The Keeping of Words | Spencer Reid

44| Subtraction

They were both in great need of a day off. Stress and responsibilities had them both working late nights and early mornings, most of their free time spent looking over extra files and papers, or simply trying to catch up on sleep. The previous weekend was supposed to be a break, as they'd attended the wedding of Ivy and Jess, who'd finally decided to get married after a three year long engagement. However, taking that much time away from their work had only managed to increase the pressure they felt as they scrambled to keep up with their respective workloads.

That Saturday was supposed to be a break, with plans made to join the BAU at one of Rossi's dinner parties, which had fallen through when Joy and Kai came to surprise him in DC on Friday. Instead, Bianca made a reservation for them at an upscale Indian restaurant in the District, which was cancelled when she fell ill that day. She suspected it was merely the result of fatigue, but Spencer insisted they she stay home and rest. That in itself was a chance to relax, the two of them watching the Harry Potter films in bed together, despite her protestations that she didn't want to get him sick as well.

Nevertheless, she was delighted on Sunday when he suggested they go to visit the Phillips Collection, a museum they hadn't been to in quite some time. They spent the afternoon browsing sculptures and classics and abstract paintings, and everything in-between.

"Keep your eyes on the floor until we reach the bench," she instructed him, as they entered a room in the Goh Annex. Step by careful step they made their way to the center of the room, until finally the wooden edge of the bench came into view. Eyes still cast on the ground, they took a seat, and she promptly turned around so that they were facing in the opposite direction. "Now look up. And tell me what you see."

It was a game they played sometimes at art galleries. They would face apart, each looking at a different piece of art, and describe it to the other. Often times Spencer would be able to guess based on her descriptions, his eidetic memory triumphing over her knowledge of art. She loved to listen to his words, that soft voice of his painting a new image in her mind of the beautiful things before him.

Spencer shifted so that they his left shoulder lined up with her right. "Colors. Soft lines of colors coming together to create an image. The brushstrokes are wide and gentle." As he spoke, he let his fingers brush across her hand, moving in a steady rhythm from her thumb to her pinkie. She closed her eyes, letting the painting form from his words. "There's a room, and the world outside is blue, as are the walls. There are so many different shades of blue, and in the center there's a bed – perhaps a couch – made up of pinks and reds. It stands out. There are two girls, one made of cooler colors, hues that almost let her fade into the background with the walls. Her hair is done up, and she looks on at the other girl, who is more like the pink furniture her – friend? Her sister?"

"What do you think?"

"Sisters," he decided, after a moment of consideration. "The second girl is more like the furniture her sister leans on. Orange hair, red lips, and an expression of ease her sister just doesn't have. Her sister wears envy instead. It feels so intimate. Like I've stumbled into someone else's family."

"What does it make you feel?" she asked.

A physical answer came before a verbal one. His hand grabbed hers, a firm hold, his thumb stroking back and forth. "Not like this," he clarified. "More like this." The pressure decreased, until the palm of his hand was barely ghosting over her skin. "Like longing." She shivered. "Your turn."

Bianca studied the image before her, smiling at the familiar scene before her. "It's lively and in vivid color, a scene of many people together, all of them laughing and smiling. They're happy just to be together. It's rich in the way mid-summer is, or maybe late spring. The brushstrokes are mostly short and loose." Taking a cue from his own description, she let her fingers move across the back of his hand in a similar motion, imagining each touch to paint a clearer image in his mind. Perhaps it defeated the purpose of describing something in words, but she didn't mind breaking the rules this time. "In the background, it's more like oblong dots, different splotches of color coming together to give a sense of the what lies beyond the happy scene."