"You don't like me, do you?"
"Wow. Nothing gets past you, Sherlock. Do you keep one of those magnifying glasses tucked away in that little vest of yours?"
•••
Lydia Beowulf works for the Hostage Response T...
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"Oh, this isn't the bathroom." Spencer said, pulling his lips back. Lydia nodded, not sure what to say. The last thing she wanted was to talk to him at that moment, but she didn't ask him to leave either.
She noticed he wasn't leaving. Just lingering halfway in with his hand on the door. All she needed him to do was to turn around and leave. Pretend she wasn't in there.
"Are—Are you okay?" He asked, double-taking at the door. Lydia had no answer. Physically, she was fine. Mentally, there was so much happening she couldn't put it into words even if she wanted to. So she stood there, silent.
Spencer being Spencer, he slid in and shut the door behind him. She sighed and closed her eyes. Why couldn't he leave her alone for once?
"Lyl?" The floorboards creaked under his feet as he got closer to Lydia. She just stared straight ahead at the artwork on her wall. He attempted to catch her eyes as she leaned against her desk, but failed as her mind wandered somewhere he couldn't fathom.
Quickly realizing it wasn't working, he leaned on the desk beside her. It was the best he could do if she wasn't going to talk to him. Their shoulders touched, making the hair on her arms stand. Every instinct within screamed at her to move, leave the room and go back downstairs.
Minutes started to blur. The only sounds that could be heard was the cold wind pushing against the glass windows and the soft sounds of their breathing.
"Which one is your favorite?" He nodded to the wall in front of the that she was staring at. If Spencer knew anything about Lydia, it would be that she wouldn't open up so easily about anything without easing into it.
She pointed at the Rothko piece she had been pondering. Truthfully, she couldn't pick a single favorite. Her love for art started in her teenage years, when she was forced into some art classes due to her youthful angst. The same angst that caused her to start journaling. She later combined those interests, creating the worn leather bound book she took with her on every case.
Spencer's eyebrow raised as he looked at the piece. "Is...Is it because you like the color blue?"
She chuckled to herself. He was a genius and yet he couldn't see what was actually there. He only saw the surface.
"What do you see when you look at it?" She asked curiously.
"Is this a trick question?"
"Spencer." She warned.
"Alright. Uh—I see two blue squares." He squinted his eyes a bit. "No offense Lydia, but I question your taste if this is your favorite." He shrugged, to which she started laughing harder.
