A/N: Hey, all. I'm back from the honeymoon, and writing again. I'm working on chapters for my stories, but it was MariaBinger's, my beta, birthday last week, and I promised a birthday gift. So here's the belated Spencer/Hermione mostly plot-less gift. I hope all enjoy it, but especially her. I didn't send it to her for a beta once-over (no one should have to work on their gift), so please forgive any imperfections. I did my best considering I'm downing coffee to stay awake.

Thanks for reading, and enjoy.


"How is your case going?" Hermione yawned over the phone.

"Lousy," Spencer replied with a chuckle. "But I did get to see Morgan have a baby spit-up on him, so that's a plus."

She giggled. "This is why I need to get you a phone with a camera."

"Funny. Garcia said the same thing."

"Do you think you'll be home in time for Valentines?"

"Probably not," he grumbled. "After this we're supposed to go straight to San Diego to take a look at that string of dead prostitutes."

"Oh..." she muttered, disappointment obvious in her voice.

"Maybe I could ask Hotch..."

"No," she interrupted quickly. "I don't want you to do that. Hotch did you enough favors when we decided to extend our honeymoon."

"That was nice of him, wasn't it?" he smiled, thinking of the secluded villa on a magically-ensured private beach where he and Hermione had spent three wonderful weeks. Of those three weeks Hermione had spent maybe a grand total of twenty hours with a top on, most of those when they ventured outside the magical resort to spend some time at a local bar, restaurant, or nightclub. They were only supposed to spend two weeks on their honeymoon, but the night before they were supposed to leave Hermione coaxed him to call Hotchner and beg for a week extension, which was granted only after Hotch had enough of his nervous, bumbling pleas that he could barely make out with a half-naked Hermione straddling his lap, urging him to tug at the sides of her side-tie bikini. Coming back from his honeymoon was tough enough with Morgan making insinuations about his sex life, it took him days before he could look Hotch in the eye. And while he was sure that Aaron hadn't told any of his co-workers about the phone call, it didn't take any of them very much time to figure out something embarrassing had happened.

"Yes, it was. I miss you. It's been, what, about two weeks?" she brought him back to the present.

"Yeah, but you can only blame me for the last five days. Before that it was you in Greece."

"I know. I would have come back, but the only times I had off you were at work. And it's really not easy to sneak into the FBI for a quickie."

"You've done it before," he whispered, face flushing and he checked around him to make sure none of his team members were about to bust into the empty office he was making the call from.

"I nearly blew the secret of the magical world in the process. Damn Garcia and her technological abilities, not to mention the plethora of cameras that cover nearly every bloody inch of that place."

"It is the FBI," he chuckled.

"I know," she sighed. "But for some reason the Ministry of Magic doesn't need nearly that much security."

"Two words, I think. Probity- probes."

He could practically hear her shudder over the phone. "I don't suppose many people would want to break into the Ministry knowing that those are in use," she conceded.

"The FBI would love to get their hands on that bit of technology."

"The FBI would love to get their hands on a lot of things that I have access to, but you are good at keeping the secret of just who you are married to, and I love you all the more for it."

"I love you, too," he murmured as Hotch knocked on the window and motioned for him to come join the group. "That's Hotch."

"You have to go," she finished for him. "Finish up and hurry home."

"Are you going to be there when I get back?"

"I don't know. We're keeping an eye on something in Romania, but I really think it's a vampire and they're just being lazy. I'm waiting for proof that it isn't one, and if I get that, I'll go, but I bet if they go searching they'll find they have a young vampire in their midst."

His stomach dropped at the thought of vampires. He didn't like his wife running after some of the more dangerous magical creatures, but she said she wasn't going to avoid them until she got pregnant. It would be a bonus of having a baby. And it wasn't for lack of trying that Hermione wasn't pregnant yet. It was their crazy work schedules that kept them apart.

"Just be careful," he muttered, knowing it was no good fighting Hermione about her assignments.

"I'll let you know," she replied with another yawn. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Good night," he replied before the line went dead. He wandered out to return to his team, the pang of missing his wife settling deep in his chest. The rest of the evening was a blur of meetings and briefings, and by the time they got back to their hotel that night he was ready to get a good nights sleep.

