The One That Got Away

Disclaimer: I don't own 'Criminal Minds'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary: A night out sees Spencer Reid cross paths with the girl that got away. Life, and romance, ensues. Spencer/OC.

Rating: M for references to cases, for language, and for mild adult themes.

Author: tlyxor1.

Chapter One

There's a wild, wild whisper blowing in the wind

Calling out my name like a long lost friend

Oh I miss those days as the years go by

Oh, nothing's sweeter than summertime, and American honey…

American Honey - Lady Antebellum

He had been twenty, she had been eighteen, and they'd been in love. He'd thought they would last forever, had hoped it would, had imagined their future, but then their paths had diverged, and only the memory of one glorious summer lingered, continued to haunt him nearly six years later, the ghost of her smile, an echo of her laugh, the tone of her voice as a velvet melody wrapped around her favourite lyrics.

Spencer's fingers danced across his guitar frets, he licked his lips, and he began to sing. He wasn't the best singer, and his guitar skills could be better, but in some ways, the act of performance, of the lyrics on his tongue and the familiar strings beneath his fingers, was cathartic in the best way, enough to take him to a better place, where he wasn't haunted by the ghost of those he couldn't save, and the killers he couldn't catch.

As a side effect, however, he was reminded of the one that got away, an angel fallen from grace, with her impish, dimpled smile, and her sable curls. She'd been the one to introduce him to musical therapy, of sorts, had taught him all he knew of the guitar. In turn, he'd taught her French, and during those long, blissful summer nights, they'd spent countless hours between each other's sheets, he'd worshipped every inch of her sun kissed skin, and together, they'd imagined forever.

Sometimes, he wondered where they'd be if he had asked her to stay.

Other times, he wished he could forget.

"If I could walk on water

If I could tell you what's next

I'd make you believe

I'd make you forget…"

Brought from his reverie by the sound of a knock at his door, and admittedly pleased to be free of the ghosts in his past, Spencer set down his guitar, got to his feet and approached his entryway. He'd not buzzed anyone up, and only Morgan had a set of keys to his apartment - just in case of emergencies - but as far as Spencer knew, his friend and coworker had never stepped foot in his building, and the younger man was unsure of why he'd have reason to now.

When he looked through the peephole, and found Morgan's familiar form staring back at him, Spencer relaxed mildly, unlocked the door, and opened it with a puzzled frown on his face.

"What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, buddy," Morgan quipped, "Can I come in?"

Spencer looked over his shoulder, sighed, but relented. His place wasn't particularly messy, but he had case files, research papers, music sheets and textbooks spread out across his coffee and dining tables, a basket of unfolded laundry on one of the armchairs, and a box of leftover pizza on his kitchen counter, and he'd never been particularly keen on having guests over without expecting them first.

Once he'd shut and locked the door behind his friend, Spencer eyed the older man, somewhat perplexed, and queried, "Can I get you anything?"

"Do you have any beer?" Morgan, who'd been curiously examining Spencer's living room, cast a glance at Spencer, and he looked weary. "It's been a tough few days."

Spencer grimaced his agreement, and made his way into the kitchen. Morgan followed, and as the younger agent withdrew a can from the six-pack in his fridge, he thought about the case he'd been trying to forget. It had been a bad one, with a body count that had reached double digits, and by the time they'd caught up with their un-sub, he'd killed a thirteenth, they'd all been worn out, and the killer had opted to take the suicidal way out.

"I'm meeting Garcia later on tonight," Morgan informed Spencer, accepting the offered beer, "JJ and Hotch opted to spend time with their kids, Rossi has some other plans, and Prentice said she'd join us too, but did you want to come along?"

Spencer's first instinct was to say no, to encourage his friend to have fun, and not to worry about him, but then he thought about it, thought about his colleagues, haggard, and weary, and he nodded, supposing that he could be designated driver, if nothing else.

"Let me just get dressed…"

They both glanced down at his attire: worn sweats, an old Caltech t-shirt, and his mismatched socks, Spencer scratched at his bristly jaw, and he smiled sheepishly.

"Make yourself comfortable, I suppose."

Morgan nodded his acknowledgement as Spencer retreated into his bedroom, and after a brief shower, Spencer shaved, opted to use his glasses instead of his contacts, and once he'd dressed himself, and gathered all he'd need, he returned to his living area, and found Morgan examining the titles on his shelves.

Contrary to popular belief, he didn't have an apartment made up entirely of textbooks and fifteenth century literature. An entertainment system was set up parallel from a leather sectional sofa, but on either side of the television screen, he'd arranged a set of shelves. One set was made up of books, the other of DVD's, but the greater majority of his collection was in Nevada, in the family home he visited infrequently, and that was where he intended for it to stay.

"An interesting collection, Reid," Morgan observed, "Not what I expected."

"I get that a lot," Spencer acknowledged. He deposited his glock in his shoulder holster,clipped his billfold to his belt, and pocketed his phone, wallet and keys. He donned his glasses, ruffled his hair, and eyed his colleague, expectant. "Are we going?"

"Sure," Morgan acquiesced, and once he'd locked up, Reid led the way out of his front door. He locked it behind him, and with his hands shoved into the pockets of his well worn, leather jacket, he followed Morgan down his building's four flights of stairs, through the foyer, and out into the autumnal evening.

"Where are we going?"

"That jazz bar Garcia likes," Morgan answered, hands shoved into his own pockets. "It's not far from here, right?"

"That's right," Spencer confirmed, "Guess we'll walk then."

They chatted about mindless things on the way there,but they eventually reached their intended location, and once the bouncer let them through, it wasn't hard to find Garcia. Prentice was already with her, and they each had a glass of red wine in front of them, but neither had noticed their colleagues' arrival.

"I'll go grab some drinks."

Morgan nodded and retreated to the table that the girls had procured, and Spencer headed towards the bar. He ordered himself a scotch, and Morgan some whisky, and once paid for, he approached their table, settled in the empty space beside Prentice, and settled back to take in his surroundings.

"Hey, Reid," Emily greeted, and she strained a smile. "Tough day, hmm?"

Spencer nodded, took a small mouthful of his scotch, and relished the burn as it went down. He lowered his gaze, took in the pattern of the grain in the wood, and admitted, "It's after cases like these when I understand Gideon the most."

"Tell me about it," Morgan agreed, but after that, the subject was swiftly changed to lighter topics, and for a time, Spencer was able to put the last case out of his mind.

Instead, he listened to Garcia bemoan her last failed date, to Emily as she declared a boycott on men, to Morgan's commentary on the available women on the dance floor, and he mused over his coworkers' desire for romantic companionship despite everything, and he wondered, not for the first time, of the what could have beens.

In truth, Spencer wasn't sure why he still thought about her. He'd certainly bedded other women since she'd transferred from Caltech to John Hopkins, had even dated a few for a time, and a fair number of those women had been interested in a future with him, but for whatever reason, he couldn't let her go, couldn't get her out of his system, regardless of the time that had past, of the likelihood she'd moved on, of the fact that he, and likely her, were very different people from the impressionable kids they'd been six years earlier. They'd lasted a single summer, and yet for him, that single summer of playful days and glorious nights could never be enough.

With a shake of his head, Spencer drained his glass, got to his feet, and approached the bar. He bought another round of drinks on him, and was waiting to collect them when a woman sidled up beside him. He took stock of her dress, black, silky, a halter neck that barely brushed the middle of her thighs, and was about to brush her off when he caught sight of her face.

Then he turned, stared in unabashed surprise, and contemplated the existence of fate. In front of him, with that same impish smile, and her sparkling eyes, was the one that got away, and Spencer Reid was lost for words.