An hour later, the two of you are at Michael’s. It’s the first time either of you has ever been in, and frankly, the store is huge. You look around with wide eyes. “Good thing the aisles are marked, huh?”

You take Spencer’s hand, letting him trail behind you as you find the aisle with all the yarn. There are so many colors to the point where it seems overwhelming. “Any clue what colors you want to start with?”

To your surprise, Spencer seems to know exactly what he wants. Without saying anything to you, he heads toward the yellow section, pondering for only a few seconds before grabbing a few and heading back to you. 

“Yellow?” You question, holding out the basket you’d grabbed. “I figured you’d go for like...neutrals or something.”

Spencer places his pick in the basket. “Greys, blacks, beiges, browns, and whites are generally considered neutral colors.”

“And you got yellow.”

He nods.

“Do I get to know why you picked yellow?”

He shakes his head, some of his hair falling in front of his face from the action. “Eventually.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, Mr. Secretive. Let’s go get the other things you need.”

…

Spencer continues to be oddly secretive about the entire knitting thing. He tells you about it, sure, but he tends to work on his projects when he’s off on cases and won’t let you see them after. 

“Eventually,” he keeps repeating, even after you try to bribe him with cupcakes. 

Because you’re a weak human being, you give him the cupcakes anyway. You’ve never been able to resist his puppy eyes. 

After he grabs a cupcake, he joins you on the couch, pulling you against him with his hand on your waist. “These are really good, bub,” he tells you. “I’ve missed your baking.” You adjust so that you’re laying down, head resting in his lap. You kiss his stomach, smiling when he lets out a little giggle. God, you’re so in love with him. You’ve loved watching him become more confident, you’ve loved watching him become comfortable in his body, and you’ve loved watching his smile come out more and more. When you first started dating, you never thought he’d be the giggling type. 

“I’ve missed baking,” you admit. “Work’s just been crazy.”

"I know," he says, tangling his hand in your hair. "You've been more stressed."

Sighing, you shift again so your face is practically buried against his stomach. "I know. And it's stupid. It isn't like my job is even that hard. Nothing like hunting down a billion serial killers."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, just long enough for shame to start burning through you. Before you can start backtracking, apologizing for being stressed over nothing, he pulls you up, settling you so you're seated in his lap. "Y/N," he says, shaking his head. "Your job is important. And you're allowed to be stressed over it. You help people in a different way than I do, but that doesn't make it inherently lesser."

You hum. 

"I'm serious!"

"Be a weird thing to joke about," you mutter. "Look, it's fine. Seriously. You don't need to try to make me feel better."

He kisses your forehead. "I love you. I'm always going to try and make you feel better."

…

Spencer has a bad case. You can tell the second you see him, the brief moment the two of you lock eyes before he slams into you, rocking you back on your heels as his arms wrap around you. 

"Hey, hey," you soothe, rubbing circles along his back. "C'mon, Spence. Breathe with me."

He sucks in a few panicked breaths, his grip on you tightening. You make sure to keep your breathing even, coaxing your boyfriend to follow the rhythm. Eventually, he settles down enough that you feel okay pulling away a little. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" You ask. 

He shakes his head. "Can we just go to bed?"

You've never been one to say no to him, so you don't. Instead, you let him lean on you as you make your way to bed, helping him strip off his clothes and get into something more comfortable before sliding under the sheets. 

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he whispers, voice sounding raw. 

"You'll never have to find out."

…

Significant others are always allowed at team hangouts, so you, Beth, and Will are all gathered at a table with the BAU at their favorite bar. Morgan and Penelope are off dancing, Rossi’s chatting up a confused looking bartender, Hotch is glued to Beth's side, JJ and Emily are playing darts, and Spencer's standing behind you, letting you rest against him. 

"I love you," you blurt out randomly, twisting in his arms. You think you can hear Beth's "awww" from where she's seated. "Like, a ton."

Instead of answering, he kisses you. It sends an electric current through you, just like it always does. His hands come up to cup your face, tilting your chin to allow you better access. Your arms go around his hips. Every time he touches you, it always feels like you're on fire but in the best possible way. You'd let yourself burn like this for an eternity, you'd let yourself stay in his arms and melt away. 

"Whoa, there!" Morgan shouts, making you smile into the kiss and ruin it. Spencer's smiling too though, so it's okay. "Keep it PG, you two! Mom and dad are here!"

"Mom and dad?" Will questions. 

You don't let go of Spencer, but you do turn your head to look at Will. Spencer's hands drop down to your shoulders, like he can't stand not touching you either. "Hotch and Rossi," you explain. 

He nods, even though he still looks pretty confused. 

After an hour, Spencer wanders off with Morgan, asking the older agent something about Star Trek that you don't quite catch. You trust him well enough with your boyfriend, so you make your way over to JJ and Emily. "I have an important question."

They both turn to look at you, eyebrows raised. For people who were so drastically different, they have a lot of the same mannerisms. You wonder if they got them from each other. 

“Do you know what Spencer’s been knitting?”

JJ gives you a small smile as Emily starts giggling. 

“That’s your very important question?” Emily asks. 

You nod. “Sure is.”

“He said we aren’t allowed to tell you,” JJ shrugs. “I’m sure you can figure out why.”

Frankly, it takes you an embarrassingly long time to allow the dots to connect in your brain. When it does, you can feel your entire body soften. “Oh. He’s making me something.”

Emily rolls her eyes. “Did it take you this long to realize that? I thought Spencer liked smart people.”

“Em!” JJ chides gently before refocusing her attention back on you. “She’s kidding. Spencer will give you what he’s been working on once he’s happy with the final product.”

As you walk back to your table, you ignoring the warring feelings in your gut.

…

“Why do you always ask me “did you know” before you start rambling about something?”

It’s late, and your question catches Spencer off guard. He rolls over in bed so that you’re facing each other. “What do you mean, love?”

You bite your lip, chewing at it as you think. Before you can even answer him, he reaches out and pulls it free. 

“You’re going to make yourself bleed if you do that.”

He’s right. He’s always right. “I was just wondering if, well. If you’re going to get bored of me, since I’m not nearly as smart as you.”

Spencer sucks in a breath. “Y/N, where is this coming from?”

You shrug one shoulder. “Dunno. Look, why don’t we just forget-”

“I’m not going to forget about it,” he interrupts, voice surprisingly stern. “Even if my mind allowed me to forget about things, I wouldn’t want to forget about this. Because honestly, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”

When you go to speak again, he takes one of your hands and brings it up to his face, kissing it gently, effectively shocking you back into silence. 

“I love you,” he says like it’s the simplest thing in the world. He’s still holding your hand. “You make me happier than I thought I could be, happier than I thought I deserved to be. And I know I’m not always great with words or emotions, but you need to understand how important you are to me. You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. When I’m feeling down, I know that I can turn to you and you’ll help soothe me and I hope you know you can always come to me, too. When I talk, you listen. And you aren’t even listening just to placate me, or out of pity. You’re really, truly listening. You engage with the conversation, and you do your best to remember the things we converse about. When I learn something new, I’m excited to talk about it with you. When we’re together, I count how many times you’ve smiled. One, because it’s gorgeous. Two, because I need to make sure you’re happy, and if you’re not, I need to help as much as I can, becuase you always deserve to be smiling and happy. I just- I trust you in a way I’ve never trusted anyone else, Y/N. With my mind, my body, with everything. I don’t need someone with the same IQ as me. I don’t want someone with the same IQ as me. I just want you.”

“Spencer,” you breathe, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. 

“I know it can be hard not to doubt yourself. It’s a natural human emotion. But I just need to make sure that you’re aware that I’ve never doubted you, okay? And if you need a reminder, just let me know.” He wipes at the corners of your eyes, catching the tears. 

“I love you.” He smiles. “I know.”

…

Spencer laughs when you jump on his lap, a soft exhale of breath escaping. “Yes, dear?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Guess what I did this morning?”

“What?” “Made you cookies.”

His eyes light up. “Chocolate chip?” You give him a quick kiss. “Of course. Let me go grab them.”

In one quick movement, Spencer stands, sweeping you into his arms. You shriek, lacing your fingers together behind his neck for extra security. 

“What’s happening?”

“We’re going to get the cookies you made,” he tells you, starting to walk toward the kitchen. 

You laugh. “I guess working out with Morgan has been going well, huh? As long as you don’t lose your tummy.”

He blushes. He knows how much you love his entire body, but he also knows how much you love that one area in particular. 

Once you’re in the kitchen, he puts you back on your feet, but still wrapping his arms around your midsection. By now, you’re used to his tactile nature, but it had come as a shock to you back at the beginning of your relationship. Spencer had told you a million times that he wasn’t particularly touchy, and that had been fine. You’ve seen him dodge other people’s handshakes and hugs. After a few months, though, you figured out that he loved affection from the people that he cared about. It’d been obvious in the way he always stood a little too close to Morgan and JJ, in the way he let them ruffle his hair with a smile on his face, and the way he hugged them like the thought of germs or cross-contamination never even entered that big brain of his. When he started getting like that with you, it had made you want to weep. 

The cookies are in a tin on the counter, so you don’t have to separate from Spencer to grab them. “Here,” you say, opening it up. “Here’s the result of my day off.”

…

“Okay!” You announce loudly, covering Spencer’s paperwork with your hands. “I was under the impression that a certain someone isn’t allowed to work from home when he’s injured?”

Spencer glares at you, not that there’s any real heat behind it. “I’m bored.”

“You’re injured, honey.”

Last week, you’d gotten the most terrifying phone call from JJ, who told you in a shaky breath that Spencer had been shot. She assured you that he’d be okay, but you didn’t breathe again until you were in his arms, his voice filling all your senses. 

Despite him continuing to protest, he doesn’t stop you as you pack up everything on the table, placing it on the counter. “I know you don’t like to let your mind wander,” you acknowledge “But you need to let yourself rest a little bit. C’mon. Come sit with me in the living room, I’ll get us takeout.”

Five hours later, the two of you have binged the worst reality show you’ve ever seen. Spencer had watched most of it with his mouth slightly open, like he couldn’t even believe what he was watching. “Hey,” he whispers. “Thank you for taking care of me.” “Always.”

…

On your birthday, you get to find out what he’s been knitting. 

It’s painfully early in the morning, but you and Spencer had agreed to celebrate early, since you were both nervous about him getting called away on a case during the day. He hands it to you with a blush coloring his nose and you unwrap it gently. 

It’s a winter set. A hat, a pair of gloves, and the softest looking scarf. They’re all the same shade of yellow he picked out when you went with him to Michael’s. 

“I know it’s kind of stupid-” he starts. 

You interrupt him with a kiss, pulling him against you and letting him deepen it. He smiles against your lips. “Does that mean you like it?” “I love it, Spence.”

You'd taken it on a whim. The past couple weeks, you've just felt off. Spencer’s been hovering around you, nervous hands always a second away. He'd only gotten more worried after you’d thrown up at a crime scene. It wasn't particularly graphic and you have a strong stomach. Throwing up at a crime scene wasn't something you did. 

"Oh god," you whisper to yourself, staring at the test in front of you. Some nonsensical part of your brain wonders if you're hallucinating, if an unsub broke into your house specifically to drug and trick you. "Calm down, girl." 

One pregnancy test wasn't definitive proof. False positives were a thing, but you'd been so confident that you weren't pregnant that you only bought one. You hadn’t bothered to tell your boyfriend about this, either. God. You two were always so safe. Unprotected sex was not something you took part in. 

