The bookstore was nothing special outside of the fact that it was the only place in a fifty mile radius that a) stocked 15th century literature in acceptable conditions for his needs, and b) was open at 5 in the morning. In actuality based on how many times Spencer Reid had gone there, at all hours of the day, only to find its door unlocked and business open, he was not entirely sure it was ever closed but he did not plan on complaining. He liked being to get a book at a seconds notice and the owner never seemed to much mind obliging.
That night, morning, time he very much felt the need for a book, though this was sort of just an excuse. He wanted something else but he was trying to convince himself to make use of the soothing aspects of reading instead. The case had been difficult and draining, physically, emotionally; rest honestly might have been a better choice but he found himself instead drawn towards the little store tucked away in the silent, lonely depths of the city, his hand pushing open the door, a tiny ringing signaling his arrival.
The place always smelled of cinnamon and old pages, the soft dim lighting giving it a warm atmosphere that normally felt welcoming. He took a deep breath and glanced about, at stacks of old books, shelves filled with the same, a counter covered in paper and a old fashion register. This too set it apart from other places he supposed; most gave into the need for more advanced equipment. In this place though at least, the world was still simple and smelled of the pleasant scent of old books. It reminded him of good things and bad too but he didn't mind right in the moment.
"Welcome to...oh its you Doctor Reid." The voice was familiar and soft, causing his head to turn towards where a staircase lead to a second floor. A woman walked down it, long black hair tied back in a messy braid, glasses slightly askew; he had decided long enough that she was the type who worked hard and didn't bother much to care for her appearance, often getting ink on her clothes and face when doing book restorations upstairs. He suspected she also baked up there, hence the cinnamon scent, and normally there were muffins or something set on the counter. A normal person would have worried about having food near so many old and valuable books but he got the sense she was not the type to tolerate anyone who might damage the books anyway so they were in no danger. Spencer had tried not to profile her, not the first time he accidentally found the place, nor the seventh time he'd visited and he'd ended up helping her deal with a belligerent customer. He'd lost count of how many times he'd gone there by now but still he resisted the urge to let his mind start to look too much into her; give him one pure thing at least.
He forced a smile and waved in his awkward wave, watching her reach the bottom of the stairs. "Hey Tsuki, sorry I'm in so late, I just figured..."
"No worries, you know my door is always open," she said waving off his apology; he noted she was holding a book under one arm that she set on the counter before tucking back some of her own hair behind her ear, "Though I must say it certainly is later than normal for you. Long day at work I suppose?"
"Yeah you could say that." The unsub had been difficult, hard to track, hard to capture, and when they did get them, the unsub had been one of the most irritating he'd ever seen. The whole team had been happy to see it over with and get back home to Quantico. Admittedly he wasn't home, he was there, in a bookstore, in the early hours of the morning...
He didn't realize that both of them had fallen quiet but the sound of rain starting to fall outside caught his attention and he turned to look; despite making it all the way there, despite everything else, this movement seemed too much and Spencer lost his balance, stumbling. He started to caught himself but felt his arm be grabbed at the same time and his body pulled back and back to equilibrium. The man blinked then looked over at where Tsuki stood, still holding onto him. She looked concern; he couldn't really be certain why.
"Are you alright?" She asked him.
"Y-yeah," he said and forced another smile, pulling himself free of her; he ran his hand over his bag, absentedly smoothing it down, "I'm fine, just a bit tired I suppose."
"You should get some rest then. As much as I like to see you, its more important that you get rest when you can," she said, furrowing her brow.
He supposed she was right but as far as he was concerned getting rest wasn't an option. If he left without a book he would just be walking into a situation where his self control would be in danger and he was trying not to give into the things a part of him did indeed want.
"No, no I'll be...I'll be fine. Don't worry about me, I came to see if you might have anything in stock of interest; have you gotten in any new stock?"
She raised an eyebrow, not saying anything at first. He didn't think she'd throw him out, he had worked relatively hard to build a good rapport with her and be a good customer; based on what he noticed, she was the type who appreciated considerate customers and didn't tolerate bad ones. Thus Spencer always did his best to treat the books with kindness and respect, talk to her about what he liked and what she liked. It had been interesting to find out they shared many interests and he honestly liked it there; it was calming and comforting and nice and warm. There wasn't murderers there or victims or fear or the pressure to do something. It was just...there and he didn't honestly want to leave.
He wobbled and again she seemed to realize this quickly and kept him from falling. The concern in her face grew but getting so close he noticed she too smelled of old pages and cinnamon, and something else; it too was strangely comforting to him and he dared to close his eyes for a second.
"Doctor Reid?" She said his name with some confusion, "Doctor Reid, are you sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine " he said and it was strange how heavy he felt now, "I just...want to stay here a bit."
"Alright then," Tsuki answered and he smiled, even just to himself.
