Chapter 3: A Beacon
a/n: Finally a bit from J.J.'s pov in this chapter! I've had this written for a few days, but I've been too busy to get it uploaded.
Enjoy! Please drop me a review if you stopped by. :)
Chapter 3: A Beacon
The perfect words never crossed my mind
'Cos there was nothing in there but you.
I felt every ounce of me screaming out,
But the sound was trapped deep in me.
-Snow Patrol, "Signal Fire"
November 2009
The book tour was as exhausting as she d promised: over forty cities in two months, readings and signings at book stores, lectures at colleges, and one stop at The Colbert Report to put serial killers "On Notice." It hadn't been strictly necessary for J.J. to accompany him, but he'd invited, and since he was her biggest client, she'd accepted. It helped to get away from the city and experience a bit of the outside world.
It was healing to get away. Cathartic. The work kept her mind off of...things. Off of Spence. Off of the baby. Now when she woke, she didn't have to take a moment to remind herself that the baby was gone, she was no longer pregnant, the crib sat empty. She'd moved out of the large apartment she and Spence had shared, and she no longer had access to the pretty little nursery they'd created together. She couldn't wander down the hall in the middle of the night and dwell on all that she'd lost.
Maybe Spence had been right after all. Maybe it had been time to redecorate. She was sure he'd done it by now, painting over the sylvan scene they'd created on the walls, the midsummer night's sky on the ceiling. The thought gave her a pang, a moment's mourning for the promise that nursery represented - the promise of their son, their family, their happiness together.
There was one stop left on Dave's tour, and it was the one event she was dreading; the one event she was seriously considering skipping. But Dave would notice her absence, and he would...what? Understand, probably. Understand, but be disappointed in her. Since when had David Rossi's opinion become so damn important?
She sighed and ran the brush through her corn silk hair one last time. She checked her makeup in the mirror. Smoothed her skirt; considered changing again. She shook her head, feeling ridiculous. Spence probably wouldn't even be there...
That was foolish. Of course he'd be there. He was a huge fan of Dave's, even if Dave hadn't liked the young scientist the one time they'd met. There's no way Spencer Reid would pass up a chance at hearing one of his favorite authors lecturing at his own school.
But maybe, just maybe, he'd stay away because he knew J.J. was coming. She always attended her clients' events in the city, especially Dave's. Spence might stay away because he didn't want to see her, didn't want to have that awkward post-breakup chat. She hated that necessarily banal, forcibly cheerful little talk.
The thought of Spence avoiding her gave her a strange, hollow feeling. As much as part of her didn't want to see him (could barely stand the thought), another, larger part longed to see him. She wanted to know how he was doing; she wanted to know how he looked; she wanted to know everything he'd been doing in the last two months to get his mind off her as she had struggled to get her mind off him.
"Enough, J.J.," she told her reflection. "See him or not, it hardly matters." She had walked out on him, and she'd meant everything she'd said. Though she missed him (almost desperately at times), intellectually she knew nothing had changed. Spence hadn't changed; she hadn't changed. She shook her head, grabbed her purse and keys, and headed out the door.
He considered staying away. Part of him - the cowardly part, he admitted - wanted to stay away. But the larger, more honest part knew he would go. Knew he had no choice, really. David Rossi, despite being an arrogant jerk (at least the one time they'd met), was still one of his favorite writers.
He was also Jen's number one client.
Hence Spencer's urge to stay sequestered in the sterile safety of his lab.
But wasn't that exactly the problem? He cut himself off because it was safer, easier. Maybe if she saw him there, realized what a risk he was taking...
What would she do? Come running back? That was just ridiculous. She'd made herself abundantly clear the night she walked out. It was over, period. He'd blown it, and now he had to live with the knowledge of everything he'd...not lost. Thrown away. Destroyed. Let die.
Now he stood in the back of the crowded lecture hall and searched for her bright beacon of hair. His hope in the darkness. Maybe if he'd just told her that, she would've stayed...
He should have told her quite a few things.
The reading and subsequent talk ended to a roar of applause, the sound bringing Spencer back to the here and now. David Rossi - gracious, distinguished, handsome - smiled and nodded, the very picture of the humble artist embarrassed by the crowd's adoration. The audience was invited to the book signing and reception, and everyone began filing out the doors.
Spencer stayed rooted. Jen wasn't on the stage, so she had to pass him to reach the lobby. The hall was nearly empty, and he was beginning to lose hope when he saw her. He felt a band wrap around his chest, squeezing, constricting. He couldn't breathe. The sight of her was like a punch in the gut. No, wait, like a band...shit, he was mixing his damn metaphors now. The woman made him mix metaphors.
He rubbed his face with both hands, feeling the slight scrape of stubble. What had he been thinking? He was clearly in no shape to see her. If he left now he could escape with the last remnants of the audience, and she would never even know he'd been there. Hazel eyes burning, he watched her as she moved down the aisle, realizing suddenly that the light glinting off her earlobes was being reflected by the sapphire earrings he had bought her. Had she done that on purpose?
He was still debating the exit when her dark blue gaze caught, stayed, on his. He swallowed, feeling his mouth go bone dry as her face clouded, cleared, smoothed. He knew that face, the mask she wore. He'd seen it countless times when she had to deal with a particularly tough client: it was her game face.
She approached him steadily, her eyes never leaving his. He slid slender, long-fingered hands into his pockets.
"Spence," she said, "you came." Her tone was polite, even - like he was a stranger.
It gave him pause. "Um. Of course I came. You know I enjoy Dave's writing." Inwardly he rolled his eyes at the sheer banality of it.
Her mouth curved into an engaging smile. "Of course," she agreed genially. "It's good to see you. You're looking well."
His brows quirked at her. He looked like shit and he knew it. "Thanks," he replied mildly. "You look amazing," he told her truthfully. "I especially love the earrings."
Dark blue eyes the same shade as the sapphires widened. Finally he'd cracked her perfect composure. "I, um. They're still good luck."
"I'm glad."
They stared at each other for several long heartbeats. He rocked back on his heels a little. She fidgeted with her watchband.
"I can't do this again," she finally whispered, surprising him.
He leaned toward her, deep-set hazel eyes intent on her lovely face. "I'm not asking you to," he replied, forehead crinkling as his brows came together.
"You shouldn't have come."
"I had no choice."
"I hate you." It was said without venom, as though she were merely stating a fact. He didn't believe her. Anger he would have accepted, but this dry, impersonal tone...no, that wasn't his Jennifer.
"I love you," he told her simply.
"Don't lie to me."
"I've never lied to you. I've always loved you." It wasn't perfect. It wasn't an apology. It was far less than she deserved.
It was all he had.
She looked away. Back. "Spence, I'm sorry. I should go."
"Just think about it, Jen."
"I'm sorry, Spence," she repeated softly before she turned in a whirl of golden hair and elusive, tantalizing scent.
He watched her go.
And he wondered.