Spencer's hand ran through her blonde curls, and she mumbled, shifting her head ever so slightly from it's place on his lap. He smiled slightly, his eyes sad with concern. Hotchner walked in and didn't say a word, lips pursed. He bent to collect a few files from the board.
"She's tired," Spencer said urgently, trying to redeem himself.
"As we all are," Hotchner replied, he too giving a sad glance toward the sleeping girl. "Meg's worked so hard. I don't know what she thinks she has to prove."
Spencer gasped as she moved again, her little pale hands gripping his black slacks, one on his left knee, the other by his right calf. Meg had her upper arm under her head, but her chin was still on his hip, her hair on his arm.
"She just wants to be liked, that's all. She was so alone in the Corps de Ballet. She didn't have a proper education-"
"Yet she's smarter than half the members here."
Reid smiled. He gingerly touched the curls again, watched as they rose and fell under his control. She twitched,and her eyebrows furrowed.
"Spu...hay..." she mumbled.
"Don't forget to remind her of that, Reid."
Spencer nodded obediently toward his boss. Hotchner left, and Spencer was left again with Meg. Her thick black lashes on her pale eye lids...skin, the colour of chalk...nimble fingers, made for quickly casting away pages with knowledge her bright blue eyes consumed. Golden hair, always in it's perfect curls, and...Spencer stopped before he thought about her body.
Meg Giry had run away from the Corps de Ballet at age 14. She was scared her career would go no where, and that her mother was simply living the dream, that Meg herself smashed, through her daughter. She ran from France, and to America. No one knew who she was, a simple orphan arriving in New York City wasn't a once-time thing.
However, the team had been working a case there at the time, and the young Miss Giry bewitched the maternal Emily Prentiss, and she was adopted. Dancing gracefully around the BAU everyday, a book in hand as she did pirouettes and twirl after twirl. War and Peace was a favorite at her young age, as well as Wuthering Heights and several Jane Austen novels.
But mainly, Meg loved Psychology, much to Emily's delight. Now Meg, age 19, graduated early and was almost through college, had been job shadowing with another BAU case. It was hard, and in the end, Meg's extensive knowledge of the sickeningly grotesque literature had become useful.
Meg shifted again on Spencer's lap and whimpered. Her skirt was twisted around her waist, pure white, in contrast with the dirty grey carpet she was sitting on. She mumbled and cried out, and Spencer realized she was having a nightmare.
"Shhh...Meg! Meg, wake up! You're okay..."
Meg leaped up with a shriek, wrapping her arms around her co worker's legs.
"Oh, Spencer!" she said, her high voice coated with the french accent. It was faint, but there. He could feel his shirt grow heavy with the tears from his friend.
"It was only a dream..." he mumbled, pulling her arms away from him, letting her wrap them back around his legs, her head dropping into his lap.
"Can I have your jacket?"
Spencer felt very obligated to say,"May I?" But refrained, smiling sadly as she shivered out of cold and fear. He took off his pea coat, draping it over the blonde's back. She nuzzled affectionately into his lap for a thank you. As soon as she started breathing heavier again, he let himself slip his hands back into her blonde hair, and sighed contently. She soon started with the nightmares again, however, and he pulled her tighter to him the second time around.
"I've got you, Meg," he whispered,"no one is going to hurt you."
"I know," she mumbled, rubbing her head affectionately again,"as long as I've got you to keep me safe."
"She's tired," Spencer said urgently, trying to redeem himself.
"As we all are," Hotchner replied, he too giving a sad glance toward the sleeping girl. "Meg's worked so hard. I don't know what she thinks she has to prove."
Spencer gasped as she moved again, her little pale hands gripping his black slacks, one on his left knee, the other by his right calf. Meg had her upper arm under her head, but her chin was still on his hip, her hair on his arm.
"She just wants to be liked, that's all. She was so alone in the Corps de Ballet. She didn't have a proper education-"
"Yet she's smarter than half the members here."
Reid smiled. He gingerly touched the curls again, watched as they rose and fell under his control. She twitched,and her eyebrows furrowed.
"Spu...hay..." she mumbled.
"Don't forget to remind her of that, Reid."
Spencer nodded obediently toward his boss. Hotchner left, and Spencer was left again with Meg. Her thick black lashes on her pale eye lids...skin, the colour of chalk...nimble fingers, made for quickly casting away pages with knowledge her bright blue eyes consumed. Golden hair, always in it's perfect curls, and...Spencer stopped before he thought about her body.
Meg Giry had run away from the Corps de Ballet at age 14. She was scared her career would go no where, and that her mother was simply living the dream, that Meg herself smashed, through her daughter. She ran from France, and to America. No one knew who she was, a simple orphan arriving in New York City wasn't a once-time thing.
However, the team had been working a case there at the time, and the young Miss Giry bewitched the maternal Emily Prentiss, and she was adopted. Dancing gracefully around the BAU everyday, a book in hand as she did pirouettes and twirl after twirl. War and Peace was a favorite at her young age, as well as Wuthering Heights and several Jane Austen novels.
But mainly, Meg loved Psychology, much to Emily's delight. Now Meg, age 19, graduated early and was almost through college, had been job shadowing with another BAU case. It was hard, and in the end, Meg's extensive knowledge of the sickeningly grotesque literature had become useful.
Meg shifted again on Spencer's lap and whimpered. Her skirt was twisted around her waist, pure white, in contrast with the dirty grey carpet she was sitting on. She mumbled and cried out, and Spencer realized she was having a nightmare.
"Shhh...Meg! Meg, wake up! You're okay..."
Meg leaped up with a shriek, wrapping her arms around her co worker's legs.
"Oh, Spencer!" she said, her high voice coated with the french accent. It was faint, but there. He could feel his shirt grow heavy with the tears from his friend.
"It was only a dream..." he mumbled, pulling her arms away from him, letting her wrap them back around his legs, her head dropping into his lap.
"Can I have your jacket?"
Spencer felt very obligated to say,"May I?" But refrained, smiling sadly as she shivered out of cold and fear. He took off his pea coat, draping it over the blonde's back. She nuzzled affectionately into his lap for a thank you. As soon as she started breathing heavier again, he let himself slip his hands back into her blonde hair, and sighed contently. She soon started with the nightmares again, however, and he pulled her tighter to him the second time around.
"I've got you, Meg," he whispered,"no one is going to hurt you."
"I know," she mumbled, rubbing her head affectionately again,"as long as I've got you to keep me safe."
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