After a final sorting of what was occurring between she and Spencer, Rowena is much more at ease than she's been in quite a while. Though the case keeps him for awhile, her co-workers and friends notice a marked improvement in Rowena's mood and demeanor. Rather than loose pantsuits, which are still striking on her as most clothing is, she's taken to skirts and heels and just a touch more makeup than usual. It's not precisely for his approval, since she obviously knows he's not there to appreciate it, but rather because there's something decidedly satisfying about knowing that Spencer Reid has a thing for her. Petty, maybe, but she likes knowing (and he reminds her by text message fairly frequently) that he likes her; her voice, her hair, her smile, her wit. Spencer merely enjoys everything about her.
Spencer debates the merits of adding yet another emoticon to the text message he wants to send Rowena, and although he's rather proud of himself for figuring out how to make a Yoda with only his keyboard, he decides against it. This is probably a juvenile enough exercise in high school love affairs. They're even shy about physical affection still.
She smiles and replies yes, she was in fact thinking of him. It's been nearly two months now and while Spencer's probably only been around for the equivalent of one, they're very comfortable with each other when he is there. Friday nights they'll have dinner and watch TV, maybe play a board game if Rowena doesn't mind having her ass kicked that day, and she usually doesn't.
Rowena hits send and as if by design, her phone immediately rings.
Spencer waits anxiously outside her office for the response and, when he receives it, grins and pushes through the door. "Rowena!" His enthusiasm is gutted when he sees her sitting limp in her chair with what he can only describe as a hollow expression. She gestures for him to sit and swivels her chair away, speaking quietly. He has superb hearing however and can hear her half of the conversation.
"No. I can't. There's no one else? I know what I promised and I meant it, but… Alright, Cal, I'll be there. Yeah, okay. Next week? I'll be there." She taps the red phone on the screen and lays her phone down gently, though her hands are clenched to white knuckles around it.
"Is everything alright?" It's a dumb question and one he knows the answer to, but still. Rowena turns to face him; he notes her clenched jaw and the gleam to her impossibly dark eyes as the physiological signs of impending crying, but he's not quite sure what to qualify the punch to his gut as. Just how viscerally her apparent pain hits him is a shock to his system in and of itself.
"I'm fine." She murmurs, flicking her gaze away, then a choking laugh bubbles out of her. "What am I doing? You're a profiler, of course you know something's wrong." Her fingers start to tap an erratic pattern against the table.
"I-I wouldn't have to be." Spencer is surprised to find a catch in his own throat. "Rowena, I understand if you don't want to talk, but…" She's silent, staring at nothing particular in a corner and it's, he realizes, starting to shake him. "Rowena." Spencer sees that she's actually beginning to shake physically and pure male instinct is about to drag him out of his chair to embrace her whether she wants it or not when she speaks.
"There's a perp up for parole in Detroit, because of overcrowding. I have to testify because the victim, uh, the victim killed herself two years ago. I promised her the day we arrested him that I'd be there if they tried to let him out, I just never thought they'd put him up for parole."
"If a useless statistic could possibly make you feel better, 33% of prisons are overcrowded." Rowena chuckles and then sniffs, her hands jerky as they try to clear away her smeared mascara.
"I'm a mess. I'm sorry."
"No, no, don't be. I'm sorry, that must be painful to dig up." She nods, kneading her forehead with a fist and trying desperately to smile but not doing it well.
"Spencer, I'm glad you're back, I really am. I just want to be alone right now. I'm going to go home and cry into some ice cream and beat the hell out of my punching bag and possibly drink."
"Rowena…" He rises from his chair and starts to come around the desk.
"No, no. Definitely drink." She mutters, jerking up abruptly and beginning to pack her desk essentials into her backpack.
"Rowena." Spencer's long arms are taking her gently by the elbows before she noticed he was out of his chair and Rowena looks up at him blankly, not really seeing him through the tears that are now running freely. He smiles, though it's clear that her emotional trauma is getting to him, and wraps his arms around her with as much care as the lanky genius can muster. Gently but insistently, he guides her head to be tucked against his shoulder with one hand and strokes her back with the other. It's meant to be a comfort to her and it is, but Spencer finds himself calmed by her warmth in his hands again. "It'll be okay. I promise." She melts against him, letting him support her weight as her arms clasp around his back.
"You're sweet, but you can't promise that." She mumbles into his plaid vest, smelling aged tea leaves and yellowed book pages. Spencer strokes her hair, smoothing the dark gnarls from it.
"I can promise that tonight will be okay if you come home with me."
"Are you propositioning me, sir?" Rowena means it in jest but feels his arms tighten around her in panic.
"No, of course not, not that you aren't beautiful and gorgeous and worthy of propositioning but I meant I could take care of you tonight so you feel better, like with a cup of tea and maybe read to you…" She starts to shake in his arms again and Spencer nearly bites through his lip until she looks up at him and he sees the smile beneath the drying film of tears.
