XxXxX

Chapter Thirteen: Serious

XxXxX

She expected that night to be dull and lonely, but then Spencer showed up, and everything changed.

He wasn't able to stay long after the kiss. They both had work early the next morning, and frankly, Emily didn't trust herself enough to let him stay the night. So it was after three smaller kisses and a few awkward words ("You were okay with that, right?" "Of course I was, don't be silly. More than okay." "Oh, good."), they parted ways. She called a cab for him and watched him drive away, rubbing her arms against the cool breeze. He came as a friend and co-worker and left as a—

A what, exactly? A boyfriend? A secret lover?

She'd have to take that up with him in the morning. For now she turned and headed inside, as soon as his cab was out of sight. It felt strange to watch him go –and as corny as it sounded, it felt like some small part of her –the part that usually kept its ears perked for noises in alleyways, perhaps—went with him.

Inside, she turned off all the lights on her first floor, then trekked up the stairs, changed into her flannel pyjama pants and a t-shirt, and slipped into bed. The bedside lamp went off with a click, but her eyes refused to close. She ended up lying on her back, one hand curled behind her pillow, the other resting on her chest, staring up into her ceiling. She knew she must sleep, but she couldn't help but entertain the fantasies and wonderings that slithered into her mind.

She'd kissed Spencer. More importantly, Spencer had kissed her first—

(and looked up at her in just the right way, eyes filled with a bright longing she'd never seen before)

-which meant that her feelings were not as unrequited as she'd originally assumed, standing outside of Hughes house, holding his hand and thinking she was doomed. It would be so typical, and so REID, if she'd spent the rest of their working relationship yearning for him, and he might have never noticed. Might have always had his thoughts lost in theory and facts and statistics, as far away and untouchable as a star.

She thought he was untouchable. So standing there with him, feeling for the first time the depth of her feelings, she decided she would ignore them. Try to stamp them out. Smother them with workplace appropriate gestures and mannerisms. Had she been left to continue, it might have even worked.

Except Spencer wasn't quite so untouchable she'd thought. He'd felt, and he'd noticed, and he was the one who kissed her. It was even a pretty good kiss, once she took charge anyway -she would never tell him so, but he'd had no idea what he was doing. Looked like Morgan's whispers about his inexperience weren't just macho teasing.

Still though, it was good. Physical sensation aside, it felt good to have his lips on hers. To have that in real life, firm as flesh, rather than simply floating in the back of her head was satisfying enough to become its own fantasy…if recollection could be called fantasy…

It was with these thoughts, lingering on the feel of his thin frame beneath her, that she fell asleep.

XxXxX

The next morning was another paperwork day. There were pros and cons to this, in Emily's eyes. The con was that she would have to sit next to the man she'd kissed (okay, made out with, if she was going to be honest) all day, without alerting the FBI to their, erm, situation. Considering her floor was the floor with all the profilers on it, this could very well turn out to be a challenge. She remembered Rossi's teasing comments about Spencer's butt, and wondered if the rest of the team was silently thinking the same.

She thought of Hotch and winced. What with all the rest of the bullshit going on in the BAU right now, the last thing she wanted to do was add a pair of frolicking lovers to his problems. His job would be to report them if he knew, but she knew he would hate to do it. She also knew he'd withheld information from the higher-ups before. She didn't know if he could afford to do it again.

So, that was the con. A rather large con, come to think of it. But there was still the pro. Laughably small in comparison, but it was there. It almost made her laugh:

At least they didn't have a case. A case would mean working directly with each other, in front of the rest of the team in full-blown behaviour analysis mode. They'd be like hens in a shooting gallery.

So there was that.

Unfortunately, a second con was added as soon as she stepped out of the elevator; less than twelve feet ahead of her, Gideon and Strauss were standing together. To her horror, she realized Strauss was smiling, which was something she regularly associated with suffering and kicked puppies, but at this particular moment she was smiling like she had just finished laughing.

The concept was so alien that it took her a few moments to realize that the pair of them were locked in casual conversation.

Creepy.

And just a bad sign all around; Strauss may have grudgingly admitted that Spencer wasn't useless, but she wasn't exactly adding him to her Christmas-shopping list. Their boss may pretend like she was objective in the workplace, but Emily knew better; anyone who saw her dealings with the head of the other team, Sam Cooper, was aware that being in her good-books was key to surviving in the BAU. Spencer –and Hotch's team in general—was so far out of Strauss's good books they could hardly be mentioned on the same breath.

