Empty Beds

It took Spencer a week before he could finally muster up the courage to call Lydia. He’d memorized her number after one glance, but just couldn’t bring himself to hit send. Finally, prompted by both Morgan and Garcia’s incessant questions, he found himself calling her from the bathroom during his lunch break. He didn’t know where the sudden courage came from, and decided not to question it, instead just hitting the small green button without second thought.

She answered on the fourth ring, sounding as if she’d only just woken up. “Um, hi: it’s uh, it’s Spencer, Spencer Reid.” She laughed slightly into the phone, her voice still heavy with sleep. “You know, wonder boy, I was beginning to think I’d scared you off. Is there a seven day rule that I don’t know about?”

“No, I’ve uh, I’ve just never called a girl back before.” There was a raw sincerity, a vulnerability, in his tone that made her freeze on her way toward the kitchen. “Well I’m glad to know that I made the cut,” she finally responded, positive that he could just hear the smile in her tone. He imagined that she was smiling and found himself doing the same, trying to think of what to say next.

“Would you um, would you want to maybe get lunch or something tomorrow?” He tried his best to make it sound casual. She tried not to sound too eager when she replied, “I’d love to, just name the time and the place.”

-

Despite it being a Saturday and despite his intention of actually using his day off to get some extra sleep (although this only meant sleeping in until eight, as opposed to waking up at six), Spencer found himself waking up to the sound of his phone ringing at 7:15. He didn’t even need to check it to know that he was being called into work. He laid in bed for another five minutes before finally forcing himself away from the comfort of soft sheets and into the shower.

Within twenty minutes he was dressed, ready to go, and out the door. Spencer always kept his go-bag pre-packed for mornings like these, knowing he was bound to forget something important if he chose to pack in his caffeine deprived state of mind. It would make sense for him to simply buy a coffee maker instead of paying $5 every morning for coffee, but cooking was never his strong point (and in his case, cooking included making coffee.)

It was only until he was halfway through his coffee and commute to Quantico that Spencer realized he had made plans for lunch with Lydia. He decided to wait until he was off the subway to call, knowing that even if she was awake at this hour (which, judging by their last phone call, he seriously doubted) she wouldn’t be able to hear him over all the noise. By 8:30 he arrived at Quantico, pausing outside the entrance to call Lydia. As he predicted, she didn’t answer.

“Um hi, Lydia, it’s uh, Spencer. I was, um; I was calling to ask if maybe we could reschedule or something? I just got called in on a case, apparently it’s urgent and we need to leave right away. But um, we can get lunch when I’m back in town. If you want to, that is. Alright, well um… bye.” Despite feeling a bit mortified by the end of the call, he quickly tried to push it from his mind as he walked inside. He had a case to worry about; the last thing on his mind should be his inability to talk to women without making a fool of himself.

-

Lydia woke that morning sometime around eleven, fully intent on lying in bed until at least twelve. She didn’t need to be out of the house until one, as she was meeting Spencer for lunch at one thirty, and the subway ride there would take her only fifteen, so combined with walking she’d be there right on time. Lydia had mastered the art of procrastination.

But then she noticed her phone blinking, signifying that she had a message. She didn’t even need to check it to know who exactly it was from and what the general message would be about: she distantly remembered Spencer talking about how irregular his work schedule was and how it always proved difficult to arrange plans when an urgent case could come in at any moment. Apparently this was just one of those days. She didn’t allow herself to be disappointed though, she was fully aware from the start that even if something - a relationship, for example – did come out of this, his job would always be his main priority and she would have no choice but to accept it.

So she pulled herself out of bed and crawled (literally) to her phone where it lay charging in the far corner of the room. Sure enough, she had one missed call from Spencer and one new voicemail. She listened through the voicemail twice, laughing at the ending each time. While most would probably find his awkwardness just that: awkward, she found it adorable in the weirdest way and just couldn’t get enough of it. He was the breath of fresh air that she’d been waiting years for.

