Author's Note: The song 'Scars' by Papa Roach came on shuffle a few nights ago, and this fic popped into my head. Specifically based on the line 'Our scars remind us that the past is real'.

Though the two of them had been seeing each other for nearly a year, Emily never let Spencer see her with her shirt off. After everything that happened with Ian Doyle, her insecurities doubled, and she was ashamed of all of the scars on her body. She'd always come up with an excuse, and keep her shirt on when they were intimate, saying it was just her personal preference. If she was in the shower and heard Spencer walking around outside the door, she'd walk the few steps out of the bathroom wrapped up in her towel. The one thing she was happy about was the fact that Spencer never pressed the issue and would do whatever she wanted. She knew he'd understand her reasoning, but it was an issue of comfort: she barely wanted to see them, let alone show them to somebody else. In fact, she did her best to keep every scar or marking on her skin hidden, though she wasn't always successful.

He noticed the scar on her wrist one night while the two of them were sitting on the couch, watching a movie together. Spencer linked his fingers with hers, kissing the top of her head and she smiled, leaning against him. He glanced down at her wrist and turned it, eyebrow raised.

"What?" she asked, moving her focus away from the movie. She saw where his focus was and attempted to pull her sleeve over it.

"You don't have to tell me," he quickly told her, trying to make her more comfortable.

She sighed, licking her lips and sitting up, shaking her head. "It happened when I was in Italy. I had a really rough year, and I had this mindset of 'things aren't going your way, and you might need a way out'." She cleared her throat, looking down at her wrist and picking her nails. "I was young and dumb, and thought suicide was a better option than talking about my problems."

"I'm sorry," Spencer said, not sure what else he was supposed to tell her.

She shrugged, swallowing. "I realized how stupid I was after I did it, and I was still conscious enough to call for an ambulance. After a psychiatric hold that my mother ordered, I left and a few weeks later, I had my stitches out. It's a constant reminder, you know. To keep fighting through everything – I could've very easily died that day and I'm here for a reason."

He squeezed her arm to assure her that he was there. "If you ever need to talk about it-"

"I don't, but thank you." She tilted her head up, kissing his cheek, before squeezing his hand and focusing on the movie again.

Ever since that day, she had been extremely careful around him, not wanting to dive into more stories of her past. She knew his past was nothing to brag about, but one thing she didn't want to deal with in this relationship was the skeletons in her closet. Anytime he spent the night at her place, she was cautious, sure to keep herself covered and all of her scars hidden from view. It wasn't until several months later that Spencer wanted to discuss the subject.

"You know you have nothing to be afraid of with me, right?" he asked, putting her dishes back in the cabinet.

She cleaned off the table, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. "What are you talking about?"

He turned around, leaning against the cabinet. "You're not the only person who's not happy with their past, Emily. We all have problems in our past, some more than others, and keeping it inside isn't always the best option."

She looked up at him. "Spencer, there's a lot about myself I don't like, and I just need you to respect that."

He shook his head. "There's nothing you should dislike about yourself. You're perfect."

She always enjoyed when Spencer was a romantic, but she sighed. "I'm far from it, believe me. Can we drop it?"

He frowned, nodding. "How about I feed Sergio and you pick the movie for tonight?"

"Sounds great." She walked over, kissing his cheek, before going through her DVDs and picking one out.

It wasn't until later that night Spencer broke the silence between the two of them. "What about a proposition?" he asked her, pulling back the blankets on her bed and sitting down.

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

She bit her lip to hold back a laugh. "Excuse me?"

"What? Why are you – oh no, not like that." He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "Listen, I have problems and so do you. As a couple, I think it's only fair that the two of us work through our issues together. I enjoy this and I want it to work, but from what I've seen, you can't constantly have secrets from each other and expect success."

She sat down next to him. "And how many books on relationships have you read?"

"More than I'd like to admit."

She laughed softly before eyeing him. "So, we're going to share everything?"

"As much as you're comfortable with. I don't want you to feel awkward, I want this to be open and honest, you know?"

She nodded, but still seemed nervous about it.

He put up a finger. "I'll start." He exhaled, pulling up his shirt and pointing to his side.

Emily reached over, tracing the small scar. "Appendectomy?" she asked.

He shook his head. "My senior year of high school, I had just turned 12. I was told that the most beautiful girl in school wanted to see me, so of course I went – why wouldn't I believe it? I go out to the football field, and she's there, waiting, with the entire football team."

"…The football team?"

He nodded. "They stripped me naked, tied me to a goal post, and hit me repeatedly. One of them kicked me in the side with his cleat and it broke skin."

She bit her lip. "Please tell me you told someone."

He shook his head. "They all stood there, laughing at me, nobody wanted to help. Eventually, they all got bored and left, leaving me to figure out a way to get off the goal post. I finally did, I got home, and my mom was having a bad day, so she didn't even realize I was late. I went to the bathroom, applied butterfly stitches to my side, and went to bed. Nobody ever knew, and the next day at school, nobody said anything."

She reached over, squeezing his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"So am I. You'd think being considerably younger than the rest of the class, they'd just ignore me or call me four-eyes, but they enjoyed abuse: physical and mental."

