Spencer's POV

She has a lot of needs. They're not burdens, nor will they ever be.

She has been feeling sick all day today,  and instead of allowing me to comfort her, she has locked herself in the bathroom for the past six hours.

If it was a simple headache, she would be curled up in my arms, her pretty head on my chest as I ran my fingers through her hair as delicately and  soothingly as I could.

But when her stomach hurts, when she feels she is on the verge of vomiting, she will isolate herself, the idea of someone witnessing her vomiting so overwhelming she won't even let me near her.

Not even me. And she trusts me with everything. 

It breaks my heart.

Why won't she let me just rub her back and tell her everything is alright, that she is safe and cared for? She does after a hard day at work or an intense love making session that ends in her being a blubber of tears.

Something I have always adored about her is her willingness to be so open about her emotions and desires.  Blunt words often fall off her tongue but one quality no one can deny about her is her honesty. What you see is what you get from her. If she needs more from me in terms of affection, she has always let me know. When she needs me to hold her hand and offer a sympathetic ear when she is in distress, she lets me know. She has always been so clear on how to best take care of her and I have always steadfastly complied.

Because I am putty in her hands.

I would bow at her feet if she asked me to.

I know no human being can save another but why won't she just let me hold her?

I take a deep breath.  I remind myself I could never understand,  as I am not the one with the condition.  I'm sure she wishes she could allow me to be there for her in these moments as strongly as I have a desire to be there for her in them.

I sit near the outside of the bathroom door, twiddling my thumbs, hoping against all hope she will let me in.

She has described it to me before: When she feels it coming,  for just a single split second she wishes she would die-- because anything else in the world would be preferred over allowing herself to vomit.

It's barely a whisper when I hear it.

"Spence?"

Her sweet voice, so fragile.

She needs me.

My stomach churns in anticipation of her allowing me in as I mutter back just as gently, "Yes, love?"

I try to come across as her calm in the storm with the way I convey my words-- but deep down inside I feel such an eagerness to comfort her it is making me go insane in a way I am certain is obvious from the tone of my voice.

I hope to God it doesn't show somehow.

"Need you..."

As soon as the words leave her lips, I am off the floor and twisting the doorknob.

With a sigh of relief, I realize she had mustered the strength to unlock the door.

I kneel down next to her by the toilet, the palm of my hand reaching under her shirt in search of her back.

"It's ok, Sweetheart. Once you let it out, you'll feel so much better."

------- An Hour Later

After she relieved her stomach of its poisonous contents, I ran her a hot bath.

A soothing bath is one of the only things that calms her down following a panic attack.

I run the palm of my hand over her arm, trying to soothe each part of her body that had been shaking with fear as I encouraged her to allow herself to release all the toxins inside of her.

"I'm proud of you," I whisper as I place a kiss on her shoulder.