You've been going out with Spencer for less than a year. It wasn't important that you've never been happier, wasn't important that everyone else on the BAU told you over and over again how much happier he is with you. Those things don't change the fact that it's been less than a year. 

And yet. 

As you place your hand on your stomach, there's a flutter of excitement. While you're a firm believer in women making the choices regarding their own bodies, you already know that if you're really pregnant, you're keeping it. 

You just hope you won't have to do it alone. 

…

Luck isn't on your side. You run out and grab another pregnancy test, but before you can take it, your phone starts ringing. 

"No no no no," you groan, picking up the phone. "Do we have a case?"

Penelope is far too chipper on the other end of the phone. "Yep! You guys are going to debrief on the plane, so your cute butt better hurry. Hotch wants everyone seated in twenty minutes."

You close your eyes. "Okay." Before she can say anything else, you hang up. 

The go bag is already in your car, so you can drive straight from the drugstore to work. Your phone buzzes again, but it's just a text from Spencer. 

Saved you a seat. -SR

Like anyone would ever snatch your seat. 

…

It's hard to focus on the case. It's hard to focus on anything that isn't the possible fucking baby in your stomach. You're a pretty good liar, though, so you manage to muscle your way through debriefing without most of the team noticing that you're off. You do get a concerned squint from Spencer, although that can just be a result of him thinking you're sick. 

Four mutilated women. You can feel the tension radiating off of her, so you grab her hand and squeeze it. She gives you a grateful smile. As the youngest female members of the BAU, it feels like you two always look like the victims you avenge. JJ's got the added bonus of being a mother, which means kid cases hit her hard, too. But if you're pregnant, you're about to join her in that club, too. The thought makes your breath catch. 

"You okay?" JJ asks. You feel Spencer's eyes focus on you. 

You nod, plastering a smile on. "Yeah. Just thinking about the case. Are you?"

JJ sighs, looking over at where Morgan and Hotch are quietly discussing the most recent crime scene. "Yeah," she says. "Just, y'know. The case. And Henry's got a cold. I feel bad for leaving him and Will right now."

That's enough for Spencer's attention to shift to JJ, thankfully. You relax into your seat, scrolling through your tablet to review the information Penelope sent over. You miss most of their chatter until they pull you back into the conversation. 

"Do you want to come with me, Y/N?" Spencer's asking, smiling hopefully at you. 

"Oh, I wasn't listening," you admit. 

Spencer's smile somehow only softens more. He knows you have a tendency to zone out, get lost in your head. When you two are alone, he likes playing with your hair to bring your mind back to him. "I'm going over to JJ and Will's house once the case is over to babysit Henry."

Your mind short circuits a little. Saying no is only going to make Spencer suspicious, since you love hanging out with Henry. But saying yes means that you won't be alone after the case and you'd have to watch Spencer be annoyingly perfect with Henry. "Sure," you say, clenching your hands together. 

…

There's already another victim by the time you land, prompting Hotch to send you and Emily to check it out. Your stomach is rolling, the unused pregnancy test haunting you from its place on the jet. 

"There was remorse for the other victims. They were wrapped up. Why is this woman different?" You ask, crouching next to the body. The smell hits you like a wave, but all you can do is deal with it. 

Emily comes to stand beside you. "Good point. Maybe the others were surrogates for her?"

You sigh. "If that's the case-"

"-our unsub would be done killing. Or would completely switch his MO."

Standing up, you brush some of the dirt off your knees. "But let's consider some other possibilities. Maybe she fought back too much for him to feel remorseful. Or maybe she wasn't the right fit, so he just dumped her."

"I'll call Hotch."

You nod. As Emily walks off, you swallow the vomit in the back of your throat. 

"Come on!" She calls a minute later, waving at you. "We're all meeting back at the station."

…

The case ends with you getting a concussion. You'd been the one to find the unsub and while you took him down, he managed to get one good hit in. 

"Spence, I'm fine!" You laugh, pressed up tight against his chest. He's got his head buried in your shoulder, arms wrapped around you. He always worries too much when you're hurt. "The EMT already checked me out."

"He hurt you," he mumbles. He pulls back just enough to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "Stay with me tonight?"

"What about Henry?"

Spencer shakes his head. "I just want to take care of you."

Your heart aches. 

On the jet, you're curled up on the couch with your head in Spencer's lap. You're really tense, and you know he's noticed. He doesn't ask you about it, though. Once you've landed, he just wordlessly follows you home. 

"Are you in more pain than you told the paramedic?" He asks, leading you over to your bed. 

"Just ready to get some sleep," you tell him, kissing the wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. 

…

Once he’s asleep, you sneak into the bathroom and take the other pregnancy test. Your head is pounding and once again, you're nauseous, but you're desperate. Spencer isn't a heavy sleeper, so you have to be quiet and fast. 

Peeing has never felt so high pressure. 

It's not that you're scared by the news, but when another positive symbol pops up, you vomit again. You groan, knowing the noise is going to wake him up. Before he can come in, you grab the test and shove it in your shorts. 

"Y/N?" He calls softly as he knocks on the door. "Are you okay?"

"Peachy!" You reply, laying across the toilet. "Never better. I'm thriving."

He pauses, your answer probably throwing him for a loop. It's only for a second though. He comes into the room, eyes scanning the situation. You know he hates germs. This is going to be nightmare fuel for him. Still, you aren't really expecting him to freak out. 

"We have to go to the hospital."

You squint at him. "Huh?"

He sputters. "You have a concussion! It must be worse than that paramedic thought."

Oh. Right. "Spence-"

Spencer comes closer to you, lightly wrapping his arms around your midsection, aka where the pregnancy test is resting. You flinch. 

"Y/N, what's wrong?" He asks, shifting so that he's looking you in the eye. His face is contorted in concern, making a wave of guilt crash through you. "What hurts?"

You shake your head before resting it on his shoulder. He hoists you up. 

"What hurts?" He repeats. 

Taking a deep breath, you pull back. You feel wobbly, like one breath can knock you back to the ground. "I don't think it's from the concussion."

"I know you've been sick, but I'm not willing to risk-"

"Spencer."

He stops. "What?"

Wordlessly, you unveil the test and hand it to him, then shut the toilet seat so you can sit on top of it. 

You watch him as he processes. His eyes flicker from you to the test to back to you millions of times. "It's the second one I've taken."

His voice is barely above a whisper. "You're pregnant?"

You nod. "I'm pregnant."

Before you can blink, he grabs you and pulls you into a hug. He kisses your forehead. The smile on his face is wide enough to crack his lips. 

"You're happy?"

"Yeah," he says. "And if…" he trails off. You know he's trying to be careful with his word choice. "It's up to you, what you want to do. But if you want to keep it-"

"I do."

He relaxes against you, pressing kisses all over your face. You laugh, gently shoving at him as you laugh. 

"We should still go to the doctor," he says after a minute. 

…

Once you start showing, you tell the rest of the team. 

"Stop crushing her!" Spencer cries, pulling Penelope off of you. She's then replaced by JJ, who isn't trying to crush your ribcage. 

"Congrats!" JJ says. "Oh, this is so exciting. I'll give you all my old pregnancy books. Although I'm sure Spence memorized them. He does know how to deliver a baby."

You look over at your boyfriend, a question on the tip of your tongue. Spencer's grinning, though. It's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, so you forget to ask. 

…

"Do you ever worry?" Emily asks. 

It's girls night. You and Emily are sprawled on her couch, JJ’s drunk on the floor, and Penelope wandered off to find Sergio. 

You tilt your head to the side. "About what?"

She gestures to your stomach, which you've been rubbing without even noticing. "You and Reid haven't been together that long."

Her words leave an unpleasant taste in your mouth. "Well," you start. "I can't say that we'll be together forever. But I do know that no matter what, he's going to be a fantastic father." That seems to be enough to quiet her, although your nerves are still spiked. "Do you not think we're going to last?"

"I'm not saying that," she protests. "Just hard to imagine him in a long-term relationship."

"Get used to it," you snap. 

…

Spencer can tell the next afternoon that you're upset. "Love, just tell me what happened."

"Are you only staying with me because I'm pregnant?"

"What? No!" He comes closer to you, grabbing your hand. "I'm with you because we make each other happy."

You hum. Stupid pregnancy hormones are making your eyes water. 

"Y/N."

"I'm fine," you lie. 

His hand goes from your hand to your waist. "Tell me what I need to do to prove how much I love you. I'm not...I'm not good at this part. But anything you need, you have it. You have me."

He holds you as you cry. 

…

"I love you a lot. You know that, right?" Spencer's wrapped around you, legs tangled together. You're half asleep on his chest, but you still kiss his neck as an answer. 

"Love you too," you mumble. "We're going to be a family."

His hand goes to your stomach. "A family. Our family."

You're in your second year of medical school, and if you're being honest, it's kicking your ass. Most of your studying is done when your boyfriend is at work. He used to try and help, although you put an end to that. He was just so smart, so quick to memorize the material you've been agonizing over, that sometimes it'd send you into a tailspin. You never wanted to tell him that, though. Not when he was being such a wonderful boyfriend. Lately, he's been worrying too much and usually tries to pull you away from your textbooks and notes. It's terribly hypocritical of him. You're both a lot better at taking care of each other than yourselves. 

"It's three in the morning, bub," he chides gently. "Let's go to bed."

Violently, you shake your head. "I have an exam soon!"

"The brain stops working correctly once someone is overtired."

"I know."

"And you're overtired."

You sigh. "I know."

Before you can protest more, he bends a little and sweeps an arm under your knees, using his other arm to wrap around your upper body. You squeal, your arms going around his neck. "When did you get so buff?!"

He laughs, shifting you around so you're settled more comfortably. "I told you, Morgan and JJ keep making me work out with them."

"Remind me to thank them," you say, getting another laugh out of him. It's cliche, you know, but his laugh is your favorite sound in the world. 

It doesn't take him long to carry you to the bedroom. Gently, he deposits you on the bed, kissing you again on the forehead. "I'm going to go clean up your books and then come back, okay? Get ready for bed."

You're asleep before he's even out of the room. When he comes back, he pulls the blankets over your body, changes into pajamas, and crawls in after you, pulling your body against him. 

--

When you wake up, it's to the fire alarm going off. 

"Everything is fine!" Spencer yells from the kitchen. You blink a few times, adjusting to whatever the hell is happening. Even in your sleepy state, everything does not seem fine. 

You get out of bed, putting on your slippers before making your way into the kitchen. There, you can see Spencer batting at a cloud of smoke coming from the stove top. "Spence, what's happening?"

"I burned the eggs," he says, sounding so genuinely upset about it that it confuses you. "I was trying to make you eggs."

You help him clean up the eggs, wincing at just how burnt they are. It's hard to say how Spencer even managed to do that, but you don't mock him for it. He's been worrying about you, so you know he was just trying to make you feel better.

"Come back to bed with me?" You ask, one of his hands in yours. 

He's terrible at saying no to you, so he doesn't try. Instead, he follows you, curling against you once you're in bed. Frankly, he's just glad that you want to sleep. "I love you."

"Love you more."

"Impossible."

--

The next day, he's called away again. You're a little surprised. As chaotic as his schedule is, you usually get him for a few days after a case. 

"Take care of yourself, okay?" You tell him, kissing him softly.

He nods. "You too. Please."

--

"You seem distracted, kid. What's going on?" Morgan asks, sitting next to Spencer on the jet. Even during their debriefing, he only seemed half aware of his surroundings. Morgan didn't understand his brain, not in the intimate way you did, but he had a good idea of how easy it was for Spencer to get lost in his thoughts.

