Empty Beds

"But it's entirely unrealistic, you see the unsub-" Lydia couldn't smother her laughter fast enough, breaking Spencer out of his on-coming rant. "What?" He demanded, adorably flustered. "It's just funny that you're using professional terms and getting worked up over this god-awful, slasher flick."

"Well, yes! The entire film is just completely void of any realistic depiction of-"

"Well I'd hope so," Lydia commented with a wince. "What?" He was flustered again, gaining another choked back laugh in response. "I said 'I'd hope so', the idea of a deranged doctor actually sewing people together to fit his crazed fantasy isn't an idea I'd like to dwell on."

"You'd be surprised." That wiped the smile right off her face. "We once had an unsub who was driven by the fantasy of creating a kingdom. His daughter had been taken away after his wife's death, so he became entirely fixated on the idea that if he were to find another wife, he could get his daughter back. He believed his daughter was a princess, and would kidnap women to be the queen, so the woman had to be perfect for the role. He'd abduct women along his truck route, locking them in the back and giving them pseudo-interrogations. If the women couldn't live up to his expectations, he'd kill them. We were called in after five women were all found consecutively. Another case-"

"Stop. Please Spence, just stop." He pulled his focus away from where it'd strayed to the worn fabric of the couch cushions to her face, surprising to find her eyes wide as she stared down at her lap. Sensing his gaze, she looked up at him, her eyes glassy and wary. "I know I've said it before, but I just really don't understand how you can deal with that every day, Spence. It just - it baffles me, it completely confuses me that you can carry on every day. After seeing all that horror day after day, how do you even sleep at night?

"Don't get me wrong," She added quickly, as if worried that she'd offended him when he hadn't immediately responded, "I'm not trying to question your morale - god, if anything, you've got the strongest disposition and biggest heart out of anyone I've ever met, and I mean that. I'm just... I guess I'm just confused on how you can still smile and look at people with an open mind after seeing all the disgusting things that humanity is capable of. How could even think to love a human after analyzing just how selfish and flawed we can be?"

"Because he let the last woman go.

"Because at the end of the day, we catch the bad guy. I love my job despite what I see every day because we save lives. I have an IQ of 187, PhDs in math, engineering, and chemistry - I could easily be making more money in a lab somewhere but I'd rather put that to use by catching criminals and keeping families together and offering just a little bit of solace to widows and children left without a parent or a sibling. Am I making sense? I'm so sure, but I want you to understand me. I want you to know that I love my job because I know that if someone didn't do my job, then so many more lives would be lost. How many people would have to watch caskets being lowered, be handed folded flags, and be left with only faded photographs and memories of the ones they love most otherwise?"

She was crying by the time he finished, a steady stream of tears leaking out behind clenched eyes but she nodded fervently. Her out reaching over to cover his on the threadbare cushion, squeezing softly. "I know," she finally managed, her voice hoarse but steady. "I understand as much as I ever could, but your heart's far bigger than mine. I have to wonder how it fits inside that scrawny chest of yours."

He reached out to pull her close against his side, unsure of himself but hoping that the action would offer some comfort. She smiled softy at he did, encouraging him just enough to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you for understanding," he mumbled against her skin, shivering at the feeling of her warm breath in the crook of his shoulder. "...I'm not scrawny though."

-

"I've gotta leave for work," Lydia mumbled against the smooth skin of his chest. He let out a displeased grunt of sorts, still too caught up in the post-coital haze to really take the words in. "It's only a six hour shift, you're welcome to stay if you want." He groaned again as she stood up, taking the comforter with her. "M'cold," he muttered, turning over to put his face into the pillow as if that would somehow help.

"Christ, if you're this cute and cuddly when you're tired, I'll have to see you drunk sometime."

"D'drink," was his muffled response, making her giggle again. "Figured as much. I'll bring home some take out for us, if you want." She crouched down to press another lingering kiss on his shoulder blade before placing the blanket back over him.

He lifted his head and glanced over at the alarm clock beside the bed as she left the bedroom. It read eleven fifteen am, and while even just last month the idea of sleeping past even nine o'clock seemed unheard of, now he dropped his head back onto the pillows without much of a second thought. They smelt of Lydia's shampoo and perfume, with just the barest hint of his own cologne added to the mix. He liked that realization, smiling into the Star Wars printed cotton.

