It was hard for her not to touch him. It was the upmost simple human desire, she thought, to be touched-to be wanted by someone. And Alma was unsure at that moment if anybody had ever had that desire for her. She was sitting a mere few inches away from Spencer wondering what complicated thoughts were running through his head. She theorized that his thoughts would be so fast, so quick and complicated, that even Spencer himself must have trouble distinguishing one from another. Alma would be surprised to know just how linear and logical Spencer's mind really was: not unlike that of a computer, but a super one.

Instead of dwelling on his thought patterns, Alma found herself praying he would just move a little closer, maybe even tell her what he was thinking without her having to ask. It was stupid, she knew, to be upset that his arm wasn't around her or that he hadn't moved to hold her hand. But he sat like he was made of marble instead of flesh, hardly even glancing over at her, not giving her any sign in the world.

At least, not a sign clear enough for Alma, who required a sign in large flashing neon letters to know for sure.

Despite Spencer's slight stiffness, they had fallen into a comfortable routine watching the play from their respective seats on the blanket and interrupting every few minutes when one of them would think of a question worth asking the other. Inevitably Spencer would break away from his intense staring of the stage to look at her, and Alma would soak up every second while she could.

But Alma was thankful when intermission rolled around. As much as she liked her position on the blanket it was beginning to make her mussels sore. Attempting to be graceful, Alma stood up from where she had been laying, slightly arched her back and made a poor attempt to smooth out her hair.

She had completely forgotten there would be music until she heard the warmth of violin strings. And before she realized what she was doing, her hand was held out to Spencer.

"Get up," she instructed softly, and Spencer arched his eyebrow in response but made no move to accept her offer.

"Please," she pouted, "I'll look silly by myself."

"What are you doing by yourself?"

Alma reached over and pulled on his arm. They both knew that she couldn't really pull him, but she appreciated that he played into her having the strength to do so.

Before he knew it, his left hand was wrapped loosely around her waist and his fingers laced too tightly around her hand. She took a step towards him, causing Spencer to reflexively step back, and that is how it started.

"W-what are you doing."

Alma shook her head, her hair fluttering around her face as she laughed, "no, what are we doing."

"Dancing?"

"See, doc, I knew you'd catch on quick."

"Isn't, uhm, the guy supposed to lead?"

"Do you know what you're doing?" She asked smartly.

"Not at all."

Alma smiled as the music picked up tempo, "Then let me show you."

They fell into a rhythm of sorts, Alma still mostly leading although Spencer was a surprisingly quick study. As the song progressed, his hand went from barely ghosting over her lower back to resting comfortably, although his knuckles were still white from his death grip on Alma's hand, who was politely pretending she didn't notice.

"I recognize this song from somewhere."

"Tchaikovsky."

"Ah, of course you know that! And here I was about to say Sleeping Beauty like an idiot."

"I'm not familiar," Spencer mumbled.

"You've never seen Sleeping Beauty?"

"Well, I've never seen it but-"

"We're going to have to change that," she said, shaking her head with mock disappointment. "Oh-I got it! It's the song she sings in the forest when she meets Prince Philip and the horse-"

"There's a horse?"

"It's a fairy tale, of course there's a horse."

"Right, of course," Spencer said with a smile. Alma took a large step back, causing Spencer to extend his hand out so that Alma could spin. And as she did, her ankle dipped just a little too low in the grass and Reid had to pull her towards himself and grab her elbow to stop her from falling.

"See, you're good at this!"

Spencer shook his head, "pulling you up? I've had practice."

"It was one time!" She laughed, releasing her grip on his hand to playfully hit him on the shoulder.

It occurred to Alma, only many hours far too late, that the purpose of intermission was more about visiting those brightly colored food trucks across the park as opposed to forcing your date to dance with you. As she walked, Alma held her arms crossed tightly against her torso, both hoping to save her body heat in this crisp air and stop her stomach from growling.

"It was once."

"At least three times."

"three seems dramatic," Alma giggled, "and if anything I stumbled I did not fall, it's not exactly easy to waltz on grass I'll have you know…Oh, this is it," Alma said, awkwardly pointing towards her car and plucking her key ring out of her bag.

"Yeah," Reid said, "this is it."

"I had a really good time tonight, Spencer," Alma said, turning to look him in the eyes.

Spencer wanted to say something clever about how she had called him "Spencer" instead of "doc", but he found his breath caught in his throat when he noticed her smiling under the streetlight. This really was it, Spencer thought, and again he wasn't sure what to do next.

"So did I," he said, no more than a whisper.

Alma smiled up at him as he said it, and that's when Spencer really knew he was done for. I want to kiss her, he realized in a panic, but he felt like his legs were cemented into the sidewalk. His joins turned to stone, even all of the proteins that made him and all those millions and millions of cells stopped the moment he realized he wanted to kiss her.

"Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight," he said, giving her an awkward nod and turning to walk away when he heard the beeping of her car door unlocking.

He didn't even make it around the corner before his phone began to ring.

"Hello," Spencer answered, hoping his tone showed both his humor and his confusion clearly to the woman at the other end of the line.

"Hi, I was wondering… what's your favorite color?"

"Green."

"Really? I took you more as a blue kind of guy."

Not after tonight, he thought. It was the color or the dress she wore, and also of her eyes, and the grass they had just laid in. It didn't take more than that to convince Spencer.

"Your turn."

Spencer was still staring at her from across the street.

"What's your favorite smell?"

"Smell?" She laughed, watching Spencer nod back in the dark.

"hmm…vanilla. Or maybe something floral, but not roses."

