Make It out Alive

I wheeled myself down the street, and into the grocery store. I grabbed a hand basket and placed it in my lap, telling myself that tomorrow, I could get out of the wheelchair.
I rolled into the produce section, selecting several peppers and tomatoes, as well as some fresh herbs. I also got some boxes of spaghetti then rolled into the meat section, picking up a small portion of turkey. The amount of food I had in my lap would probably feed me for a week. When the team was away on a case, Haley had me over for dinner a lot. I had been out of work for two weeks, and had already unpacked completely, organized my library, read all my books, and painted several paintings. I was starting to get restless.

If this was what a normal life was like, I didn't want it, I decided. I couldn't have a family and be in the Bureau. I had to have one or the other. Family life wasn't normal for me. Catching killers and seeing gore was second nature to me now. After things I saw in Germany, there were things inside me that had changed. Columbia was the worst, though. Seeing children surgically implanted with pounds of drugs then slaughtered like animals had become a normal occurance that sickened me.

My cell rang, and I reached into my purse, finding it in a few moments. "Bryson."

"We're almost home," Spencer said.

"I didn't even know you guys caught the UnSub," I confessed.

"We'll be in Quantico in an hour. Want to go to dinner?"

"Sure," I responded. "Pick me up?"

"It's a date," he confirmed.

"See you then."

"Love you, Polly," he told me.

"Love you too. Bye," I answered, disconnecting. I paid for my groceries and rolled home, where I changed out of my sweats and into a pair of dark jeans, a plain white sweater and black, fur lined boots. For a splash of color, I added a red scarf that Spencer had left lying about.

I rolled into the bathroom, where I curled my hair and put on makeup. I thought of Garcia as I put on dark crimson lipstick.

As I pushed myself into the living room, there was a shout from the kitchen. "Coming!"

In the kitchen, Spencer stood in gray slacks, a white button up and pink tie, his leather jacket overtop. "You look beautiful," he greeted.

"You look pretty stellar yourself," I told him with a smile.

"Why don't I grab your coat and we'll leave?" He suggested. I nodded. After retrieving the plain black jacket from the closet and putting it on me, he pushed me out the door, stopping to lock the door.

Together, we got in the car, and Spencer drove to one of our favorite places, a small Italian restaurant that no one really knew about. We were greeted by a familiar waiter, who took us to a secluded table in the dimly lit restaurant. Spence ordered sparkling grape juice, my pain meds making it inadvisable for me to drink, and he reached across the table to take my hand.

"So, today is Valentine's day," he stated.

"Is it?" I joked. "I thought it was Easter. I'll complain to Hotch that me being out of work got you out of spending the whole day with me because I thought we were supposed to paint eggs."

He chuckled. "We've also been together for well, you could call it five, you could call it four, whatever, but, we've been together a few months now."

I grinned. "We're doing good, kid," I chortled.

"I got you something in Santa Cruz," he told me.

"Spence, I will kill you if you spend another penny on me," I complained at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, because I really need to spend my money on another book."

"Your brain is better than spending money on little ol' me. You know I'm perfectly content with a kiss, which I haven't gotten all night," I pointed out.

He smiled, leaning across the table to give me a quick peck. A moment later, the waiter came back with a bottle and two wine glasses. We thanked him and ordered our usual meals.

Spencer pushed a small square box towards me. I raised a skeptical brow, and he rolled his eyes.

"Just open it, Polly," he encouraged.

I stuck my tongue out and lifted the lid. Inside was a sapphire ring with emeralds. I clapped a hand over my mouth. "Oh my God."

"Relax, I'm not proposing. It's a promise ring," he assured me.

"Whatcha promising?" I asked, skeptical.

"With it, I promise to never hurt you," he said, plucking the ring from the box and putting it on my right ring finger.

I smiled. "I love you, doc."

He chuckled. "Love you too, Special Agent."