Empty Beds

It all started in a small café on a regular morning in late April, although one could argue that this day didn’t hold much significance, for whether or not they saw one another that day for it was simply just a matter of time before they would meet again. Or perhaps not, perhaps one of them may have found themselves in the mist of a horrible accident if they hadn’t stopped for their morning coffee. It was merely coincidence, although when faced with the word Spencer would adamantly begin to explain how coincidences were simply sought out and formed by the mind in an effort to find similarities. But that’s beside the point:

Spencer and Lydia both frequented the same café in the mornings while on their way to work, or in Lydia’s case, school, as the café was notorious for selling the best café in a twenty mile radius. It was really just a matter of time before they ran into each other one morning, and this was just that day. It wasn’t ‘fate’; both swore to that adamantly in the months following as both found all that ‘cheap-romance-novel-bullshit’ to be exactly that: bullshit.

Since it was one of the warmest days in the spring so far, Lydia felt a sudden desire to retire her jeans for the rest of the season and stick to skirts, dressed, and shorts. She pulled on her favorite floral dress, a pair of thigh high socks, her favorite leather jacket, and decided that should do, not concerned in the slightest that the outfit didn’t match all that well.

On that note, Spencer immediately found himself staring at the blonde headed girl in front of him as he stepped into line, struck by her attire of a light floral dressed paired with a leather jacket: he figured this was something Garcia would highly approve of. The blonde held a considerably wore out copy of Walden in one hand and while her other toyed absently with her curls. Despite the fact he still hadn’t seen her face yet, Spencer found himself interested in her, attracted both mentally and physically for reasons he couldn’t quite place. Maybe he was just biased though, as a fellow fan of Thoreau’s work.

Five minutes after she stepped in the door Lydia found herself glancing behind her, simply trying to see how long the line was, but instead found her attention caught on the man behind her. His attention was focused on a manila folder in his hand, his mouth and brow both pulled downward in concentration. He was tall and lanky, reminding her of a teenager that had just gone through a growth spurt, but he had to be in his mid-twenties. He was attractive though, handsome actually would be a better description, with too long of hair tucked behind his ears and strong features. What struck her most was his attire: casual slacks, a pale blue button up shirt with a skinny black tie, a dark cardigan, and a 38-revolver resting proudly on his hip. Odd, she decided, but in an intriguing way.

Spencer looked up from the file to find the blonde staring back at him this time with a look on her face that he couldn’t quite interpret. She was beautiful, much more so than he’d imagined, with bright blues eyes and cherry red lips, making her fair complexion seem that much more extreme, but paired with soft blonde hair it all just fit together quite flawlessly. She smiled slightly when he looked up, embarrassed that she’d been caught ‘checking him out’, and he smiled back just as awkwardly. She felt an odd twist in her gut at the gesture, making her feel like she was a teenager again. She really liked his smile, she decided, there was just something about it that she found incredibly endearing in the strangest way. They weren’t ‘meant to be’ or a ‘perfect match’, in fact whenever someone tried using the term ‘perfect’ around Spencer they would get a ten minute explanation about the physical impossibilities of perfection. No, they both just think that they fit together so well because both ended up being exactly what the other needed and wanted from a partner.

But after their exchange of awkward smiles, that was that. Lydia ordered, paid, and left as soon as her coffee was in hand and a thank you to the barista had come from her mouth, rushing off to D.C. for her morning class, while Spencer went in the opposite direction to Quantico, where a case awaited. She was studying to gain her masters degree in teaching, while he had been with the Behavioral Analysis Unit for over six years now. They were both too preoccupied to think anything of the exchange.

-

It was two weeks before the two crossed paths again, two weeks that they both spent hard at work and without even a second thought of the other within the five minutes that they’d parted ways.

Lydia didn’t even register who was in front of her, or who was behind her either. Instead she was fully focused on the weathered and beaten Bukowski novel clutched firmly in her left hand, her right absently playing with her curls as always. Spencer hadn’t noticed her come in behind him either, too focused on finding a connection between the victims on a local case the team was currently working. It’s needless to say that both are slight workaholics, they’re both quite good at drowning out everything around them when need be, but are both fairly clumsy as well. While the first two tendencies had benefitted, and still were benefitting, them over the years, when all three are combined it tended to lead to rather embarrassing situations. Like so:

Who’s to blame for the whole incident is irrelevant, as both ended up equally embarrassed as a lack of focus combined with an untimely misstep had them colliding rather harshly and sent their various papers across the café floor. The two immediately dropped down to clean the mess and both simultaneously froze as Lydia realized what exactly she was staring at: photos from crime scenes, photos of corpses with bloodied bodies and vacant eyes. After only the slightest moment of hesitation she simply carried on, hardly aware of her hands or the rushed apology leaving her mouth. Spencer knew he owed her an explanation, he knew what kind of effect those photos could have. They were haunting, they were what you’d see when you closed your eyes at night. It had taken Spencer a long time to get used to, or rather get desensitized to, for it was never really something you got used to.