Spencer opened his phone at 11:43 to find a new text message, smiling as he read the message. “Don’t worry about it, wonder boy. Call me whenever you’re finished saving the world.” He could just imagine her tone of voice and the look she’d be giving him if they were in person having the conversation.

“Reid?” He quickly looked up at Morgan and nodded, simultaneously sliding his phone back in his pocket and wiping the smile from his face. He had a case to focus on right now, he reminded himself, and so once again he forced her to the back of his mind.

-

Five days later with their latest case closed and their un-sub in custody, Spencer found himself calling Lydia again, this time from the privacy of jet’s tiny bathroom. Not exactly the most pleasant place to make a call, but it was the only privacy he’d get for the next four hours that it would take to get to Quantico.

She answered on the third ring, wide awake this time. “I was beginning to think you’d ditched me again.” she greeted casually, trying to balance the phone on her shoulder as she made herself lunch. “Hi,” He returned in his typically awkward manner.

“I don’t suppose you’d want to get dinner with me tonight? Just for a casual dinner, nothing fancy.” She quickly clarified, just imagining the dear in headlights look he probably had for a moment. “We won’t land until at least eight o’clock, which would mean I won’t be home until at least nine.”

“How does ice cream sound, then?”

-

So at nine thirty-four that night Spencer found Lydia waiting outside of the closest ice cream shop to his apartment, which coincidentally was her favorite ice cream shop in the city. She smiled when he came into view, standing up to meet him halfway. She was wearing her leather jacket, a light pink dress, and her usual bright red lipstick: Spencer couldn’t help but grin at the combination. Yes, Garcia would definitely approve.

“As if you’re one to talk when it comes to fashion sense,” she countered before walking inside, smirking at the bewildered look on his face. “I don’t need to be a profiler to understand that look.”

He followed behind her, surprised to find that the shop was actually quite crowded even at this time of night. “This place serves the best ice cream in the city,” she commented, again as if she knew his exact thought. “I’m not a mind reader; you’re just an open book sometimes.”

“Did you know that the concept of using a tin-foil hat to shield the brain from such influences like electromagnetic fields, or against mind control and/or mind reading was originally devised from the science fiction story titled The Tissue-Culture King by Julian Huxley in 1927, as the protagonist discovered that "caps of metal foil" could be used to block the effects of telepathy? What’s interesting is that the theory does have some validity, as it can significantly reduce the intensity of incident radio frequency radiation on the wearer's brain. A study by graduate students at MIT determined that a tin foil hat could either amplify or attenuate incoming radiation depending on frequency; the effect was observed to be roughly independent of the relative placement of the wearer and radiation source.”

Lydia could only stare back him in a mixture of confusions and amazement. “But despite those studies, people just think you’re crazy if you walk around with a tinfoil hat on?” She concluded, looking up at him for confirmation. He smiled and nodded vigorously, clearly excited that she had bothered to pay attention through his entire spiel. “Precisely, the effect is so minimal that if you were to come in contact with incoming radiation, especially if it were enough to prove harmful, the hat would essentially be useless.”

“And so the whole concept is mocked by movies like Signs? I always loved that scene.” Now it was his turn to be confused. “Oh come on, don’t tell me you’ve never seen Signs. It may not be the most realistic science fiction film, but the suspense build up is played out perfectly.” He just shrugged, wearing his typical ‘I’m awkward’ expression.

“Wow, you need to get out the library more often, wonder boy. One day we’ll have to watch it so you can see just what you were missing out on.” He shrugged again, liking the underlying promise that they’d be seeing more of each other. He felt as if he had an angle and devil on his shoulders at times like these: on one hand he wanted to spend every day with her, every day until she got bored with him and moved on, but on the other hand he knew just how badly this could end. He’d seen Hotch and Hayley’s relationship fall apart through the years, a couple once so happy eventually being torn apart by Hotch’s line of work; Reid’s line of work. Even worse, Spencer saw the haunted look in Hotch’s eyes everyday after losing Hayley.

