CHAPTER FOUR
( kiss me in your car )

NATALIE COULDN'T CLOSE HER EYES.

It was safer that way; staying alert, keeping her gaze steady to detect potential threats. Yes, even in her own shower, in her own bathroom, in the apartment that she lived in all by herself. Vigilance is important at all times, and any FBI agent would agree.

Her eyes stayed open, despite the running shampoo and day-old mascara threatening to make them clench shut.

Vigilance. That was the only reason.

The water provided a soothing pressure against Natalie's back, and she almost let her eyelids slip, but she jolted back to life at the last second. Almost imperceptibly, flashes of dirty water and black-gloved hands pressing against her neck clouded her vision.

She blinked, and remembered that it was only her makeup.

It's just the shower.

Natalie turned off the faucet only seconds later.

At some point, she'd lost her breath, but surely it was due to the humidity from the steam, or maybe, her asthma was acting up again. Then again, she'd had a dull ache in her chest since the moment she'd woken up, so perhaps the two were related.

Avoiding her reflection in the mirror, she chose to open the small window which sat idly above her toilet; the sun nearly blinded her as she did, but Natalie refused to look away.

The time had just barely passed eight in the morning, the gentle breeze and soft rays of light doing nothing to cure her slow-building-yet-wildly-persistent fear.

Spencer was taking her on a date today.

It was silly, she knew, but her current levels of anxiety rivaled times in her past when she'd been held at gunpoint, and even that was easier on her psyche than this.

At some point, she'd managed to blowdry her stringy, half-wet hair into something less grotesque, and she even straightened the ends rather than leaving them with their typical frizzy waves.

(Why did he ask her out, again?)

Letting out a heavy sigh, she bit her lip.

Before she knew it, Natalie had her cellphone in her hand, hearing the ringing tone echoing throughout the bathroom.

There was a click, and through the speaker she heard Derek's voice greeting her with a loud, "What's up, Lovergirl?"

Unable to keep herself from rolling her eyes, Natalie sighed again, loud enough for him to hear it on the other end. "Don't call me that."

"Hey, no, I'm keeping this little date a secret from the rest of the team," Derek argued, sounding more than a little amused. "I can call you whatever I want."

That was true, she conceded, although it didn't make the nickname any less annoying.

"Whatever. I need help."

As she spoke, Natalie made her way into her bedroom and towards the messy pile of clothes she'd been sifting through the night before. Most of which were work clothes, all of which suddenly seemed too ugly for an art museum.

"Don't tell me Reid's already scared you off—"

"What are girls supposed to wear on a first date?" Natalie could practically see the expression on his face, raised eyebrows and a question in his eyes. She decidedly chose to ignore it. "Like, with a man."

"Uh—"

"Art galleries are fancy, right?"

"Woah, slow down," Derek laughed on the other end, which only added to her fear that she truly had no clue what she was doing. "Talk to me. What's the problem?"

Natalie sighed for a third time, giving up and sitting on the pile of—now wrinkled—clothes. The problem, she knew, was a lot deeper than picking what shoes to wear.

It was a tight coil around her chest, sharp blades attached and slowly getting tighter and tighter, and she couldn't breathe, and Spencer deserved so much better, and she really shouldn't have said yes, and—

"Should I wear heels?"

There was a beat of silence, and another laugh.

"Do you even own heels?"

Natalie paused, looking down at her bare feet, the prominent scar on her left foot catching her eye. "No."

There was a soft rustling on the other line, as if Derek was going through some papers. "You do know that Spencer couldn't care less if you showed up in a used trash bag, right?"

There was something in the way he spoke, the knowingness and the certainty, that made an odd flutter appear in her stomach. A good flutter, as opposed to the anxiety pains she'd had only moments before.

"But art galleries are fancy, yes?"

This time, it was Derek's turn to roll his eyes, which she knew he was doing despite not being able to see him in the slightest. Again, it went ignored on her end.

"Just wear what makes you feel good, Lovergirl. Listen, I gotta go. We weren't all lucky enough to get the day off," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Say hi to Pretty Boy for me."

"Don't call me—"

The line cut off, and once again, a sigh escaped her lips, the loss of oxygen reminding Natalie to grab her inhaler before she left.

Collapsing onto her back, she could feel the various fabrics rubbing against her skin, practically taunting her, messy and unkempt.

