"I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary." - Margaret Atwood, Variations on the Word Sleep
They played three games of chess. He won the first one, she won the rematch, and the third game ended in a draw after chasing each other mentally around the board for a good fifteen minutes. He had been loathe to leave her company, but that had seemed the logical time to do it. He was gathering his things when she casually mentioned that it was tea time and would he care to join her for a cup at her favorite local spot?
He had never been so happy at the prospect of drinking tea in his life.
The sun was hot on their heads, and the tea was growing cold in their cups, but they hardly noticed, so absorbed were they in their conversation. They would look odd to any passerby, a young man in rumpled clothes and mussed hair, face contorted in severe contemplation; and a young woman in athletic wear, leaning towards him with a challenging look on her face, sitting in comfortable wicker furniture outside a tiny unmarked building with a barely noticeable sign on the front door that read in handwritten calligraphy, Miss Muffin's Teapot.
"You can't decide, can you?" The young woman said smugly, in a tone that clearly conveyed she was not really asking.
"Hold on, just let me think!" He responded, agitated. But he glanced at her and his face shifted ever-so-slightly in the direction of resignation and her pretty face lit with triumph. She began to laugh even before he threw his hands in the air. "Alright, you win! I do not - at this time - know what my favorite book is."
As she tried to shield her laughter by demurely lifting her tea cup and sipping from it with a smile and twinkling eyes, he added indignantly, "But let the record reflect that I was under duress! And I'm sure that with more time and the process of elimination, I could pick one."
"Duly noted." She smirked. "Well, whenever it comes to you, feel free to let me know." Her playful words were obvious in their disbelief that he could successfully complete that task.
"I will!" He said automatically, before picking up his own almost-full cup of tea and sipping reluctantly. He barely hid his mouth twisting in distaste.
Hers twisted in amusement. "Spencer, you know it's perfectly acceptable to add milk and sugar to your tea. In fact, it's practically cultural where I'm from."
His face turned pleased at her use of his name, but he shook his head. "It took me years to start drinking my coffee black, and I'm never going back. So I might as well start off drinking tea plain too."
"Do all FBI agents let their masochism seep into every detail of their lives, or are you just a special case?" She asked teasingly.
"Oh, I'm definitely the most hardcore of them all." Spencer said with a straight face, before they both cracked up at the obvious lie. When they finally calmed down, Spencer continued, "Okay, whose turn is it?"
"Yours."
He frowned. "No, it's not -"
"Yes, it is." She countered immediately. "And I know why you don't think I'm right, so let me walk you through it, doctor, I know you have trouble keeping up with me." She winked, and he only grinned. "You asked me what my favorite book was, and I said it was impossible for a bibliophile such as myself to choose. You called my alleged bluff, and so I challenged you with the same question, and the taste of your own proverbial medicine both counted as my question and the evidence that turned my hypothesis into theory." She paused for effect before continuing bluntly, "So, again, I am right. It is your turn."
Spencer rolled his eyes tolerantly. "Okay, okay, let me think." Then he smiled at her. "You are right though, it's not often I meet someone that I have to keep up with rather than the other way around."
She looked down into her tea and cleared her throat. "Do you have a question?" Spencer noticed her cheeks were slightly more flushed than normal and grinned.
"Yes I have one... who do you consider to be the best philosopher?"
She looked back up, flush faded, and arched an eyebrow. "You just want to avoid the word 'favorite'. And that is so vague! What kind of philosopher? British? American? Greek? Religious? Political? Scientific? Contemporary? Ancient?"
He shrugged. "All of the above." He blinked innocently at her disgruntled look.
"I know you're exacting revenge for my book question retaliation." She chastised him. "But I shall be magnanimous." She sipped her tea and hmm-ed as she deliberated. "I could say Plato or Socrates…"
"But you won't." Spencer said confidently. "That's far too facile for The Hermione Granger." She gave him a somewhat startled, suspicious look at that, murmuring 'the Hermione Granger, indeed' before shaking her head as if shaking off a memory and returning to her contemplation of philosophy. Spencer chose not to read into that much, he was enjoying their time together too much to spoil it with his morbid profiler's curiosity. There would be plenty of time later on to delve into their pasts.
Later. He liked the sound of that.
"Hannah Arendt." Hermione chirped suddenly with a decisive nod that made her falling ponytail bounce.
"'Men, not Man, live on the earth and inhabit the world.'" Spencer quoted automatically.
"A German-born Jewish philosopher that survived the Holocaust." Hermione added, not bothering to confirm his correct quotation. During the course of their conversation, the pair had made the delightful discovery that they did not often have to explain their thought processes to each other or filter their sporadic spouting of factoids.
"Why her?"
