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A/n, thank you all for your kind comments and support of the story. Please enjoy the next chapter.

The Test

Abby drew on her white lace shrug over a black peasant blouse she wore with a matching skirt and a new pair of boots she'd recently bought. They were comfortably broken and fit like a glove over her lace stockings. She'd finished her makeup with her usual scarlet lipstick and was trying to decide between dog collars and earrings when a knock sounded at her door. She swore under her breath and glanced at the clock on her wall. It was precisely seven pm, and Spencer had arrived on time, which impressed her.

"Hi," Abby greeted when she opened her door. "Come in."

"Ah," Reid ducked inside with the attitude of someone unused to visiting a woman's apartment. "Hi."

"Sorry, I'm not quite ready. I lost track of time this afternoon."

"You look great," Reid said. "Is that Chantilly," he gestured to her shrug.

"Yes," Abby said. "How did you know?"

"I recognized it from my mother's wedding dress," Reid said, then he blushed. "That must sound – weird."

"Why?"

"Guys don't usually talk about lace and their mother's wedding dresses."

Abby shrugged. "Not weird to me. I mean – look at me." Abby turned a tight circle. "I'm a grown woman who still dresses like a goth teenager."

"I like it," Spencer blurted out and then fell silent.

"Thanks. You look great," Abby said with a smile.

Spencer glanced down at his blue slacks paired with a white shirt and a sweater vest in blocks of grey, white, red, and black. He wore a blue coat and combed back his golden-brown hair, which he wore short and wavy. His shoes were his favorite blue converse high tops.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. So where are we going tonight."

"Oh, well, I thought we could go to a movie if that's alright."

"Yes. I've been dying to spend time not thinking about work."

Reid had been looking around the vast space and almost missed her answer. "I agree – wow. This place is amazing. Is that a coffin?"

Despite himself, Reid walked forward to an alcove with a large, ornate coffin that looked built for someone like Julius Cesar or Charlamagne. It sat on a pedestal before a red-paned stained glass window that might have once belonged in a church. He saw a spiral staircase leading up to a loft, a home lab with a computer, and a substantial open closet to his right. He walked over and smiled to see most of Abby's clothing run to black and white with splashes of scarlet, pink, and yellow.

"I like your boots," he pointed to the red ones.

"Thanks."

"Great chair," he enthused over an oversized, heavy-winged back chair next to a dressmaker's dummy with a white dress.

"It's very comfortable."

Reid looked up, saw crosses of all kinds decorating the far wall to the right, and shook his head. "This is – I'm not sure what to say. Did I pass your test?"

Abby's eyebrows went up, and she smiled. "Test?"

"Come on. I'm a new guy in your life. You invite me here before our first real date and let me see your whole life. You were wondering if I might run away if I saw into your life. I'm not afraid, Abby. Anyway, this isn't the real you, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Let me rephrase. What I see isn't all there is to you. I checked you out," Reid said, honestly. "I hope you're not angry."

"Why should I be upset when I did the same?"

"I'm glad you did, but I'm not distracted, Abby Scuito. You're adopted. Your parents were deaf. You're an expert in American sign," Reid rapidly signed to her.

Abby shook her head, and her smile grew. "I'm impressed, Spencer." She signed.

They continued their conversation by signing, the soft sounds of mouthing words and flesh on flesh as their hands met at necessary times.

"I like learning languages- but, to continue with you – you're a vocal advocate for the homeless and animals. You're catholic and on a bowling team with several nuns. You graduated from Louisana State University with a triple major, Sociology, Criminology, and Psychology. You earned your Master's Degree in Criminology and Forensic Science from Georgia State University." Reid expounded.

"Is that all," Abby asked.

"No, but I've heard that women like their mystery, so – I didn't dig too deeply. I'll end my recitation of your vital statistics."

Abby laughed out loud. "Then, it's my turn, but do you want to stay here and talk or go to the movies."

"The movies," Reid said.

Abby didn't know if it were the effect of signing and the expressions Reid made as he "spoke," but his eyes became her focus, and she realized that they were brown, with gold on the inside. Seeing it made her feel tinglin in her gut. For a reason, she didn't understand.