“My eyes are up here, kid.” Spencer was pulled out of his thoughts at the comment, almost laughing at the look bewildered look on the teenage employee’s face, as if the kid thought his stare was completely inconspicuous to the receiver. Lydia on the other hand just rolled her eyes, all too used to it by now. Spencer was very thankful that his mother had taught him tact and respect for women at an early age; it had proven to be especially useful in the past few weeks when he was around Lydia.

“I feel like I’ll be making that comment a lot next year,” she muttered once they got their ice cream, leaving the crowded shop in search of somewhere outside to sit. “Why’s that?” He managed to get out through a mouthful of ice cream. Or maybe some of the manners his mother had tried to teach him were a bit lost at times, but Lydia surprisingly didn’t look offended in the slightest at this, in fact she found it hilarious.

“I’ll be teaching English to eleventh grade students next year: enough said.” Yet again Spencer found himself completely surprised. He hadn’t even guessed that she’d finished college yet, let alone had already gotten her masters degree. Just then it struck him how little he knew about her and how much she knew about him.

“I’ve just realized how little I don’t know about you,” he repeated, gaining just a shrug in response. “Lucky you,” she shot back with a smirk, but there was a serenity in her tone that bothered him. “I beg to differ. How old are you?”

“That’s the best you could start with? I’ll be twenty four this coming September.” Three years wasn’t a big difference, not to him anyway. “Why’d you move to D.C. for college? Did you dislike Boston?”

“How’d you know I was from Boston?”

“I asked you first.”

Spencer didn’t even realize that he was flirting, it just seemed like banter. Playful batter with someone he rather liked, but the idea of flirting was far from his mind. Lydia was all too aware though and found that anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach had returned, but she didn’t mind it one bit this time.

“Fine, you win: I moved here because I fell in love with the city when I visited eight years ago. I left home because I hated the memories I had there. Now tell me, was it the accent? I thought I’d lost it by now.” Her tone shifted within only seconds, the distinct bitterness quickly melting into forced humor. He could easily tell what had brought her to D.C. for the first time wasn’t a happy memory, but what she’d left at home seemed to be even worse. Spencer couldn’t help but profile her as it was just second nature to do so now, but even still he almost felt guilty afterwards.

“The best-known features of the Boston accent are non-rhoticity and the broad A: while you’ve mostly managed to drop the accent over the years, or at least tone it down to the point that it’s unrecognizable to the unconscious ear, it still tends to linger on particular words and phrases, especially when you’re angry.”

Lydia seemed both impressed at his discovery and relieved that he’d skipped over the rest of what she’d said. Spencer knew how hard it could be discussing past memories, especially the bitter ones. “Very impressive.” Spencer couldn’t help but blush at that, making her laugh again: this had proven to be a typical interaction between them, he noticed.

“Why did you decide to become an English teacher?” She was silent at the question, as if phrasing her answer very carefully. Finally she gave a silent sigh, seeming to have given in to a thought.

“After I lost my father when I was sixteen, books became my refuge and my English teacher became a mentor of sorts to me: she was the first to encourage me to use writing as an outlet and was always there for me whenever I needed someone to talk to. Since then, writing seems to be the only thing that keeps me from losing my mind. I wanted to be that person for someone else if they ever needed me; I want to help others understand the power of our words.”

He was a bit stunned at her answer, utterly lost at how he was supposed to respond to that. Her words were fluent and precise, something he almost envied. He could spout out endless amounts of statistics and facts but she could transform a simple sentence into poetry just by the proper use of tone.

“Oh come on, don’t let my little sob story get in the way of a goodnight.” She tried again for humor, but the sadness still lingered on them. “Do you have any pets?” He tried rather lamely. She smiled anyway, “No, not yet at least: my apartment doesn’t allow pets. I’ve always wanted a cat so I could name her Sylvia, though.”

