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You gathered your things at the end of your workday, the clock in your small, shared office chiming 5pm. The desktop gets shut down, and you sling your leather bag across your body before you clock out for the evening.
It’s Wednesday, and you’re meeting Spencer at the National Gallery for your second date. You aren’t nearly as nervous as you had been on Saturday, but you still want to make a good impression, even though tonight was more casual. You head into the bathroom readjusting your shirt’s tuck into your slacks, buttoning up your cardigan, and brushing through your hair with your fingers before cleaning your glasses.
Leaving through the employee entrance, you found your way to the main length of the Mall and you started to walk the short distance to the National Gallery. Leagues of tourists aside, your otherwise peaceful walk was interrupted by the sharp ring of your cellphone. You flipped it open, and picked up the call. Spencer.
Your heart started to race. Was he cancelling? Does he not want to see me anymore? No, maybe he got called on FBI business, Garcia said they have to travel a lot. No, he’s definitely leaving-
Your brain was stopped by the sound of his voice on the line.
“Hello? Weird question, but where are you right now?”
“Uhm,” You looked around, you were right next to the crosswalk. “Corner of 12th and Madison. Why, what’s up?” Your voice started to shake.
“I think I see you. I just got off of the Blue line at Smithsonian.”
You look around. “Oh, I uh, I don’t see you.” Relief floods you. He’s not ditching.
“To your right.” He waves softly before walking briskly towards you, long legs kind of awkward as he moves.
You wave back, and wait for him to make his way to you. A smile finds its way to your face, as you watch him, your nose scrunches in amusement.
“Hi,” Spencer huffs, just the slightest bit out of breath. “Wow, you don’t realize what seventy-five thousand tourists look like until they’re all at the National Mall.”
“Yeah,” you snort, “way too many people. But I enjoy it, I guess.”
“Can I?” He gestures at your cheek. You nod, and he presses a chaste kiss to one side of your face, before moving and doing the same to the other. “Sorry, I know you said I don’t have to ask anymore.”
“It’s okay, I think it’s sweet you ask even when you don’t need to.” You both cross the street, walking down to the gallery. “Consent is sexy.” You say plainly.
He sputters, taken aback. “Sexy?” He manages, voice high pitched.
You shrug. “Yeah, I mean, it's nice to know you care enough about me to respect boundaries when many people wouldn’t.”
“Makes sense,” he looks over at you, “a lot of people I encounter don’t exactly do that.” His fingers brush yours as you both walk. “Is it okay if I, uh, if I maybe held your hand?”
“Oh, yes!” You smile up at him as you feel his hand wrap around yours.
After a short walk you both arrive at the museum, and continue to hold hands as you walk up the stairs to the West Wing. You make it through security, and continue into the museum. It’s expansive, you knew there was no way you’d even be able to see half of this wing by the time it closed for the night. As you walked into the rotunda, Spencer pulled out a map.
“We could either go left or right, depending on what you want to see…pre seventeen-hundred or post?” His deft fingers gesture on the map.
“I’m fine with either, I suppose? It’s not like we’re limited. I mean, we can come back as much as we want. There’s more variety on the right side, though.” You pointed to galleries labelled ‘American’, ‘British’, ‘Impressionism’.
“All I heard is that you want to come back here with me.” He partly joked. “The right side sounds good.” He smiled down at you.
You started with Spanish paintings, ranging from 1750 to 1850. For a small room, it boasts some impressive works, mostly from Goya. Afterwards you moved through the French, British, and American galleries. You and Spencer took your time, making sure to read all of the plaques, talking to each other about the paintings. Sometimes, he even asked you questions about them — even though he knew the answers. He wanted to hear you explain something you’re passionate about.
“The museum boasts an impressive collection,” Spencer stated quietly. “Sometimes I forget this is just here in our backyard, and it's free admission.”
You squeezed the part of his arm you were holding onto. “I know, I forget it too, and I work here. Well not ‘here’ here, but, you know, for the institution as a whole.”
He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I understand.”
As you both turned a corner into the next gallery under American Art, your eyes lit up.
“Spencer…” You dragged him across the room to a set of four paintings, all hanging with each other. You stopped, and your grip on his arm loosened. “I completely forgot these are here…”
“The Voyage of Life by Thomas Cole.” He stated, looking between the paintings and you. Your mouth was slightly propped open, hanging in a soft smile, all in awe. “Beautiful…”
“Thomas Cole was the founder of the Hudson River School movement. They focused on European style romanticism, but obviously with American subjects, all focused around the Hudson River and East Coast landscape.” You started to twitch your fingers, and Spencer’s hand carefully wrapped around yours.
“So, is this supposed to be the Hudson?” He asked you, eyes squinting as he examined the paintings.