The coil in her chest resumed it's tightening, and Natalie stared blankly at the ceiling, once again unable to shut her eyes.

━━━━━⭒━━━━━

The clock struck ten in the morning, and a mere fraction of a second later, there was a knock at the door.

Natalie, who'd been fully dressed for over an hour and eagerly pacing in her kitchen for almost half of that time, froze in her steps.

Spencer was incredibly punctual, was the first thing she noticed. The second, was that she forgot to put on lipgloss. The third, that she could actually hear her heart pounding and the blood rushing through her ears.

(After about ten seconds, the remembered that she was supposed to answer the door when someone knocked on it.)

The fourth thing she noticed; Spencer somehow looked even more beautiful than usual, and the color of his sweater vest matched perfectly with the color of her corduroy pants.

"Hi."

Natalie managed a half-smile.

"Hi."

Spencer returned it with a full one of his own.

Her eyeline slowly trailing downwards, she took in the sight of a coffee in his left hand and a small flower bouquet in his right. A mix of yellow and purple; her favorite color, and his.

Glancing back up towards his hazel eyes, Natalie's smile grew.

"A Midsummer Night's Dream," she observed, and at the quirk of his brow, she elaborated, pointing down at the flowers in his hand. "The, uh, oxlips and nodding violets. Like in the play."

"Yeah, I wasn't sure if you'd—" Spencer cut himself off before he said the word notice, as if he suddenly realized that he knew she would. "You once said it was Shakespeare's best work, so..."

Natalie nodded, as if the conversation was easiest thing in the world. Maybe, it was. "I stand by that."

Spencer's smile tightened as he restrained a grin, tilting his head to the side, blissfully unaware of Natalie's gaze focused closely on his own.

(He really did have gorgeous eyes.)

"You look lovely."

Natalie almost laughed, until he didn't, and she understood that he was actually serious.

Trying and failing to shield the disbelief she felt, she sucked in a sharp breath, replying with an uncharacteristically quiet, "Thanks. You're—uh, you too."

Spencer swallowed, a light blush sweeping over the apples of his cheeks when he mumbled back, nearly imperceptibly, "Oh, thank you."

It was admittedly a bit awkward, taking the flowers from his hand and inviting him in. Natalie realized a second too late that she'd neglected to take the coffee, his outstretched arm uncomfortably sticking out as he followed her a few steps into the kitchen.

Neither of them spoke as she filled up an empty glass with water and placed the bouquet inside.

Her heart must've been beating a thousand times per minute, and that was her excuse as to why she didn't notice Spencer's wandering stare trailing across the silent apartment.

By the time she did, he was focused on her wall-to-wall bookshelf; specifically, the row of Bibles in the top left corner.

Closely, she watched one of Spencer's eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch, and she nearly knocked over the vase she'd just put down.

"Don't tell me you're profiling me already."

Natalie really, really hoped she sounded more casual than she felt. Spencer's back tensed, ever so slightly, and she feared that she didn't.

"Sorry, habit," he laughed, and she forced herself to laugh along with him, even as he commented without a care in the world, "I didn't know you were religious."

Spencer smiled, again, and Natalie was disarmed by it enough to reply evenly, "It's complicated."

He nodded, and left it alone completely, choosing to finally give her the latte he'd bought for her on the ride over. She'd half-expected him to ask more questions, because that's what he did, and the fact that he let it go had her body relaxing almost instantly.

After muttering a quiet thank you and taking a sip, Natalie simply looked up at him, watching as he twirled his keys around his finger, looking right back at her.

It was quiet again, until Spencer cleared his throat. "Should we, uh—you know, if we want to beat traffic—"

"Oh, yeah! Yeah, we can—sorry, I just—"

God, it was awkward, painfully so.

They both shuffled towards the entrance, their hands knocking together as they both reached for the door, and Natalie couldn't help but to think that this must be what it's like for two losers with terrible social skills to date.

Oddly enough, she kind of loved it.

Spencer let out some sort of unintelligible stutter, briefly laughing at himself, and finally got a good grasp on the handle.

He opened it, still smiling.

"After you?"

Natalie smiled again, too, and stepped through the threshold, glancing back at the oxlips and violets just as the door clicked shut.