Gideon was smiling too –they way he used to when he won chess, or when he was remembering a case with particular fondness. Not the same way as when he was watching Charlie Chaplin. That made her feel a bit better.

'I can't wait until he's gone,' she thought, and it surprised her. She'd never really held any ill-will against Gideon. Hell, she'd even defended him after he'd left, to Spencer of all people. But now that he was back…

No, it wasn't just that he was back. It was that he was here, trying to take Spencer away from the team.

"Nothing personal, just business," she muttered in Italian. Rossi, if he'd been there, would have laughed.

Turning her back on the unlikely duo, she made her way to her desk. Spencer was already there, and her heart jumped at the sight of him. It was as if she'd forgotten what he'd looked like in the few hours they'd been apart. How strange—and yet how all the more pleasing to be seeing him again.

Morgan was here too, and she noticed neither of them was typing. She got closer and discovered –oh, and wasn't this predictable—that Morgan was having too much fun pestering his junior agent to work.

While she was watching the laughing man, he caught her eye and grinned, beckoning her over, "Emily!" he said. "Help a man out!"

"What's the problem?"

"Pretty boy has a secret!" She looked at Spencer. He was blinking rapidly, eyes darting over his desk, trying to pick something to concentrate on to better ignore his attacker. Then he saw her. He looked sheepish; apparently he'd tried to play it cool, and failed.

If this was any indication of how hard keeping this thing quiet was going to be, they were doomed.

"C'mon, let me know, is it a girl?" he was having way too much fun. "Grown boys don't just run off in the middle of the night for nothin'."

"Well, Derek," she said. Spencer looked up at her, surprised at her teasing tone. "Perhaps, Reid just doesn't want to kiss and tell. SOME men are gentlemen, you know."

"Yeah, I think I've heard something about that," he said. "Not any guy you've ever dated though right?"

It worked. The banter was now strictly between the two of them, a back and forth insulting the other's love lives. She shared a quick glance with Spencer, who could now afford to be silent. He mouthed 'thank you' and then turned to his screen at last. Allowing herself only a flicker of pride, her and Morgan kept up the assault until Hotch came out of his office to scowl at them, and then they were silent.

XxXxX

"Um, I have some questions," Reid said, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Jesus, don't sneak up on me like that!"

He rocked on his heels, hand stuffed in his pockets and looking around him for potential eavesdroppers. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Just trying to be…discreet, I guess."

She had to admit it was a good call. The little corner designated for coffee brewing and such was far enough away from the general work area for a private conversation, but it was far from private.

"Okay, get yourself a drink while you talk, then it'll look like we're just chatting."

He nodded, and came to stand beside her where she was waiting for the coffee to be done.

"So what's your question?"

"How serious are we?"

If this had been a cartoon, her jaw would have hit the floor, or her head would have exploded, or any other ridiculous visual metaphor signifying extreme shock. As it was she just stood there, stunned into silence.

He continued before she had any chance to recover: "I'm really sorry if that's a stupid question but…well, I've never had anything like…Morgan made me think of it, actually…"

Uh oh.

"How did Morgan…?"

"Well up until just recently he had a different girl every time I saw him." He said it all in one breath, like he wanted to get this over with quickly. "And he always acted like it was normal. He told me he wasn't 'ready to be serious.' I've heard that phrase elsewhere, but I never knew how people figured out if they were going to be serious or not. Like, do you talk about it or…?"

"Generally you talk about it, yes."

"Oh, good." He had a little smile for a second, pleased he did something right. "I'm glad, actually. It's easier to talk about things than to try and guess just from your actions."

"Coming from a profiler, that says a lot," she said.

He frowned, "It's not the same. A serial killer and a normal person will have two very different sets of behaviour, but both casual partners and married couples kiss and have sex. Maybe there is a difference, but I don't know what it is." Frustration tinted his words, and she wondered how long he'd been trying to figure this out. How many times had he replayed their kiss in his head, looking for signs of commitment or dismissal?

"But you know there are emotional differences, right?"

"Obviously," he said. "That's why I want to know. Um," and all at once the analytical Dr. Reid was gone, replaced with shy and inexperienced Spencer once again. "I'm hoping you say this is serious, actually. Really hoping."

All it took was quick, cursory look back to confirm that this was the very first time she'd ever heard a man say that. It was bizarre enough that he would come asking in the first place, never mind just throwing all his cards on the table for her to see. Was anything about this relationship going to be normal?

Her bets were on no. And given the kind of weird that Reid tended to produce, she didn't suppose she especially minded.

