------" I CAN'T FIND the time to clear my mind. "

      A SOFT CHUCKLE BUBBLED FROM his chest, tugged the corners of his lips upward against his beard, mirth danced in the low hazel of his eyes. this was not the first time she’d shared her dinner table with him and daario suspected it would be far from the last. their conversations ranged wildly from nonsensical topics to the more serious vein of things, no compass could direct to which direction they would go, or when they would double back and change from something serious to light-hearted, to imagined fantasies, to battle strategy. when he swallowed his mouthful of wine he licked the remnants of it from his lips and shook his head.

      “ yes, i imagine there is. running a company of swarthy sell swords is very different from bringing peace and justice to the free cities. i certainly don’t have the patience for it. ” the goblet made the softest of clinks as he set it against the polished wood of her supper table where he could lean more favorably toward her for their conversation. it was hard not to look at her with that fierce admiration behind his gaze, but the nature of daario naharis easily suggested that it could be any number of cheeky things instead. he’d let her muse on that, should she choose to.

      and just as it had so many times before the tone shifted, the comedy in his thoughts lifted and levied into a more significant stroke and when daario’s brows knit they conveyed that expression well-enough. “ but you do it well, your grace. you’re a liberator, fair and tempered. you’ve proven you won’t take threats or meager attempts lightly, have answered them swiftly. and you’re compassionate to your people. meereen, and the cities, are lucky for you. it’s more than i’ve seen in all my years, surely. ”

however this was not the first time that an illicit visitor had breached the grounds of his expansive villa with anger in their heart and silver in their hand. HE WAS OLD. too old to fell with one or two misplaced shots but that didn't mean the poison of the silver wouldn't slowly eke through his body. he might've seen her on the cctv cameras if he'd been paying an ounce of attention - instead he stood exactly where he'd been shot and peeled the shirt away from his pale, thin frame with careful index fingers.

being shot stung. he'd know. it'd happened before, too.

careful eyes could measure the places where it'd happened. vampires healed, sure, but silver was a son of a bitch. an allergy, it had once been described as, and where spencer was actually knowledgable in such things he'd scoffed at the notion. allergy in the most violent, aggressive sense, perhaps. if he gave it enough time for the silver to crawl toward his heart he'd be done for. as it was ---old things were hard to kill, and spencer was a COCKROACH among his kin.

" i wouldn't say much worse. " he didn't even spare her a glance, though his fingers shifted to loosen his tie and toss it over his unsoiled shoulder. despite the holes from the bullets he worked at the buttons of his shirt and untucked the soft fabric from his pants. THE SILVER WAS ALREADY SPREADING OUT, dark veins like tree roots creeping from entrypoints. he only sucked his teeth in irritation.

these would scar, too. they would join the mark on his left knee, the one on his left shoulder, and the faint kiss of a bullet wound on the right side of his neck.

" right, of course. i imagine your arsenal is as dangerous as your tongue. " a soft jab - humor meant to staunch the ache that pulsed from his chest. he moved from his place finally and wafted to another room, disappearing for only moments before he reappeared with a knife that argued its age against his. his blood stained the handle from doused fingers as he held it out to the executioner.

" did you sign the ledger on the way in, miss blake? "

------HE REALLY ENJOYED these little hang-outs with molly. tucked up on her sofa, shoes shucked by the door as to be polite and mismatched tones of purple and argyle patterns half under his butt (he looked like some sort of long noodle man) with conversation shooting rapidly from one topic to the next. if he rambled it didn't seem like she minded (and if she did, she kept it to herself) and he listened aptly when she spoke of her work or her art. he watched the color of gummy bear that left the bag and slipped between the shape of her lips to disappear into a void with brethren while his own fingers fished in a box of sour patch kids. he had a fondness for sweets.

the question gave him pause. wide eyes, doe-like in nature and the purest shade of hazel one could ever conjure, froze on her face to measure the expression that might follow the words. he could be naive about a great many things, but he understood the inference this time. it had been so very blunt, after all.