━━━━━⭒━━━━━

"Did you know that, despite popular belief, Van Gogh only cut off part of his ear? The way people talk about it, you'd think it was the whole thing, but that couldn't be further from the truth."

Spencer's voice was quiet as he spoke, as not to disturb the people around them, but still, it enveloped Natalie's thoughts so tightly that she was sure she'd never be able to hear anything else.

A small, desperate part of her was okay with that. His effortlessly smooth tone overtook her senses, and for a while, she couldn't register what he was actually saying at all.

It had been like that all day, really.

The ride to the Smithsonian was filled with idle small-talk and the occasional comfortable silence, aside from the loud rumble of the car engine.

Admittedly, Natalie had to brace herself on the dashboard a few times while Spencer was driving on the highway, but she partially blamed that on the fact that his car was, at the very least, twenty years old, and tended to veer left no matter what Spencer did to correct it.

(It needed it's oil changed, too, as well as some new tires, and probably a change of coolant—not that she said anything, of course.)

Natalie paid for the parking when they arrived, because he drove and bought her flowers and bought her a coffee and bought the tickets to the Van Gogh exhibit.

He resisted at first, but after she gave him the same look she'd often give an unsub holding someone hostage, he let her lean across the center console and slip a five dollar bill to the parking attendant without putting up much of a fight.

"What part?"

Spencer startled a bit, and Natalie realized that she was lost in her thoughts again, and what seemed like a second to her was likely about a minute or so. It happened more often than she'd like to admit.

"Hm?"

"Van Gogh," she smiled, making sure that he knew she was listening—even if she wasn't entirely—and that, unlike a lot of people, she cared. "What part of his ear did he cut off?"

"Oh, it was his left earlobe, during what was believed to be a manic episode," Spencer responded instantly, happy to share his knowledge. "Similarly to piercings, cutting through the cartilage would hurt significantly more than the lobe. I'm not sure if he knew that, but if he didn't, then he was pretty lucky."

Natalie breathed out a laugh, aware of the fact that their conversation would seem incredibly weird to any normal person listening in.

"Cool."

Simultaneously, their paces slowed as they approached a room at the end of the hall, a vibrant blue light emitting from the inside.

Natalie watched as a couple, two people in their late twenties—not unlike themselves—exited the room, their hands intertwined, smiles on their faces, and visible hearts in their eyes.

They looked in love.

Spencer must have seen them, too, because she caught his eyes fitting towards her hand which resting limply by her side, not moving an inch in the past thirty minutes, just in case he decided to take it.

He cleared his throat, fingers twitching.

Just when Natalie thought he might actually do it, he looked away, putting his hand back into the pocket of his trousers.

She wasn't disappointed.

(Definitely not, because being disappointed would be pathetic, and embarrassing, and make her want to kill herself if she thought about it for too long.)

For some reason, Natalie had almost forgotten that they were on a date at all.

Maybe because she knew him so well, or because they'd spent time together before, or because the awkwardness had faded and the comfort had quickly returned, or because neither of them were acting particularly different than they did on any normal day.

But when the strangers finally passed, her gaze landed on Spencer again, and something about the look his eyes reminded her that they were.

"Spence."

"Mhm?"

Natalie let out a heavy breath, willing herself to be truthful, just this once. "I don't know what I'm doing."

It was a loaded statement, and he knew it.

Spencer shifted on his feet, his eyes narrowing when he looked back at her, really looked. As if he could see through the calm and into the storm, through her brick walls and further into the glass.

And then he smiled, ever so gently, and she knew that he could. "Me neither. We can figure it out together, if you'd like."

Cautiously, like he wasn't sure how she'd react, he removed his hand from his pocket, extending towards her it the slightest amount.

As much as Natalie wanted to take it, she didn't.

"What if one of us gets hurt?"

(What if I hurt you?)

He shrugged, like he already knew the answer. "We'll heal, I guess."

(I would let you.)

Spencer's hand hadn't flinched, despite only air occupying the space between his fingers. Almost as if he knew she'd lose the battle going on in her mind.

Because it was a battle. It was a vicious war; good versus evil, him versus herself, her heart versus her head. A bandage against a knife, a sinking ship against a tidal wave.

It was only a matter of seconds that the standstill lasted, each of them waiting for her to pick a side to defend, but it very well could've been years. It surely felt like it, with his eyes on her, unwavering, like he trusted her to choose the right one.