In any case, her answer was obvious. She'd known it even before he'd asked.

"It is," she said, and reached to give his hand a tiny squeeze, then releasing it again. Next to her, she felt his body give a funny limp shake, as if a huge amount of tension had finally been let go. How nervous he must have been –how afraid that she was going to send him away with a laugh. Or worse.

"Thank you," he said. She wanted to kiss him, but couldn't. That was going to be the story of her life now, she supposed.

The coffee was done. They both took their mugs and went back to their desks, just co-workers to all around them, but now officially a couple, even if only to themselves.

XxXxX

Hotch stopped by the side of her desk. "Could you do me a favour?" he asked.

She looked up at him. In his hand was a file with about two dozen forms in it, all filled out and signed by him. The papers weren't interesting, though. What caught her attention was the very low tone of his voice, probably the closest thing to a whisper her normally straight-forward leader could manage.

"Sure," she said. "What's up?"

He glanced over her head –directly at Spencer, and against reason her stomach dropped. Did he know already? In a relationship for less than three hours and she was already being called out on it?

It turned out, no. In that same low voice: "Could you take these to Jason, please? I would do it myself, but I have someone on hold, and his office is a bit out of the way—."

Ah. Now she understood.

"Yeah, no problem." She stood up to take the file off his hands.

"Do you know where it is?"

"Yeah."

Though she hadn't actually been there, not since Gideon moved in anyway. She wondered what would be changed. Would he have photos of the victims he'd met, the ones he'd 'saved' already set up, the way any other man would set up trophies? A film reel, with the image of a frolicking Charlie Chaplin on the wall?

Hotch was already gone, speed-walking back to his office –must be someone important on hold. Before she left, she spared a glance at Spencer. He hadn't heard a thing; he was in that bent over, mouth open phase of concentration. Last she heard he was already done his actual work, and was now proofreading an extra credit essay for his weekend class. 'Makes you wonder how much time he'll actually have for me,' she mused, and then set off.

Gideon's office WAS out of the way, much further from the bullpen then would usually be allowed, given the fast-pace of their work. But exceptions were made for him, it seemed. The fact that he even had an office was evidence enough of that. Not that it was a particularly nice one. If she remembered correctly, it was on the small side, with no windows and no extra room for film reels.

He was sitting behind his desk when she got to him, looking over the rims of his reading glasses down at a notepad –he was still one of the few agents who preferred pen and paper over computers. He wasn't smiling now. A shallow frown that seemed more sad than frustrated tainted his usual impassiveness. She knocked on the doorframe, alerting him to her presence, and he looked up with the same air Ebenezer Scrooge must have looked up at his cheerful nephew.

"Can I help you?" he said, as if they had never worked together or slept on the same jet or played cards and chess. It amazed her that such confident warmth and such alienating coldness could come from the same person; she was heavily reminded of the day she first worked with him, back when even speaking fluent Arabic didn't make her useful in his eyes.

"Hotch told me to give these to you," she said, and stepped into his office, offering the file. He took it.

"Thank you," he said.

"No problem." To her surprise, the office was almost entirely barren. There wasn't even another chair besides the one he was sitting in; perhaps he didn't want visitors? Or maybe he simply didn't expect them. What surprised her most, however, was the lack of wall fixtures. No degrees or diplomas, and not a single photograph. Curious.

She was just turning to go –no point wasting words trying to be friendly to someone who didn't even have an extra chair—when he spoke again.

"Prentiss, stay a moment. I'd like a word."

'If this keeps up I'll be all out of words by the end of the day,' she thought bizarrely. As if anyone could run out of words. Aloud, she said, "Um, okay." An extra sweep of the room unearthed nowhere to sit. Was she expected to stand?

If Gideon had any idea how awkward it was to stand in his doorway and talk to him, he didn't show it. Instead he leaned back in his own chair, removing his glasses and twirling them in his fingers, watching the way the light reflected off the lenses. She stood, waiting patiently for him to say something. For the longest time he was silent, deliberating on something…who knew what.

"Look-." She began.

"About Spencer," he said, shutting her up at once. "You and him are good friends?"

'Oh, you have no idea.'

"We are."

"I see," he said. "Then I suppose he's told you about my recent living arrangements."

It was phrased as a statement, but she didn't like the feel of the silence. "He told me that you came to stay with him for awhile, yes."

"You two spent a lot of time together while I was there."

She nodded, wondering where he was going with this.

