And yet another botched date.
It must have been tweleve o' clock at night. Mireille didn't know, her phone had died. Wincing at the pain in her feet, swollen from spending the evening in those pretty heels. She half considered just chucking them off and going home barefoot. But thinking of the trails of broken glass and cold concrete paths that presented themselves in the streets, she figured a bit more pain couldn't hurt.
She was such a fool. Dressing up so nice for such an arrogant man. Leaving her on the side of the road like that the moment he found a prettier woman to take away. Fuming at the misery of the whole situation as she shuffled into the 7/11. Taking a moment to let her eyes adjust to the too bright fluorescent lights. It was mostly quiet, save for the soft buzzing of the slurpee machine in the corner. She half considered buying a slurpee, but quickly decided against it. It was essentially sugared ice, anyhow. Though she did need some sugar in her system.
Shuffling over to the clear fridges which lined the wall, she scanned up and down for the object of her cravings.
And it was in that moment. As she stood alone in the aisle of the 7/11, a bit tipsy, holding two different bottles of one-dollar chocolate milk. She wondered where she went wrong with her life.
"Miss Mireille?"
A bit taken aback, she stumbled over her unbalanced feet. Swiftly, an arm caught her with a panicked, "Woah!"
The mystery arm propped her back up standing. Turning, she saw one Doctor Spencer Reid standing there. His brows furrowed in what could only be described as a strange mix of guilt and concern.
"I am so sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean to startle you!"
"Spencer! It's no problem- it doesn't take a lot to scare me."
Spencer put his hands in his pockets. Though it had been approximately fifteen days since he had given the florist her check, she had occasionally popped up in his mind again and again. He couldn't help but wonder how she was doing, for some odd reason.
"Fancy running into you here," he managed to utter.
"D.C. is pretty small." Mireille paused as if to think. She brought her hand to her face, bursting into a small chuckle. At least, compared to New York!"
"What are you doing out so late?"
"People are awful."
"I don't think all people are awful. You're not."
"What about you?"
"Is that chocolate milk?"
He knew she noticed his sudden change of subject. Judging by her pursed lips and narrowed eyes at him, she most definitely noticed as was the least bit suspicious. Thankfully, she didn't push it any further.
"Yeah. Late-night cravings, you know," she cheerfully explained, holding out the two cartons towards him. "Which one do you think should I get?"
He pointed to the brown contained in her right hand, remembering it to be the same brand that his mother would pack for him as a child.
"That one tastes better, if I remember correctly."
She looked at the one he pointed to, then back at the one in her other hand. Then back, then forth. After placing the one in her left back into the fridge, she turned to him.
"I'll take your word on that," she smiled.
"So what are you looking for at this unholy hour of the morning?"
"I'm quite hungry. I haven't eaten in several hours."
"You know what? So am I. Come on-"
Mireille motioned him to follow her. Curious, he trailed her as she weaved through the linoleum aisles. He noticed she was walking strangely, taking long strides as if to minimize the amount of steps she had to take. She led him to a circular, refrigerated stand. Picking up the crinkling packaging gleaming under the fluorescent lights, she tossed it at him. Which he had barely caught in surprise.
"Have you ever had one of these before?" she asked, glancing over the wide variety of packages.
"I couldn't say so."
Spencer turned the cold package in his hands, reading the bold red letters that lined the front, examining it with genuine curiosity and maybe slight concern. It appeared to be some sort of microwavable turnover containing some form of cheese and meat.
"Definitely not the most healthy, but they're good in a pinch," Mireille admitted, plucking up one of the packages for herself, "I used to eat these pretty frequently in college."
Walking towards the register across the luminescent walkway. She placed the carton and package on the counter, searching through her bag for her wallet.
"Do your feet hurt, Miss Mireille?" he asked, looking down to the vibrant red heels which stood out against the white linoleum.
"Huh?"
"You're walk cycle indicates that you've been wearing those heels for a very long time-" he motioned to the ground- "and that you're very uncomfortable."
"Read me like a book, eh doc?" she said with a bit of a smile, handing the man across the counter a few bills and coins.
"It's my job."
Spencer stepped up to the register as Mireille stepped away. Her shoes making a sharp clicking sound against the floor.
"My feet are killing me," she muttered, looking down at her shoes. "But I have to keep wearing them. I don't wanna walk home barefoot."
"Take my shoes then," he offered as they walked out of the store, stopping just outside the entrance. She merely shook her head in response.
"Then you'll walk home barefoot."
"It's alright. I insist."
"It's really not. Do you know how much broken glass is on the sidewalks?" she huffed, motioning to the glimmer of crushed bottles scattered about on the concrete. Shimmering under the silver street lights.
"I can wear your shoes then," he offered, only half joking.
