LAUGHTER LINES, spencer reid.

chapter eleven

LAUGHTER LINES.
chapter eleven.

Gwen pushed her door open as she pulled her camera bag off her shoulder. Greg was lying on his stomach feeding a small tortoise a large strawberry. Gwen tilted her head to the side as it slowly dawned on her. The woman's eyes widened and her mouth dropped ever so slightly. If that was the tortoise, then that meant that shewas in Gwen's condo.

"Mom!" Gwen shouted slowly as she put her camera down on the kitchen bar. Gwen gritted her teeth and crossed her arms. This was not the time to have her mother drop by.

Mary Thompson walked out of the hall holding up some of Gwen's clothes from her closet. "You really should try a new look," she told her daughter. The older woman shook her head at the jeans and a t-shirt.

Mary was tall and slim. Her long dark grey hair fell around her shoulder. She stood an inch shorter than her daughter, but a decent pair of heels would add a couple inches.

"I don't need a new look," Gwen sighed as she walked over to Greg and the tortoise.

A visit from her mother was always welcome, but Gwen preferred to know when she would show up. It gave Gwen a chance to prepare for the antics of the infamous mystery writer Mary Thompson. Mary was always an experience. First, she would survey the living space. Any change in furniture, decoration, or atmosphere was immediately brought up. Everything was under careful scrutiny. After that, Gwen's mother would bring up something in the most recent article her daughter had published. It was never mean of course, but sometimes it really sucked to have a mother who asked about your usage of "nevertheless" instead of "however".

Gwen grabbed a strawberry from a small bowl on the coffee table and held it out to the small tortoise. "Is there any reason you brought Tank with you?" she asked.

"I'm taking your father with me to Seattle for my book signing, so I need you to take care of Tank while we're gone," Mary responded simply. She let out a small sigh. "Just don't try to feed him your meatloaf. You know he won't eat any meatloaf but my own."

"It's the same recipe!" Gwen exclaimed. "How does Tank know the difference of who makes it?" She narrowed her eyes at the small shelled creature. "You're a strange strange little tortoise, Tank."

"Greg says you're going out to dinner with a boy," Mary said casually as she walked over to the couch. She carefully folded Gwen's clothes and set them on the cushion next to her. She carefully folded her hands over her lap "What's this boy's name?"

Gwen sat on the floor and her lip curled back at the word 'boy'. She started to scratch the back end of Tank's protective shell. The Tortoise started to shake his back end back and forth as Gwen smiled. "His name is Spencer, Mom. He works at the BAU."

"You're dating an FBI agent?" Mary asked curiously. She always had seen Gwen date fellow writers, one mathematician, and the two violinists from the D.C orchestra. She didn't date people in any form of law enforcement. She always suspected her daughter avoided such people because of her father's former status as police chief.

"It's just dinner, Mom," Gwen groaned. She couldn't avoid her mom's questions. Gwen could never keep her mother's curiosity satiated. "And what's wrong with him being an FBI agent?"

"Nothing," Mary said, throwing her hands up in defense. She looked down at Tank who was still shaking his back end back and forth. Gwen's fingers danced across his shell. "For God's sake! Gwenevere, stop playing with Tank and pay attention to me."