And then, with a sudden burst of false confidence, Natalie's fingertips met his, and she knew that she did.

(For a moment, she was embarrassed to feel that she was shaking, but she soon realized it wasn't her.)

She wasn't sure who led who, but eventually, they made their way into the luminary room, the cool tones swiftly balancing out the stark redness in each of their cheeks.

Starry Night.

It covered every wall, only interrupted by the shadows of bodies moving around the projector, which sat directly in the center of the space.

Natalie glanced back at Spencer, an uncontrollable grin coming to her face when she saw his own, covered in swirls of blues and yellows and greys and looking like a genuine piece of art.

Noticing her stare, Spencer questioned, "What?"

Natalie only shrugged, her cheeks burning from the weight of her smile. "It suits you."

He shook his head, laughing along despite himself.

Spencer turned away, then, just enough for Natalie to see the remnant of a grin grace the side of his face. She looked away, too, deciding to actually take in the art they paid to see.

It wasn't anything new, but then again, she'd never taken the time to think deeply about it. The beauty was there, as it had been in every painting so far, but she appreciated the darkness of this one, in particular.

It resonated with her, the intense emotions cloaked in what seemed to be a veil of enchantment, a symbolic expression of a dream.

"Why, I say to myself, should the spots of light in the firmament be less accessible to us than the black spots on the map of France?"

Spencer's voice did that thing again, and Natalie had to take a moment to process what he'd actually said.

"What is that?" she asked softly, acutely aware of the way his hand squeezed her own when he spoke. "A quote?"

"A letter," Spencer corrected, "But, yes. He wrote it to his brother, Theo, after he completed Starry Night. You know, that's really what this painting is about, I think. Creation. Did you know, he painted it while locked in a sanatorium, with only the view of Saint-Rémy-de-Provence to go off of? Well, that, and a constant questioning of the universe and heaven in the back of his mind."

Natalie blinked up at him. Admittedly, she was fascinated, but who wouldn't be?

Looking closely at the projection in front of them, the blue light cascading through her hair and creating a feathered silhouette on the wall, she tilted her head.

"Do you know what that represents?"

Her finger pointed towards the cypress tree in the foreground, and Spencer followed it, nodding.

"Cypress trees are historically known to be a symbol of mourning. It's—it's typically associated with death because it fails to regenerate when cut back too severely."

For some reason, she couldn't look away.

"So, when it dies, it's just... dead."

"Essentially, yeah."

Spencer's hand twitched again, almost like he forgot he was holding hers, and quickly stilled, like he really didn't want her to let go because of that.

(Natalie wouldn't dare to do such a thing.)

Another smile, and she squeezed back.

"This one's my favorite."

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Spencer staring at the side of her face, beaming even brighter than the projection. 

━━━━━⭒━━━━━

When Natalie grabbed his hand, Spencer almost passed out.

He'd been keeping it cool; really, he had. He'd hardly stuttered, and he'd only adjusted his tie once, and he'd gotten a haircut the day before so he didn't mess with that, either. But then she touched him, and Spencer may have been a genius, but he was still human.

(He sincerely hoped that she hadn't noticed how much he'd been shaking.)

But that was the easy part, in a way; that was the part when he knew what to do. Take her somewhere beautiful, because she's beautiful, and talk about interesting things, because she's interesting.

They'd finshed walking through the exhibit exactly two hours and twenty eight minutes after they arrived, and Spencer was smacked with the upsetting realization that he hadn't accounted for the rest of the day.

(And that thought had spiraled into a more worrisome one, which was the question of how long do dates last anyways, which only made the panic worse, because Spencer hadn't ever been on a real, normal date, not even once.)

Natalie suggested lunch, though.

Spencer took it as a saving grace.

The diner was only a short walk from the Smithsonian, although the crisp October air made it feel much longer. He would have offered her his coat, only he forgot to wear one.

They decided on some place called Devil's Grill, which despite the name, seemed like a rather cheery place, oddly enough. Natalie seemed to bristle at the sign when they walked in, but Spencer assured himself that she was just cold.

A hostess showed them to a booth, passed them both a menu, and told them to enjoy with an over exaggerated wink; Spencer was too racked with nerves to eat much of anything, but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

"The vegetarian menu is on the back," he told Natalie without thinking, unaware of her confusion for several seconds as he finished reading the entire menu. When he looked back up, her eyebrows had caved in, and he frowned. "What?"