"What are we going to see?" Abby continued after a brief pause.

"I thought I'd let you pick," Spencer said, dropping signing.

"You might be sorry."

"I think I can handle your choice."

"Good because I want to see that new independent film playing at the Globe."

"You mean the one in Russian?"

"Yes, I learned that's a language you speak, Spencer Reid."

"How did – never mind. Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Yes, there will be subtitles, I imagine."

"Yes, but – "

"Then let's go."

CMCMCMCMCMCMCMCM

It was fully dark when they exited the Globe. They'd resumed talking the minute the movie ended. "So," Abby said. "You were born in Las Vegas. You're a genius with multiple doctorates and BA degrees. You have an eidetic memory and can speed read up to twenty thousand words per minute."

"I'm impressed."

"Thank you, but that's not all."

"What else do you know?"

Abby began to sign again. "I checked out your background and everything about you on the news and internet. A serial killer kidnapped you a few years ago."

Reid emphatically signed for Abby to stop. "I don't want to talk about that!"

"I'm sorry. I wanted – "

Abbey dropped her hands, and they stood silent near Reid's Volvo. "Spencer, I'm sorry. You were nice enough not to dig into my life or remind me that I've made less than stellar life choices. Will you forgive me?"

Reid blew out a breath. "Actually, yes, because you succeeded in distracting me from Emily. I wish I could stop thinking about her every day."

"Hey," Abby said as Reid opened the passenger side door for her. "Do not apologize. There's no time limit on grief. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Reid shut his door and put his hands on the steering wheel but did not start the car. "I don't want to ruin our date by making this about me."

"You're not," Abby said. "You're distracting me from work. There are days I'm sick of – wait. Back to you."

Reid smiled at her narrowed eyes. "Abby, thank you but – alright. I was at JJ's home over the weekend. She's a teammate and good friend."

"How did it go."

Reid stared out at the darkness surrounding the car. Soon it would be June, and the days would continue to lengthen. He sighed and turned toward Abby. The backwash from the street lights made her face only partially visible.

"I decided that I could no longer cry on her shoulder. I need to let it go."

"Why?"

"Because – I guess I'm moving on to the acceptance stage of grief. Although, I'm not sure about that, either. It depends on the time of day, lately."

"Spencer," Abby said. "You don't have to adhere to a timetable. Tell them to back off if someone is telling you that you do."

Reid laughed. "No, no one is saying anything. Talking to Hotch a few weeks ago about where I am just made me start to analyze my reactions to Emily's death in more depth."

"Okay, I can see what you're saying. It's tough."

"You're right. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For your insight, even though we barely know each other outside of what we've both dug up."

"Well, you intrigued me, Spencer, or I should say that you intrigue me. I want to spend more time with you."

"I feel the same about you, Abby."

Reid finally started the engine of his car, and they pulled out of the parking lot into the street. Twenty minutes later, he turned into the parking lot of Abby's building. "Here we are."

"Yeah. Thanks for the movie."

"You're welcome. I hope I sufficiently distracted you from work."

"I'm so glad that Agent Barrett is okay. Jonas Cobb is dead. Not sure that makes up for all the ones lost. God, I hate funerals when it's family, like Mike Franks. Weird, considering my death obsession."

"No, it's not. When death is real or hits close to us, we think about it in a different light."

"I suppose." Abby sighed. "I just wish – well, it doesn't matter."

"Anything I can help with," Reid asked.

"No, just worried about a friend. Anyway, I had a great time tonight."

"Me too."

They were quiet for several minutes, and then Reid said. "Why is it so easy for me to talk to you, Abigail Scuito?"

"Because I don't judge."

Her pronouncement made Reid laugh. "I'm glad you don't," he said. "Thanks for listening, even if this is only our first official date."

Abby leaned over and kissed Reid on the cheek. "You're welcome, SSA Dr. Spencer Reid."

"So, what now," Reid asked.

"You have my number, and I like you, so don't wait too long before you call me again."

"I won't," Reid assured her.

He watched her hurry into the building before he turned his car around and drove into the night. He'd have a cup of coffee and go home.