"Hm?" Spencer hums, looking up at Morgan. "Oh. Just thinking about Y/N."

Morgan snorts. "Shocker."

"I'm serious!" Spencer protests. "She's so stressed out about medical school. I'm worried about her not taking care of herself when I'm gone. She just puts an unhealthy amount of pressure on her shoulders."

"That reminds me of someone I know."

Spencer looks confused for a second before catching a look at Morgan's raised eyebrow. "Shut up. I just- I don't know how to help her. I'm gone too often to encourage her to rest, or to put down the textbooks, or tell her that I think she's amazing when I see her doubting her ability."

"She'll be okay," Morgan reassures. "And you'll be able to check in with her once the case is over. For now, though, we need that big brain of yours focused on the case. Okay?"

"Okay."

--

Back at the apartment, you've spread all of your study materials on the floor, having given up on keeping it contained on the coffee table. Your back is aching and you've been on the verge of tears all day. Focusing is difficult, especially since all you want is for your boyfriend to hold you and make everything better. 

But that isn't how you operate, so you take a deep breath and get back to work. By two in the morning, your body feels heavy and your mind feels full. You also forgot to respond to Spencer's nightly text, which just makes a wave of guilt crash into you. It's too late to text him now, so you set a reminder in your phone to text him when you wake up. 

--

This time, Spencer is gone for a week and a half. Four times, you forget to say goodnight to him. Twice, you're so distracted that you don't answer your phone when it rings. Your entire life has become your textbooks, especially after you bomb a pop quiz on Wednesday. That sends you into a downward spiral, one you aren't recovered from by the time your boyfriend comes back. 

"How was the case?" You ask him, ignoring the way your mind feels fuzzy. It's probably been too long since you got a proper night's sleep. 

He's peering at you. "It was okay. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Y/N," he sighs, kneeling in front of you where you're sitting on the couch. He's holding your hands. "Please take a break. When's the last time you've been outside?"

You frown. "You hate going outside."

"I prefer to be indoors, but I understand and respect the benefits of spending time outdoors." He pulls you to your feet. Somehow, you don't stumble. "Come on. Let's go walk around the block."

He grabs your shoes for you, and you have to sit down again to put them on. Once you're outside, you do have to admit that the fresh air feels amazing on your face. 

"You're really quiet today," you say as you walk. 

He nods. "I'm worried about you and I'm not sure how to help."

"You don't need to-"

"Y/N," he interrupts you. "You...you help me all the time. I don't even think you realize how much you help me. You always listen to me when I go off on a topic you probably aren't even interested. And you come up with excellent questions and responses. I feel more comfortable with physical touch than I ever have, because you're always so gentle and kind and respectful of my boundaries. You make me feel good about myself. When something is wrong, all I can think about is how I know seeing you will make me feel better. My mom adores you. But I know you're struggling and I can't-" he cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. "I want to help you the way you help me."

And in a fantastic bit of timing, your vision goes black as you fall to the ground.

--

You wake up in a hospital bed. "Spencer?"

He startles, rising from where he was slumped over in a chair. "How are you feeling? I need to call a nurse. But. How are you feeling?"

"Tired," you mumble. "What happened?"

"You fainted. The doctors said you were overly exhausted and suffering from mild dehydration." Spencer's tense all over, his hands flexing at his sides. 

Ah, shit. You fucked up. 

--

After that, you try harder. You let Spencer help you. When he's gone, he sends you reminders on when to start and stop studying, when to go to sleep, and reminders to drink water. They're all things you already know, but someone checking in on you helps you actually follow through, helping you hold yourself responsible. When he's with you, he peppers you with kisses when he knows you need to relax, picking you up and carrying you around the apartment to make you laugh. Since he has a habit of burning food and you hate cooking, you two get a lot of takeout. 

"Hey," you say one day, closing your textbooks and going over to him. "You know how much I love you, right?"

He smiles and buries his face in your hair. "Yeah. And you know I love you too."

Spencer can't fix everything for you, nor can he fix the hell that's med school. But he helps. Knowing he's always here for you helps. 

After another moment, the two of you head out the door and to the bar, hands clasped together. 

"Y/N!!!!" Garcia practically forces you into a bear hug when you walk over to the BAU's table. "Oh, I am SO glad you could come tonight. I've been looking forward to this for ages! I cannot believe Spencer waited an eternity to bring you around us. You're all he talks about anymore, it's adorable."

You glance back at your boyfriend, who looks a tad horrified. Morgan laughs and slaps him on the back, forcing a cough out of him. 

"Hey," JJ greets you, looking so much less intimidating than anyone at the table. You know it's a bit of a farce though. Spencer’s told you enough stories to know that JJ is a woman who can hold her own and hold it well, despite appearances. Idly, you note that she'd be great at undercover work. "I'm JJ. I'm assuming you know that you just got crushed by Garcia. And then there's Morgan, Rossi, Emily, and Hotch." As she said their names, she pointed at them. It was nice to get confirmation, even if you were pretty sure you knew which face belonged to which name.

Hotch nods at you. "It's nice to meet you."

"Is he smiling?" Emily hisses, leaning toward Rossi. "I think Hotch is smiling."

"It's great to finally meet all of you. Spencer’s always talking about you guys," you say, taking your seat. Spencer settles down next to you close enough that your thighs touch. The bar definitely isn't somewhere that he'd normally hang out, but he seems comfortable enough here that you assume it's a frequent spot for the BAU to visit. 

A couple hours in, you're feeling tipsy and ridiculously happy. You're getting along particularly well with Emily and JJ, who are both amazing. If he isn't talking to you, Spencer’s usually talking to Morgan and Garcia, who obviously adore him. Hotch and Rossi seem lost in their own private conversations and you wonder if it's because they're the two highest ranking agents here. 

"You should totally start joining us when we have girls night!" JJ says, clinking her beer against your glass. "I think you'd really enjoy them."

You nod, feeling flattered. "I'm down to come."

Emily grins, reaching over to knock Spencer’s shoulder. "Your girlfriend is so much cooler than you."

Before you can protest, he nods. "She is," he agrees, smiling at you.

"Awww," Garcia coos, joining the conversation. "Who knew that our baby Spencer was a secret romantic? I love it!"

--

"A wedding?" You ask, pressed up against Cal's side. It's always a bit uncomfortable, almost like your bodies know you don't fit together, that something is amiss. You just hope that your body isn't the thing that finally gets you killed. "That seems below you."

Cal looks down at you, an amused smirk twisting his face. He wants to eat you up, you think. He wants to devour you. "The groom is an old family friend," he explains. "It's courtesy that I attend. And I can hardly go without a ravishing date on my arm."

You rise up on your toes to kiss his cheek, rubbing a bit at the lipstick you leave with the pad of your thumb. "As long as I get to pick my own dress."

"What kind of man would I be if I didn't let you pick it yourself?" His grip on you tightens enough that you wonder if it'll leave a bruise on your hip. Tomorrow, you know you'll find a wad of cash in your purse. In exchange, he'll get to take it off of you after the wedding. 

Mercifully, he lets you go a second later. You step back, walking by him. He's done with you for the day. Your relationship is to the point where he doesn't need to formally dismiss you anymore. You've picked him apart and put him back together. Whether he knows it or not, it feels like you've made him the very man that you hate with every fiber of your being. At least, you tell yourself that you hate him. When it gets too hard, when you find yourself falling under his spell, you picture the last boyfriend you had as yourself. A man full of shy smiles, sweet compliments, gentle kisses, and the most beautiful assortment of random knowledge. When he's in your mind, you don't get lost in the person you're pretending to be. It's the only time you feel like yourself. 

Of course, being yourself too much would get you killed, so you limit yourself. 

You go dress shopping the next day. Cal gave you an absurd budget, so you manage to pick out an extravagant dress and also a pair of shoes and earrings. This morning, Cal had mentioned that the wedding was going to be a black tie event, giving you an excuse to feel like a princess. Well. Maybe a trapped princess, like Cinderella or Rapunzel. You walk out of the store with a heavy bag on your arm. When you return to the house, it's blissfully empty. Cal isn't due back until late, but you still do a full walk around the house, double checking before you go out to the garden. The first few months you lived here, the garden was the responsibility of the landscapers that stopped by occasionally, but you batted your eyes and sucked on Cal's lip until he agreed to give it to you. Now, no one else was allowed to touch it per his orders. And he wasn't the kind of man his staff said no to. 

Basically, it was a perfect hiding spot. You go over to the daisies, digging a little until you find the box that contained your current burner phone. You'd have to switch soon, probably within the next few weeks. It was close to dying and it was never a good idea to keep the same phone number for an extended period of time. You dial the number once, hang up immediately, dial again, let it ring three times, hang up, and then dial for a final time. Your handler answers quickly.

"What?" He asks, gruff. 

"We're going to a wedding near Virginia."

You hear him suck in a breath. "Close to where you used to live."

"I know."

"If you get recognized-"

"I won't."

He pauses. "Stay safe."

You hang up the phone and pray you make it through this alive. 

--

On your one year anniversary, Spencer brings you to a museum. He walks you through all the exhibits, rambling about anything he knows in regards to your surroundings. His hands keep waving through the air, his eyes bright and alive, a grin splitting his face. It's obvious that he's in his element. 

You love him so badly that it hurts, sometimes. 

By the time you reach the gift shop, your brain is full of knowledge you probably won't ever need again. 

"Sorry," Spencer says suddenly, looking at you. "Did I just bore you? You know you're allowed to cut me off when I get going."

You shake your head, kissing his cheek. "It was cute. I loved it."

Once you're done there, the two of you head back to his apartment. Last month, the two of you had decided not to do gifts, electing just to spend the day together instead. You cuddle with him on the couch, your body tucked perfectly against his. In this moment, you feel safe. You're with a man you know loves you, and you love him back just as fiercely. Life is good. 

--

You and Cal arrive in Virginia at the crack of dawn, early enough that it feels like you should still be rubbing the sleep out of your eyes even though you've been awake for hours. “Who even has weddings before noon? I didn’t even think that was a thing.”

Cal chuckles beside you, his arm snaking around you. In this moment, it’s hard not to shudder. You’ve never understood his need to always touch you, claim you for the world to see. As far as he knows, you’ve never belonged to anyone else. You were born and bred for this, a perfect lover. Just enough sass, just enough danger, just enough compliance, just enough meekness. He doesn’t know that this isn’t the real you, that you’re always on the verge of screaming your head off. One day, he’ll learn. It’ll end in one of your deaths. 

Hopefully, it’ll end in his death. 

"We'll stop at the hotel first, darling," Cal takes your hand as he talks, leading you along the side of the road. God, you remember this place. Of course you do. This is your home turf. A new name and a new look doesn't mean that this doesn't feel like home. "You can get changed and refreshed before we head to the venue."

You shrug. "Sounds good to me."

The walk is blissfully short, but the hotel is grand. It's definitely not somewhere you would have been able to afford. Honestly, you're almost disgusted by how the place practically bleeds money and how well Cal seems to blend into this new environment. 

Once you're in the room, you toss your suitcase onto the bed, hissing when the action results in a broken nail. Cal laughs at you as you stick your finger in your mouth. He comes over after a beat, pulling at your hand to inspect your nail. For a second, it looks like he's going to lick your finger, but he just lets you go. "Get dressed," he tells you, kissing your forehead. "I want to see how stunning you're going to look."

--

"Something's off about you."