Lydia stopped at the front door to have a private moment of her own to smile as she spotted Spencer's shoes nearly set beside her worn out boots. She could get used to this, she decided, used to the oddities and yet strangely comfortable quirks to their strange, strange relationship together.

"Love you," she called just before she stepped out the front door, but he'd already fallen asleep.

-

Having received no message informing her of a recent case development, Lydia had fully expected to come back to her apartment to the sight of a familiar, adorable nerd at her kitchen table or on her threadbare couch reading through the enormous stack of books he'd checked out yesterday. Or maybe he'd be on the couch, watching History documentaries or Big Bang Theory re-runs, like he had been last weekend when she'd come home from this very same shift. Perhaps there would be a note on the fridge, right beside her own note from months prior about her burial preference - which Spencer had looked at every time he entered the room and yet never once questioned - informing her in messy, nearly illegible scrawl that he'd stepped out to get a change of clothes, as he had three weeks prior.

She had not expected in the slightest that her apartment would nearly void of any indication of his presence there for the past two days - That was what she expected to come home to when she got that text message. That text message which she'd already begun to loath, even after just five weeks of officially being 'together-together', as Spencer had so cutely put it.

The Thai take out fit for two was set down on the kitchen table, which should've been covered in textbooks and references books and maybe even one or two of her novels, as they always had a habit of getting scattered anywhere and everywhere in the apartment.
The kitchen sink should've held a coffee cup or two, but instead lay just as she'd left it - only a single knife and spoon sitting at the bottom.
The bed was made, as it only was when he was the last to leave after a day in bed together.
Spencer's worn duffel bag missing from beside her closet, his cardigan missing from the hook on the back of the door where she always hung her worn leather jacket.
Only his blue toothbrush beside hers on the bathroom sink told her that the past two nights hadn't been a dream.

She wandered back out to the kitchen, letting his order sit untouched as she dug into her own, hardly tasting it even as the hot pepper burned her tongue. Her mind was on overdrive, left to think through only the most uncomfortable conclusions.

Finally she pulled her phone from her bag, checking despite her will that no, there were no new message, and no, there were no messages that she might've overlooked. This is exactly what she'd never wanted to happen, Lydia realized, she never wanted to get so caught up in someone that their absence would seem to leave a piece of her life empty.

She had told herself from the very age of sixteen that she'd never get dependent on someone like this. She'd watch her mother aimlessly go through her life in the months following her father's death. She'd watched her mother stare with empty eyes at the front door, as if her father would walk back and pull her into his warm embrace, just as he always used to when he came home.

But here she was, frantically thinking through everything she'd said in the past forty-eight hours, desperate to see if anything had changed; if she's messed up, if he'd been suddenly disillusioned to their strange, strange relationship, if he'd become disenchanted with her, just as she'd always feared he would.

"Goddamnit!" She spat suddenly, sending her chair toppling backward as she stood, tossing her phone down hard onto the table. She dumped the remaining food into the trash and set to washing all the dished, desperate for any way to get distract herself. But it was useless, she knew that, so she grabbed her phone and did what she'd told herself she wouldn't do from the moment she'd realized that he'd left without a warning,

But he didn't answer, so she didn't try again. Instead she to called James, well aware that he'd probably end up taking her out for drinks in hopes off getting her mind of things, but the alcohol would only end up making it worse and get her upset, so by the end of the night he'd be forced to take her home so she could sleep it off instead of taking home some pretty boy he'd likely been eying all night - but she called him anyway.

But Lydia often forgot that her best friend was a psychology major, one that was nearly as good as her boyfriend at seeing through bullshit lies. So instead he took her out to some god awful, hipster coffee house, making her sit through a terrible open mic night, refusing to leave until she inevitably cracked and told him just what exactly had gotten her in such a foul mood.

After which he dragged her from the same coffee house, which he actually happened to really enjoy, onto the subway, and over to the brick apartment building which she had been adamant to avoid. How he knew where Spencer lived, she didn't want to question, but as a familiar voice crackled over the sound system and buzzed her in, she wasn't sure if she minded so much.