"I'm surprised you didn't say coffee."

"Ah, had to surprise you somehow."

"Your turn."

"Are you hungry?"

It was hard to see her in the darkened sky, but he could make out her form leaning against her driver's side door, key ring still loosely around her finger. He swore she looked nervous biting her lip like that.

"Starving," he said, and he began walking back towards her.

They walked until they stumbled across, or rather into, a place to eat. This was equally because Alma did not know the area and the fact that Spencer had almost solely eaten take-out the entire time he lived in D.C. Spencer had never made so many decisions without planning. He had never gone to a restaurant solely because it had purple backlighting or a tile mosaic wall, but one minute he was walking and the next the tiny girl next to him was pulling him through the door.

Alma thought the place was just cozy and warm enough to be inviting, with enough tiles on the wall to analyze if her nerves got the best of her. Unfortunately, she did not know how to pronounce a majority of the menu.

"What's that one?" she asked, leaning over to point at Spencer's menu.

"Bibimbap? It's a Korean rice dish. They're all a little different but it can have kimchi-"

"kim-what?"

"Kimchi," Spencer laughed, "It's fermented vegetables, well cabbage. Actually, it's specifically fermentation of the bacteria-"

"fermented, right right, like wine."

"uhm…well yes."

Good, Alma thought, fermented like wine, can't go wrong with that.

"Tell me more, please, about the fermented vegetables." Alma requested, leaning back in her chair to make herself more comfortable.

Spencer was having a hard time figuring out if she was serious.

She was.

"You never told me how you learned to dance like that."

"Would you believe me if I told you I was naturally gifted?"

"I-"

Spencer was interrupted by a snort.

"Kidding, I took classes when I was younger. I wasn't really into the partner stuff, but I competed for ballet."

"Do you still?"

"No, honestly before tonight I hadn't danced in years."

"Why not?"

Alma broke their eye contact, instead choosing to glance intently at the cement under her feet and focus on the sound her shoes made against it.

"I always thought ballerinas were so beautiful, and then you'd see those photographs of the dancer's feet under their pointe shoes and how horrible and painful they looked…"

"Juxtaposition"

"Yes," she laughed, "I loved it I really did, still do. But somethings are more important. And it turns out I'm not great at those things called "setting limits" and "self-control."

Spencer didn't respond, instead looking at the girl next to him with more questions than answers. Alma took the silence as a sign to elaborate.

"I danced until my feet bled. I got hairline fractures and refused x-rays because I hate hospitals. I pulled countless muscles…I guess I just wanted to push myself to the limit to see if I could do it, to prove I could do it. And when I was on stage I felt…"

Alma had trailed off. She was a talker, always had been according to her dad, but for that experience she just couldn't seem to find the words.

"So why did you stop?"

Alma and Spencer came to a stop on the sidewalk.

"Some things are more important," she repeated, sadness encompassing her face only for a brief moment. "That counts as a question, my turn then."

"I didn't realize we were playing."

"I am always playing, you shouldn't let your guard down so easily," she joked, bumping into him with her shoulder in jest. "Now I know with your memory you probably have every single play memorized, but if you had to pick one Shakespeare quote what would it be?"

"My favorite?"

"Yep, only one."

Contrary to Alma's opinion Spencer's thought process was in fact very analytical. And she was right in a way about him memorizing every Shakespeare play he had read. The problem was that he had no emotion or significance attached to what he memorized. He had never put any thought into what he liked the most, he just absorbed it all.

"I…can I think about it?"

Alma scoffed, "So this is the question that stumped the great Spencer Reid?"

"In my defense, it's hard to pick a favorite when I have so many to choose from."

"Sure," she giggled, "but I will be expecting that answer one day."

"What's yours?"

"Don't know, not all of us have them memorized unfortunately."

"So then you owe me an answer too."

Alma smiled, "Yes, I guess I do."

Spencer wanted to respond but was interrupted by the beeping of Alma unlocking her door.

"Thank you, for tonight…the play and dinner and just…everything," Alma said shyly, reaching out to take his hand.

"It was my pleasure," he said, giving her hand a small squeeze. "Drive safe."

Alma smiled, nodded her head because she just couldn't seem to get the words out. Spencer dropped her hand to open her car door for her, and then took a step back from her. Alma's chest deflated in disappointment. She tried not to let it show on her face, instead smiling brightly at Spencer and mumbling her thanks.

Spencer closed the door and she noticed he took a few steps back, presumably to observe her drive away.

It wasn't quite what she had pictured, but Alma figured she could make do from her driver's seat.

"Spencer?" she called, rolled down her window and beckoning him with her hand.

He arched his eyebrow in confusion, a habit that Alma had noticed quickly after spending the evening with him.

"Do you have another question?" He asked teasingly, taking a step forward towards her car. He kept his eyes strictly trained on hers and tried not to stare anywhere else: not the goosebumps forming on her collar bone from the cool night air and not the harsh lights from the street reflecting off the gold chain on her necklace. And not her lips, he certainly could not bring himself to let his eyes flicker there because he might not be able to pull himself away.

"No," she said, "an answer," effectively snapping Spencer out of his thoughts and back into the present moment.

Alma made him lean in, his head nearly inside her car while she craned her neck to get closer to his ear.

"When he shall die," she whispered slowly, "take him and cut him out into stars and he shall make the face of heaven so fine…" Alma tilted his head just slightly so that her lips felt the warmth of his skin at the corner of his jaw above his neck before leaning into the press her lips to his cheek.

"that all the world will be in love with night."