Bitter

Chapter Seven

 Spencer couldn't stop thinking about it. He had gone on two cases since that night in the New York hotel room, but he couldn't get her out of his head. He had had no contact with her, and surprisingly wasn't incredibly upset with himself. After about two hours of freaking out because he just watched her kill a man, she kissed him. And it was even better than the first time. It was long and needy. It went further than intended, and sure, hooking up in the room across the hall from the one where you just killed a man could be frowned upon as 'morally wrong' but it was the best night of his life.

Hotch had sent him home from the most recent case. He was stuck in his apartment because Hotch wouldn't even let him consult on the case. Because he had nothing to do, he had been going over every detail of her. The curve of her waist, the thin white lines in seemingly random patterns on her stomach. He had wanted to ask but didn't want to pry or ruin the moment. He had read a few books about sketching and painting technique over lunch, and had painted her eyes. The left, a thrashing sea of blue set against a honey brown sky, the right, a honey pool against the blue sky. Her eyebrows and how they arched, the way she did her makeup, he had looked it up. He wanted to know everything about her. The way her hair fell. The way her collarbone-

"Hello?"

"Spencer. Did you miss me?" her voice was like honey.

"You know my name. But I still don't know yours. Can I at least get a nickname?" he asked. If she trusted him to give him her nickname, then he could more easily find her name.

"I know what you're doing. You forget how alike we are. But sure. My mother liked to call me S.L.U.T."

"What? That's terrible. I'm sorry."

"Really it's no problem, when I met Terrence he told me it was an abbreviation of what made me me."

"And what makes you you?"

"I'm a sweet, little, unforgettable, thing. I don't hate it as much anymore. It fit better when I was younger and shorter."

"How did you get into this business?"

"Perhaps someday you'll get the full story, but the short version is a kidnapping, a murder, some torture, and now I'm here."

Maybe he could find her name with this new information. It must have been where the scars came from. No one gets scars like that unless they've been through hell.

"Since we're sharing, I was recently held hostage and had my best friend confess her love for me. But the problem is she's married now. With two kids."

"Sucks... gotta go. And by the way Spencer, My name is Manon."

Click.

It all clicked into space in Spencer's head. He remembered the definition.

Manon

French, diminutive of Marie

"bitter"

***

Holy shit. Terrence would kill her. She told an FBI agent her real name. She rarely showed weakness. Marcus and Terrence ensured that. But alone in her cabin she could. Even Marcus couldn't reach her there. She set her phone down still slightly stunned. Before walking to her shower. Stepping into the scalding water, not bothering to undress, she cried. She cried for everything she'd lost. For her parents, her brother. Her poor dog. He never knew why they didn't come home. She hoped her nanna had kept him. She had been presumed dead and 'buried' with her family. She was forbidden to go but went anyway. She watched from afar. Looking at the detectives that had failed her. She sobbed for the life she lost. The life with friends and school.