Shaking her head once more, she said, "No offense, but even with my giant man feet I don't think you can fit into my shoes."
"I can't let you walk home in those shoes."
"I can't let you walk home without shoes."
"The back of your heels. They're rubbed raw," he said, pointing to the ground.
Mireille looked down, slipping her foot half way out the shoe to asses the damage. He was right. The back of her heels had been completely skinned. Wincing in pain as the wound had been exposed in fresh air, she sighed.
"Spencer, with all due respect, we will not be switching shoes."
"I cannot believe you found a way to get around the switching shoes thing."
Mireille held herself tighter against Spencer's back, not wanting to slip off. This was much taller than she was used to, the ground seeming so far away from this distance. Peeking over his shoulder, she noticed his easygoing smile still hadn't faded from his face.
"I wasn't going to let you walk so far in those shoes," he laughed, adjusting his arms tighter around her legs.
"You really didn't have to do this."
"Nonsense. It's dangerous to walk alone at night. That's how many victims in my cases get abducted!"
"How pleasant," she muttered, pressing her lips into a slight frown.
"Besides, I live in this direction anyways."
She wondered where that enthusiasm came from. And while he seemed genuine to a fault, she felt as if he was over compensating for something else. After all, she had seen it all before in her line of work.
"Aren't your arms tired?" she asked, holding his shoulders yet tighter as she felt herself falling off his back.
"Not in the slightest," he answered, readjusting himself to prevent her from slipping down even further.
"Sound like a liar to me."
Spencer smiled. If anything, a bit amused at the entire situation. Maybe his arms were a bit tired, but he wouldn't admit that aloud to her.
"You should get rid of those shoes," he chuckled as they waited to cross the quiet street.
"You're probably right," she sighed, looking down from over his shoulder. The rhinestones on the crimson shoes glimmering like jewels in the dim streetlights. "But they were expensive. And they're my only nice pair of shoes."
"You've had them for a long while, no?"
"You can tell that too?"
"It's your lingering emotional attachment to them, not the monetary cost, that seem to prevent you from getting rid of them. My guess is someone important gave them to you."
Mireille felt her face flush. He really had read her like a book. It really was one embarrassment after another with this Doctor Spencer Reid. Though maybe it was what she needed. Someone to call her out on her lingering attachments.
"You know-" she began, unsure of how to continue. "You never told me what you were doing out so late."
He didn't respond, as if her statement had brought back something horrible memory. Something he was still moving on from, if she were to guess. Despite his efforts, he was still hurting, just like many people she met.
Her chest clenched with guilt for bringing up something painful. Despite her curiosity at the reasons behind the memory, she knew better than to press further as they fell back into the same uncomfortable silence.
She began to panic slightly in her mind, deciding how he probably definitely disliked her for bringing that up. Of course, her brother would probably tell her she's being melodramatic. However, guilt continued to give her a crushing feeling in her chest and she concluded in her mind that he probably now had a much, much lowered opinion of her.
"You don't have to tell me, if you want," she quickly offered, unsure of what else to say.
"In truth, I've been having trouble sleeping."
"You too, eh?"
"Hm?"
"Insomnia is the worst. But no matter how little sleep you get, you still have to get up and get on with the day."
"Yes, I suppose so."
"I guess it's the dreams," she mindlessly murmured, wrapping her arms tighter around him.
"Excuse me?" Spencer said, unable to pick out more than the last bit of her sentence.
"Oh! Sorry I was just talking to myself."
"Dreams?"
Mireille flushed once more. He had heard that?
"Er- yeah. It's actually sort of embarrassing," she muttered, twiddling her fingers. "I used to fear dreaming. So my solution was to not sleep."
There she went again, talking about nonsense. He probably thought she was crazy, bringing up something as silly and irrelevant as dreams. And yet, she continued to talk. As if he had broken a dam of feelings and thoughts that she had been holding for so long.
"This ruined my life for months. But after…" Her voice faltered. She looked down to her hands, wondering if she should really tell him about all of this, though they barely knew one another. But she felt comfortable around him. Like… he was a good friend or something.
"People will always tell you 'you have to let go' but it's stinkin' hard to do that!" she huffed. "Especially when that person was so important to you. Death is a big freaking deal. All the logic in the world can't dispute that."
"So how did you let go?" he asked, his voice soft. He was hurting, she could tell. Like with so many who came to her, he must have lost someone very dear to him.
"With a little bit of help from those who love me," she started, feeling small. "And mostly, myself. At the end of the day it is my life. No matter how you look at it, the dead are dead. You have to keep living for those who love you- the living."
A silence fell between them. And though she was holding onto his back, Mireille felt as if her statement had driven a wall between the two of them. The silence felt deafening, the only sound in the air being the faint whir of cars that would occasionally speed past.