She clicked her tongue, rolling up her sleeve and pointing to her shoulder. "Does this one count?"

He eyed it and shook his head. "Sorry, I know that one already. That's from when you were shot in the shoulder during that case in Southern California. It's just like these don't count," he explained, rolling up his sleeve and pointing to the faint little scars of where he'd been shot up with Dilaudid. "Next?"

She exhaled, thinking to herself. There were several scars that she could recall off the top of her head, but they were all work related. She thought about the small scar on her forehead, from the case in Milwaukee when she'd quit the FBI, then went into the house essentially as human bait. There were other small scars from the case with Benjamin Cyrus, when she'd been beaten and nearly blown up – it had actually been the first time she considered her feelings for Spencer, not acting on them until much later. After dismissing other on the job injuries, she sighed, reaching for the bottom hem of her shirt.

"Emily, you don't have to-" he started, reaching down and placing his hand on hers.

"I don't have to. I want to." She patted his hand and leaned over, kissing his cheek, before pulling off her shirt and taking a deep breath.

For the first time, Spencer took in her body: every mark and every scar that marred her perfect skin. He reached over, his hand hovering over the scar covering most of her stomach.

"I'm not sure that one counts, considering it happened at work, but," she bit down on her lip, knowing how hard her 'death' had been on Spencer and not wanting to open up old wounds, "that's from Ian Doyle."

He finally touched it, running his fingers over it. "What happened? I know that you almost died in the hospital and coded in the ambulance, but-"

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "We fought, and it had gotten to a point where it was physically draining. I had him, I slammed him into a table and the leg broke off, so I hit him with it. The power was cut when I had him in a headlock, and the next thing I knew, I just had pain in my stomach. Morgan found me and I registered what happened."

"…He stabbed you?"

She nodded, resting her hand on his. "And he took off, didn't even stay around to wait and see if I'd die. That's why finally catching him felt so great, because he got to see that he failed." She saw Spencer's face frozen, biting his lip and tracing the scar. "I'm okay, Spencer," she assured him, kissing his cheek. "I promise. Now, I believe it's your turn."

"Do embarrassing scars count?"

She shrugged. "I guess so."

He lifted his chin, pointing a scar on the underside. She grabbed his chin with her fingers, eyebrow raised. "What the hell did you do to yourself?"

He laughed to himself. "It's from the first day of FBI training. It was right before they decided to excuse me from all the physical activity and let me go back to coursework. I was climbing the rope to get over the wall, and as you saw when you met me, I didn't have much muscle to do climbing."

"Considering you looked like you were just a college intern at the time? I see it."

He smirked. "So, anyway. I was climbing and I finally made it to the top. I sat at the top to catch my breath, because it completely exhausted me. I went to go back down the other side, didn't have my footing, and fell, scraped most of my neck up and needed four stitches."

She shook her head. "So basically, you were always a walking hazard?"

"Pretty much."

She smiled. "Okay, that's one. I think for how emotional my last one was, you owe me another."

He bit down on his lip, thinking, before pulling up his pant leg. "The bullet I took for Doctor Barton."

She looked at it up close for the first time and winced. "Jesus, how did that not shatter your entire kneecap?"

"I was lucky." He shrugged. "But that one doesn't count, right?"

"Considering you had to tack one on, I'd say it counts."

"Emily, if you don't want to do this anymore, I understand."

She shook her head. "It's fine." She motioned toward the scar above her breast.

"What happened? It's rather… intricate, almost like a clover. It looks like-"

She looked down at it before glancing back at him. "Ian Doyle."

"…I'm sorry?"

She traced it, exhaling. "As you know I have two tattoos, including the one I got when I was 'with' him. When he had me in Boston, he explained how the North Koreans can't afford ink, so they brand their skin."

"…So he actually branded you with his clover?"

She nodded. "I could smell my skin burning and writhing in pain, but I couldn't get away from it, not until he was done."

"I'm s-"

She grabbed his face, pushing his lips together. "If the next word out of your mouth is 'sorry', Spencer Reid, so help me God you're on the couch tonight."

After releasing his face, he moved his jaw around. "Understood."

The two of them exchanged stories over the next hour, of all the scars and markings on their skin. With every single one, the nerves went away and they were able to talk about it more openly. It got to the point where neither of them showed emotion while talking, and just talked about them as if they were discussing what they had done the previous weekend. Once they were done, they knew each other's bodies, and in turn each other, better than they did before. She was glad that she'd finally reached this point in her relationship with Spencer, and that they didn't have anymore secrets.

She laid down and Spencer pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head and rubbing her back.

"Thank you."

She raised an eyebrow, looking up at him. "For what?"

He smiled slightly. "For sharing everything with me tonight. I really appreciate it."

"Likewise." She rested her head on his chest. "Just promise me that this never leaves my room."

He seemed slightly taken aback by the question, but nodded. "I promise. It's our little secret."

She sighed contentedly, and laid awake, listening to his breath even out as he'd fallen asleep. Smiling to herself, and now knowing there were no secrets considering they'd let go of all of their emotional baggage, she was looking forward to a peaceful night's sleep.