When he got into his room, however, he could immediately see that something was different. The hotel staff was good about keeping his room completely clean. So the sight of a random bit of laundry lying across the immaculately clean bed was somewhat surprising. But the shock was quickly replaced with pleasant surprise when he suddenly recognized that the shirt was one of Hermione's favorites- a Gryffindor red button down with a golden Phoenix on one side. She had designed the thing herself as part of a charity fundraiser, and would not just leave it lying around. He picked it up and looked around expectantly, as if Hermione might pop out of thin air which, to be fair, she might.

But after a minute he realized that she wasn't going to pop out of thin air or arrive by any other means of magical transport. But she had been here. She had to have been. Who else would leave that shirt sitting on his bed. If she was here, why did she leave?

Probably got called away on work, he thought to himself. It wouldn't be the first time.

They came close to finding the unsub the next day. If there hadn't been an accident on the only freeway with convenient access to the place where the unsub was supposed to be hiding. They got a whole truckload of new evidence, enough to know they had the right guy. The next day they were going to check a few more places, and Derek had a good feeling the case would be wrapped up that day.

That night, when he got back to his hotel room, a pair of Hermione's pumps were on the floor, placed in such a way that she may have sat on the bed and kicked them off. Again he looked around, but he knew Hermione wouldn't be there. He very carefully laid the shoes next to the desk in the room, under where he had folded her shirt and placed it lovingly down.

They solved the case the next day. Spencer had figured out where his 'hidden' hideout was based on some of his old journals they had found during their search of the place they had found the day before. He made sure that Hermione's shoes and blouse were well concealed in his go-bag as they took off towards San Diego.

"How's the girl?" Morgan asked as he passed out cards between them and Emily.

"Hermione's good," he muttered, arranging his cards.

"Expecting yet?"

Spencer dropped a card. "What?"

"We're all waiting for the announcement of a baby genius. I wanted to be the first to know."

"I doubt you'd be the first to know. Hermione spends all sorts of time with Garcia when we're out here in the field. And you know how Garcia is."

Emily smiled. "If Garcia thought Hermione was pregnant she would hold her down and give her an ultrasound to make sure."

"Have you seen Hermione?" Morgan chuckled. "She looks like she could take me down. There's just something about her, man..."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Spencer asked.

"I mean sometimes she just seems like something besides a trainer who is married to you. There's just a feeling of power surrounding her. It's amazing."

"You can stop talking about my wife like that now," he said, trying his best to look irritated. But it wasn't the first time someone accused Hermione of having a kind of powerful aura around her. He didn't feel it, but perhaps it's because he knew what was 'strange' about her. And he loved her magic, like he loved her.

"I still can't get over that," he chuckled, throwing a card down on the pile in front of him. "Reid, married."

"Why is that so hard to believe?" he tried to sound offended.

"It's just funny is all. You couldn't seem to land a date, and then, suddenly, there's a beautiful woman wearing white and walking down the aisle to you."

"Lay off him," Emily said as she picked up another card. "You're just upset Hermione preferred him over you."

"Nah, they're made for each other. Have you ever watched them when they're going over notes together? It's like watching two statues. I think they communicate via ESP or something. I swear, the last time Hermione helped us on a case they spent two hours sitting across from each other with a map and pictures of the evidence in front of them, and suddenly they stood up in sync and announced they knew who did it and where they lived. I didn't see their lips move once."

"I remember, they found those two kids an hour before sunset," Emily added. "They're alive because of you, Spencer."

"It was just as much Hermione," he muttered. Hermione was always willing to stop by for a little unofficial work with them if her schedule permitted, and despite being apprehensive at first, after watching how quickly Hermione could crack a case Hotch was more than willing to let her 'stop by for some time with her husband'. Hermione liked the challenge, catching a Muggle and catching a wizard were two different things, but her experiences seemed to translate well to some of their tougher cases. She got along well with everyone on the team, but none so much as Garcia, who seemed to take it as her personal mission to keep the younger woman entertained and provide company when 'their men- and Emily' ran off to work in the field. Garcia seemed truly upset when the team and Hermione were all out of town, even with Kevin around she got 'lonely'.

"Have you talked to her recently?" Emily asked, bringing his thoughts back to the game.

"Yeah. We talked a couple days ago."

"Is she off on business?"

"She was talking about going to Romania, but she's not sure about it yet," he replied with a shrug.

"Is that the secret to your marriage? Never seeing each other?"

"We see each other plenty," he protested.

