"You don't like me, do you?"
"Wow. Nothing gets past you, Sherlock. Do you keep one of those magnifying glasses tucked away in that little vest of yours?"
•••
Lydia Beowulf works for the Hostage Response T...
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Letting out a long sigh, she took her keys to the doorknob and unlocked the door. As she stepped in, she hesitantly held the door open for him. She knew she didn't want to be alone, and he was the closest thing available. She also knew if he didn't get answers that night, he'd get them later. And she'd much rather get it over with.
He stepped in hesitantly, closing the door softly behind him. His brown eyes drifted around the decor, soaking in every detail. It wasn't what he expected.
Sure, there were some boxes on the floor from her packing to move, but the decoration was similar to his own home. However there were more pops of color through artwork, pillows, and even little trinkets that lined every surface. It wasn't what he expected.
Though, he's not sure what he even thought her apartment would look like. Not that he thought about it much. Maybe a sterile white padded room with a mattress and a coffee maker in the corner. Or perhaps a dungeon with coffins.
Definitely not a home that had beautiful prints of Helen Frankenthaler's and various other abstract expressionist's work lining the walls. He didn't know much about art and it's capability to ignite emotion, but she obviously did. And he envied her for it.
Before his eyes could pry more, she stumbled a little. To which his hands instinctively grabbed her waist to stabilize her. Her widened eyes met his, with her warm alcohol ridden breath fanning close to his face. He could see the threat of tears reaching her eyes.
"Woah there. Have you drank any water today?" They stayed like that a beat, before he quickly removed his hands. The last time they'd been that close was when he pulled her into that cellar, and he did not want to feel whatever he felt that day again. They had already touched entirely too much for his liking for the night.
"I did. It was frozen and surrounded by bourbon" She rubbed the back of her hand under her nose. A tactic to try and prevent herself from crying.
The response made her sound like she had a problem. Which she didn't, but she recognized she'd been drinking way more than usual since joining the BAU. Not as a coping mechanism, but because that was their favorite pastime together as a team. So it naturally became hers to assimilate with them.
She also rarely got drunk. Only buzzed, and that was socially. But spending time with Spencer that night made her feel a need to overcompensate.
His eyebrow raised at the comment; not laughing as she hoped he would. Her jokes usually got at least a chuckle or exhale of air, but she forgot it was Spencer she was talking to.
She stumbled toward the couch and fell backwards onto it, letter still tightly gripped in her hand. She didn't want to open it. It made her feel omnipotent, knowing exactly who sent it and how it would make her feel.