You moved yourselves closer, about as close as allowed. “No, well — the series follows a man’s journey on the mythical river of life, and each artwork is a different stage in his life.” You pointed to the plaques. “Childhood, Youth, Manhood, Old Age.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah I see it now.” Spencer’s eyebrows raised. “Childhood, the man starts on the left side, moving into the first glimpse of daylight. Youth is sunny, warm, almost adventurous. Wait no, definitely, there's that castle, or fortress…Manhood is bleak, kind of serious looking? By the time he reaches Old Age he’s on the right side of the canvas now, and reaching up to the last bit of light, like he’s accepting death.”
Spencer looked back at you, still focused on the artwork ahead. “What does this have to do with the American landscape, though?”
“Cole, along with many members of his school, were fairly conservative, and Cole himself was religious. He thought the natural, untamed beauty of the American landscape was purely God’s work, especially since he wasn’t fond of cities. This series is an allegory for faith and spiritual growth in the same way his traditional landscape works are, as well as reference to Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress.”
He looked at you with intent as you talked, explaining the work. Truthfully, he hadn’t known this, you were teaching him something entirely new. Normally, his ego would get in his way — Spencer hated being corrected. But something about this made his heart swell, you were so passionate about art history. He knew that already, you mentioned it being your undergrad major the first time you met, but seeing you in action was different. On top of it, you were so beautiful. Getting lost in thought as you told him about the art, examining every detail, that’s why it was so different.
Quietly, Spencer took his phone out of his pocket, and flipped it open. He quickly snapped a picture, making sure the flash was off. It was horribly blurry, but it captured you perfectly. Unfortunately for him, you felt him shift beside you.
“Spencer, what are you—” You turned around, catching him with his phone out. “Did you take a picture of me?”
His neck and ears flushed, embarrassed. “No. Maybe. Yes I did, I’m sorry. I can delete it right now. You just looked really pretty and I wanted to remember this date. That’s a lie too, I have an eidetic memory, I’ll remember this without the photo.” He reached up to adjust his glasses, a nervous tick.
“No no, that’s okay, keep it. I’m glad I am worth the photo.” You bit the corner of your mouth, subtle pinkness formed across your nose.
“You can take one of me anytime to even it out. If you want to, it’s not an obligation or anything…” He reached up to adjust his necktie, loosening it as his body temperature increased. He was really trying to not let his nerves get the best of him, your first date had gone so well after all, but you made it really hard.
The museum intercom sounded, droning out the quiet hum of the gallery. “Attetion patrons, the National Gallery of Art will be closing in approximately forty-five minutes. Thank you.”
Spencer pursed his lips together in a slight pout, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his corduroys. “Hm, is there uh, anything you’d like to see before it closes?”
“Always a big fan of Impressionism. I’m pretty sure those galleries are nearby.”
He pulled the map out of his back pocket, opening it for the two of you. His deft fingers twiddled across the glossy pages as he searched for the galleries. He pointed to it. “Here, just across the way…” He looked over at you as he shoved the map back into his back pocket. “I uh, was meaning to say something earlier, but I like your cardigan.” He cleared his throat. “It’s – it’s really cute.”
Your face lit up. “Oh! Thank you, Spencer, I made it!” I picked up the bottom edge and lifted it up lightly from my body, showing it off to him as you both walked to the galleries.
“I can tell!” He said brightly, before a scrunch of confusion appeared on his face. “Wait— not like, in a bad ‘I can tell’ way. I uh, I can tell it’s crochet and you must have put a lot of work into it.” He stopped you in the doorway to the Impressionist gallery. “The, uh, the sweater I’ve been working on for my godson is much harder than I expected, and he’s so tiny! You’re like, a full size human, that’s a lot of skill and patience.”
You rubbed your cheek with your palm, looking down and away from Spencer. His compliment was so thorough and genuine, all you wanted to do was sheepishly hide from his view. “Thank you Spencer.” You said again, this time much softer. You felt his hand carefully move up to rest just above your elbow, gently guiding you into the room with him.
This time, it was his turn to be hit with complete awestruck wonder. There, visible from the entryway into gallery 85, was a trio of Monet’s finest. Woman with a Parasol, The Artist’s Garden at Vetheuil, and The Japanese Footbridge. Despite the museum being scarily close to closing time, this room was the most crowded, it almost always was. Normally, that would have terrified the ever loving shit out of Spencer. Spencer, who was famously bad with both crowds and pretty women seemingly grew immense confidence for each one.
His hand moved from just above your elbow to rest on your hand. He grasped you gently, yet firm, as he dragged you further into the room. Spencer worked the two of you through the crowded room, intent on getting as close as possible. When he was satisfied with his proximity to the paintings, he stopped. Pushing up his glasses, his eyebrows raised, mouth falling agape as he studied the art in front of him.
“I need to get out more…” He muttered to himself. “The- the brushwork is impeccable, you really miss this kind of stuff if you don’t get to see it up close…”
“Aren’t they just incredible? If you like these, you’ll really like Cassatt, Spencer, maybe we can come back?” You snuck out your phone, hoping to catch a photo of him like he did with you. He was really adorable like this, you thought. All lost in his massive brain that you were pre-emptively warned about, probably thinking and processing everything about the paintings at 100 miles a second.
