ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ 𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖗 .ᐟ.ᐟ

[  i  ]

The air is suffocating. She’s used to it --- or should be, given her profession --- but even now she seems to be swallowed whole by the group of people in the office. It’s a hard concept to grasp, this idea of fondness, of closeness, somehow sewn together by the profession they’ve all chosen, and yet, and yet, there seems to be some wall between her and the others. Even now. Especially now. Swallows the carbonated water awkwardly, letting eyes fall as they float to lip of plastic cup. 

Katarina shifts uncomfortably against the wall. Never been one to be self conscious, but is all too aware how her pastel hair sticks out against the brunettes and blonds in the office; even if Garcia tells her how much she loves it, how she has to do her hair one day too, the uncomfortable sinking feeling doesn’t leave. Manifests itself in the bottom of her throat, and presses herself into the wall; like she’ll disappear into it if she tries hard enough. 

“It’s not mandatory, you know,” he’ll mention offhandedly. You’re not sure you agree, but as if reading your features, he continues, “it’s just an cross-department office party. It’ll --- It’s supposed to be fun,” Spencer corrects himself, and you ignore the urge to snort in his face, taking drag from cigarette. You try not to notice how his face turns away slightly, frigid winter air suddenly seeming a lot colder than it had been. Drop it onto the concrete and snuff it out underneath boot, suddenly all too aware of the space between you two.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Well, we could go together,” he says, as casually as if he were talking about the weather, and you feel all the air leave your lungs. He offers you a smile, and your head all of a sudden feels fuzzy: does he know? Does he know? He must. “No fun to go to those things without an escape plan, right?”

She’s snapped out of her own endless rumination by the sight of the other with blonde --- JJ?  --- as he turns back to Katarina and offers her a wave, that feels a whole awful lot like a see ya later. The disgusting feeling she recognizes all too well swells up once more, but agent will swallow it back down, ignoring urge, the tug at her chest that implores her to go after, chase after, offer a Wait up! …

But it dies as soon as the glass doors shut behind the pair, and she’s stuck nursing her tonic water once more.

[  ii  ]

The embarrassment is there again. Know it all too familiarly as she slides down the cold pole, the heat of the club feeling all too cold as she recognizes the figures that walk into establishment. It’s not like it had been a secret --- most of the team having known of what her assignments entail for longer than she’s been alive, but still, but still. Held it in the air between them like a closely kept secret, unable to speak it into existence, to make it a reality of what she imitates. What she was. What she is.

Shame creeps up her cheeks: something she’s usually so good at swallowing down, but it’s because it’s him. It’s always him. Act is almost over, and does her best to make sure he doesn’t see, doesn’t recognize her under dim lighting and neon stagelights, but Katarina sticks out like a sore thumb. Meant to catch attention, meant to be seen so they don’t see anything else. It’s what she was made for. Perfect little puppet made for whoever had the highest bid.

The final beat ends of performance, and it’s then agent will catch eyes of the other, head hanging upside down, recognisance lingering on his countenance like that of --- she’s not sure. Looks like trail mix of emotions, as if he himself is unsure of what he feels, but the dawning chasm of feeling crawls up on her and almost swallows her whole. He knows it’s her. He knows it’s her, and he’s disgusted.

The neon flood lights shut off leaving club in darkness, only for softer pinks and red floods to come on and dance on walls. Watch as Katarina scrambles off the stage unceremoniously, but never a fall in sigh with high heels. Sweat that runs down her body becomes cold as she quickens her pace after the other. She wants to explain --- she can, she needs to. 

But his back is turned to her as she pushes through the crowd, and seems unable to hear her silent pleas for him to stay a moment longer, with only a spare glance thrown her way before following the rest of the crew out. His expression unreadable, she swallows as the door shuts.

“I think you’re aesthetically pleasing,” he says off handedly. The idealist is shot down as soon as she pipes up, reality of becoming more comfortable with the other settling in and smothering it. This is what friends do, “It’s strange, how you always deny it, no matter who says it, no matter who you are. I think it’s more of an objective truth than it is anything else.”

You snort. “You wouldn’t think that if you saw me at the club.”

He offers you one of those looks that you can’t decipher; too blank to dig your claws into deeper like you would one of your marks. You want to see something, know something, just an inkling of how he feels.

Spencer takes a sip of mint tea, before the office chair swivels back to face his monitor. “Agree to disagree.”

[  iii  ]

The back of the ambulance isn’t something she’s unfamiliar with --- although maybe the bruising around wrists and ankles is something that begs to differ. Blanket is wrapped around shoulders, but she still shivers when cold rain splashes on exposed shins, pulling the blanket closer to her. Aching is something of a comfort, even now, reminding her that she’s alive, that she’s still here --- even if she doesn’t want to be. Especially if she doesn’t want to be. The blood behind her right eye seems to swell and pulsate, spine still straight, muscles still tensed; bracing herself for the next strike that’ll never come.

“Katarina?” She’d know that voice anywhere, pick it out in a crowd; she’s no less devout worshipping at his voice, tension leaving at the familiar tones and dulled saccharine. He’s dressed in vest she’s familiar with --- often time what she’s wearing when not dressed in the blanket of comfort or that of case ended --- even now; recognizing his figure in the dark nighttime, familiar shadows on features and contours of his body nothing more than another puzzle piece memorized of him.