He felt appreciative but he knew he'd need to actually look for a book. After all it was a bookstore, they sold books, he needed to buy a book if he was gonna be there. Spencer opened his eyes and tried to prepare himself to do more but she took him by surprise; before he could, she had grabbed his hand in hers, pulling him towards the stairs. He did not expect this, he didn't know what to do or what to make of it. And his hesitation gave her enough leeway to drag him up to an area he'd never been before.
For a while he'd suspected she lived above the store; it was the only way the store being open like it was was possible. The living space upstairs though looked very similar to the store below, full of books and shelves but with a few additions. A couch and coffee table against one wall, a open air kitchen filled with all the necessary things to cook, a door that he highly suspected either led to her bedroom or her workroom for restorations. Or maybe both. But this place felt much like the area he already knew and he was too busy trying not to take in everything so as not to profile the bookstore owner. She led him to the couch and forced him down; his bag landed beside him and he stared up at her.
"I'm going to go make you a cup of chamomile; you set your bag down and relax." She brokered no response, she turned to walk away and Spencer sat there, confused, uncertain, but didn't immediately get up.
"Chamomile, the apigenin chemicals in it have been found to induce sleepiness as well as act as a herbal anti-anxiety medication similar to benzodiazepines," he muttered, more to himself than anything else.
"Exactly," she answered him anyway and after putting a teapot to boil, passed by him again, "Put your bag on the floor, I'm gonna go get you a blanket and pillow."
"I don't understand what you're trying to do." She never struck him as the dangerous type and as a profiler he was pretty good at noticing dangerous people. But at the same time this was odd; outside the rain was coming down hard, pounding against the window behind him.
"You're tired, you need to rest, you don't want to leave so I'm letting you take a nap on my couch," she told him and went through the door from before: bedroom then.
"I," he started but she wasn't wrong. He was tired, he did need rest, he did say he didn't want to leave immediately. Still how that led to him sitting on her couch while she made him tea still felt a bit...confusing.
He ended up profiling her anyway. The room showed her to be a quiet individual, large family who lived elsewhere, one pet which was obviously the large chocolate Maine Coon that entered the room, looked at him and gave a meow before trotting off. She seemed to seriously love books, and there was a large variation in genres; he noted a first edition of the first book of Paradise Lost on the table before him and picked it up, looking it over better; it obviously had been restored, expertly at that, and the book was being well cared for now. A small bookmark, a pressed flower, was stuck between pages and he turned to there, starting to read.
He was engrossed and thus didn't notice the teapot whistle nor Tsuki setting the blanket and pillow down beside him and going to pour the tea. He barely noted her returning and setting the tea down before chuckling, only then drawing his attention. "That one is one of my favorites as well."
"This is from the first editions of the poem, before the reorganization and revisions," he stated looking at her, "Not many read that version."
She shrugged. "Not many have access to a complete, minimally damaged copy."
"You restored this I presume? It matches your work on the Dante and Dunbar I recently received from you."
"Restoration work is a must I think for any person who deals in antique books."
"It's good, very well done."
She smiled and gestured to the tea. "Come on now, if we start on talking about books neither of us will sleep. Here."
Spencer was hesitant, because he still didn't understand this situation, because he very much wanted to talk about books. But he picked up the cup anyway, taking a sip. It was warm and filled him from head to toe in it's gentle taste. He did not so much feel sleepy as he did relaxed; he took another sip and his wandering eye caught her sipping from her own cup. Maybe she too needed sleep; he was reminded again it was 5 in the morning and if she was already up he wondered if that meant she hadn't slept at all yet. Her hours seemed even stranger than his honestly.
"Thank you," he said finally, finishing his cup and handing it to her.
Tsuki took it with a smile, "No worries. Now again, set your bag down and try and get some rest."
"You don't often have strangers sleep on your couch," he said, making the mistake of making that a statement and not a question. He already knew though, he could tell by her room, her demeanor, the markers that told him what kind of person she was. Kind maybe but introverted, did socializing well on the outside but didn't really interact with others outside of work; she was someone who loved books and didn't feel comfortable around strangers.
She chuckled and headed to the kitchen. "You're not a stranger, Doctor Reid, you're one of my best customers."
"You don't treat all customers like this."
"Not all my customers come into my store, looking ready to collapse under their own body weight, with eyes pleading to be given sanctuary." Spencer did not know how to respond to that. She could be a capable profiler if she tried.
He took off his bag and set on the ground by the couch; pulling the blanket over him, he tried to maneuver his body to be comfortable on the couch as he laid down. It wasn't all that hard, the couch was strangely comfy. He set his head on the pillow and closed his eyes, trying to let himself sleep. The lights went out, he was sure that was her, but that didn't startle him. Nor did it startle him hearing footsteps and feeling long thin fingers brush hair out of his face. There again was that scent, that strange calming thing that he knew was coming from her. He knew deep down he should be on alert but he just felt calm. Cinnamon, old books, chamomile, something else.
He drifted off before he knew it and the rain continued to fall outside.