Hermione took a moment to gather the right words. "Well, despite the fact she lived during a time it was difficult to be any human, let alone a Jewish woman pursuing a career in the old boys' club of philosophy; her works dealt mainly with the concepts of power, tyranny, and human rights. I think that was very courageous of her despite the relevance of her time." She paused again, looking at him as if calculating if he was worthy to hear the next part. At last, she said softly, "I find her very relatable."
It was a simplistic, vague statement, but Spencer knew that she had just revealed something very important about her life. But before he could attempt to profile her, she fired off, "What's your favorite color?"
He blinked. "Really?"
She smiled and shrugged. "I want to know you." She said simply.
Spencer felt the warmth that had been radiating in the vicinity of his chest briefly intensify. "Blue."
She smiled secretively. "I like red and gold." She paused. "But I've always had a fondness for purple shades as well."
Spencer privately thought that lilac would look especially lovely on her. He cleared his throat to dispel the distracting thought. "Favorite… music?" He finished lamely.
She gave a him a look at the superficial question but smiled and answered, "I didn't listen to a lot of popular music when I was among peers in school, when most adolescents develop their own taste in music, so I'm still mainly influenced by my parents' generation." She prefaced. "So lots of classic rock. And my father had a fondness for Etta James."
"I take it they were Beatles fans."
Hermione laughed. "English youths growing up in the 60s and 70s? Of course they were Beatles fans! My mum sang Here Comes the Sun as my lullaby every night."
He grinned. "My mom liked the Beatles too, although she would never admit to something as frivolous as enjoying rock music."
"It's nearly impossible not to have at least one opinion of popular culture without literally living under a rock." Hermione agreed.
"So how did you avoid the boy bands of the nineties?"
"Boarding school." Hermione shrugged.
"So, a really big rock." Spencer quipped, proud when she cracked up. He had never made anyone laugh so much on purpose before.
"My turn again," She said, laughter still shimmering in her voice. "I've got one prepared this time. What are you interested in, academically? What do you like to study? But!" She stopped him as he opened his mouth. "It can't be related to your profession. So no psychology!"
He smiled, more of an upward quirk of his lips than anything else. "Well, I am interested in psychology but my job makes it difficult to enjoy." She inclined her head in acknowledgment. He ruffled his hair absently. "Well, I have a Ph.D. in chemistry and engineering, as well as…" He trailed off at the sound of her giggles. "What's so funny?"
She smiled fondly. "You messed up your hair."
"Oh." He laughed it off. "It always looks..." The words died in his throat as she reached out and ran her fingers lightly through the hair falling onto his forehead, gently pushing them back into place. "...this… way…"
His world narrowed to the barely-there brush of her fingertips on his skin, the electric kind of warmth only felt from the touch of another human being and he almost believed he could feel her heartbeat pulsing in her fingers.
"Oh, I know. I'm no stranger to men with perpetually messy hair." Her perfectly normal, amused voice, almost too loud and clear to his ears, snapped him back to reality. He cleared his throat awkwardly and tried to fight down the heat rising in his face. She put her hand back in her lap and her smile turned shy. "But your hair wasn't messy the way it usually is." Her cheeks rapidly turned pink and she glanced away.
Maybe it was just his overactive imagination (also known as wishful thinking), the softness to her voice when she said that made his heart feel like a helium balloon and the warm, tingling electricity he felt from her fingers returned and charged the atmosphere between them tenfold.
He felt a grin fight its way onto his face without much opposition, and he felt he could have stayed there forever, with wicker furniture making imprints on his skin and the sun heating his hair and the teacup cooling in his hands, sitting across from one of the loveliest woman he had ever met.
Hermione began to subtly fidget in her seat, before consciously stilling her movements and looking him in the eye. "So, chemistry!" She said brightly. "I actually studied certain branch of chemistry for a long while, under a master chemist. But I suppose a more proper title would be apothecarist, given the focus on herbal and medicinal properties." She added thoughtfully.
Spencer's eyebrows shot up. "You like chemistry?"
"Yes, although I didn't pursue a doctorate like certain overachievers." She teased. He didn't respond right away. Instead, he laughed, a short burst of incredulous delight. "What?" She asked. How are you real? Spencer thought.
Instead, he just smiled and shook his head. "Nothing." She gave him a curious smile but accepted his answer with a nod.
The brief interlude in their conversation was interrupted by the distinctive sound and feeling of a phone vibrating. Spencer automatically reached for his, but was surprised to find Hermione was the one checking her phone, a simple non-smartphone model like his, probably just for calling and texting. She briefly read whatever was on the screen before tapping out a quick reply. She slipped it back into her pocket and met his inquisitive gaze. "The work of a librarian is never done." She said laughingly.
Spencer took the opportunity to ask a question that had been growing in his mind throughout their meeting. "How did you get to be a librarian? You must have had the world available to you with your education and intelligence."