“I take it you have quite an interesting job?” She finally commented as they stood and found their place in line once again. There was an almost sarcastic hint in her tone, but she truly was interested in what exactly would necessitate those photos. He was unsurprised to find her trying to hide her unease, and doing a considerably well done job at that. To anyone else it would have seemed valid, visible only to someone who studied behavior for a living. But instead of prying, he merely gave his signature awkward smile. “I suppose you could say that.” She liked the way his head tilted slightly and the way his eyebrows shifted when he smiled. So she smiled back, her teeth shining pearly white even against her cherry red lips. He felt his cheeks flushing at the sight and the sound of his blood rushing through his ears seemed almost deafening for a moment.

“Next?”

And with that she turned away, her smile fading slightly as she ordered and paid. Spencer studied her thoughtfully while she did so, having tried and failed to resist the urge to profile her. She held herself up with pristine posture, she spoke fluently, and she made sure to say please and thank you. She was the perfect lady but dressed in a worn leather jacket and holding a book that told endless stories of sex and drug abuse. She was a beautiful contradiction; he just couldn’t quite figure her out.

He quickly ordered and paid, standing beside her as they waited. “Do the eyes ever stop looking so vacant?” She asked suddenly, catching him by surprise. She stared him right in the eyes when he turned to face her, an unreadable expression on her face. The words left a bitter taste in her mouth, sounding strange even to her own ears. Spencer understood just what she meant, all too well actually. But for the first time in a long time, he didn’t have an answer for her. Her order was called a moment later, and with a brief thank you she was ready to leave when his voice caught her this time.

“No, never.” She could only return his saddened smile with one of her own, disappearing out the door a moment later. He followed a moment later, once again heading in the opposite direction, this time with images of red lipped smiles filling his head. But as Reid entered the doors to Quantico these thoughts were crushed and replaced with the details of the case. He had work to do, work that would hopefully save lives; there was no room in his mind for fantasies.

Meanwhile images of vacant eyes plagued Lydia’s mind for the rest of day and into the night, keeping her awake long into the morning. She suddenly found herself so thankful that any wake she had been to was closed-casket, as she couldn’t even bear the thought of seeing a loved one lying lifeless before her.

While usually Lydia could successfully block it from her mind, the night always proved to be awfully skilled at slipping past and releasing all the thoughts that she'd tried to lock away. Six years later she knew he’d be nothing but bones, just the skeleton of the man he once was. Or maybe even those would be gone too by now, six years was a long time and the human body’s decay was so rapid. The flesh is first to go, followed by the tissue.

The thoughts were both sickening and terrifying, the thought left her feeling so helpless about the future, almost enough to bring tears. Almost, but not quite. If there was one thing Lydia prided herself on, it was that she wasn’t a crier. Whether it be from bittersweet memories of her father and childhood, or after watching a movie with a horrifically sad or beautiful ending, she just wasn’t a crier.

“I want to be cremated.” she found herself writing on a sticky-note at four am that night, placing it dead center on the refrigerator door. Maybe this is what it felt like to be losing your mind, she thought, like you’re in a constant state of sleep deprivation.

-

Coincidentally or not, the next morning became the third time they crossed paths. Spencer was waiting in line when a familiar blonde walked up to his side. One glance at her was all the confirmation he needed that the photos took their toll; there were the telltale shadows under her eyes and her hair was rather mussed, and yet he couldn’t help but find her still just as painfully attractive as ever. The heavy shadows around his eyes made it obvious that he hadn’t slept soundly the night before either, although she wasn’t sure why.

“Sleep well?” Sarcasm practically dripped from her tone, and despite his exhaustion Spencer found himself smirking in response. She liked his smirk even more than she liked his smile: it wasn’t simply ‘endearing’, it was undeniably attractive. “Marvelously.” She couldn’t smother her laugh soon enough, making his head snap down at her while she blushed behind her hand. It was the first time he heard her laugh before, and while he loved the sound he was confused as to why she had made it in the first place; he hadn’t said anything funny.

“I think you’re the first person under the age of fifty that I’ve ever heard use the term ‘marvelously’.” She finally mumbled, biting her lip in an attempt to contain herself. He could only shrug, unsure of what to say in response. “I read a lot,” He finally found himself mumbling: that might have been the understatement of the century.

“Oh really? That’s surprising; I took you as a ‘sports and chicks’ kind of guy…” He found himself smirking once again. He liked her humor; it reminded him of Prentiss in a way.

“I’m Lydia Bordello, by the way.” She stuck out her hand, grinning rather cutely. “Spencer Reid,” He couldn’t help but notice how small her hand was inside his, almost like a child’s – they were soft like a child’s too, and warm. He found himself really wishing he could hold her hand more often, it was a comfort he found himself suddenly wishing for more than anything. The realization of how strange the thought was hit him just a second later and he found himself blushing at the thoughts, immediately retracting his hand from hers. Similar thoughts were flooding her head but she gave nothing away, not even to the expert profiler.

