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Spencer attempted to read a new library book that he knew had something to do with the metallurgical analysis applied to the state-of-the-art commercial airliners but found he couldn't keep his eyes on the printed page.
Reading in bed wasn't something he indulged in when Emily stayed at his place, but that night she'd found it difficult to unwind and had said she needed a long soak in the tub. Spencer thought of suggesting he join her but knew from her face she wanted to be alone.
Hence, his current predicament, trying to read and not think about her undressing in the bathroom and then sitting amid the bubble bath she loved. Spencer felt that he could almost smell the lavender scent Emily loved, and – well, he decided to go back to his book.
Ten minutes later, Spencer finished the book, set it aside on his night table, and got out of bed to shut off all the lights but the lamp next to his bed. He crawled back into bed and closed his eyes. The whirling thoughts he'd tried to shut off by distraction began to assert themselves again.
The last case. Johnny and Vickie. How terrible to lose someone you loved so brutally. Spencer flipped over and tried to keep the what-ifs out of his head. What if something happened to Emily? What if he couldn't deal with it and had a psychotic break? Given the danger inherent to their jobs, the odds were high that one or both might suffer a fatal injury. Or become an addict due to forcible injection coupled with psychological and physical torture.
Spencer turned over and sighed. He was about to get out of bed when the bathroom door opened, and Emily appeared, dressed in a pair of blue silk pajamas she kept in a drawer for sleepovers. She approached and climbed into the bed.
"Thought you'd be asleep," Emily said quietly.
"Can't stop thinking about Johnny."
"Nothing's going to happen to one of us," Emily said as she snuggled against him with her head in her favorite place, lying on his chest.
"You can't say that, Emily. Our jobs – "
"Are no more dangerous than they were six months ago. Remember you coded on the floor of a fishing shack, and I had to watch."
Spencer ran a hand up and down one of her arms. "I know," he said quietly. "All I have to do is see the healing track marks on my arm, and I remember."
Emily lifted her head and met his eyes in the light of the lamp. "I am so proud of you, Spencer. I know how difficult it is for you every day."
"Thank you, but – Emily, when we understood about Vickie and Johnny, I started to wonder if I could handle losing you."
"Spencer, if my time comes, then I know you'll be strong. You're not going to have a psychotic break and start murdering people."
"Emily. You can't know that. I have mental health issues in my family history, and now I have drug addiction carved into my nervous system. Yes, it was forcible, but I'm the one that spent two months in hell, trying to combat it. Yes, I was successful, but you hold part of the responsibility. I realized that I love you, Emily Prentiss, and I wanted to be a better man for you."
Emily reached out and tugged on Spencer's hair. "Hey," Spencer said.
"Stop running yourself down, Spencer. You're an amazing man who's overcome so much. You don't need to worry about a hypothetical loss or its effect on your mental health. I believe in you, and I always will. "
"Thank you," Spencer said and reached over to turn off the bedside lamp.
"Now, close your eyes and get some sleep. We have work in the morning, and I don't want to drag in late. Morgan will never let us hear the end of it."
"I wish he'd never caught us kissing on the elevator. Now he has something to hang over our heads until we come clean to everyone," Spencer said, and Emily laughed at his gloomy tone.
"Don't worry about Morgan. One day he'll get tired of teasing us."
Spencer kissed her. "Hasn't happened yet, but I can hope."
"Good night, Spencer," Emily said as she hugged him tight around the waist.
"Good night, Emily."