"Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within."
-James Baldwin
The air was warm, and the scent of sweat hung low. Angie's eyes opened slowly, her head resting comfortably on something hot. Lifting herself up, she looked down at Spencer as he slept, his face peaceful. The events of the night before still clung to her. She didn't want to forget them.
The bed was almost completely barren, the covers tossed haphazardly on the floor. She pulled the remaining sheets over her body and lay back down, unwilling to move. It was then she looked at the clock and realized what time it was, letting out a loud yelp. Spencer started, nearly knocking her off the bed as he sat up. "What's wrong?"
"Work," she said, standing up and digging through her dresser.
Spencer looked at the clock and sighed. He stood and pulled the sheets around his waist, still a bit modest. He was amazed how quickly she could put together an outfit, and even more amazed by how quickly she got her makeup done.
"Don't you have to be at work, too?" she asked, combing her curls back and holding them in place with a pink hair tie.
Spencer blinked, then looked at the clock and gasped. He was never one to forget, but with everything that had gone on, work was the furthest thing from his mind. He scrambled around the room with his boxers on, trying to find his clothing. "Where are my pants?"
Angie glanced around, but couldn't find them. "I have no idea. Where did you take them off?"
"What do you mean where did I take them off? You're the one that took them off!"
"You helped!"
He shuffled into the living room and looked around, and eventually found them hidden behind the island between the kitchen and the living room. How they got there, he couldn't remember. He couldn't even remember when his clothes came off, though he definitely remembered her robe falling to the ground.
The memory of kissing Angie goodbye clung to Spencer's lips as he drove to work. He drove automatically, streets passing him without notice. Only when he was actually at work did he snap out of La-La Land. He managed to pull himself together at his desk, a small pile of paperwork sat on his desk, waiting to be finished.
Morgan strode past young Spencer's desk, his eyes on a file in one of his hands, a cup of steaming coffee in the other. The tall, muscular man stopped and turned around, his eyes leaving the papers in the file and settling on the young Dr. Reid.
"Didn't you wear that yesterday?"
The pen in Spencer's hand nearly snapped in half from the force of the agent's grip. He looked up at his co-worker, suddenly wishing he had taken the time to stop at home and change. He should have known one of them would have noticed, and profilers can't go a day without scrutinizing everything everybody did.
"Maybe."
Morgan's lips quickly expanded into a large, toothy grin. His eyes twinkled, the urge to tease his friend growing. "Did somebody get a little action from a certain blonde Mexican?"
"I will not dignify that question with a response."
Garcia hopped over excitedly, her blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders. "Did I hear somebody got action?"
Rapidly the need to get up and quit his job grew in Spencer. He loved his co-workers, he really did, just not when they felt the need to tease him about every little thing he did. Normally he didn't mind, actually. It was refreshing, and he would tease right back. But he did not want his relationship scrutinized the way each of them had of JJ's relationship with her husband. Teasing and smart remarks were one thing, but making the personal lives of their friends their business was another.
It almost felt like karma was kicking him in the butt, as he knew he was guilty of doing the exact thing Morgan and Garcia were doing.
"Like I said, I will not dignify that with a response."
Garcia reached out and ruffled Spencer's hair. "My wittle genius."
Morgan patted his youthful companion on the back, a deep, resonating laugh escaping his chest. "Just make sure you name one of your children after me."
"Why would I do that? And who said I was having children?" Spencer leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands into the air. He was frustrated, yes, but part of him felt like smiling and laughing with the others. Something good was finally happening to him, and his friends were happy for him. He wondered if he was frustrated because he was genuinely frustrated or because he wasn't sure what to make of the situation.
&&&&
Angie strode to her desk with a smile on her face, her eyes roaming in some far off land. Tony noticed, narrowing his eyes curiously. He stared at her for a moment as she sat down, pulling out files from her desk. Glancing over at Ziva, he could tell the Israeli was feeling the same curiosity.
"Good morning, Angie," McGee said cheerfully, plopping down into his seat. "You look happy today."
The young Mexican woman turned her eyes to her co-worker. "Yeah, I am, actually. It's just a good day."
"That's good, given everything that has… happened." McGee coughed, realizing he probably shouldn't have said anything. Angie let it slide. "So why the good mood?"
Angie chose not to answer, smiling and turning to the paperwork on her desk. Ziva could read the look on Angie's face, and strode over. The darker haired woman leaned in close to Angie's ear and said, "Who was it?"
"You don't know him," Angie replied, keeping her voice down just enough that DiNozzo and McGee could not hear her actual words. All they got was the soft hum of her voice, their ears straining to hear what was going on.
"Maybe I do."
"He was on the case with us. FBI."
Ziva was quiet a moment, thinking, then said, "The tall, dark one?" She had met the BAU team only once, but had a knack for remembering faces, especially if said faces were attractive.
"No, the tall… skinny one. Long hair."
"Ooh," Ziva replied, her lips spreading into a grin. It was so nice to have a female co-worker, especially after working for so long with Tony and McGee. Abby was a real treat, but someone more normal was very nice to have around. "Cute, but not my type."