“Next.”

And with that she turned away, ordering her usual and paying. He did the same, standing beside her again as they waited. He studied her again, smiling slightly when he noticed she was once again in a dress despite how cold it was outside. He couldn’t understand it, but he liked it. Once she’d received her coffee she turned back to him again, smiling as she said, “Well I’m sure I’ll see you around, Spencer.” He could only smile back and nod.

-

“So what’s her name?” Reid glanced up quickly as he walked into Garcia’s ‘office’, unsure that he heard her question correctly. She stared back at him with a knowing smirk, confirming that he had heard her question loud and clear. “I, um – I don’t know what, or um-who, you’re talking about, Garcia.” Her eyes narrowed and her brow arched comically, or at least it would be comical if she were doing to this to anyone else, like Morgan for instance, but with her attention zeroed in on Spencer like that he couldn’t help but flush slightly.

“Oh you know just who I’m talking about, Mr. Reid; ‘her’ as in ‘the girl you ran into this morning that has left you smiling like a fool’. Honestly, you’ve got to know by now that you cannot lie to the all-knowing Penelope Garcia.” He could only shrug, trying to avoid the question once again.

“Ah, ah, ah, you’re not getting off that easily: I demand a name.” But again Spencer merely shrugged in response, his cheeks uncomfortably hot with embarrassment. He didn’t even know why he was so embarrassed, perhaps it was because he’d never found himself in this sort of situation before. He didn’t have a normal childhood, what with his mother’s condition and the fact that he’d already graduated high school and gotten two doctorates by the time he was seventeen. He never talked with his mother about girls, instead he’d recite statistics and she’d recite Chaucer.

“Lydia Bordello.” He answered truthfully. “I’ve just met her a few times; we go to the same café for our morning coffee.” Garcia proceeded to let a high squeal, making Spencer jump. “Meeting in a coffee shop, oh that’s so cute. And she’s pretty too right?” Spencer could only nod, finding it just wasn’t worth to energy to resist her questions. “Really pretty? I bet she’d a blonde too,” He could only nod again, feeling incredibly awkward now that the entire situation had been blown out of proportion and made to seem as if he actually had a chance with her.

She spun her computer chair, ignoring Reid’s protests and instead ‘working her magic’ as she liked to say, and finding out exactly who had so easily stolen Reid’s attention. Not even thirty seconds later she found her, pulling up her driver’s license records. “Oh Reid, she’s beautiful. Oh, I bet you two are going to end up being soul mates. You’ll make me godmother to your beautiful genius children one day, right?” Garcia knew she was getting way ahead of herself, but was simply too excited that Spencer seemed to finally take an interest in someone to care.

“You know, a soul mate is defined as a person with whom one has a natural affinity; affinity is defined as a natural liking for or attraction to a person, thing, idea, etcetera. So when you break the term ‘soul mate’ down it’s core, it’s simply defined as someone you find yourself naturally attracted to, but in reality, that could be anyone – we see people with whom we’re naturally attracted to everyday. Yes, perhaps you’re more attracted to this person than most, but there’s never any connotation that this goes beyond a physical attraction. So truthfully, I don’t believe in soul mates.”

Her face continued to fall as he went on, finally forming into a scowl by his last sentence. “Reid, remind me to never, ever talk about anything remotely romantic with you ever again. Just because you don’t believe in romance doesn’t mean that you need to spoil it for everyone.” Garcia’s tone was teasing, in that older-sibling-like way that everyone on the team seemed to use when talking with Spencer about these things, but nevertheless his eyebrows furrowed in response.

“It’s not that I don’t believe in romance, although technically romance is defined as a narrative or prose, not a theory, and so cannot have belief of disbelief, but that’s beside the point: I just think it’s completely irrational to believe that you could ever tell that ‘someone is the one’ just from looking them, a complete stranger. It could be an overwhelming sense of physical attraction, ‘lust at first sight’ perhaps, but not ‘love at first sight’. You know, it’s speculated that-” Finally she couldn’t take anymore, “Okay, Reid! What do you want?”

“Oh, Hotch asked me to give you these files.” She could only heave an overdramatic sigh and roll her eyes as she pulled the files from him, spinning her chair away from the doorway where he stood and instead towards her many monitors. Spencer took that as a sign to leave and did just that, returning to his desk in the bull pen.

Garcia’s comments and thoughts of Lydia plagued him throughout the day after that, following him all the way home and into his bed. He laid awake for a long time that night, now the second night in a row, and let his thoughts run rapid. While he loved his job, more than anything (aside from his mother, that is), the thought of having a ‘normal life’ was almost appealing on nights like this. He just longed for company, not even specifically in a romantic sense, just someone to play chess with and talk to - really talk to that is, about all the worries plaguing him - on lonely nights like these in an empty bed.