"I suppose I may as well be honest with you, despite the fact that we never knew each other all that well. Spencer and I did not part on good terms. In fact," The sadness in him returned, and he was no longer looking at her but at something beyond her. "I'd say we parted on very bad terms. But I want him to know –and I'm telling you because you are his friend—that I hope we can put that behind us."

"So," she said. "What you're saying is you'd like to be his friend as well?"

"I'd like to be his friend again, yes. Once he's gotten over his shock."

"But what about this whole thing that's going on right now?" She realized her voice was getting a little louder and little firmer than usual, threatening to turn from casual conversation into a shout. Luckily, Gideon seemed unruffled. "Aren't you trying to take his JOB away?"

He sighed the sigh of deep regret, the way one might over something unfortunate but unavoidable. Then he put his glasses back on and went back to his notepad. "That was Strauss's idea, not mine."

"But you're going along with it."

"Yes, I am. A young man like him has too much potential, too much to lose here."

"You mean here saving lives?"

"Here in darkness," he said, so soft she almost didn't hear it.

She was dumbfounded.

After a few moments of pregnant silence, he nodded at the door and muttered, "That's all."

"Sir," she said without thinking, and was out the door. Thoughts of Gideon and darkness and Spencer followed.

XxXxX

The day was beginning to wind down. That first confusing, dramatic, (and sometimes, yes, torturous day –having to sit so near him without touching or speaking too fondly was almost as bad as being nowhere near him at all) day. Garcia gave them all a hearty farewell, leaving the office in her best leather jacket and sparkly yellow pumps –apparently her and Kevin had a date tonight—and Rossi soon followed, giving her a small wink as he passed. JJ and Hotch were still hidden away in their respective offices, and would be until long after the rest of them were gone. Morgan was only just now starting to pack up his things.

"What, nothing planned for tonight?" she asked, noting the bags under his eyes and unusual silence.

"Not tonight," he said. "JJ's been pacing her office, which usually means we have a case tomorrow. I'm going to bed."

"In which house?"

"Haha," he said. "Night, y'all."

Emily and Spencer both wished him goodnight, and watched him leave. As soon as he was gone, Spencer turned to her.

"In about fifteen minutes, do you want to go together?" he asked.

"Together?"

"Yeah, I was kind of thinking…" he swung around in his chair a bit. Then said with his lips barely moving, only for her to hear: "That the, uh, parking lot will probably be empty in fifteen minutes."

She liked the sound of that.

"Did you know you're a genius?"

He shrugged, looking embarrassed.

The fifteen minutes that followed were some of the longest she'd experienced in recent memory, but they passed. Without a glance in each other's direction they rose almost in unison, gathering up their things and swinging on their jackets. It felt conspicuous and awkward, like a play put on by pre-schoolers. As far as she could tell though, no one noticed.

"Going home?" she asked in the breeziest tone she could manage.

"Yes, I'm beat." His acting was cringe-worthy. No wonder he was never allowed to play Good Cop, Bad Cop.

They went through the motions to the elevator, through the first floor, and then out the door. Without stopping she murmured; "Shit, security cameras."

"Oh! I thought of that!" he said. "I mapped out a blind spot this morning before I came in. It's this way."

Feeling like she was the bad guy in a Hollywood spy flick, she allowed herself to be led to weak point in the FBI's security, trying to contain a fit of laughter. Of all the things she never imagined herself doing, avoiding the Feds for a goodnight kiss was very, very high on the list.

After awhile he stopped, "I think this is it here."

"You sure? We wouldn't want to give our enemies any blackmail fodder."

It was meant as a joke, but Reid seemed alarmed at the idea. He scanned the building, eyes stopping at points where he knew cameras were planted, counting out the degrees of the angles under his breath.

"Yes, this is it," he said. "If we were to move about two feet north we would be in the visual overlap of those two cameras-." He pointed at things she couldn't see. "But as it is we're totally invisible."

"Huh," she said. "Hey, how come you never decided to become a criminal? Bet you'd be good at it."

"Lousy hours."

"I see," Then, moving closer to him she said: "So you're saying that nobody can see this right now?"

"I'm at least ninety-seven percent sure that no one can see this right now."

"Good enough for me."

Then she put her arms around his neck and raised her lips to his. With nothing to lean against his knees buckled, and his hands grasped at her awkwardly.

Still though. He was getting better.

XxXxX

A/N: I know, I should be shot for updating so late. *hangs head in shame*

But still, reviews make me wanna party like a rockstar! So please do. *smile*