You whip around, coming face to face with Emily. She's wearing an expression you recognize, but not on her: perfect blankness. There's no trace of a personality, no trace of a name attached to the person that spoke. Something tightens in your chest and you crane your neck to look at Spencer, who's blissfully unaware of the words that were just spoken. Instead, he's fully engaged in a conversation with JJ and Will, hands flapping as they smile warmly at him. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say to Emily, crafting a neutral but surprised look to wear on your own face. "Not sure I appreciate the tone, though."

Emily scoffs. "Don't play dumb with me. Come on. I know you got the same feeling about me."

She's right, even though you don't admit it. It almost feels like when two predators acknowledge each other in the wild- they know they're evenly matched, and so they go their separate ways. Except that everyone in the room is a predator. You and Emily are a different breed, though. 

She's done deep undercover work. 

"Ladies!" Rossi interrupts, throwing an arm around Emily’s shoulders. If he notes any tension, he doesn't comment on it. "Why are you being antisocial over here?" He points at you. "Your boyfriend has been talking the ears off of JJ and Will. I honestly couldn't even tell you what about."

You shrug. "They don't seem to mind."

"Am I not allowed to talk to her?" Emily asks, eyebrow quirked. "I need to make sure she's not a secret spy."

Rossi laughs. "Garcia would have already sniffed that out, don't worry. Y/N passed her background check with flying colors."

"Did you?" You ask Emily, a small smile playing on your lips. 

"Of course."

By now, Rossi’s gotten a good taste of the strangers of this interaction. He glances between you, eyes narrowing as they settle on you. You don't change your face.

"Actually, I think I'll join Spencer," you say, sliding past the two of them. 

Spencer welcomes you gladly, folding you seamlessly into the conversation. Throughout most of it, you wonder how everyone else can understand what Will's saying. For all you know, he could be telling you off. 

When you turn your head, you notice that Emily’s still looking at you. When you nod at her, she nods back. 

You hope that's the end of it. 

--

An hour in, you figure out that you hate weddings. 

It doesn't help that you've been ditched. Cal was stuck to you like glue just long enough for you two to walk in together before he mumbled something about "important business" and took off. Currently, you're sitting alone at a table toward the back of the venue. You don't know what the hell you got so dressed up for or why you chose such a risky dress. One wrong move meant that everyone here was going to see a lot more of you than you were comfortable with. 

"Hey, pretty lady," a man greets you, plopping himself in one of the empty seats next to you. You blink at him. "All alone here?"

"I'm here with my boyfriend."

He sighs, putting his sweaty hands on the table. "Now, what kind of man would leave his lady all by her lonesome?"

"How about you leave before I kick your ass?"

Cal laughs behind you, alerting you to his presence. You turn around, smiling at him. He's got a warm look on his face, the one that's only reserved for you. 

"Oh!" The stranger yelps, standing up so fast that he rattles the table. "I didn't realize you were Cal's-"

"Just go," you tell him, waving him off. He doesn't waste any time. 

Cal takes the empty seat. "I don't know why I bothered having security. You're scarier than all of them."

You roll your eyes. "Uh huh. Have fun chatting up all the old rich men here?"

He takes your hand. "I'm sorry to leave you alone for so long." Lifting your hand, he kisses it. You blush. 

"I'm assuming you have to go back to that?"

He nods. "Will you be okay here?"

"I think I'm going to go smoke, actually."

He's the one that got you into cigarettes, so he doesn't protest this. "Go out the west wing exit," he says instead. "There's always too much traffic at the main doors."

The two of you part, heading in opposite directions. It takes you a bit to find the right exit, but you're blissful when the crisp air finally hits your face. The view isn't bad, either, but it does make your heart ache. 

For some stupid reason, you hadn't realized that the venue was so close to the museum Spencer loved taking you to. 

You take your sweet time outside, cigarette dangling loosely from your fingers. It's the most relaxed you've felt all day, away from the prying eyes that know you as someone else. This assignment has already gone on for longer than you'd expected, but Cal is a tough nut to crack. Every time you think you have his complete trust, that he'll tell you what you need to know, a door slams shut in your face, or he gets angry with you for the littlest action. You take a drag, watching the smoke dissipate in the air. 

"Y/N?" A familiar voice asks.

Your heart stops. 

--

Your blood freezes in your veins, seemingly distorting everything around you. "What?" You whisper into the phone. 

"He'll be okay," JJ soothes. "He's getting checked out by an EMT as we speak, I promise. I'm staring at him right now."

"What happened?"

She pauses, which doesn't fill you with any kind of confidence. "He went in after the unsub without backup. They ended up getting into a bit of a fight before Morgan and I could get to him. The three of us took down the unsub together, Spence is just...bruised."

"Any cracked ribs?" You ask. 

"I'll let you know as soon as I find out. I'll call back in a few, okay?" 

Before you can reply, the line is disconnected. 

For the next eleven minutes and thirty-two seconds, you don't move a muscle. This wasn't the first time Spencer had gotten hurt since you'd started dating- perks of being with someone that hunted serial killers for a living- but that did nothing to comfort you now. Your mind always went to the worst possible place, combing over your last interaction with Spencer, wondering if he died now, would he know how much you loved him? While you were at a desk job currently, most of your career had been spent never knowing if you'd make it to dawn. This had been ingrained in you by now. You've seen people die, you've seen people be killed in a heartbeat. You survived that. 

You couldn't survive Spencer dying. 

The second your phone rings, it's answered and at your ear. "How is he?"

"Y/N," Spencer says into the phone, and you feel your entire body relax. 

Instead of answering him, you burst into tears. 

"Hey, hey. I'm okay, love."

"Sorry!" You practically wail, covering your mouth with your hand. "Sorry. What did the EMT say? How are you feeling? When will you be home?"

He answers your questions in a steady tone, obviously still worried about your emotional level. "We're getting on the jet once JJ and Hotch finish wrapping up with the detectives here."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Y/N." 

Twelve hours later, Spencer is wrapped in your arms. He has a cracked ribs and an assortment of bruises, but he's breathing and he's here.

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened to you that causes such a dramatic reaction?" He asks, making you tense. 

"Spence…"

He sighs. "I know."

This was the biggest rift in your relationship. He pours his heart out day by day, and you're a shell of a woman with none of that to offer him. You can’t talk about most of your career. Even now, at a boring desk job, you're handling other people's undercover identities. You requested a break from going undercover and gotten it, but there's a part of your brain that still knows not to trust that. They could try to send you away tomorrow. 

--

Spencer. Spencer is here. Spencer is staring at you. Spencer just said your name. 

You know what you have to do, even if it'll hurt both of you. You'd tear yourself open to keep him safe, set yourself on fire to keep him safe, but that doesn't mean it'll be any easier to break his heart to keep him safe. 

"I'm sorry?" You ask, scrunching your face up in confusion. "I think you have the wrong person."

You don't look exactly like you did when you dated Spencer. Your hair is a different color and cut, and your face has started hollowing out from stress and hate. Honestly, there's been times where you haven't even recognized yourself in the mirror. 

He repeats your name, taking a step toward you. Instinct has taught you well, so even though you want to run forward into his arms, you take a step back. 

He looks different since the last time you saw him. Different, but good. He's filled out more, his hair is longer, and he's holding himself with more authority. This Spencer isn't constantly curled in on himself, you know. He isn't always trying to make himself lesser. He's maintained his kind eyes, though. They're staring straight through you, searching for things you can't give him. All you can remember is the love you shared with him, the love you smashed when you left. It makes you ache. 

This is conformation of your deepest fear: he's better off without you. 

"That isn't my name," you tell him, cocking your head to the side. The cigarette, you notice, has fallen to the ground. You wonder if he's noticed, but you step on it all the same. "My name is Reva."

"Reva." It sounds distinctly wrong coming from his lips, like it doesn't quite fit despite his efforts to force it. By this point, you're well used to being called the wrong name. Something about the way Spencer says it still makes you want to cringe. 

Regardless, he can't know any of that. He still has some hope in his eyes, although it's being muddled by confusion. "Yes," you confirm. "Look, I'm sorry you can't find who you're looking for. I'm not her, though."

"I'm sorry, too."

"Reva!" You hear, and you turn to find Cal coming out the door. Whipping your head back at Spencer, you gesture for him to leave, feeling some of your panic leak out into the open. Cal doesn't get to look at Spencer. He doesn't get to talk to Spencer. 

Out of desperation, you practically leap into Cal's arms, kissing him firmly on the mouth. He’s surprised, but since he never says no to this kind of thing, he pulls you closer and deepens it. “Can we get out of here?” You whine, lowering your hands to right below his ass. 

“I think that sounds perfect.”

As he takes your hand to lead you back into the venue, you spare one last look at Spencer. He’s rooted to the spot, mouth slightly agape as he stares at you. 

You have the sinking feeling that you didn’t trick him well enough. 

--

When you go into the office on Monday, you know. Your supervisor is standing at your desk, a grim expression on his face. 

“I don’t want to go,” you tell him automatically. 

All the other times you’ve been under, there’s been no one on the other side to miss you. Now, though? You think of Penelope, who likes surprising you with different kinds of flowers, of Rossi, who taught you how to make your first authentic Italian dish, of Hotch, who you just managed to work a soft smile out of, of JJ, who automatically gravitates toward you whenever you’re in a room together, of Morgan, who lifted you up and spun you around when you admitted to him that you could see a forever with Spencer, and god- Spencer. You don’t want to leave Spencer. You could survive without him, but there’d forever be a light missing. 

“Come on into my office,” your supervisor tells you. “We have a lot to talk about.”

--

For the first time in a long time, you cry yourself to sleep. 

The next day, you make your way back into the garden. Cal’s out again, probably plotting something that will result in death and destruction. You’re frustrated that he’s been so difficult to get through to, you’re frustrated that you saw Spencer last night, and all you want to do is throw your head back and scream until your throat is raw and bleeding. That isn’t an option, so all you can do is dig up your phone and make the call. 

When you tell him what happened, all you get is a sigh before he hangs up. Figures. “Asshole.”

--

“What do you want me from me, huh?” You scream, hands balled into fists at your side. Your breath is heavy, weighing the room down. 

Spencer scoffs at you. “I’ve made it perfectly clear what I want, you just aren’t listening anymore.”

“I can’t give you that.”

He won’t look at you anymore. Tears have started gathering in his eyes, and while you want to wipe them away, you know you don’t have the right. You’re the one that put them there, you’re the one making him act like this. 

“It feels like I barely know you sometimes,” he says, and you don’t even have a counter argument for that. You’ve been so many people. At this point, you’re a jigsaw puzzle of everyone you’ve ever been, but he’s missing too many pieces to solve you. 

When you don’t respond, he sighs, running his hand through his hair. And then-

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

You suck in a breath. “What?”

His voice firms. “I don’t think I can do this anymore, Y/N. I don’t know if this is working. I don't think I want to keep trying."

Before he can say anything else, before you can make your case, before you can fight for him, your legs are already carrying you out the door. 

You make a single phone call. 

“I’m in. Tell me more about the assignment.”

--

On a Wednesday, it ends. It's months since you saw Spencer. Part of you had expected some big event to come from that, whether it be Cal stabbing you in the stomach or Spencer somehow tracking you down to save you. Life isn't a romance movie, though, so you just went back to being alone. 

And finally, after a century of careful prodding and poking, you get the information you need to take Cal down. 

As the sun shines and the birds chirp, the SWAT team bursts through the door, shouting to get down. You scream Cal's name, knowing that your performance isn't going to be over until he never gets to see daylight again.