“After Sylvia Plath, I presume?” Her smile widened as she nodded, clearly impressed that he’d caught the reference. “Any siblings?” He tried again, but this time her smile faulted; it seems he’d hit a touchy subject once again.

“I had a brother but he died two years ago.” Her tone was detached, making him wonder if they were close. He dismissed the thought, simply mumbling a soft apology in response. She shrugged, turning her attention away from him to her now melted ice cream. “I’m sorry I’ve made this so dreary, I wanted it to be a good night.” She eventually said, looking up to find him staring back her with an unreadable expression.

“My mother always tells me not to keep things bottled up for too long; she thinks it’s best for the mind to let it out every once and while.” He finally said, sparking another sad smile from Lydia. “She sounds like a smart woman,” she mused. “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,” He quoted sadly, knowing that she’d recognize the quote and understand. She did, the realization brought another sad smile to her face. They both had an incurable sadness in them caused by their childhoods being cut short due to circumstances beyond their control.

“My mother is an alcoholic,” she finally replied, not knowing whether she meant it as a comfort or just another demon that she felted needed to be let out into the open. “My mother’s a paranoid schizophrenic.” They were quiet for a long time after that, staring at her each other but lost within their own thoughts. They both watched their mothers slowly destroy themselves, both had their fathers disappear from their lives too soon, and while the memories plagued them, they came out on top; both had turned their sadness into motivation to help others.

“I guess when it comes down to it, we’re both a bit fucked,” she finally commented, laughing at her own joke. Despite his distaste for cursing he couldn’t help but laugh with her, a sense of relief flooding him knowing that it was all in the open. It’d taken him years to tell his team about his mother’s condition, yet he’d so easily opened up to a woman he only knew for less than a month.

“Come on, let’s walk.” He nodded, the two of them throwing away the rest of their melted ice cream before setting off rather aimlessly down the nearly empty streets.

“I think the cherry blossoms are what I loved most about D.C.,” she found herself saying, “my dad was buried just as they blossomed and from that day on I knew that I wanted to leave Boston behind and move here. So I did. The day after I graduated high school I left, just left: I didn’t say goodbye to any of my friends and just left a note for my mother. My brother’s wake was the only reason I went back four years later.”

“How did he die, if you don’t mind me asking?” She was relieved that he asked, actually, she’d never told anyone (with the exception of her moleskin journal, that is) the details of her brother’s death. The thought that he was practically a stranger was irrelevant, never even crossing her mind. As cliché as it sounded even to herself, Lydia felt as if she’d known Spencer for years and had no problem with letting her thoughts out to him.

“They say it was an overdose, but my mother and I suspect it was a suicide. He didn’t leave a note, but then again, he didn’t even have to for us to know exactly why he would have done it. My mother thinks it’s my fault, not directly but at least the major cause. I can’t help but agree to an extent, but really I think we’re both to blame when it comes down to it. She thinks me leaving was the spark for his depression but Michael always struggled with depression, especially after our father died. I struggled with depression too– I still do, but never like Michael did: our mother was just too lost in her booze to see it.

“We kept in touch after I left; he and my grandparents were the only ones I kept in touch with but it was never the same between us once I left. He never really forgave me for leaving him home with my mother, to be honest I haven’t forgiven myself either. I just couldn’t stand it anymore though, I couldn’t live there any longer, not even for him. I never thought he’d get himself involved with drugs, though. Then again, I never thought he’d commit suicide either. We both changed after I left, I suppose; I smothered my demons, Michael let his demons smother him.”

“I was the one that had my mother admitted,” He replied, and while to anyone else it may have seemed like he was changing the subject, Lydia understood: anyone could say an apology and tell her that Michael’s death wasn’t her fault, but confessing his own demons in return took a courage most lacked.