Body knows more than her brain does, it knows, it knows where home is; comfort in the form of man, something she’d never think to admit aloud, or to herself. Body aches, and aches, but still, with newfound energy does she push herself off edge of the ambulance, a running stumble over to the other, eyes unfamiliarly stinging with tears with rain pounding in her features; all but soaking her to the bone. Try as they may, the paramedics don’t hold a candle to her, even now, limped sprint. “Spencer!” 

“Kat!” It’s a mixture of elation and relief in his voice as he catches when she throws herself at him; smaller body shivering in the little clothes she wears --- t-shirt and underwear; compliments of mark of this case --- larger hands cradling her cheeks, almost squishing them as he looks at her. Mind not as her eyes water looking up at the other, eyebrows knitting together in something akin to relief and fear, chest heaving up and down as his own eyes linger on her countenance; inspecting every bruise and cut. “You’re okay?”

A silent nod; tears mixing with rainwater as his own fatigued gaze seems to falter at seeing them, brushing hair out of her face with hand before pulling her into a tight hug. “You’re okay.” I’ve got you. It’s unspoken, only offered as the squeeze he gives her, desperate, as if she might disappear between his fingers, no less sand through hourglass. “You’re okay.”

The rain is the only thing that continues on for a moment, hitting asphalt and grassy yard rhythmically, the only other sound to be a clap of thunder that she stiffens oh so subtly at. It’s the voice of another that cuts through it all. “Reid.” A swallow. As if painful, watch as SSA agent pulls away from Intelligence, untangling from each other. 

Opens her mouth to say something, do something, a plead. Don’t go. Don’t leave. I need you here. I’m scared. But it doesn’t do anything. “It’s okay,” she whispers hoarsely, tone dipped in soured saccharine, cracking and shattering on the damp asphalt. “You go now.”

Spencer offers her a look, and swallows once more, nodding, and turning his back to follow the rest of the team.

[  iv  ]

Oh how she hates being so easily subdued by something so minor, it’s almost embarrassing. Heavy, fatigued eyes and shivers from sweat run down her neck, clinging to the comforter like it’s the only thing protecting her; ignoring the feeling of wet fabric against her skin, because she’s just so cold. 

Even the sound of her apartment door creeping open isn’t enough to stir her, even the sound of his voice, it’s not enough. Just let her sleep. Vision is blurred, and every move, however minute, makes her ache even moreso. “I wasn’t aware your place was so nice, Kat,” as if announcing his presence. How kind.

They pay you a lot of tax payer money to pretend to be human.

Agent rolls over in her bed, letting back face the door of her room. He can’t see her like this. He can’t. What an embarrassment she’s turned into be. “Garcia is parked illegally, so I can’t stay super long. She didn’t know that those signs when looking at your place were for no parking,” in reference to how Garcia had, in her words, done a little snooping into her place of residence. There’s silence. She can practically hear him staring at her back, blanket having raised to expose skin: jagged scars and lines littering soft skin as if drawn on it deliberately.

Please don’t look at me. Please don’t leave me.

“Katarina, I ---” He swallows. Sound of cellophane bag being set on the bed, the heavy, familiar weight of him sitting on the edge. “I’m worr-”

Piercing ring of phone to come through, and she’d recognize it anywhere, if only because forced to, her own phone having that same ring tone. She shifts, and a shiver runs down her spine, another sniffle and cough. She feels the weight on her bed shift, tinny voice ringing out through phone speaker. 

He’s leaving. Don’t go.

“I’ll be back later, Katarina. Take the meds.” He won’t be. She can feel it. “And the gatorade. You need the electrolytes. You’re dehydrated.”

Don’t go.

A voice rings through tinny speaker again. “Garcia, you have your hazards on. You’re not going to get a ticket…” Feels the weight on the edge of bed finally release, and footsteps shuffle away. A moment. A beat. The feeling of eyes on her back, but she doesn’t move, frozen in he brown sweat and illness. “What did you say? No, I wasn’t staring---”

His voice trails off as he exits the room, and body yearns to do nothing more than follow after; but body aches and aches, shivers run down agent’s spine, and she’s asleep before she can even realize it.

[  v  ]

Light litters her living room, if only provided by that of the downtown city; living room otherwise dark, shadows being cast ‘pon the two, the only other source of light being that of the comedy movie that has long since left their minds.

“I should go.” His words are soft, aching, just as his touch is, as if afraid she might break underneath his touch, but makes no move to move her as she sidles up to him, all but placing herself in his lap. Her own slender fingers touch his features, no less ghost of a touch on his cheek, his jaw. Eyes linger on his countenance like making map of his features in her brain, something close to adoration lingering in brown eyes. “Katarina, I--”

“Do you want me to stop?” Voice low, sultry: but know its not any kind of coyness. Know that it lingers deep within her, almost whiney, wanting, no, needing the other. “Please don’t go. Please.” Shifts closer to him, hands cradling his cheeks, breath close on his. It would be so easy, so so easy to blame it on booze: had her breath not reeked of peach tea and bubble gum. She’s never been more sober, more needy in her life. Shifts weight on her lap so close they’re practically connected, pressing self into him. 

Agent’s eyes flicker over him, eyebrows knitting together weakly, gentle smile, almost pitying, as if not expecting him to agree. “Please don’t go.”

Please. I need you. Don’t leave. Stay. Stay. Stay.