"Plenty?" Morgan raised an eyebrow.

"Well, maybe not plenty," he muttered, looking at his card. He was spared any further conversation by the plane starting to rapidly descend. They were staying in a hotel three blocks from the airport, so they stopped by to check in and drop their stuff off. Spencer was only a little shocked to find one of Hermione's pencil skirts laying across his bed. It was his favorite skirt, the hem was a little higher than most of her other skirts, and she reserved it for when they were going to meet for dinner after work. She called it 'the skirt that guaranteed dessert'.

He lovingly took the skirt and placed it in a drawer with the blouse, and placed the shoes next to the drawer, but out of sight of the door. He wanted to take five, so he sat on the bed and closed his eyes, and the only image that would come to his eyes was that of Hermione, wearing the pumps and skirt, the blouse half-open, a playful smirk across her face as she played with one of the remaining buttons. His eyes shot open and he looked around the room for anything that would get his mind off his wife. The last thing he needed to do would be to walk out to meet his team visibly aroused. If Hermione didn't do something about these random bits of clothing she was leaving around he would have to take matters into his own hands, and despite Hermione's assurances that it was normal for married couples who were separated for a while to do every once in a while, he still felt awkward about it, and more than willing to wait until he got to see Hermione again. She was the one who seemed to have a problem waiting, he had waited for the better part of three decades so a few days seemed realistic. But three days away from him, and Hermione was ready to pounce the moment he walked in the door.

They were out until half past midnight, and when he returned he found a pair of stockings and a garter belt. Even though it would be extremely late (or perhaps insanely early) in their house in the suburbs of Washington DC he called Hermione. It rang four times before the generic voice-mail picked up. He tried her cell, but that went straight to voice-mail. That either meant Hermione was enjoying her sleep too much to bother to be disturbed, or she was in an environment with enough magic that it interfered with her cell reception. Her job didn't require a cell phone, so sometimes she went on an assignment and into a ministry without thinking that her husband couldn't contact her. Giving it up as a lost cause he gently stowed the garments and went to bed, trying to ignore his erection at the thought of Hermione wearing them.

By the next night he was so excited to see what Hermione had left him that he said he purposefully spilled coffee on his shirt so he'd have to go upstairs and change, just to see what it was. This time it was a bra- red and black plaid with lace trimming. He almost had to cancel their dinner plans.

The next night, the night before Valentine's day, he found the final gift stuffed in his attaché case- a pair of panties to match the bra. It was just lucky Morgan couldn't figure out the cause for the sudden blush on his face that took him the better part of an hour to rid himself of. The case never left his side for the day. he tried to call Hermione again, but again there was no response.

The next day they found the body of a missing prostitute, and it signaled another two weeks before another went missing. It was frustrating, because it was their best lead, but after nine days on the road they needed a break. They were just agreeing to take off early for the night and meet back for a fresh start when there was a knock on the door.

"Hullo, everyone," Hermione said as she opened the door.

"Mrs. Reid, looking fine," Morgan smirked as she walked in. Hermione had a deep purple trench coat wrapped tightly around herself, with just a peek of her black pencil skirt visible below the hem, along with the black stockings and pumps. Spencer forced himself to keep his eyes on her face as she walked towards him.

"Thanks, Morgan. How're things?" she asked as she passed him.

"That depends. Are you going to help us?"

"Maybe tomorrow. I'm here to steal my husband tonight, if that's okay with you," she added with a look at Hotch. Spencer hastily threw all his things in his attaché case.

"We were actually just breaking for the day," Hotch nodded. "He's all yours."

"I'll make sure to bring him back in roughly the same state I took him in," she winked, taking Spencer's hand and leading him from the room.

"Where have you been?" he asked as they walked through the police headquarters.

"Romania," she replied shortly.

"Was it what you thought it was?"

"A couple of them," she nodded. "Taken care of."

He opened his mouth to ask how exactly one takes care of a vampire, much less two, but remembered they were in the middle of a pack of Muggles, so he held his tongue. A driver from the American Ministry was waiting outside the building, and he held the door open for her before climbing in next to her.

"Happy Valentine's Day," she said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. She pressed a box into his hands.

"I didn't get you anything," he frowned.

"I guess you're buying dinner, then," she smiled. "Open it."

He tore into the paper and opened the box.