Unfortunately, Cal never goes down without a fight. He comes out guns blazing, shooting one of the SWAT members before they even register that he's there. In a flash, you're pressed up against Cal's chest, the barrel of his gun pressed to your head. 

"You motherfucker," you whisper. 

"I'm sorry, baby," he says to you, raising his voice to talk to the SWAT team. "Back off or I'll shoot!"

This fantastic plan results in you bleeding from a bullet wound in your stomach, curled on the ground and Cal is hauled off by SWAT. One of them approaches you once everyone else is gone.

"Good work, Y/N."

--

You hate hospitals. You hate the lights, the sounds, the smells, and the general fear of death that spikes whenever you enter through the doors. You've already been debriefed, already destroyed Reva. As far as Cal knows, you bled to death on his living room floor. 

As you start to drift off to sleep, you hear a sudden clanging from down the hall, muffled voices oozing in frustration. Footsteps start up again, and then-

Oh.

Spencer’s in your room. 

"Y/N," he gapes, coming up to the side of the bed. He starts to reach for your hand before aborting the motion; in response, you grab his instead. You're too weak to deny him right now. "Oh, god. Y/N."

"How are you here?" You ask. 

"Penelope. I knew it was you outside the venue, and once the shock wore off, I knew you were undercover. We've been trying to locate you ever since, but your name pinged on her alerts when you were admitted here. What happened?"

"SWAT guy shot me."

The two of you lock eyes, and you're horrified to discover that you're both on the verge of crying. "Spence-"

He hugs you, arms gentle as he settles onto the bed. As you sob into his arms, you feel more at home than you have in a very long time. 

--

Two weeks later, you're curled in his bed. 

Things aren't normal. You've been gone for over a year and you left things completely unfinished. Not to mention that you've screamed yourself awake every night, panic attacks and sobs wrecking you even as Spencer whispers comforts as he holds you. But you're safe. 

Another day later, Spencer helps you sit up before announcing, "We need to talk."

"I know."

He starts fiddling with the sleeves of his cardigan. "You- you left."

"You told me to."

"No! I-" he sighs, pulling harder at his sleeves. "I know it sounded that way. But I love you, Y/N. Then and now. I was never done trying for you."

You laugh a little. It doesn't sound right. "You don't love me now. I'm not even...I don't know how much of myself is even left anymore."

"So let me find out," he pleads. "Let me learn to love all the new things about you, let me cherish what hasn't changed."

"I'm sorry for running."

"I'm sorry for not chasing after you."

--

Your first date after coming back to yourself is a walk through the park. Spencer figures you can handle that, figures you won't get too overwhelmed or pained from the experience. He still lets you lean against him the entire time.

Since the first initial conversation, you've had many more. You've detailed your thoughts, as well as your experiences with Cal. You fought and fought and fought with your supervisor to get the clearance to tell Spencer, reminding him that you refused to ever go under again and that Spencer was an agent. Eventually, he folded. Spencer still had to sign an absurd amount of paperwork. In turn, Spencer explained the things he'd been up to since you left, how he refused to lose you again once he spotted you. 

Things aren't perfect. They are better, though.

"Hey," you say, pulling at his hand until he stops. "I love you."

A big smile spreads across his face, and he leans forward until your foreheads are touching. "I love you too."

You look over to where she’s gesturing, a low whistle building in your throat. Two people are hovering at the entrance. You can already tell that they don’t belong. Their posture, their facial expressions. “Think they’re cops?” You ask. “Cops fucking suck at tipping.”

Without waiting for an answer, you start striding over there, thankful that you’re dressed, even if it isn’t close to modestly. 

A man and a woman. The woman has shiny black hair, gently curled around her shoulders. You’re briefly jealous of her bone structure before that feeling turns into something more akin to lust- you don’t look like her, no, but she’s hot. The all black ensamble, frankly, is doing wonders for her. She seems dominant and powerful. Maybe not your type, then. You’re a bit of a control freak. The guy, though. You lick your lips, looking him over as you get closer. He’s about as submissive looking as they come. His shoulders are hunched, hands crossed nervously in front of him. His eyes are darting around the room and you’d think he was looking for an exit if he wasn’t currently standing in front of one. He’s got some of the fluffiest hair you’ve ever seen and it shouldn’t look good on him, but it does. Really good. He’s tall too, towering over the woman, and- huh. Now you know it’s possible to be hot in a sweater vest. 

“Hey there,” you purr as you reach them, leaning against the table closest to them. You see their attention snap over to you, eyeing you up in down the same way you did to them. The man blushes and the woman arches an eyebrow. You just smile. “Anything I can help you two with? We do discounts for couples.”

The man sputters. “We aren’t-”

“SSA Emily Prentiss and Dr. Spencer Reid.” The woman interrupts him, flashing her badge. He follows suit. “We’re here from the FBI.”

You put your hands in front of you, pretending that they’re bound together at the wrists. “You here to arrest me?” You ask, pouting. 

Emily rolls her eyes. Spencer shakes his head aggressively. 

“We’re here about the recent string of murdered sex workers,” Emily says.

You flinch, some of your tougher exterior slipping away. When you’re working, you try your best not to think about those girls, the ones that ended up in alleys with their stomachs cut open, their contents beside them. Four, so far. No one from your work, even if there were whispers that your luck’s running out. It’s only a matter of time.

“I didn’t think anyone cared about a couple of murdered whores,” you mutter, letting the bitterness seep into your words. You aren’t stupid enough to trust FBI agents anymore than you trust cops. “And I don’t see why that’s brought you here, anyway. None of them worked on this street.”

Spencer takes a step forward. “We care,” he tells you. You’re too smart to believe him, even if the gentle look in his eyes makes you want to try. You blink a couple times, trying to clear your thoughts. 

“Can we ask you a few questions?” Emily looks less gentle, although not unkind. Life’s made her hard, you think. Any kindness she has, she’s probably had to fight for it. It’s not a concept you’re unfamiliar with and under different circumstances, you think you could’ve been friends. 

You glance back at the stage before agreeing. “We can either keep yelling over the music or go to one of the private rooms,” you tell them, “But there’s a lot of velvet and leather in those.”

You take them into one of the rooms, but you aren't there for long. Most of their questions seem generic. Boring.

“Call us if you think of anything else,” Spencer says, handing you a card with his name and phone number on it.

You take it, tucking it into one of your boots. “And if I want to call you so I can hear your cute voice again?”

Emily has to pound him on the back after that one, his face on fire as he goes into a coughing fit. You can’t help but grin wickedly. Maybe you’d feel bad if his partner wasn’t laughing. 

“Oh, I’m so telling Morgan about this,” she says, electing a groan from Spencer. 

Once he’s mostly settled again, he turns back to you. There’s still a blush raging on his cheeks. You like knowing that you’re the one to put it there. “Stay safe, okay?”

“Sure,” you nod, like the other girls hadn’t begged for the safety, like they weren’t all on high alert already. If someone gets you, it won’t be because you were an easy target. “I could probably stab him with my heel or something.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but Emily nods like you just said something smart, which is a little concerning. 

--

A week later, you reflect that you probably should have used your heel, considering your current situation. You’re in a dark, unfamiliar room, your vocal cords already torn apart from screaming so much. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter, trying to look at your surroundings. It’s hard to see anything and even harder to focus. Your head is pounding. You don’t touch it. You don’t want to feel the blood gathering and clumping in your hair. That’s a problem for later. If you survive this. “Fucking cute skinny FBI agent didn’t do shit for me. We’ll get him,” you mock, raising the pitch of your voice. “Biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard. Should have caught him before he kidnapped me.”

You don’t know how long you’re in the dark before a door opens. A man you don’t recognize enters, making you scramble back to the furthest corner of the room. 

“Scared?” He asks. You can’t make out any facial features, even though there’s a voice inside of you that’s telling you he’s grinning. 

“Fuck you,” you spit, going for false bravado. You told yourself that you wouldn’t go down without a fight, and you were going to keep that promise. 

Then you notice that he has a knife. You have to force the fight back into your body, imagining that you’re back at the club, rainbow lights searing into your skin, making you powerful, making you invincible. You bare your teeth at him, a growl escaping. 

Survival of the fittest. 

--

“Y/N?” A soft voice rouses you from your sleep. It takes a few seconds for it to register in your brain, but Spencer’s the one speaking. 

Your eyes flutter open. “Oh, you’re blurry.”

“An ambulance is on the way,” he tells you. He’s cradling your head and you get a weird urge to cry. His voice is so soft. “It’s okay if you fall asleep, the idea that you can’t fall asleep with a head injury is mostly a myth. I’ll be there when you wake up.”

You believe him enough to drift off back to sleep.

--

The next time you wake up, you’re in a hospital room. The lights are blinding and white, making you miss your colorful ones. “I better get time off,” you groan. 

Someone laughs beside you. You turn to see Spencer again. 

"You're here."

He leans forward. "You sound surprised."

"Keen observation. Don't you have like...official FBI stuff to be doing right now?"

Spencer shrugs. "I wanted to make sure you were okay before I regrouped with the team."

"I don't really remember what happened."

"You killed him."

You frown. "No shit? Seriously?"

"JJ- she's another agent, you haven't met her- and I were the ones to go down to the basement. That's where he was keeping you," he explains, hands starting to wave through the air. "When we got down there, you were both laying on the ground. He was dead. Shot three times. You were shot once in the side. Thankfully, the damage seems to be minimal. You also have a concussion from when he presumably hit your head to capture you."

"I shot him?" You look down on your hands like you're going to see blood on them. They're cracked and dry. You flip them over just in case. Nothing, still. "I don't feel any different. Are you supposed to feel different after you kill someone?"

"There haven't been any studies on people's brain patterns right before and right after they've killed someone," Spencer shrugs, then pauses. "Although you most likely weren't looking for a scientific answer. Sorry."

"No, it's good to know."

Spencer fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt, a small smile playing on his lips. He's got that same blush he did the first time you met him, the light one. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Has the offer to call you expired?" You ask, feeling bold. 

The blush deepens. "No."

You grin. "Nothing like getting kidnapped to set the mood, huh?"

You don't think he gets the joke. That's okay. 

--

A week later, you're on the phone with him, propped up on all the pillows your roommates could find in your little apartment. 

"Hey, cutie pie," you grin. 

"Hi, Y/N. How are you feeling?"

This was the third phone call. The same number as how many times you shot the man that tried to kill you. Each time, the first thing Spencer did was ask how you were doing. You keep lying to him. It makes guilt swirl around in your stomach. You tell yourself that it's okay, that he probably doesn't want to hear how you actually are. The feeling still lingers. You want him to care, you realize. It's nonsensical, you barely know him, but you want him to hold you when you wake up screaming, when you remember flashes of that night, and when you have good moments. And in turn, you want to get to know him. You want to see what his face looks like while you're dancing, you want to know what his degrees are in, you want to know what makes him happy, if you could make him happy. You want to make him happy. 

"I'm doing as well as I can be." It's the most honest answer you've given. "How's being a fancy FBI agent? Still on that case in Wyoming?"

"We're wrapping up, actually. We arrested our unsub this morning. She was going after unfaithful men."

You pause. "Good for her."

He sputters. "It's murder, Y/N!"

"I killed someone," you point out quietly. 

"You know that's different."

You do. 

Don't you?

Your hands itch. 

--

After a month of phone calls, you get to see him again in person. You're still healing, still scarring over, but you get to touch him. 

Neither of you ever bring up the conversation of defining what this is between you. When you see him, you race toward him, halting to a stop once you get close. 

"Is touching okay?" You ask. 