Natalie's lips quirked upwards, ever so slightly, and Spencer was pressed with the desperate urge to make her smile, for real, again.

"Have I told you that I don't eat meat?"

Oh. Oops.

In all honesty, Spencer quite liked the part of himself thay payed attention to the small details. One could argue that it was due to him being a profiler, but he'd done it since he was a kid; even then, he could tell when his mom hadn't taken her meds just by a slight twitch of her leg.

Admittedly, he also knew that it could have the potential to come off a bit creepy.

"I—I did it again, didn't I?"

"Yeah," Natalie snorted, an adorable sound which she tried to cover up by coughing, "It's fine. It's actually pretty cute."

Spencer watched the color drained out of her face, and he felt it as it rushed into his.

It wasn't that she never complimented him, but she'd most certainly never called him cute. He'd only ever been called that by Derek, although he's pretty sure the man meant it as a joke more than an actual encomium.

"I mean, objectively speaking, not eating animals is—I'd say that's cuter," he attempted to flirt back, and probably failed miserably, "You know—caring about... animals, and... not wanting them to... die."

(Yeah, no, definitely failed miserably.)

Spencer cleared his throat, adjusting his collar while he watched her shrug and reply simply—

"Yeah, well, thou shalt not kill."

Some odd emotion crossed over Natalie's face, after she spoke, strong enough—dark enough—to stop Spencer from responding altogether.

Her eyes fitted away, but he could have sworn he saw some sort of panic in them before they did. Like she regretted speaking. Like the words just slipped out. Like it had been conditioned.

Before he could formulate some semblance of a topic change, the waitress came by to take their order.

(He ordered a grilled cheese, and she ordered the same thing with extra extra cheese. Spencer didn't say it, but that was cute, too.)

After their orders had been taken to the kitchen, Natalie was the first to speak. Spencer tried not to notice how, for someone who so rarely had the first word, it was an obvious deflection tactic.

"So, do you have any clue what normal people talk about when they're on a first date with their coworker-slash-good-friend?"

(God, he adored her.)

"No," Spencer admitted with a hesitant smile aimed in her direction, "But, uh, as far as normal goes, we're just about the opposite of it, so I don't know that it would apply to us either way."

There. He finally got her to laugh again.

The sound was utterly transfixing.

Natalie sighed after a moment, which he noticed she did quite often, and crossed her arms over her chest. Perhaps like an imaginary shield to prohibit vulnerability, or perhaps because she was still chilled from being outside.

"Well, you'd probably know better than me."

Spencer couldn't help but to contort his features in confusion, because there wasn't a sane world in which he dated more often than Natalie Blair. Just comparing her physical beauty to his was enough to prove his point.

"Oh, I—I doubt that."

"I don't."

"No, seriously, I—"

"When was the last time you went out with someone?" she pressed, leaning forward on her elbows, wearing a soft smirk upon her lips, and the latter was the only reason he let her go on. "What was it, like, a few months ago?"

Spencer couldn't stop himself from immediately correcting her with the truth, which was a curt, "Four years, as of a month ago."

Natalie, who he knew was typically very good at controlling her facial expressions, couldn't hide her incredulity.

Spencer desperately hoped she wouldn't figure out the reason, but it must have been written all over his face, because the surprise melted into disbelief, and then, she was smiling again.

He briefly forgot that she was a profiler, too.

"That's when I joined the team."

Wincing, Spencer couldn't help but to let out a nervous chuckle, a hand coming up to mess with his tie again.

"Yeah, Morgan's already made fun of me enough to last a lifetime, so we don't need to—"

He cut himself off, not even sure where he'd been going with that. It was embarrassing, but Natalie never made him feel embarrassed, so it shouldn't be, but it definitely was, and maybe he was pathetic and he really hoped she didn't think he was pathetic, because that would— 

"I still win, you know."

Spencer blinked out of his stupor, getting ahold of his thoughts enough to send her a questioning look.

"What?"

Natalie hadn't stopped grinning since he'd semi-exposed himself to be obsessed with her, but his inquisition did make her break eye contact.

"Ten years."

Again, Spencer blinked, wondering if the topic had changed while he'd been in an embarrassment-induced spiral. "What?"