You took the photo. Spencer’s posture was horrible, but overall it was pretty satisfactory for you. From the position the viewer could tell he was holding his hand, and his gaze was intent enough for your mind to wander. The best part was, however, that he didn’t notice you taking it. Unlike him, you were pretty tech-savvy, and knew how to turn off your volume.
Spencer squeezed your hand lightly, finally turning back to face you. “Yeah, yeah, I’d like to come back.” His hand ran up the length of your cardigan-clad arm, before brushing a stray lock of hair back behind your ear. It lingered there for a few seconds before sliding back down to your hand. “I really like you.” His voice was soft, just a murmur hidden for you in the crowd of people.
“I know, you keep telling me.” You giggled softly, flustered. “And I like you too, Spencer.”
“I really really like spending time with you. I- I would really like to keep seeing you. You’re a- a great conversationalist, an intellectual, we, uh, we have shared interests, a lot of overlap actually, but not enough that we both can’t learn from each other, plus you’re pretty. Like really pretty and sometimes…sometimes it’s distracting. I really like you, and I want to keep seeing you.” He could feel the heat radiating from his face, originating from his ears, which were bright red at this point. Spencer was surprised he was even able to talk.
“I really like being with you, too.” You looked down at your feet, nervous, heart racing. You couldn’t look him in the eye, it was too overwhelming. Your senses were already on overdrive, his words, his hand clasping yours, as much as you wanted it, it was so much to process. “A-and, I want to keep seeing you too. I really do. Like, all the time, a regular thing. But I-”
“But?” Spencer echoed, heart dropping. It’s okay, don’t let her see your reaction. Stay focused, you’re both in public. Very much in public, there’s approximately twenty-two people in this room. You can take rejection in stride, you can handle this, Spencer. It’s not the first time.
“But I would need to take it…slow.” You said slowly, softly. Your hand started to shake in his. He squeezed it again, pressure regulating. “I…I’m pretty, well, inexperienced. I’ve only been in one relationship and that was years ago. I'm very socially inept, but I’m sure you’ve already noticed that.”
Spencer took a breath. She’s not rejecting me, holy shit. Holy shit. “Slow is good.” He said, voice trying to be steady. “I have noticed. But-! But that’s not a bad thing. I am too.” He gave you a tight-lipped smile. “And I’m also pretty, uh, inexperienced. We can figure it out as we go, no pressure, no labels.” His hand lifted yours to his lips. He kissed your knuckles softly, reverently, before pressing a kiss to the top of your hand.
You nod. “That would be really nice, I think.” Exhaling, you leaned into his side, unsure.
Spencer sensed your tension, and carefully wrapped an arm around you. His hand found purchase on your waist, holding you cautiously. You stayed there for a second, looking at the art, but not seeing it. You were too focused on each other.
Finally you looked up at him. “Mm, what time is it?”
Spencer looks over you to check his watch, which was sitting on the wrist currently wrapped around you. “Almost seven…the museum closes in six minutes.”
“Have you eaten yet? There’s usually a lot of food trucks outside, most stay open pretty late. I’m not sure what kind of food you like, most of them are Mexican food, but I’m certain that-”
Spencer cut you off. “That sounds great, I honestly haven’t eaten since breakfast.” He shuffled around you, releasing you from his grip before reaching for your hand again. “This okay?” He asked.
You nodded, a laugh stifled on your lips as you both re-configurated, untangling from each other, and walked out of the museum. Exiting the main doors, the evening air hit your face, sharp, cool, slightly muggy, as DC always was. Your arm swung a bit as you held his hand, making you feel lighthearted.
“So,” you looked over at him, “do you always eat so little?”
“No, not usually. I was, uh, just very nervous today.” He looked down at the ground, a small smile on his face as a blush flooded it.
You rubbed your face, which had decided to become the same hue as Spencer’s. “O-oh. That’s-”
“Pathetic.” Spencer answered for you. “I know, the FBI agent who gets nervous on a date.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“You said it, not me,” you huffed out a laugh, trying to cut through the awkward tension. “No, no, it’s not pathetic.”
He shot you a look.
“Okay maybe a little. But, it’s sweet. Shows you care enough to get nervous, I guess? You should have seen me in the bathroom before meeting up with you, if it makes you feel better.”
“Yeah,” he turns to you, the smile on his face growing. “It does, a little bit.” He raises his eyebrows, eyes widening for a split second. “Oh! Uh, what do you want to eat? Anything specific you want to look for?”
“No, we can just wander until we find something? My brain is kind of tired, sorry.” You suggested.
“No, it’s okay, I understand. That sounds fine with me.” He brushed back his hair, and swallowed hard, trying to find confidence within himself. “Thank you.” He murmured.
A soft look of confusion formed on your face. “What for?”
“For a really nice second date. I had a really nice time tonight, thank you.” Spencer’s grip on your hand increased, very slightly, but enough for it to be noticed.
“You’re welcome, Spencer. I really enjoyed tonight too.”
He nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. “Good, good…maybe we can discuss date number three once we find food?” He asked, hopeful.
“That sounds great!”