"It's a personal library kit. So you can keep track of those books you kept lending out to Hotch and Garcia," she explained.

"It's perfect," he smiled at her. "Do you want to stop somewhere? I'm sure I can find you something..."

"I was going to tell you later, but you already did."

"I did?" he asked, sounding confused.

"Yes. That leather-bound first edition of Hogwarts: A History. I love it, it's already framed and hanging in our bedroom."

"I did good, didn't I?" he smiled.

"Wonderfully," she said, giving him a kiss. "I assume you've been giving the little gifts I've been leaving you?" she added in a barely-there voice as she pretended to study his gift.

He tried to think of anything to keep the blood from rushing to his groin, but it was an uphill battle. "Yes," he managed in a murmured stutter.

"Good," she said quickly before she launched into a quick narrative about what happened in Romania. They were pulling up to a small restaurant in the wizarding section of the city when she finished.

"Where are we?" he asked, looking at the dark-tinted windows of the tiny restaurant.

"The Sorceress' Plate," she replied as they got out. "I've heard really good things, but it took a little name-tossing to get a reservation."

"Whose name did you toss?"

"Mine," she said shortly. He held the door open for her, stepping into a foyer decorated in rich purple, black, and trims of white.

"Ms. Granger," the young witch behind the podium smiled at her.

"Mrs. Reid," she corrected.

"Oh, of course. I see your reservation right here. Everything's all ready for you, if you'll follow me."

They were brought through a curtain into a hallway. On either side were curtain-covered doors. A waiter pushed his way through a pair of double-doors carrying a tray with a couple desserts on it, and disappeared through one of the curtains.

"May I take your coat?" the hostess said, pausing by a hook on the wall. Hermione unbelted her jacket and let it slip down her arms and into the waiting hands of her hostess. Spencer noticed quickly that she was wearing the blouse, though a couple more buttons than usual were undone, and when she moved just right he caught a glimpse of the plaid-patterned bra underneath.

"In here," the hostess said, pulling back a dark purple curtain. They walked inside to find a table resting between two loungers that were each facing a small fireplace. A bottle of wine was chilling next to the table, two glasses waiting for them. She slid into the closest chair, he took the other.

"Anything you need, Damon will be with you shortly," the hostess nodded before leaving.

"This place is... different," Spencer said, pouring wine into the glasses.

"I like it. It's kind of cozy. And the service is prompt," she said, nodding back towards the table, which suddenly had a fondue set sitting on it, cheese inside the pot gently bubbling.

"I ordered ahead, I hope you don't mind," she explained. "I haven't seen you in over two weeks, and I don't plan on spending the whole of my night with you sitting in this restaurant."

He choked on the sip of wine he had just taken.

"You must have seen this coming, the little gifts I've been leaving for you," she said nonchalantly as she chose a piece of bread to dip into the cheese.

"I had an idea," he muttered, trying to fight the flush threatening to creep onto his face.

"Just an idea? Some profiler," she said, raising an eyebrow before their waiter came in to confirm their order and ask if everything was okay. Hermione replied that everything was fine, and he left.

"I don't think I've ever done this before," Spencer said as he dropped his piece of bread into the cheese.

She giggled and managed to fish it out with her fork to feed it to him. "You'll get the hang of it. Hopefully quicker than you got the hang of chopsticks."

"I got the hang of them," he protested, but was stopped from further speech by her flashing a dazzling smile up at him, the same smile that made him weak-kneed every time he saw it.

The rest of the dinner passed quickly. They talked about their most recent cases, about their plans for re-designing their dining room, and for an award ceremony she was supposed to be attending the next month. Before they knew it the bill was on their table, and they were finishing off the last sips of the wine. Unexpectedly she leaned over the table to press her lips to his.

"I am so ready to get out of here," she whispered against his mouth.

"Me, too," he replied, suddenly feeling bolder.

"Good," she smirked. She threw a small sack of money on top of the bill and took his hand. They paused long enough to grab their coats from the hooks outside their room, and hurried out the front door, barely acknowledging the hostess as they half ran to the waiting car.

"My place or yours?" she asked as they climbed in.

"Mine," he replied, knowing she probably hadn't bothered getting a hotel room, and saying 'hers' would probably mean a cross-country Knight-bus style ride that would leave him too sickly feeling for anything like what he was about to get.