She just barely met his gaze again, her eyeline wavering between him and the empty table when she told him with brutal honesty, "I... I haven't dated anyone in ten years, so... I win."

Logically speaking, it should have been a red flag.

He knew her, but he didn't know all of her. He could profile her to his heart's content, but she could lie to hers. Then again, he could assume why she never dated, but only she knew the real reason why.

It was a red flag, but Spencer had long since become immune to the sight of blood.

There were a million things he could've said, a million ways he could've reacted, but all he managed was an quiet, "I guess I'm pretty lucky, then."

Natalie stilled, and for a fleeting moment, he thought she was going to agree with him.

"Debatable," is all she said, and the waitress arrived with their food shortly after.

Spencer wasn't sure how long they sat in that diner, chatting away about nothing of significance.

The topics had ranged from cases they'd worked on—which they quickly learned was a terrible idea to talk about while eating—to the meaning behind the flowers in A Midsummer Night's Dream, the same flowers which now sat in her kitchen.

(Spencer was never one to pat himself on the back, but he was pretty proud of the romanticism he expressed there.)

By the time he finally paid the bill, the sun had nearly vanished, and their waitress was practically pleading with her life for them to leave. Natalie left her an extra twenty dollars for the trouble, on top of the tip he already gave, which only made his admiration grow that much more.

They were back in his car, now; the same as that morning, but different at the same time. Like a movie he'd seen before, only this time, with a different ending.

Comfortable silence was broken by the start of a new song coming through the radio speakers.

Spencer grinned as the first chord echoed in the small space, drawing Natalie's attention from where she was looking out the window. "My mom loves this song."

He wasn't sure if she knew it, as she didn't say anything while it continued to play, but he was more than happy to just sit and listen.

("I would be your only dream, your shining autumn, ocean crashing...")

Only, she did know it, because almost imperceptibly, he could hear her singing along to the words.

"She has good taste." As if she were acutely aware of his sideways glances her way, Natalie waited until the intrumental part of the song before she stuttered out a nervous, "I, um, I'd like to meet her, one day. If you—if that would be cool."

"You want to meet my mom?"

Spencer tried not to sound shocked, but from everything he'd shared about Diana's condition, he sort of just assumed Natalie wouldn't want to meet her at all.

"Well I mean, she raised you, so obviously she's a miracle worker," Natalie shrugged, and he could see her tapping her fingers along her knee as the song continued on. "Plus, she seems sweet, from what you've told me."

"You know she's... there's some stuff."

"We all have stuff. I'm sure she's great."

No explanation could be found as to why Spencer felt like crying, just then.

He didn't, because he was driving and on a date and it was said offhandedly and probably didn't mean anything and that would be ridiculous, but for a second, there was an urge.

Natalie was the only member of the BAU who hadn't met his mom, and the more he thought about it, Natalie was the one person he wanted her to meet.

("I know I could've loved you, but you would not let me...")

The car ride was far too short. If it were up to him, Spencer would have driven around all night just to hear Natalie's voice, slightly off-pitch and much quieter than he would like.

It was rare, to see her let go. There had been few times since he'd known her that her posture had been anything but perfect, her demeanor anything but poised. It was beautiful to see the Nat come out from beneath the Agent Blair.

If he took a couple side roads to extend the trip, Natalie didn't notice; or at the very least, she didn't say a word.

("Oh, give it just a chance, you'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you...")

Spencer pulled up in front of her apartment complex, and the song ended, along with Natalie's untroubled grin, along with the date he was sure he wanted more of.

"So..."

He almost regretted saying anything at all. He was perfectly content to let her just sit there in his passenger seat until the morning.

"So," Natalie repeated, unable to look him in the eye, for some reason. He hadn't noticed it before, because his eyes had been on the road, but now, he couldn't ignore it. "I... I had fun. Thanks for, um, inviting me."

"Yeah, I... thank you for... saying yes."

The radio seemed a lot quieter, now.

Maybe, that was due to the blood rushing through his ears and to his cheeks, or the sound of the busy highway on the opposite side of Natalie's building. Either way, it was overwhelming, the realization that the woman he'd pined over for years was only inches away.

And she was blushing, too.

It wasn't right, to profile her in a moment like this, but he just couldn't help it. The way her eyes flickered down to his lips, her eyelids fluttering when he subconsciously ran his tongue across them.