"Okay. Can you drive my car? I don't trust myself to drive." He smiles back, feeling warmth spreading through his chest.
"Anything for milady." Spencer answers, wiping away the moisture beneath her eyes and kissing her nose.
"You are never driving my car again."
"I got us here safely!" Spencer protests as he tries to unlock his apartment door, his arms full of his bag and hers.
"It would seem as though by accident!" The door finally opens and Rowena is gestured in, Spencer trying his best not to think about what this all means. She looks about and smiles as she does, starting to forget why her ribs ache from dry sobs. His apartment is in beiges and browns but tastefully geek chic, buried in vinyl records and science fiction disc sets and Russian literature.
"I'm sorry, it doesn't look like much."
"No, no, I like it." Rowena replies quietly, taking her bag and setting it beside her on the couch. "I'm sure I don't look like much after crying all over you."
"I don't mind. I may…" His voice breaks ever so slightly but he covers it quickly, the rush of water filling up his hot water kettle masking it. "I may need the same from you some time." Rowena looks over her shoulder at him, a wave of warmth and indefinable fond sentiment choking anything she could say for a few moments.
"I'll be happy to." It's starting to get too comfortably close and Rowena remembers that she's in a navy blue suit that is wrinkled to all hell and now confining and uncomfortable. "Spencer, could I maybe borrow some clothes?"
"Oh, of course!" Spencer nearly trips over himself and into her, not believing he hadn't thought to offer already. "I don't know what I have that fits you, but…"
"A pair of boxers and a T-shirt will do fine." The thought of Rowena in his shirt and a pair of his underwear saps the strength from his knees and the words from his tongue. "Spencer? Please don't tell me you wear tighty whities."
"No, no, of course I don't, that would be childish and ridiculous." He turns an approximate shade of purple and hurriedly grabs a pair of plain grey striped boxers, shoving all of his briefs to the back of his drawer, and tosses them to her, followed by a white shirt.
"Thank you." Rowena's smirk tells him she knows just what he did and walks into his bathroom to change. She folds her suit neatly and dons his clothing, noticing that the boxers fit pretty well apart from being a bit too long and the shirt hangs with surprising flattery. Still somber despite her rapidly improving mood, she exits the bathroom quietly and blinks at seeing Spencer's back, naked from the waist up. "Don't tell me this was your only shirt." He jumps and turns to face her, fumbling with the green shirt in his hands and speaking through it as he yanks it on as quickly as he can. He's of course lean, but surprisingly muscled as well; just how pale he is makes her chuckle.
"I'm sorry, I thought you'd take longer…" His voice trails off as the shirt clears his head and he gets a good look at her.
"You're fine, Spencer." She says, her amusement with her shy boyfriend or something starting to overcome the memories starting to make their way back. There's a pause as Spencer's eyes trace from the loose, messy waves brushing her shoulders down to her body framed by his clothing and decides that those shorts and shirt are wasted on him. "What?" Rowena asks quietly, not quite sure how he's staring at her. Her emotional state is somewhat fragile still.
"Nothing. Would you, uh, like some tea?"
"Yes, please." Rowena follows him to the kitchen.
Spencer prepares two cups of chamomile and sets them on the coffee table, sitting beside her and watching her as she drinks it slowly. She's aware of the caramel colored eyes following her every move as she sips. Confused, she looks at him.
"What is it, Spencer?" Rowena asks. He swallows hard and reaches out a hand to touch her arm, wanting physical contact, and she places her hand over his immediately.
"I don't know." He sighs and takes the cup from her hands, putting it on the table beside his. Spencer's arms pull at her and gently, insistently pull her closer until Rowena is curled up in his lap. "Just let me hold you."
"Thank you for understanding." She murmurs against the cool skin of his neck and he shudders at the warming sensation.
"I know what it's like to be unable to clear away terrible memories, no matter how much you want to. Believe me, I know."
"Things are messy." Rowena mutters and Spencer chuckles, holding her a bit tighter.
"I know. But this isn't."
"You know, we shouldn't be as attached to each other as we are. We barely see each other, or at least it seems that way." She says it like a curious phenomenon of nature and he considers it. A few dates, all of them good except for the one made awful by circumstances. It's just circumstances seem to be continually dictating their relationship. He's grateful this time though, because circumstances have driven her straight into his embrace.
"I don't know." Spencer's hand drifts to clasp hers and Rowena can feel a chuckle ruffle her hair. "Does it matter?" It's a bit plaintive, a bit childlike, but only because he means it so earnestly.
"No. No, it doesn't." She sighs. "I scheduled a flight to Detroit for Saturday. I don't know how long I'll be gone."
"Wow, it's, uh, strange to have someone saying that to me." Spencer replies dryly and she laughs, the sound relieving him immeasurably.
"I'm sure. I'll call you while I'm gone."
"Spend the night here?" He asks shyly, stroking her head, and Rowena nuzzles a little closer.
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."