"I'm sorry," she finally managed to utter. "That got really depressing really quick!"
"No, no-! You're right!" he exclaimed, shaking his head. "No matter how much you wish it, the dead will never come back."
"What I'm trying to say is- take things at your own pace. But my advice is really nonsensical honestly so I don't think you should listen to me-"
"I don't think it is. Actually, I think quite the opposite. I think it makes much more sense than you believe."
"You know," she began, looking up to the dark, starless sky. "Sometimes you just gotta scream at the top of your lungs. Whether it be off a bridge or into a pillow- just scream. Just like, ah-!"
She leaned back a bit, throwing an arm outward. Trying not to suddenly shout by his ear. However, this seemed to quickly backfire as he began to wobble.
"Woah!" he shouted, leaning forward to offset the sudden imbalance.
"Agh! I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, quickly wrapping her arms around his shoulders once more. "I didn't mean to cause you to lose balance!"
"It's no worries- no worries!"
As he laughed, Mireille wondered why she felt as if her heart had skipped a beat. She hoped he couldn't feel the pounding in her chest, hearing her heart thump in her ears.
As they came upon a corner, she gently tapped him on the shoulder.
"You can drop me here."
"Are you sure?"
Spencer stopped, letting Mireille cautiously step down from his back. Careful as to not trip in her shoes.
"Yeah, my apartment is just over there." She motioned toward her right. "I'll be fine walking the rest of the way."
"If you say so."
"Thank you so much, Spencer."
"It's really no problem, Miss Mireille." He motioned forwards. "My place is just over that way anyways."
"Please Spencer, 'Mireille' is just fine."
"If you say so."
Smoothing out her wrinkled green dress, she looked back towards him.
"I really cannot thank you enough. For everything," she said, pulling her wool cardigan tighter around herself.
"I should be the one thanking you," he replied, the corners of his lips pressed into a small smile.
"Me?" Mireille pointed to herself, a bit in disbelief. "Why?"
"You're more helpful than you believe."
He placed his hands in his pockets. He was tired from carrying her, she could tell. A pang of guilt wrenched in her chest. If she were to see him again, she would have to treat him to something, she noted.
"Well- make sure to tell me what you think of the Hot Pocket!" she said, unsure of what else to say.
"I will, don't worry," he replied, his smile widening.
Mireille turned towards the direction of her building. Quickly half-turning back, she waved.
"Well… goodnight, Spencer."
"Goodnight, Mireille."
There are simple facts to life. The sky is blue, the Earth is round, the Sun is a star, and Mireille Li fell in love easily.
And as with all facts, there were people who accepted such obvious facts without qualms and people who denied every factor of the facts.
Mireille in fact, was more likely than not completely aware of the fact she fell in love easily. However, she continually seemed to deny this very basic fact of her life.
Picking up one of the crimson shoes, she turned it about in her hands. It was a beautiful pair of shoes. The floral lace overlay giving them a beautiful sheen in the light. He gave them to her all those years ago. They would have cost a significant amount to him at the time.
"It's your lingering emotional attachment to them, not the monetary cost, that seem to prevent you from getting rid of them. My guess is that someone important gave them to you."
How could he have seen right through her? Mireille wondered if he could read her mind, or maybe if she just made everything about her life that obvious.
Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to chuck those old shoes into the trash. Standing up, she carried the shoes over to the silver trash can. Holding them away from her, she told herself on the count of three she would drop them in.
But after three seconds her hand refused to let them go. Then another three. And another three. Frustrated with her inability to make a decision, she quickly set them away in her closet. Placing them behind an old shelf stacked with piles of clothes.
Wondering if she had remembered to take her pills today, she crawled atop her comforter. Lying flat, sprawled across her bed. Staring blankly at the coffee and cream colored ceiling above.
"I hope so too."
Immediately feeling her face flush with heat, she grabbed her pillow and held it tight against her chest. Rolling onto her side, she buried her face deep in the pink fabric.
How could she develop feelings for this man whom she barely knew? Yet as she replayed that moment in her head over and over again, her heart seemed to flutter.
She imagined his messy brown hair, paired with his sort of boyish grin. Their conversations that seemed to last forever yet no time at all. He was pretty damn intelligent too.
It was foolish, she knew. She didn't even know if he already had someone or not. She was probably never going to see him again, anyways, she figured, as her eyes began to close. Yet, everytime she replayed the little moments. Bantering with him about shoes. Being carried back to her apartment. Him saying, "I hope so too" all that time ago, Mireille couldn't help but hope that maybe they would run into one another again and again after that.
That S15 episode 4 though... I'm so happy for Spencer :')
Until next time!
L.D.