it only makes her heart clench more.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Spencer." She's soft with her words, seeing the invisible wounds that cover him.
He takes a step back, shaking his head at the floor. "You already have, twice. How can I—" He takes a small breath before continuing. "How can I know you won't do it again?"
The split silence she allows the air to be filled with worsens it, and the uncertainty she emits in her stance worsens it, more, if that was at all possible. Before she can string together a sentence he crosses the room and takes a hold of his jacket, with seemingly no intention to look back.
Spencer takes quick, long steps forward, coming to an abrupt stop at her words. "They're not me." The three words cause no relief, the desperation in the air blown away by his bluntness.
"They won't hurt me."
Emily quietly takes a step forward and tries to blink away the emotion that begs to be let out. "Spencer.."
"I'll leave first." He says, his voice weaker.
"Spencer." Her tone asks for him to turn around, but he doesn't. It only makes the grip on his coat loosen, and Emily takes advantage. She places her hand on the coat; close, so he can feel the heat of her touch, but not as close where fire meets ice. She pries the coat from his reluctant grip, feeling the circular shape of thin protection in the side pockets. It makes her stomach drop at his preparedness—at the trap he's unknowingly created for himself to fall back. Emily sets his coat aside, and she circles him until her face meets his.
"Aletheia."
His brows knit from the foreign response.
"True." She takes a step forward at her translation. "Efthrafstos." One hand hesitantly rests on his chest while the other on his shoulder, and his eyes flick with a familiarity at the contact. Emily feels the surprising relief and continues. "Fragile." The hands trail down to his pocket, reaching in to grab his left hand, and she opens it, slowly. "Apeiron." Her finger traces the dark symbol inked onto his palm. "Infinite."
His eyes, that so often pain her to look in, give her a courage she did not possess, the stare so lost and torn that it nearly causes her to pull away. "I can't lie to you, Spencer; you'll need more than I can give. But if you let me in, I'll try. I'll try to give you more." She doesn't know exactly how two lives filled with misery can ever turn so joyful, but she hopes.
"That doesn't make—"
"Two negatives make a positive."She tries to relate the complexity of love to what Spencer understands—math. "That doesn't make much sense either, but people do it anyways. People love because they—"
"Actually," He interjects. Not as cheerfully as he does when he corrects Derek, but with a slight hint of amusement. "Every number has an additive inverse allied to it. It's like an opposite number, and when you add that to the…" Spencer begins slowly, each word allowing him to grow in confidence, yet they begin to sound faint in Emily's ears. Her eyes begin to focus on his eyes, the slight squint and comfort in them captivating her. For him to be drawn out of the intensity of a conversation like this should annoy her. In fact, one would feel immediate disrespect to his change of subject, but Emily feels neither.
She feels… joy.
She feels a bubble in her chest pop at the wonder that Spencer is, the genuine fascination spreading across her lips and reaching her eyes. Emily blinks, and she hears his voice nearing again. "…It wouldn't really make sense to say our situation is comparable with the positive product of negative numbers. It's like using the term—" He stops talking, noticing the distance closing in between them, though he does nothing to stop it, nor anything to agree with it. "For someone so grounded, you leave your body quite often." It's tinted with an emotion she knows he's uncomfortable with, but it doesn't make her stop. Her focus shifts from his lips to his eyes, and with closer observation Emily becomes aware of the worry lightly lining his face. She sees Spencer trying to hide his concern, and she knows that if she calls him out on it, he'll close up what took him so long to open. So she doesn't.
"Emily?" His tone makes her stop—she stops thinking, stops moving, stops breathing. The way his brows knit makes her stomach knot in uncomfortable ways, seeing the heavy pain they line with. "I'm ready. I need you to know that, and I need to know if you are. Because if you aren't… I'll—"
"You'll wait, I know." She comes off with a bitter tone, frustrated almost, though at the core she feels nothing but undeserving. "I know you'll wait, Spencer, but you can't wait forever. You'll get tired. Of guessing, of waiting, of creating what I can't make for you." She sighs down between the closed spaces of their chests, unwilling to look up. "I've never been in a serious relationship. Lauren has and other people I've become have, but me?" She lays a finger onto her chest. The way it beats—the fast pace it runs for Spencer—makes her pull away, ashamed to let him know just how much her heart swells for him. "I hurt my Mother because she loved me. And I kept hurting her because I knew she would always be there, I knew she'd always be behind me… Then I was fifteen, and the things I did," She swallows at her mistakes, trying to keep down the guilt of her past. Emily looks down once again, the change in her focus so visible to Spencer that he pulls away and grips both hands at her waist, thumbs brushing over the flat area, knowing it once held something so precious to her. "I remember turning around and finding no one." She looks up, the corners of her lips in a deep frown. "I killed what would have been my child, but you have to understand, Spencer…" He moves closer to hush her, to make her know that she doesn't need to explain her actions.
"No, Spencer, please listen." Her words shock him. Her persistence to explain herself keeps him close, but a little wounded. "I need you to listen. I need you to know this part of me." With a nod, Emily continues. "I let them go because I know I wouldn't be able to give the love they needed. And I know that there are a million other people out there who would have loved to adopt my child, but I was scared. What if they were caught in the middle like Declan? The world wasn't—the world isn't a safe place, Spencer. You can give as much love as you have and you can still get hurt. You can still suffer, you can get punished for the mistakes others have made. You, out of all people, would know that. I love you, Spencer." Her mouth opens to let something else escape, but afraid for it to be a sob, she closes it, knowing her eyes articulate enough of her seriousness. "I love you and I am so afraid to love you. I have never been willing to give anyone everything I possess. If you leave…I'll have nothing. I'll be nothing."
The silence between them creates stillness in their bodies. Spencer is still looking down, hands gripped at her waist. Emily can only see the shadows of his features and she begins to worry. She knows he's said it all, that he's laid it all down for her. Even through the letters, the tattoo, the constant reminder of him never leaving, doubt still clouds her decision. It wasn't so much a problem of his but of hers, and Emily's afraid of the conclusion he'll make; he is enough. Emily is not.
Then his head snaps back up and he speaks, voice meek in comparison to the posture he displays. "Quid pro quo." He says it with certainty, though she knows by his voice she's damaged some part of him.
"Something for something?" She translates the phrase.
Spencer nods, lips bunching with one shoulder rising. "My heart for yours." He pulls out his left hand and opens it. Emily takes it and places it on her scar, over her chest and over the love she fears to feel. She nods, agreeing at his trade and faces his palms up, kissing at the symbol of his care. She fills the loose grip with her hand, holding onto his tightly, and what he begins to do surprise her.
He moves closer, moves lower—his neck cranes down and when his lips don't meet hers, she becomes stunned at the warmth suddenly making its way up from her chest. Spencer kisses her scar, lips covering the entirety of the clover, and for a moment Emily feels nothing. She feels unflawed, like he's taken the imperfections away from her. His lips move their way up to her collarbone, her neck, the lining of her jaw, and before she knows it he's hovering over her lips. "My heart for yours." She repeats, her words hardly making their way out as he places his lips over hers.
Deafened by the loud thumps in their ears and blinded by the visions of one another they hardly hear the door open, only when it closes do they realize they aren't alone.
To Be Continued
It has been months, I am aware. With Graduation, Prom and my one month vacation back to my home country, this chapter only landed with me now. It is longer than the other chapters. It needed the detail, the internal conflict and (just) hopefully it made up for the three month's absence. There are so many ways to tell someone they love you, and this just happened to be one I thought would fit. Hopefully it was plausible in regards to Emily and Spencer and the way they handle situations. It's great to be back, and I hope you guys like it? :)