------WIFE. IT WAS a word that felt quite foreign on his tongue, but one that tasted delicious nonetheless. their eloping was met with pleased, soft excitement from the rest of the team and their honeymoon had been granted with immediate approval. finland, time spent exploring the history and sharing it in turn with the woman he was blessed to be in union with. for the rest of his life. doctor spencer reid had a wife ---and it was a woman he'd been in love with for years, no less.

they'd fallen asleep beneath the stars, covered in blankets, with their clothing tossed askew in the privacy of the finnish woods ... a clearing, more precisely. she'd coaxed him into nature, to step out of his comfort zone and into places he had only dreamed of exploring before. beneath the northern lights, the spray of stars above, he dozed. their cabin wasn't far from their setup, the promise of a cheery warm fireplace replaced with the pit beside them, throwing off enough heat to balance out the soft nest of snow buried beneath layers of thick blankets.

it was not the first time he stirred from rest by the nuzzling plea of attention from gloria. the press of her pillowed lips to his jaw had a soft hum pulling from his throat, the rasp of her voice luring him from the land of lucidity. spencer shifted beneath the blankets, unknowingly accommodating as she shifted to perch herself astride. not unlike a cat he leaned into the pat of her fingers, trifling through curled and whimsical strands of thick dirty blond near-curls, and he hummed once more (more clearly) at the touch. hazel eyes slit themselves open, caught gaze of the way the stars, the firelight highlighted her form. she was absolutely gorgeous, ethereal and not unlike a mythological goddess as she lapped a line along the column of his neck. it was the roll of her hips that had his lips parting, haughty exhale turning into the softest of whines, lost against the crack of the fire beside them.

------IN MOMENTS SUCH as these he surely looked the part of a cat: legs tucked against his body (for as long as they were), posture slack, eyes closed ... he even leaned into the rake of her fingers and the spell they wove against his scalp. he surely could look the part of messy bedhead on more than the usual occasion but it didn't mean he took poor care of his strands. dirty blond wefted through molly's fingers and spencer felt his breathing slow, pace even out ... he could easily fall asleep like this, under the spell she cast over him.

" my boss already made a joke about my haircut once, " he was remiss to admit he didn't get it entirely, that it had gone over his head and into the next field, but that was all right. he was used to being the butt of gentle jokes. " i could only imagine how much worse it'd be if you dyed it. " not that he would let her do that. but the musing tilted the corner of his lips up in slight and spencer felt the sleep-like rasp curl around his question, " hypothetically if i let you, what color would you do? "

------HE HAD A tendency of waking up before his alarm went off. eyes toward the window, the warmth of the sunbeams kissing his cheeks and the tip of his nose as he came-to reality slowly. the first motion was to reach for the wristwatch on the night stand ... the second was to reach over the body beside him.

the body beside him.

that was something to get used to.

the shock of silver-blonde had reality swirling to the forefront of his mind, all of the memories of the night before fresh like a ripe fruit and the taste was sweet in remembrance. karen's shoulder rose and fell slowly - a tell that she was still asleep, and when spencer leaned forward he placed the kiss on the round of it as gently as he could muster as not to wake her. his cheeks and neck were pink as he shimmied out of bed.

old habits followed: showering first, brushing his teeth and whatever he did to his hair thereafter, followed by quietly getting dressed and slipping the watch onto his wrist before he moved for the kitchen. coffee (an addition he was not in a rush to kick) and something sweet for breakfast (waffles with cinnamon and sugar, plenty of butter, too) and before he made out the door he filled the frame of the bedroom once more to check in on his guest.

she gazed back - those piercing blues of hers, staring into his soul - swimming in his shirt from the day before and with the blankets pooling at her waist. if he let his eyes linger too long on the open collar of the shirt he was sure that pink would creep up again, but instead he moved in and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.

" please come back. " her voice was soft, sleep-rasped, enough to give him pause. the smile met his eyes before it curved his lips upward, and spencer nodded. " i always will. i promise. " and he paused, " fresh coffee in the kitchen. help yourself. see you tonight. "