He gives you the biggest smile you've ever seen before pulling you against him. You fit snugly against him, his chin resting on the top of your head. "Yeah," he mumbles. "Touch is good. Thank you for asking."

"I'm a stripper," you laugh, pulling back enough to see his face. "We're big consent fans."

He hesitates. You can see his thoughts racing, can see him making a pros and cons list in his head. "Can I kiss you?"

You don't have a significant other, but you do have the store and a mug of coffee. Two out of three isn't bad, you tell yourself, even if it's hard not to notice that your bed is cold. 

Soon after you get inside, you flip the lights on and unlock the doors. You had a couple employees that would come in sometimes, but you always handled Mondays on your own. They were both college students, so the idea of making their Mondays even worse had made you feel bad. Besides, sometimes it was nice to be the only one. Mornings were generally pretty quiet, so it gave you time to relax and read a little bit. That's what you decide to this morning, grabbing a book off your stack of advanced copies and taking it with you to the front desk. 

An hour in, the only customer you've seen is a regular, a wonderfully sweet old woman named Ms. Thomas. She's always trying to set you up with her grandchildren in the hopes that it'll give her a family discount. You adore her. 

Not long after she leaves, a man rushes in, looking frazzled. You've never seen him before, but holy hell, is he attractive. He's somehow pulling off the tight t-shirt look without looking like a complete asshole, black curly hair windblown in a way that suggests he ran here. 

"Hey!" You chirp, putting your book down. "Can I help you with anything?"

He glances over at you like he hadn't seen you there. Figures. He was attractive enough that you probably weren't even noticeable to him. "Yes. God, yes. It's my co-worker's birthday, and I totally blanked on getting him a gift. He loves books."

"Do you know what he likes to read?" You ask, looking over at the shelves behind him like the perfect title was just going to fall on the floor. After a beat of silence, you turn your attention back onto him. He's just staring at you. "Hello? Sir?"

There's a subtle blush coloring his cheeks. "Sorry. Just- he likes pretty much everything? I've seen him read things from children books to an entire textbook on astrophysics."

You frown. "You work with a guy that reads astrophysics textbooks for fun?"

"Sure do," he replies, laughing. "I'm afraid that I'll get him something he already owns, even though he'll probably be too polite to tell me."

"Hm," you say, drumming your desk as you think. "Well, in my opinion, you really can't go wrong with Russian literature."

"I think he likes Russian literature?" The poor man looks so confused.

"Do you want me to just pick something?"

"Oh, please."

You laugh, standing up and going over to your favorite bookcase. After a few seconds, you pull a couple paperbacks and bring them back over to the man. "I'd reccomend any of these. If your friend likes Russian literature, he's definitely read all the classics, but these guys are pretty uncommon. Honestly, it's probably dumb to have them in my inventory, I just love them so much. My all time favorite Russian book is The Idiot, I-" you cut yourself off, embarasment sweeping through you. "Sorry. Just rambled a little bit at you."

He smiles warmly at you. "No, it's okay. I didn't mind."

The blush doesn't leave your face. God, did he have to be nice, too? It isn't enough that he's hot? You cough a little in an attempt to calm yourself down. "So, what are you interested in purchasing?"

"Oh, I'll just take all of them," he says, still smiling. 

"Really?"

He nods. 

You start scanning the books, telling him his total as you slide them into a paper bag. Once you're done and he's paid, you hand it over. 

"Thanks so much for your help…" 

"Y/N," you tell him. 

"Y/N," he repeats, smiling seemingly softening. "Nice to meet you. I'm Luke."

"Well, Luke, I hope your coworker doesn't already have these books."

As he leaves, you watch him. 

--

A week later, Luke comes into the shop again. He looks pretty lost, eyes wandering over until they settle on you from where you're shelving some new releases. One of your employees, Andi, is at the desk where you were last time Luke was in. 

"Hey!" You greet him. "Did your coworker like the books?"

"He did, actually!" Luke says, once again smiling at you. Maybe he was just one of those golden retriever guys or something. "He was surprised you had some reccomendations he hadn't already read."

You nod. "Well, that is part of my job."

He laughs like you said something funny. Neither of you says anything for a moment. "Do you need help finding anything?"

"No, I uh- I just wanted to thank you for your help last time."

Huh. You've never had someone come back just to thank you. It's kind of cute. "Of course."

After he leaves, Andi comes over to you, a devilish grin on their face. "He was cuuuuuute," they sing, throwing an arm around you. 

"Andi!" You laugh, lightly shoving them off with your hip. "Settle down there, buddy."

"He's totally into you! Who comes back just to thank the person who sold them books?"

You shrug. "Luke, apparently."

"Or he likes you!"

"Aren't you supposed to be working?"

--

The third time you see Luke, it isn't even at the bookstore, but rather the coffee place you frequent across the street. As you wait in line, you see him slumped over one of the tables. Once you grab your coffee, you head over. 

"Luke?"

His head whips up so fast that you worry about his neck. "Y/N! Hi! Do you want to sit down?"

You nod, taking the seat across from him. Technically, you're on your lunch, and Andi knows to text you if they're getting too overwhelmed. "You look kind of tired."

He winces. "Do I look that bad?"

"No! Sorry," you groan, covering your mouth with your hand. "I should just shut up."

"It's okay, seriously." He takes a sip of his coffee. "Work is keeping me busy."

"What do you do?"

"I'm an agent with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit," he says. 

You whistle. "Sounds dangerous. Hope you get paid a lot."

You're starting to figure out that Luke laughs with his whole body. It's terribly endearing. "It's very dangerous," he agrees. "But I love being able to help people, and my team is great. How long have you been at the bookstore?"

"Oh, I own it. Opened up last year."

"That's awesome!" He says, and it sounds like he means it. 

Andi texts you soon after, so you and Luke say your goodbyes. 

--

"You missed him!" Andi says, rushing over to you. Bo, your other employee, is standing behind them and shaking his head. "Your man was here."

"I don't have a man?"

Andi stomps their foot on the ground like you're the ridiculous one in this situation. "Luke!"

You look over to Bo for a better explanation. "Luke came in this morning and bought a book."

"Ah," you say. "What did he get?"

"The Idiot."

It's hard not to melt into the floor. 

--

The next time, it isn't Luke, but two of his coworkers. A man and a woman come into the store, asking for you by name. When Bo fetches you, they both have wide grins on their faces. 

"Can I help you guys with anything?"

"Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about," the woman says. "We work with Luke."

The man nods. "I've never actually seen Luke willingly read anything before he came here. I'm Spencer, by the way. But I don't shake hands."

"I'm Penelope!"

You've done research on the BAU since Luke told you his occupation and learned that his job deals mostly with hunting down serial killers. You cannot imagine these two people doing that. It's hard to imagine Luke doing it, too. "I'm Y/N."

Penelope smirks. "Oh, we know."

"Are you the one he bought books for?" You ask Spencer. 

He perks up like he's been waiting for you to bring it up. For the next twenty minutes, you discuss Russian literature as Penelope wanders aimlessly around the store. 

As they're leaving, you hear Penelope whisper. "Y/N would be good for him."

--

Ms. Thomas gets to meet him not long after. You're chatting with her about her family as he comes in. You feel your heart rate pick up a little bit when your gaze locks on his. 

"Who is that?" Ms. Thomas whispers, nudging you gently. "He's awfully handsome."

You shush her as Luke walks over. "You're just as bad as Andi."

Once he arrives, he introduces himself to Ms. Thomas before focusing his attention on you. "Heard some of my coworkers came by to bother you."

"They were nice! Spencer and I talked for a while. Didn't realize you'd talked to them about the store."

Luke shifts around on his feet. "Well, I mostly just talked to them about you."

"Ooooooo," Ms. Thomas butts in, causing you and Luke's cheeks to both flush. 

You turn to her. "Oh my god!"

"Fine, fine, I'll leave you two lovebirds alone," she says, beelining to Andi presumably to talk about you and Luke. 

"Sorry about her."

Luke laughs. "She seems fun."

"Trust me, she is," you shake your head. "But, uh, you've been talking about me?"

"Yeah," Luke says, holding his hand out. After a second, you realize that it's a silent request for his hand, that he hadn't just wanted to grab it with no warning. You give it to him. "I like you a lot, Y/N. I started reading The Idiot the other day. That book is like 600 pages!"

You giggle, making his smile grow even wider.

"Can I take you out on a date?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you can."

--

When Luke isn't on a case, he visits you at the bookstore every day. It's been months since the first initial date, but your heart still flutters every time you see him, every time you see his face soften when he looks at you.

You've never been in love before. You think it feels an awful lot like this, though.

"Hey, babe," he greets, coming over to give you a quick kiss. "We just landed, figured I'd come say hi before I go crash at my apartment."

"Did it go well?" You're already pretty sure it did, since someone would have updated you otherwise. But it's always good to check and see if you need to hold Luke as tight as you can. So far, it's the best way to comfort him after a bad case. 

"It did," he tells you, shrugging. "It was a tough one, but we got the guy at the end. And I got to punch him in the face."

That makes you roll your eyes, even as you grab his hands to check for bruising. There is a little bit, so you press a kiss to his knuckles. 

"Can you come by later?" He asks, looking oddly nervous. 

You smile. "Yeah, of course."

"I can handle the store if you want to go now!" Andi calls.

You and Luke roll your eyes. "Andi, you are way too invested in my relationship."

They narrow their eyes. "So?"

Luke hugs you before he leaves, burying his face against the crook of your shoulder. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Mm, okay. Love you, Y/N."

You tense up and he pulls back. It's the first time he's said it. "I-"

"Did you mean it?"

He flushes. "I mean. Yeah. Of course. You're pretty impossible not to love."

The last time you’d met up with her, your therapist had brought up the idea of calling him. You’d promptly gone into a panic attack, whimpering that you couldn’t see him, not after you’d run away from him, ignoring that his worst fear was abandonment, stomping on his fragile heart in an attempt to save yours. Once she’d settled you enough that the tears were drying, she agreed that you wouldn’t have to see him if you didn’t want to. 

You miss him, though. You do. You think about him more often than you want to admit, wondering how he’s doing, if he’s eating enough, if he’s still in the same job, if he thinks about you, if he’s happy, if he’s moved on in a way you haven’t managed yet. There isn’t a good point in wondering all of those things, especially considering you have no plans on seeing him while you’re here. In fact, you’re aiming to leave the motel room as little as you possibly can. 

In your sleep, you dream about him. 

“Y/N!” Spencer laughs, grabbing you at the waist and sweeping you off your feet. He spins you around like you’re a princess. This has quickly become a habit: he’s gone for a long case and then smothers you in affection when he comes back. You’ve already told him that he doesn’t need to feel guilty for being gone for so long. So far, he hasn’t been listening. 

Taking advantage of your sudden height, you kiss the top of his nose, liking the blush that spreads across his cheeks. He puts you down after another second. You stay close to him. Even if you don’t like it when he feels bad, you really did miss him. 

“How was the case?” You ask. 

Now that he isn’t touching you, he fiddles with the end of your scarf. Throughout your relationship, you’ve noticed that he likes being close. Some days he’s okay with physical touch and some days he isn’t; regardless, he’s always either hovering near you or playing with an item of your clothing when you’re together. It should be stifling, would be if it was anyone else, but it’s terribly endearing when it’s him. There’s a gentle air to everything he does, the love evident throughout his words and actions. You don’t know if you deserve it. Hell, one of your worst fights ever with him was about that exact topic. Even if you don’t deserve it though, it makes you feel safe. He makes you feel safe. 