The way she seemed breathless, and not in the sense that she needed her inhaler, but as if every intake of oxygen grew smaller and weaker as the space between them slowly, gently, began to close.

Natalie opened her mouth like she was going to say something profound, and then shut it, and Spencer only then began to notice that they'd both been steadily leaning over the center consol.

She just kept getting closer, and closer, and—

It stopped, but neither of them moved away.

Spencer felt her let out a breath, and she smelled like the peppermints the diner had handed out mixed with some type of floral shampoo, and he couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine no matter how hard he tried to stop it.

"You can—" Natalie cut herself off for a moment, almost like it was physically painful for her to expel the words, "You can kiss me, if you want to."

Spencer did want to.

And really, that's all he wanted.

He didn't want to take her home, or into bed, or do anything to ruin the sweetness of her, the trust she divulged simply by allowing him to be so close.

And so, just to kiss her, he kissed her.

━━━━━⭒━━━━━

He kissed her.

There was a snapshot in time, when reality froze and it was only Spencer and lips and heart racing and I can't breathe and no, I can finally breathe, and that was exactly where Natalie wanted to stay forever.

It was as if he had singlehandedly removed whatever torrent sickness had been eating away at her insides. For the first time in ten years, for the first time since——no, that wasn't the point, so she ignored the thought, and chose to remember Spencer again.

Natalie was hesitant to refer to anything as perfect, because she wasn't God and therefore couldn't create something even remotely close, but if she could, that was what she would call it.

But it was over.

She didn't want to leave, but she had to. Because anything so perfect, so porcelain, so flawless, could only last so long before a crack was discovered in the shadows.

Natalie preferred not to be there when the whole thing eventually crumbled to the ground.

The goodbyes were soft, and a bit sad, but neither of them could keep their smiles down as they said them.

After sparing his waiting vehicle one last glance, she entered her apartment building, swiping her residency card to get in; she took the elevator, and had to swipe it again so it would rise to the eighth floor.

The scarlet refused remove itself from her cheeks.

A familiar ding alerted Natalie that she'd arrived at her floor, and she began the trek down the narrow, dimly lit hallway towards Apt. 8128.

Her flustered state made it rather difficult to search for her keys in the mess of her purse, especially with the additions that she'd purchased from the exhibit's gift shop, as well as the receipt from Devil's Grill, and Spencer's chapstick she 'forgot' to give back.

Once she was finally able to grab them, she raised her head, approaching the door and preparing to put the key in the lock—

Only, the door wasn't locked to begin with.

In fact, it was open.

Not enough for any passerby to notice, but there was a distinct gap between the doorframe and the deadbolt. A thin, barely-there glow peaked through the space, and out of instinct, Natalie reached for her gun.

Her gun, which was secure in a safe beside her bed, along with her FBI credentials—and another gun, fully loaded, that she'd purchased for herself.

When she heard a sound, she froze.

Her eyes remained open, despite the cool air trying to force them shut. They stayed open, her gaze locked on the crack of light, unblinking.

It was a man's voice, which she expected more than the other possibilities, but he wasn't talking. He was... humming, or maybe singing, and it was quiet, difficult to hear the words.

Natalie swore she recognized it.

Not in the way she'd recognized the song in the car, though. In a way that made each and every hair on her body stand on it's end, in a way that made her recoil as if she'd been shot. 

It was almost like—

It wasn't a song, not at all.

It was a hymn.

Her posture straightened, her breath hitched, and with a trembling fist, she pushed the door as far open as it would go.

The first thing Natalie noticed was the empty vase on her kitchen counter, the oxlips and violets nowhere to be seen.

The second thing, was him.

The flush that had previously overtaken her features promptly bled away, and Natalie was left with nothing more than a still heart and the biting rawness of her skin.

"Dad?"

The man across from her smiled.

"Hi, princess," James greeted her, his teeth as sharp as knives. "You're just in time for dinner."

author's note ━━━━━━━━━━━
the man, the myth, the murderer...
everyone say hi to james blair!

but the bleid date ,, the bleid kiss ,, siri
play ceilings by lizzy mcalpine ,, also
we'll never have sex by leith ross ,, yeah

& i apologize for the belated update,
this chapter gave me several migraines!
but now that it's over... stay tuned in the
near future lol