Fun fact: the idea for this story was spurned by the sudden image in my brain of Prentiss painting a room in her new apartment pink... and this is what became of it.

Once they had started putting the paint on the wall, Spencer tried to keep up that same jovial tone as he asked, "So I guess it's going to be a girl?"

"That's what I've been told," Emily said with a nod, staring at the wall in front of her.

He wanted to go over and shake her; demand that she look at him, demand that she give him some answers, but he didn't. After a few minutes of the same almost-strained silence, Emily disappeared and then reappeared with a radio. She set it down in the middle of the floor and turned it on before going back to work on the painting. Spencer felt a sudden wave of resentment for that radio, how it so effectively cut off the need for conversation, a conversation that he was beginning to suspect Emily knew that they needed to have.

What was a guy to do? He'd go along with her – at least for now.

Emily was beginning to love the radio for sucking the awkwardness out of the air between her and Spencer. Or at least taking most of it away. She began to sing along, hoping to force the rest of it out of the room. The desired affect was completely achieved when Spencer smiled and began to sing as well. Loud and off-key, but happy. That was all that she wanted.

That was all that she had ever wanted for Spencer – that he be happy and keep that innocence that he had about him. He had been the biggest reason – if not the only reason – that she had taken this job in London. The truth was she just didn't think that he was ready for this. Maybe that wasn't her call to make, and maybe she was wrong, but she had made the call, and she didn't think she was remiss in doing so. Spencer deserved better than an unplanned pregnancy and whatever broken form of love that she would be able to give him. She told herself that it didn't matter that she loved him. He deserved better than what she could give him, and that had to be all that there was to it.

These thoughts had for once been alleviated from her mind, drowned out by the pink walls and bright music, and Emily found herself laughing when she looked at Spencer. The poor man had a large stripe of pink paint down his nose. How on earth had that happened?

"What?" Spencer asked her with a smile.

"You're nose," she laughed.

Spencer rubbed the sleeve of his shirt across his nose, shrugging when it came away pink. "Oh, well; that was bound to happen to one of us sooner or later."

"Yeah, don't worry; it looks kind of cute on you, Reid."

She smiled, but then her smile turned back down to a frown as the familiar and unwelcome thoughts washed over her once again. She turned back to the wall and returned to attacking it with a paint brush.

"Emily," he whispered seriously, turning to face her.

"Hm?" she responded, pretending that she didn't notice his tone.

A pause wherein he struggled to figure out which of the many words that he wanted say should actually come out of his mouth, and then he asked simply, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she answered quickly, but he needed answers, and they both knew it.

"Okay," he murmured, his tone letting her know that he was allowing her to get away with that lie.

A beat-long pause and then she sighed, dropping her paint-roller back into the tin of paint. "It's just…"

He, too, abandoned his task and came over, placing both his hands on her shoulders and looking down on her. Her gaze skittered towards the tarp-covered floor as he asked, "Emily?"

She swallowed and forced herself to look into his brown eyes. "It's just that… you're this little girl's father, Spencer."

Every muscle in Spencer's body relaxed and he smiled gently, saying the two most surprising words in the world. "I know."

"You what?"

Spencer took a step back, scrambling to explain. "At least I thought I might be. You started acting strangely, and then you left, and then you got even weirder, and I got to thinking, and… I just figured it out one day. I decided then that I had to come see you, get things figured out between us. And here I am."

Emily gaped at him. For as smart as she knew Spencer Reid to be, she had always thought that he wouldn't think of this scenario – of what had actually happened.

"Well then," Emily crossed her arms over her chest, feeling irrationally frustrated with him as she said, "Tell me, Spencer Reid, what else do you know about this situation?"

Spencer cocked his head to the side, looking at her a little sadly. "I know that it doesn't have to be this way," he murmured, stepping back up to her and cupping her shoulders once again. "I know that the team misses you like crazy; that we all do… that I do. I know that it's time for you to stop running, Emily. I know that if and when you're ready to come back to the BAU, there will always be a place for you on the team; we'd make sure of that. I know that there will always be a place for you in my apartment. I know that I love you, Emily, and whenever you're ready, I will always be there waiting for you." He swallowed, looking deep into her eyes. "That's what I know."

Emily closed her eyes, feeling the first tear slide down her cheek. Spencer carefully gathered her close, letting her cry softly into his shirt.

He lowered his face to her hair, whispering, "And I know that I want to be a father to our baby."

This caused another sob to rack her body as she realized just how much she had misjudged him. He was ready for this; he did want this, maybe even more than she wanted it. He wanted them to be a family, but she… she just wasn't sure if she could go back to the team, to him, yet. So she just clung to Spencer's paint-spattered shirt and cried.