"Embassy Suites on Pacific Highway," she ordered to the driver, who took off, rushing unseen through traffic. Hermione waved her wand, creating a barrier between the front and back seats, before pulling Spencer to her, lips crashing into his. Her hands found his jacket and pulled him tightly to her, and he was happy to wrap his arms around her. He slipped his tongue past her lips before she had a chance to be the aggressor, feeling his pants growing tighter around him as a moan escaped her lips into his mouth. The driver took a quick turn, and, unprepared for the sudden movement, Spencer fell half onto her before his hand shot out to prevent him from falling into the window.

"I like where this is going," she said breathily before pulling him back to her, unwilling to let him sit back up. His hands made their way to her buttons before he realized they were in the car with someone else.

"Wait, 'Mione," he muttered, pulling away from her.

"Eric doesn't look back," she said, tugging on him insistently.

"We're three minutes from the hotel," he said with a glance out the window.

"Fine," she grumbled, releasing him so he could sit up and straighten himself up in case any of his team were hanging around the common rooms of the hotel. Luckily the only person they met was the desk clerk, who greeted them warmly as they rushed past. It took him three tries to get the door open while her arms were around him, unbuttoning his vest and tugging at his tie. As he stepped through the door she pulled each of these, sliding them off his body, and discarding them on the floor as the door locked behind her with a click. Her lips met his again, picking up where they left off in the car. He slowly turned her so her back was to the bed, then pushed her gently backwards until her legs were touching the sheets.

She quickly unbuttoned the blouse, and he tugged the arms so it slid off her, pooling by her feet. His hand slid around her to the back of her skirt, finding the zipper, and soon the skirt joined the blouse. He broke away from her to look at the matching bra and panties while she slowly unfastened one of the garters. Feeling more bold he gently pushed her onto the bed. She kicked the shoes off and scooted towards the headrest. She watched hungrily as he removed his shirt and took his time with his socks and shoes.

"Bloody hell, Spencer, get over here," she growled as he made a big deal of pulling his belt off and placing it on the table next to the television.

His response was to climb back onto her, lips meeting even more urgently as his hands found the rest of the garters. His lips left hers as he moved to pull each of the stockings, then the belt off her. He started kissing her knee, moving up, purposefully skipping over the area covered by her panties, up her stomach, over her breasts and to her neck. As the heat between them grew his caresses moved more quickly, sucking and nipping the sensitive skin as his hand worked its way under her body to unhook her bra. Once the offending garment had been tossed off the side of the bed he began to work lower on her body again, and by the time his mouth gently sucked one of her peaks she was writhing beneath him, grinding herself against his hip, the dampened panties against his pant leg. He teased her for a while before moving his attention to her other breast, and he moved his body in such a way that her hands, which had been trying to reach for the fly of his slacks, and allowed her to push them off as much as she could.

"Please, Spencer!" she yelped as he bit the skin of her stomach gently. She didn't need to specify. He knew exactly what she needed, because it was the same thing he did. He wiggled out of his pants, pulled the panties off of her body, positioned himself between her legs, and slid himself into her. She moaned, wrapping her legs around his, fingers digging into the skin of his back.

Looking into her face, which was flushed with excitement and ecstasy, he almost forgot to breathe. He looked at her more than he looked at any other person on the planet, and yet he was always enthralled with her beauty.

"I love you," he muttered, slowly moving against her, savoring every sensation she caused in him.

"I love you, too," she whispered in his ear before gently sucking his earlobe. Her hips started rising to meet his, moving in sync with his movements, the muscles of her legs tightening then releasing in a steady rhythm.

Hermione, never one to stay in the same position for too long, gently pushed him away from her. She knew enough not to speak, but to just move herself into her next desired position. She laid on her side, pulling him so he was behind her. She reached behind her to guide him into her. His arms encircled her, he used his face to push her hair off the back of her neck so he could kiss the skin from her shoulder to her jaw. When she started to show signs of getting close to her climax he used one hand to hold her tightly against him while his other hand moved to her nub, rubbing small circles until she tightened around him, fingers tightening around the arm holding him to her, her breath catching as her neck arched backwards so they were cheek to cheek.

They climaxed together, breathing each others names, and his arm moved up to encircle her completely as they waited for their breathing to return to normal. She turned her head as far as she could, and he turned his so their lips could meet.

"Happy Valentine's Day, daddy-to-be," she whispered.