“It just got to a point where there wasn’t any other option. She’s brilliant, she used to be a professor of fiftieth century literature, but she was sick and it was only getting worse: she’d forget to eat if she didn’t have someone reminding her, and I wouldn’t be able to do that anymore. She’d go into episodes, she’d get violent sometimes, and I knew then that I had to do something. I think she still resents me a bit more it: she loves me more than anything, but after I admitted her she never really trusted me again. I’ve written her a letter every day since I admitted her there though; I can only hope that it helps.”

“Every day?” He nodded, making her smile again. “That’s sweet.” He just shrugged, “I hardly get the chance to visit, so I write her letters. I tell her everything about my day and the cases we’re working to try and make up for not seeing her.” She reached out to take his hand at that point, squeezing softly as if to offer some reassurance. It worked too; Spencer was pulled out of those thoughts into happier ones when he remembered how much he liked the feel of her hand in his, so small and soft within his own.

“Somewhere I have never traveled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which I cannot touch because they are too near. Your slightest look easily will unclose me, though I have closed myself as fingers. You open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens, touching skillfully, mysteriously, her first rose. Or if your wish be to close me, I and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the color of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing. I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses. Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.” He quoted flawlessly, unsure of where he first read the poem but knowing that it fit more in this situation than anything else he could say.

It was at that point Lydia decided ‘fuck it all’ and kissed him, standing up on her very tips of her toes but still found herself just barely reaching him. It took Spencer a moment to realize what exactly was happening, but once he had she was already beginning to pull away. His hand caught her cheek just before she could, gentle but still firm as he pulled her face back towards his own. He really, really liked how her lips felt, he decided, they were soft and warm just like her hands but kissing felt much, much better than holding hands ever could. Lydia let her hands wander, eventually settling on running through his hair. He liked that too, he decided, especially when she’d occasionally use it to pull him a bit closer, but never hard enough to hurt. ‘Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt’ Lydia thought to herself, a thought that made her smile into the kiss. They stood there on sidewalk for a long time, just kissing and holding each other. Passing strangers stared and stared, but neither of them cared or even really noticed.

When Lydia finally pulled away Spencer looked very troubled, his brow furrowed and eyes squinting as he stared at the ground. “Now what?” he finally asked. “I don’t know, but you’ve got my lipstick on your mouth.” He started to laugh with her at that, looking up find she had the same effect and it made her look rather comical. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, turning the fabric pink but he didn’t mind.

He held his arm out to Lydia a moment later, making her laugh even harder. “Sorry for ruining your shirt.” Lydia commented once she’d cleaned up a bit. “It’s worth it,” He mumbled quietly, his cheeks almost matching his sleeve: the sight made Lydia swoon for just a moment.

“Come on, I’ll walk you home.” So she did just that, despite his protests. “I should be the one walking you home; it’s not safe for you to be walking around by yourself.” Spencer spent the majority of the walk listing off crime statistics in D.C., Lydia simply commented on the passing scenery.

“My father was a soldier, Spencer, I can throw a solid punch if need ever be. That said, I’ve walked alone ever since I moved here six years ago and have never once had a problem that I couldn’t just walk away from.” He shrugged, still not convinced. He never would be, she decided, and they’d both just have to live with that. She was street-smart, she knew he had a point, but she’d decided years ago that she wasn’t going to give into fear and let it warp her thoughts. She could die any day at any time from practically anything but until death came knocking, she was going to enjoy it all.

“This is it,” he finally said as they came up to a large brick building. He didn’t ask her to come inside and she liked that, she wanted the night to end on this note. “Well I’m sure I’ll see you around, Spencer.” She quoted herself, winking at the end. He took a chance and kissed her again, having to duck down a bit awkwardly because of the height difference. Lydia stood on her toes to accommodate, but eventually his neck hurt and her toes ached too much to ignore despite how much they enjoyed each other’s kiss.

“I’ll wear heels next time,” she commented when they broke apart, gaining another grin in response.

“Next time?”

“Next time.” With that she walked away, both of them smiling like lovesick fools as he went inside and she searched for the closest subway station.