Tony heard this one. "Who isn't your type?"
"Her type does not concern you, DiNozzo," Gibbs commented, striding into the small office area, a steaming cup of black coffee in hand. He did that often, but Angie could still not get used to him appearing seemingly out of nowhere. "Martinez, you have a guest." He nodded over to a woman they had not noticed before. Immediately, each of them knew who she was.
Angie stood and inhaled deeply, as if trying to summon the confidence to speak to this woman. Her hands began to shake, but she steadied them in time to shake the woman's hand. "Angela Martinez," she said, her voice steady but forced as she introduced herself.
"Virginia Gutierrez."
The two women stood staring each other. Angie couldn't help but think it was like looking in a mirror. Virginia was almost the same height, though maybe an inch or so shorter, and her hair was the same shade of blonde. Her roots were just beginning to grow in dark, though Angie's were almost in desperate need of a touch-up. Their skin was almost the same color. They could have been mistaken for twins if one did not take the time to look closely.
After an awkward silence that lasted no more than a minute, but seemed to last forever, Angie asked, "Can I help you?"
"I wanted… I wanted to come and offer an explanation."
"That isn't… um… necessary." Though she said the words to be polite, an explanation was something Angie had been searching for since she returned home. She wanted to know why things had turned out the way they had.
"Yes, yes it is."
Without asking for permission, or even glancing over at Gibbs, Angie placed her hand on Virginia's back and steered her away from the small work space. They walked in silence towards an empty interview room. Once inside, Virginia spoke without waiting for Angie to say anything.
"Samuel wasn't always so crazy. We met in Mexico as children, when our families would visit for the summer holidays. His grandparents lived across the street from mine. Over the years, he became my best friend, and eventually… my fiancé. He was kind, and gentle. He was so against violence, he was vegetarian. He crashed his car into a ditch in attempt to avoid hitting a cat that was crossing the road. Then his parents died in a fire. His father left a cigarette burning in the ashtray next to their bed, and it caught fire to the house. They burned to death before they could be saved." Her voice quivered and broke, but she continued. "After that, it was like something changed in him. Over the next year, he became increasingly violent and paranoid. He would beat me until I had to go to the hospital, but I stayed with him. I knew he was just angry because his parents were dead, and I told myself he would get better. Then he nearly killed me." With shaking hands, Virginia pulled up the sleeve on her right arm, showing Angie the jagged scar across her wrist. "I went for a run without telling him one day, and when I returned, he was furious. He had a knife when I returned. I knew what he was going to do, and picked up the phone to dial nine-one-one. I ran screaming to another room, telling the operator my fiancé was attacking me. He caught up and jerked the phone out of my hand, forcing me to the ground. He slashed my wrist, and as he was going for the next one, the police arrived. He ran away after that. I don't know how he escaped them, but he did." She stopped talking, but Angie didn't know if it was so she could ask questions, or because she lacked the strength to continue.
"When was this?"
"A few weeks before the attack began. When I left, it must have sent him over the edge. He missed me, but he hated me. He loved me, but he wanted me dead. And then you… you came along. I don't know why your attack was different. I don't know how he took you. But he saw you and thought you were me, and I am sorry for that. There is nothing I can do to make up for what happened, but I thought by telling you why he was doing this… maybe it would offer some comfort."
Tears were releasing themselves from the eyes of both women freely, but Angie batted hers away and touched Virginia's shoulder. "It wasn't your fault. He was sick. There was nothing you could have done to have prevented it."
"I know… but I feel so terrible."
Angie embraced the woman that looked so much like her, and part of her felt better for it. She wasn't the only one suffering because of what Samuel had done, and knowing somebody else was torn up because of it offered some comfort.
&&&&
When she arrived home later that day, Angie was surprised to find Spencer waiting next to his car in the parking lot next to her apartment complex. He was carrying flowers, and looked extremely anxious. Her heart swelled when she was the bouquet.
"That woman, Virginia, came by our office today, looking for you. We sent her to NCIS, and I assume she got to you."
Angie nodded. "Yeah, she found me."
Awkwardly, he pushed himself forward and handed her the flowers, his eyes unable to meet her gaze. "I went out and got these for you. I didn't know what else to do."
"They're beautiful, thank you." She lifted the bundle to her face, pressing the soft petals to her skin. They smelled heavenly.
"You want to go to dinner?"
She looked up, her eyes connecting with his. He wanted to run screaming, she could tell, and last night's events didn't help. He had to be the most awkward man she had ever met. It was endearing, and oddly cute. "Now?"
"That was the plan… but if you can't, I totally understand. The chances of you having plans already are high, given that you have a career and you might have just been stopping home to get something, which I should have considered, and I could have called first but I couldn't bring myself to pick up the phone, and Morgan said to just show up because women like it when men are spontaneous, so I left and got the flowers, which I said, and came he—"
Angie placed a finger over his lips to silence him and smiled, warmed by his advances. She could tell he didn't usually go after a woman, so he must have really liked her if he was trying so hard. "I'd love to."