James only offered infuriating smirk which just screamed 'I told you so,' before he waltzed away, hips swaying and head held high. So she went up, taking the stairs to maybe prolong what could very likely be the breakup she had been dreading, or maybe prolonging some ridiculous, romantic kiss-and-make-up scene, - for what they were making up for, she wasn't entirely sure- which could only be found in Nicolas Sparks novel

She got neither.

Instead Spencer stood leaning against his open doorway, dressed in a pair of pajamas she would have been sure his mother had picked out for him if she wasn't all too aware that his mother was institutionalized and thousands of miles away. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair a mess, a deep frown set in over his mouth and brow, but he leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead nevertheless.

"What's-"

"Headache." That would be the first time he'd ever cut her off, if she was remembering correctly. "Headache?" It wasn't surprising, he got them often enough, but they never had left him so disheveled.

"Migraine." He rephrased, and that made much more sense. She could remember week before when he'd gotten one, more so for the 'events' that followed afterward rather than for that detail alone. So she just nodded, unsure of what else to say or do.

"Should I leave?" She finally asked after they continued standing in silence for a few moments, still in his apartment doorway. He shook his head, wincing as he did so, and ushered her inside, closing it softly behind her. "Have you taken anything?" She was sure to keep her voice at a hushed whisper.

"Only Advil."

"Do you have anything stronger?" She winced the second the question left her mouth, instantly remembering the answer to that, but he voiced it anyway. "I have a history with narcotic addiction, of course I don't keep opiate medication in the house." She nodded, trying not to take any offense at his annoyed tone. He's stressed and in pain, she reminded herself, but still stepped back toward the door.

"I know, I'm sorry, that was a stupid question. I should probably leave, you go back to bed." But he shook his head again, reaching out to take her wrist in his hand. "No, it's alright, stay."

So she did, following him back to the pitch black bedroom and crawled fully clothed under the sheets with him.

"Do you get these often?" She questioned finally, even her hushed whisper sounding a bit too loud against the silence of the bedroom. Only the cieling fan provided any noise, and even that was too minimal to make her feel comfortable.

"Only recently - I wake up to them, then they last throughout the day." She said nothing in response, letting them lay in silence at they both stared up at the empty blackness where the ceiling would be.

"I should've left a note, I'm sorry." She shook her head, the sound creating a quiet ruffle against the pillowcase.

"No, no, it's okay, I just...I just didn't know what to think, so I let myself get stuck on the worst possible scenario, it was stupid to get so worried, I know."

"Worst possible scenario?" She turned toward him, trying to make out his face in the dark but only seeing the slight whiteness of his eyes. She shook her head again, unwilling to explain even as she shifted closer toward him. He opened up his arms, accepting her into them.

Lydia fell asleep soon afterward, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat and his breathing falling in tandem with her own. He lay away hours into the night, head throbbing until he saw stars, but grounded by the weight of her head on his chest. His migraines brought on the ache in his veins for that release only drugs could bring, smothered only by feeling of her warm breath on his chest.

But eventually, finally, and although not soon enough, sleep found him. Spencer woke up to the scent of sweet baking and coffee, with an unfamiliar weight on his chest. He opened his eyes to sunshine and a smile that seemed to radiate just as brightly. Lydia sat straddling his chest, dressed in one of his t-shirts with a two plates of pancakes in hand.

He grinned at the sight, his migraine dimmed down to only a dull ache at the base of his skull, ignorable enough on an average day, forgettable now with a plate of steaming food and a beautiful girlfriend in his lap.

"Thank you," he mumbled as she passed it into his hands. "For everything," he added as their eyes met. She only blushed and smiled, shrugging once before digging into his own plate of food. While their serenity was short lived, inevitably interrupted by that dreaded phone call, it set anything confused and crooked ends that may have been between them back upright. He left her with a long, lingering kiss that promised a follow up in a few days time and a smile that promised a phone call later in the night.

She washed the dished and made the bed, made a cup off coffee for the walk back to her own apartment, and never bothered to change to change out of his t-shirt.