He pulls a little at the scarf. “Good. We got him before he could kill his last victim.”

You don’t know how Spencer sees the things he does at work. Every once in awhile, you’ll watch the press conferences the team does, look up the cases they’re on or they solved previously. Bile always rises in your throat. You love him, you love his team, but you hate his job. You hate that he’s in danger, that he could end up like your family did, dead and alone. He knows this. He also knows that you’d never ask him to quit. 

He doesn’t seem to be aware that you’re thinking too hard, since he keeps talking. “Rossi’s having a family dinner at his house tomorrow night. He said I’m legally obligated to bring you.”

You snort. “Legally obligated?”

“The logic wasn’t very sound,” he agrees, letting go of your scarf to brush the hair that was falling into your face. “I agree with his premise, though. You should come. They all miss you.”

“Alright,” you say, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder. “I miss them too.”

Three days after you get to the city, you leave the motel room for the first time, bundled up in an oversized sweatshirt and jeans. Normally, you try to dress up a little more, although you weren’t one to make yourself uncomfortable to look cute. You respect the hell out of those girls, though. They always look bomb. 

Walking around the city was nicer than you thought it was going to be. The weather was just as you remembered, crisp but not cold enough to make you shiver. You end up at a park, feet swinging back and forth. The bench isn’t terribly comfortable. You don’t mind, though. It’s been near impossible for you to relax, so sitting here is the closest you’ve been able to get. It looks like it’ll start raining soon and other people start clearing out of the area. You don’t move, though. Once it falls, you let it hit your skin, let it cool the burning panic that’s been lying dormant since you arrived. 

The second week in, the person in the room next to you gets murdered. You wake up to a scream, can hear something banging around. An idiot would join in on the chaos, would get themselves killed. That isn’t you, though, so you wait quietly, grab the knife you keep at your nightstand. Five minutes after you hear a door slam, you figure you’re safe enough to make a phone call. Red and blue lights come not long after, making you kiss any opportunity of a good night’s sleep goodbye. 

After they interview you, you can hear whispers about this turning serial. You know where you used to live, you know the area, you know who they’re going to call. You bow your head and do your best to mentally prepare for this. 

The BAU is there within an hour. Hotch sees you first. His eyes widen, only for a second. He’s too much of a professional for your presence to throw him off your game, even if you do see him glance back. When he approaches you, only JJ is with him. She has a stronger reaction to seeing you. 

“Y/N?” She asks, frowning. “What are you doing here?”

“Reid isn’t here,” Hotch tells you before you can answer. “He’s at another crime scene.”

You don’t know how you feel about that. Every emotion within you is at war. You wring your hands together, looking down in your lap. “My therapist suggested that I visit,” you shrug. “Exposure therapy or something.” They ask you the same questions that the officers ask you. You’ve never seen them mid investigation before, but they’re nothing like how they were back when you were still dating Spencer. Or maybe this was just because they hated you now. 

Hotch walks off first, phone held tightly against his ear. That leaves you awkwardly hovering near JJ, who hasn’t taken her eyes off of you this entire time. 

“What do you want to say?” 

She flattens her lips, an expression Spencer told you a lot about. It was her angry face. “He’s going to find out that you’re back.”

“I know.”

“Were you going to tell him that you’re back?”

You shake your head. “I’m not staying, JJ. Like I said, this was my therapist’s idea.”

The disappointed look she gives you makes you want to rip your heart out and let her stomp on it. 

“You need to talk to me!” Spencer is trying not to shout. You can tell by his posture, the way his voice catches at the end. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on!”

You’re angry. You’re angrier than you have any right to be. You know he’s just doing the best he can. Instead of saying any of that, you just keep yelling. “It’s none of your business!”

“You’re my girlfriend. I love you.”

The words make you flinch. You see him go completely still, like he just lost against Medusa. He probably thought Medusa was preferable to you right now. He’s hurt, you know he is. You’d never flinched away from him before, never had a reason to. You still don’t. Not a good one, anyway. 

“I need to go,” you choke out. He lets you go without protest. 

It takes eight hours for Spencer to show up outside your hotel room. Either Hotch and JJ kept your return a secret until the team was done for the night, or he knew and wasn’t allowed to leave. 

He knocks on your door. You hesitate for a beat too long before answering, opening it just enough to let him inside. 

“Y/N,” he breathes. You don’t look at him. You can’t. Earlier, you’d promised yourself that you wouldn’t run from this or cry over it. Your therapist better be god damn proud of you for this one. “You’re here.”

“Yeah.“ 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him start to reach for you. He stops himself, his hand falling back to his side. “When did you get here?”

“The beginning of the month,” you tell him. “I don’t know if JJ or Hotch mentioned, but it’s a part of my therapy. Coming back for a little bit.”

He finally finds the nerve to touch you, tugging at your sleeve. “Why won’t you look at me?”

You take a deep breath before forcing your gaze up. He’s just as beautiful as you remember, almost angelic. It makes you want to crumble on the spot, especially once you register the heartbroken look on his face. 

“Why are you here?” You finally ask. 

When you were eight, your entire family was murdered. It’s something you wait months to tell Spencer, once he starts bringing up taking you to meet his mother. 

“Oh, god,” he says after a moment. He gathers you in his arms, holds you as you cry into him, wipes away your tears when you finally pull away, kisses your cheeks, shushes you when you try to apologize. 

“Thank you for trusting me.”

Spencer is sitting on your bed, legs curled underneath him. He tries to get you to sit with him, but you refuse. Something about standing during this makes you feel less like you’ve lost any and all control. 

“You never called.”

You close your eyes. “I know.”

“I wanted to let you have your space, I just didn’t-” he cuts himself off momentarily. “I didn’t think you were going to leave me.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s not enough. It isn’t close to enough. “I wasn’t strong enough to come back. I’m a coward. And selfish. I shouldn’t have run like that.”

When you open your eyes, he’s blurry. You belatedly realize that you’re starting to cry, notice that he is too. 

“It’s okay to run. I just wanted you to talk to me, or come back, or something. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

You start to say that he did nothing, but he shakes his head. 

“No,” he protests. “Not nothing. I didn’t help you. I knew you were struggling, I knew your PTSD was flaring up again, and I did the wrong things. I let you pull away, I didn’t fight hard enough for you to go back to therapy.” He takes a few deep breaths. “When the love of your life is struggling to stand upright, you let her lean against you. And I was too busy with work to be there for you.”

You sit down on the bed. 

It’s incredibly obvious how much Spencer loves his mother. He talks about her constantly, updates you on her life, and worries endlessly in the periods where she isn’t doing well. So before you ever meet her, you know that her opinion matters enough to him that it could end your relationship. 

“Y/N?” You hear him call for you, poking his head into the room. “Are you ready? Oh, you look really nice.”

It’s about time to leave. You’re in the hotel room, having just gotten ready to go meet Diana. It took you an embarrassingly long time to pick your outfit, since you really wanted to impress her. If she doesn’t like you, you’re fully prepared to start freaking out.

“I’m ready,” you say with almost no confidence. 

He must hear the nerves in your voice, since he comes fully into the room, approaching you and putting his arms around your waist. “She’ll love you.”

You’re not sure if you believe him. You go with him anyway, watching him chatting with all the nurses as you waved awkwardly at them. After a few minutes of this, you’re finally standing in front of Diana Reid. 

She pulls you into a hug before you can say anything. “Y/N!”

“Mom, don’t smother her,” Spencer chides gently, pulling you away from her. You smile a little when you can see a blush growing across his face. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Diana says, grinning. “It’s just so nice to finally meet you. He talks about you all the time, you know?”

You smirk, looking back at your boyfriend. “Oh, really?”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. 

Before long, Spencer has to leave the two of you alone so he can go talk to one of Diana’s doctors. You can tell he’s hesitant about it, but he kisses both of you on the top of your heads before he leaves. 

“He’s happy,” she tells you. “He’s really happy with you.” Now you’re the one blushing. “I really love him,” you confess. “I don’t know what I did to deserve someone as amazing as your son, but I feel incredibly lucky.”

She grabs your hand and squeezes it. “Thank you for looking after him.”

Spencer gets called back to work before you two can finish talking. 

“Please stay here until the case is over,” he takes your hand, squeezing it tight. “I’m not letting you slip away again, okay? If you don’t want me anymore, you’re going to have to say it to my face.”

You don’t say anything. A small smile tugs at Spencer’s lips. He kisses your forehead before he runs off. 

“You know, I never pictured Reid settling down,” Morgan tells you. 

You’re all at JJ’s house for Henry’s birthday. The two of you had snatched up a table early in the afternoon, lounging as you watch everyone. So far, you’ve seen Will give JJ a piggyback ride, Penelope down two jello shots before declaring that a life of crime and alcohol just wasn’t for her, Emily and Rossi fight over who has more money, Hotch finger painting with Jack, and Henry chase Spencer around the yard. Morgan’s drinking a beer, you’re drinking a juice box. 

You hum. “Do you think he’s happy?”

“Who?” Morgan looks over at you. “Reid? Duh. He’s happier than I’ve ever seen him.”

“We’ve been fighting lately.”

“It happens,” Morgan shrugs. “You should see Will and JJ go at it. That is not a woman I’d want to piss off. It’ll be fine, Y/N.”

You nod, even as this feels like the beginning of the end. 

The BAU doesn’t think you’re in any danger, although that doesn’t do much to soothe you. All you can picture is your family, how were all supposed to be safe, how you came home on a Thursday after school and found your entire world bleeding and lifeless on the floor. You think Spencer’s aware of this. He messages you constantly, sending updates on the case as well as cute animal pictures. The latter makes you laugh, even though it’s a little wet. He’s trying to be here for you.

You know the second the case ends. Twenty minutes later, Spencer is back at your door. 

“I didn’t know if you’d still be here,” he says breathlessly, and you realize he must have rushed over as fast as possible. 

“We have stuff to talk about,” you shrug. 

The two of you sit on the bed and face each other. It’s silent for a long beat before either of you speak. 

“I miss you.” Spencer talks first. “Y/N. I think- I think you’re it for me. And it’s okay if you don’t want to be with me. I’ll respect it. But I want to try again.”

You make yourself keep looking at him. “I hurt you.”

He nods. “We hurt each other, I think. I’m not saying we don’t have things to work on. We do. But I’m not ready to let you go again.”

The day after you leave Spencer, your phone never stops ringing. He’s usually the one calling, but there’s a few from Morgan and Garcia, too. You don’t answer any of them, choosing instead to sit alone and cry so hard you throw up. 

When he kisses you for the first time in years, it feels familiar in the best possible way. He always kisses with his entire body, pressing up against you and framing your face with his hands. He holds you like you’re something special, like you’re a priceless treasure he’s protecting with his life. Tonight, you aren’t going to do anymore more than kiss. You’re both feeling vulnerable and uncertain, your second chance at a relationship newly established. You don’t need it to go any further, though. You already feel happy enough to burst at the seems. 

Now that you’re back together, you promise each other to be better about working through bad days together. Needless to say, you’re both prone to bad days. 

You haven’t officially moved back to the area yet, but you’ve been spending a lot of time there, thankful that you’re able to do a large portion of your job on your computer. 

“Y/N!” You hear him shout when he comes into his apartment. You suck in a breath, taking note of the panic that’s laced through his voice. You put your computer down, rushing out into the living room. He practically slams into you, pulling you into a hug and picking you up. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around him to keep your balance.

“Hey, hey,” you soothe. “What’s going on?”