Hermione didn't answer for a long moment, and he briefly wondered if he had offended her, but when she spoke her voice was calm. "My education had a certain… intensity to it, and pushed me in one particular direction. When I graduated I decided I was not ready to be set on that path for the rest of my life." She smiled a little. "I wanted to explore a simpler existence."
Spencer examined the scenario of a young librarian relaxing a tea shop after a morning run and asked, "Have you found what you're looking for in life, then?"
"Now that is a loaded question!" She said, but then her face softened into something almost serious. "I used to think I'd never be intellectually and emotionally satisfied by just one thing forever, but… perhaps I'm getting closer." She didn't smile, but her dark eyes held something within them that made him catch his breath.
"How about you, doctor? Have you found what you're looking for?"
Spencer was ready to say something casual, but the wording of her question and the look in her eyes made him brave. "I've always felt that my what I do is extremely important, but I know it comes with a price." He impulsively reached out and touched her hand where it was resting on the table. "I think that I could use a simpler existence, too."
Her answering smile was like sunlight.
Yet another sweet moment between them was shattered by a cell phone, but this time it predictably was Spencer's. He glared at it as he read the text summoning him back to the office, but looked back up at her understanding smile and sighed. "I've got a case. I'll probably be gone for a few days…" His voice trailed off, unsure why he felt the need to tell her that last bit.
She nodded, then laughed and pointed to his library books and her bookmark still stuck inside one cover. "Perhaps you will actually call me this time?"
He nearly grimaced. "Well… when I'm on a case, it usually takes a great deal of my concentration, and I can't afford…" He cringed again, "Distractions."
This was the part where she got offended, or decided his job was too much trouble and he wasn't worth her time. He was surprised again by her response. She gently squeezed his fingers, warmth traveling from them directly to his chest. "Well, then." Her voice was soft. "Why don't you just text me when you get home? I'm always up for another chess game."
Once again, she left him without words. He found himself just staring at her, trying to memorize every freckle and eyelash, as she released his hand to leave money under her tea saucer for their drinks and to stand up. He quickly stood up as well, ignoring the fact that his legs were nearly asleep, and checked his watch, startled to see that they had been in each other's company for a good three hours. It felt like too short a time.
Hermione tipped her head back. "I almost forgot how tall you were as we sat." She laughed, and looking down into her pretty, smiling face made him all too aware of how easy it would be to just lean down a little and…
She stepped back from him, and he felt bereft.
"Well, doctor, here is where we part ways, for now." She said.
"Let me walk you back," He said hastily.
She smiled and before he could blink, went on her tiptoes and pressed her lips gently against his cheek. The world stopped. "That's very gentlemanly of you," She began, beginning the world with her again, "But I should like to finish my run, and you really ought to go."
Then she was gone from him, turning and beginning to jog away, running lightly and gracefully like a dancing fairy or some other magical creature.
He would have stayed standing there, rooted to the spot, when something came to him. "Hermione!" He called. She paused and turned. He grinned. "My favorite book is In Search of Lost Time, by Marcel Proust."
She called back, "Which volume?" Because of course she would know it was actually seven books.
He shrugged. "I just start from the beginning and read until the end."
"A good policy all around when it comes to book, doctor." She said laughingly. "But as Frank Herbert said, 'There is no real ending. It's just the place where you stop the story.'" He couldn't see her smile as well from this distance, but the knowledge of its presence warmed him. "And I have no intention of stopping this story just yet."
And with that wonderfully cryptic, yet perfectly clear statement, she ran off again. He didn't stop to watch her until he couldn't see her anymore, instead he smiled and turned away, beginning on his own path. After all, he would be calling her in just a few days.
He wanted another rematch.
"Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
And I say it's all right..."
- The Beatles, Here Comes the Sun
Author's note: A bit of a longer chapter to make up for the wait. I had to drag this one out kicking and screaming, y'all, but I'm finally at a place where I'm happy with it. Okay, just a few business items…
One, I haven't decided if I'm going to put magic in this story or not. If not, I'll probably construct a Muggle version of the events of the Harry Potter books while trying not to change too much of the plot conceptually. I've purposefully left it open ended in 'Eunoia' so that I can make that decision naturally as it comes. But I would love some feedback on that.
Two, Miss Muffin's Teapot is a reference to a favorite childhood story of mine, Muffin Mouse's New House. It's really an adorable little book. Also, I hope you caught all those little Harry Potter references to Hermione's past (They weren't exactly hidden so you probably did).
Three, Hannah Arendt? A strong woman of academia protesting against tyranny during the reign of Hitler? Nooo, Hermione wouldn't relate to her at all.
Four, I just want to say I'm overwhelmed by how many of you are following this story, and I've gotten some really fantastic reviews. The support and feedback means a lot towards my drive and inspiration for this story, and I'm glad so many of you like it. Thank you!
Until next time…