❝ Some things scratch at the surface while others strike at your soul. ❞
𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 her whole life to catching the monsters in this world in hopes of fixing something that is broken inside of her.
Tha...
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" It is better to be violent if there is violence in our hearts than to put on the cloak of non-violence to cover impotence. "
— Mahatma Gandhi
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13.1 ; SOMEBODY'S WATCHING.
SPENCER EXAMINED THE PAINTING, tilting his head as he tried to interpret its meaning. His eyebrows raised as his eyes roamed over the round auburn trees rising over the yellow backdrop. The splatters of red dashed across the horizon as scattered orange and green leaves seemed to flutter across the canvas. Below the painting, the words "A Day in Fall " were etched onto a gold plaque. He frowned.
"I don't get it."
He heard Caroline chuckle softly. "You don't have to understand, Spence. It's art—the meaning is in the eye of the beholder."
He turned his head to look down at his friend. She had pinned her thick blonde hair on the top of her head, the soft curls framing her face as they escaped the loose knot. She gave him a smile with cherry red lips. Her bright blue eyes peered up at him through her thick lashes, shining with amusement.
He swallowed a lump down his throat.
In recent weeks, things had started to feel different between him and Caroline. He couldn't exactly pinpoint when or where, but something had changed. All he knew was he had never seen the blonde profiler this relaxed before. He had seen her in many different ways—stressed, scared, determined, happy, angry. But relaxed? He hadn't seen her so calm and content in the time he knew her, except for when she fell asleep on the plane or on the couch while she studied.
He liked to see her smile, to see peacefulness in her beautiful blue eyes besides the grey thunderstorm that was usually present. Her smile, a real one that she seemed to only give him, was quite possibly his favorite thing in the world.
"What are you staring at?" She asked him as a faint pink blush crept up on her cheeks. He resisted the urge to touch her cheek, just to see if it was warm.
"I, uh—" He struggled to find an explanation that didn't make him sound like a stalker. "You are just...I was—"
"Spencer! Spencer Reid!"
Both of them turned their heads to face the man approaching them, a huge grin plastered on his tanned face. Even Gideon, who had been zoned out on analyzing a geometric painting, glanced up. The man was dressed in grey slacks with a button-up shirt under a grey suit jacket. Spencer gave him a timid smile.