“Family annihilator. I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop thinking about you and I just-”

Your blood chills and you both hold onto each other a little tighter. “I know, sweetheart.”

He carries you to the bed, where he gently lays you down before settling his body on top of yours. You press kisses to the skin you can reach until he relaxes. 

You fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

“I’m having a bad day,” you whisper into the phone. It’s a weekend that you’re home, even if its been feeling less like home lately. 

“What’s wrong, love?”

It’s hard to keep your voice from rising to a wail. “I don’t know.”

He tries to comfort you over the phone, but it’s only somewhat effective. When you two hang up, you’re still feeling weird and empty. He texts you periodically, making sure that you aren’t spiriling again and calling you the time you don’t answer him. 

The next morning, he surprises you by showing up at your apartment. He sweeps you into a hug, closing the door behind him and resting his chin on the top of your head. You feel yourself melt into his arms. “What are you doing here?” “You needed me,” he says, like it’s that simple. Maybe it is. “So I’m here.”

Two months later, you wake up next to him, running your fingers through his hair. It’s a fluffy disaster, making it a bit of a task to not get your hand tangled up in it. You’d hardly want him to wake up because you were yanking his hair out accidentally. 

He wakes up not long after you do, a smile already playing on his lips. “Morning,” he mumbles. 

“Hey.”

“I love you,” he whispers, taking your hand out of his hair and holding it. 

“Love you more,” you tell him, smiling when he shakes his head. 

Once you get to the park, you take her leash off, nudging her gently so that she'll run off. She bounds off, running to the biggest group of dogs. They welcome her gladly, all sniffing each other's butts. You scoff and find a bench to settle down on, pulling out the paperback you brought with you. It's easy to relax here, even if the dogs are loud and it smells a little strange. Bloom is happy, you're happy, and the sun is shining.

--

You start taking her every weekend. There are certain dogs she seems to get along with more, other regulars. Soon, you start matching dogs to people. One in particular stands out. He's absolutely gorgeous and you're pretty sure the dog that's obsessed with Bloom belongs to him, not that you've worked up the courage to go talk to him. You don't even know what you'd say. 

Of course, that changes the day said dog decides to tackle you to the ground. 

It's an accident. You know it is. The dog tries to go for Bloom, but a slip means she slams full force into you. 

"Oh," you groan, putting your hands above your head. Both dogs are trying to kick your face. 

"Roxy!" You hear a man shout. Before you know it, the dogs are replaced by the cute man you've been eyeing. "Are you okay?"

You nod, shifting your weight in an attempt to stand up. The man offers a hand, which you take gratefully. "Strong dog."

He laughs a little, but you can see concern on his face. "Yeah, Roxy's a tough girl. Are you sure you're okay? You went down pretty hard."

"I'm fine, promise," you laugh, running your hand through your hair. Bloom's pressed close to you, nosing at your leg. You scratch behind her ear. "I'm okay, girlie."

"What's her name?" 

"Bloom."

The man smiles. "This is Roxy."

"Hi, Roxy!" You pet her, leaning down to let her lick your face. "Please don't try to murder me again."

Before you can ask the man's name, his phone starts blaring. You've never heard a ringtone so loud, noting that a few other people looking over as he answers his phone. His face closes off as he answers. To you, he seems like a completely different guy in less than a second. 

"Okay, I'll be there ASAP," he says, hanging up. "Sorry," he looks back at you. "I have to run. Work. C'mon, girl."

And with that, the mysterious cute guy is gone. 

You go back to petting Bloom. "I'm turning into an old spinster," you whisper to her like you were sharing a big secret. She just licks your face. 

--

You don't see Roxy or her owner for almost two weeks. When they show back up, the man looks beyond exhausted, settling down on a bench and folding his legs under himself. In a moment of boldness, you go up to him. 

"Is it okay if I sit here?" You gesture to Bloom and Roxy, who have already found each other. "I should probably get to know you. Looks like our dogs are dating."

He startles, making a wave of guilt rush through you. You're a little reassured by the way his face brightens when he looks at you. "Of course."

"I didn't get your name last time."

"Oh! I'm Luke. You?"

"Y/N," you tell him, settling down on the bench. The two of you watch your dogs run around together. "Roxy seems like a sweetheart."

There's not a single person on planet earth that doesn't love it when you compliment their dog. Luke isn't any kind of exception. "She is! I'm glad you're not holding it against her that she slammed into you."

You shrug. "She saw Bloom and got excited. Happens. God knows Bloom has taken me out on more than one occasion."

"Roxy loves her. She isn't usually the most social dog on the planet, you know? Like father like daughter."

"You're both being pretty social right now," you point out, making him laugh.

"You got me there. Maybe you two are just special."

A blush spreads across your face. It's stupid, but you can't really help it. "Bloom is definitely special. Is it lame if my dog is my best friend?"

Luke shakes his head. "Nah Roxy's my best friend. Got her after I was discharged."

"Military?"

"I served in Iraq, yeah."

You whistle. "Damn."

Unexpectedly, his response makes you snort. Your brow furrows. "What?"

"People usually thank me for my service. I don't think I've heard "damn" before."

"Oh!" You feel like a bit of an idiot. "Oh, was that like, super insensitive of me?"

"It's kind of refreshing, honestly," he shrugs. "Maybe don't go around saying that to everyone who served, though."

"Noted."

--

Luke and Roxy disappear again. It's probably not a big deal, and you're definitely dramatic for worrying. It isn't like you know his schedule, so you don't actually know how much he goes to the park. You don't know anything about what he does outside of taking his dog here, either. Bloom always seems a little sad when Roxy's not around to play with. 

"Your girlfriend isn't here, huh?" You ask Bloom, letting her rest her head against your leg. She's getting tired, making you gather your stuff up to head back home. 

As you stand up, you hear a voice calling your name. Bloom goes sprinting off, suddenly getting a bunch of energy. You look over and make eye contact with Luke, who's walking towards you. 

"Hey!" You greet him. "Haven't seen you in a few days."

"Work." He looks between you and the bench you just vacated, his face doing something you can't quite place. "Are you leaving?"

"Bloom seemed sleepy, but I think Roxy showing up changed that."

The two of you settle down. "I don't even know what your job is."

Luke grimaces. "Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI."

You can feel your eyes widen. "Holy shit."

At least that makes him laugh. 

"You hunt serial killers, then? Sounds super safe and not at all time consuming."

You end up talking for a long time. It isn't until Bloom and Roxy come back to you that you notice the sun is starting to set. Luke looks just as startles as you. 

As you pack up your things, you feel a gentle hand land on your arm. "Hey," Luke says softly. "Is it okay if I ask for your number?"

You grin. 

--

Insomnia hits you hard a week later. It's been over two days since you've slept for more than an hour at a time. Bloom keeps whining, obviously aware that you weren't acting right. She settles down on the bed next to you, her head resting on your chest. 

"Sorry we can't go anywhere, sweetie," you whisper as you pet her. "I can barely even function enough to go to work."

She licks your face. 

--

As you're staring at the ceiling for the millionth hour, your phone starts vibrating on the table next to you. 

"Hello?" You answer without looking at the screen. 

"Y/N?" 

Oh shit. "Luke?"

He sounds nervous. "I hope it's okay that I'm calling. You just- Roxy misses Bloom."

"Too tired."

"What?"

You belatedly realize that you should probably try making sense. "Sorry. Insomnia is really bad. Too tired for the park."

"Aw, Y/N. Is there anything I can do to help?"

You shake your head no before actually saying the word into the phone. 

--

Bloom is ecstatic the next time you take her to the park. She drags you through the fence and you practically have to tackle her to get her leash off. 

"I would have offered to help, but you looked kind of cute." You look up to see a smiling Luke. He grabs your hand to help you straighten up. "You're a little dusty now."

You snort, brushing off your shirt. "I guess you were just here for moral support, then?"

He nods. His face sobers a bit, ducking his head so he can look you in the eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine."

"Come on. You sure?"

"Yeah. I got a full ten hours of sleep last night," you say, resisting the urge to wrap your arms around him and snuggle into his chest. You don’t know what's wrong with you. Before, you figured that as you got to know Luke, you'd lose interest. It's what usually happened when you started talking to a guy. You weren't sick of Luke, though. Actually, your heart was racing. 

His smile comes back. "Good! Roxy and I missed you guys."

--

You're asleep when the phone rings. "What the hell?" You ask, groggy. "It's like, 3am. The devil’s hour."

Whoever is on the other end pauses, the breaks out into laughter. It's a woman. "You didn't say she was funny!"

There's a rustle on the other end of the line, and you think you can hear the woman swear. "She has insomnia!" You can hear someone talking faintly in the background. Even if your brain is fuzzy, you can recognize Luke's voice. "You can't call her so late! Or at all!" Another pause, then his voice is louder. "Y/N, I'm so sorry about that."

"What's happening right now?"

"The team is out drinking. Garcia thought it'd be funny to grab my phone. No clue how she got my password."

"Why'd she call me?"

Luke sputters. You wish you could see his face. "I've just talked about you. And Bloom! They know Roxy made a friend."

More yelling in the background. The line disconnects shortly after, making you snort. 

You just go back to sleep. 

--

His face is bright red the next time you see him. Just like always, Bloom and Roxy go off on their own. You slide up next to Luke. 

"So," you start. "Were you hungover on Saturday?"

He groans. 

--

"You're limping!" You cry, running toward Luke and putting your hands on his shoulders. Roxy's at his side, so you unclip her before moving back to Luke. "What happened?"

"Hey, hey," he tries to soothe you, because he is a ridiculous man who is trying to comfort someone while he's injured. "It's just my leg."

"Sit down!"

You walk with him over to the nearest table, holding his hand as he gets himself situated. 

He doesn't let go of your hand like you thought he would. Instead, he squeezes it. "I got grazed. It'll be sore as hell for a few days, but I promise I'll be as good as new." He reaches forward with his free hand to brush the hair from your face. Your heart freezes, but he doesn't seem to notice. He just looks soft. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

"Not forgiven," you grumble. 

--

After you've known Luke for a couple months, you decide to start walking Bloom and Roxy together. 

"I think they're in love," you tell Luke, watching Roxy as she kisses Bloom. "I'll start getting ready for their wedding."

Luke snorts. "This is definitely the most attached Roxy's ever gotten to another dog."

"Same with Bloom."

It's nice, walking around with Luke. He's sweet, he's funny, and you can tell that he cares about you, even though you don't know if it's platonic or romantic. Either way, you know how you feel about him. It's almost enough to scare you off, but you've planted your feet in the ground next to him. You aren't going anywhere. 

"I don't really connect with people, either," Luke says suddenly, looking over at you. "So I'm glad that you met you, Y/N."

You feel warmth spread over you. "Oh. Thank you. You're not too bad, you know." You knock your shoulder against him, smiling when you manage to make him stumble. Luke is a sturdy guy. Huge muscles. You wonder how easily he could lift you, how easily he could envelop you. "How's your leg, by the way?"

"Good!" He nods. "It's all better by now."

Once the walk is over, you agree to his suggestion to do it next week, as long as Luke isn't on a case. 

--

"Should I ask him out?" You ask Bloom, who wags her tail in response. "Is that a yes? I don't speak dog. You're not being super helpful."

She just stares at you. 

--

Before you can ask Luke out, he asks you out while you're walking the dogs. 

"Hey, Y/N." You note that he sounds nervous, his usual demenor gone. "I have something I want to ask you."

"Yeah?"

After a moment of hesitation, he continues. "Do you want to go on a date with him?"