#margotober

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you said to JJ, who was getting out from her side of the booth to sit with Derek and Penelope. Presumably so you and Spencer could sit next to each other.

She waved you off and took her new seat. Spencer slid into the booth next to Emily, letting you have the end seat. Casually, your boyfriend put his arm around your shoulders, a casually intimate gesture that everyone at the table noticed but nobody addressed directly. “Are you okay?” Emily asked you, leaning over the table to see past Spencer.

Nodding, you propped your elbows up on the table and rested your chin in your hands. “She’s tired,” Spencer answered for you, squeezing your shoulders gently.

“Amen,” Derek said, tipping his head back in the booth and sighing.

You looked around a bit, noting that two prominent members of your party were missing, “Where’s mom and dad?”

JJ raised her eyebrows, “Hotch had to get home to Jack and Rossi claimed he wasn’t in the mood to drink poor man’s liquor.” Otherwise known as Dave-speak for he was going to drink some really old scotch, alone in his mansion.

Turning to Spencer, you nudged him gently, “I’m gonna go get a drink, do you want anything?” You shook off his arm when he declined your offer, gathering your bag and walking over to the bar. Waving at the bartender, he nodded at you in acknowledgment. While you waited, you glanced over your shoulder at Spencer. He was peeking around the booth seat, keeping a watchful eye on you.

After you placed your order and handed over your card, you leaned up against the bar, tipping your head back and perusing the different programs playing on the screens. It didn’t take long for someone else to notice your presence—two someone’s, in fact. “Look at that bod, man,” a man said from behind you, whistling softly. You could’ve brushed it off, pretended like they weren’t ogling you even though you had a pretty good hunch, but eventually, they described the way your jeans hugged your ass. They were right, but you wore these jeans so your boyfriend could ogle you, not some drunkards in a bar.

Tapping your heel against the floor impatiently, you were completely oblivious to the way all of your friends were watching the scene play out. The two men behind you making shapes with their hands that were meant to mimic your body, “I’m gonna go get her,” JJ said, pushing her glass away and starting to get up.

Before she could stand, one of the men made a motion like he was going to smack your ass, and Spencer stood up faster, practically jogging over to where you were waiting. “Hey, princess,” he greeted you, giving you warning that he was near before he slid his hand down your back, slipping his hand into your jean pocket and leaving it there.

That particular pet name was new, he’d spent the last several weeks trying out different variations—baby, honey, angel—and gauging your reactions to them. This one made you feel warm all over, sending blood pooling to your cheeks.

“Hey, man,” one of the guys tried to get Spencer’s attention.

You assumed Spencer wouldn’t be willing to give him the time of day, but you were surprised when he turned his head to face them. You stayed facing the bar, taking your lower lip between your teeth and giggling when Spencer pointedly squeezed your ass. “It’d be best if you just walked away,” he said pointedly, turning his attention back to you while you assumed they left.

Accepting your drink gratefully, you leaned over the bar to sign your receipt, and sighed, “That was hot.” You brought the glass to your lips, taking a sip from the straw and peering up at Spencer.

He groaned, quiet enough that only you could hear him, mostly rumblings that translated from his body into yours. “You have the eyes again,” he observed, moving his hands so they were stationed on either one of your hips, holding you possessively.

You lowered your glass and the corner of your mouth quirked up in amusement, “The fuck me eyes?”

Spencer rolled his eyes in response, “I still hate that you call them that, but yes.” He’d detested the phrase since the first time you used it three weeks ago, but he was completely silent when you asked if he had a better name for them.

Laying it on thick, you stuck your bottom lip out, “I can’t help it.”

“You need to before we go back to the table with all of our friends,” he said, he sounded serious, but his eyes were dancing with amusement, clearly pleased by the effect his heroics had on you.

You sighed, leaning into him so your bodies were flush with one another. “Spence, honey,” you started, “They know we’re having sex.”

He frowned suspiciously, “How much do they know, exactly?” He asked squeezing your hips.

Innocently, you took another sip of your drink. “What happens at girls’ night, stays at girls’ night,” you reminded him. The only exception to this being whatever Garcia decided to disclose to Derek the next morning.

“How about what happens in our bed, stays in our bed?” Spencer offered, now using his thumbs to rub nauseating circles over your hips.

Grinning impishly, you hummed curiously, “What about the couch?” You asked meddlesomely, “Or the shower? Your office chair? The kitchen counter?”

Your breathing hitched when he dropped his lips to your ear, “What don’t they know?”

“Most things,” you assured him, “Promise.” You weren’t one to kiss and tell, but you were one to kiss and gush about how phenomenal it was. They knew about what he gave, just not how he gave it. Some things were sacred.

“Uh huh,” he responded like he didn’t really believe you, but, nonetheless, he took your free hand in his and escorted you back to the booth. Pink flooding his cheeks when he was met with a round of applause by the rest of the team.

Garcia was clapping most enthusiastically, clearly enthralled by your relationship. “Very well done,” she praised him.

You faltered slightly when Spencer had you slide into the booth seat first, keeping you tucked inside while he sat on the outside. Moving on from the show the two of you’d just put on, the team continued their previous conversation.

Leisurely, Spencer joined the discussion, slipping his hand between your legs and splaying his hand over the inside of your thigh. Everyone noticed, but only one of them said anything about it.

Emily leaned over to whisper in your ear, “I’ll leave in about fifteen minutes, so it’s not obvious when you turn in too.”

Derek nudged at him, “C’mon man. Don’t you want to talk about her? How did you meet?”

Smiling fondly at the memory, Spencer turned away from his computer and faced his friend, “It’s actually kind of a funny story. We met on the metro a few weeks ago,” Spencer recalled.

“A few weeks?” Derek asked with mock incredulity, “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Not really, Spencer thought to himself, he was just enjoying his time with you. Spending time with you was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. It was always just so easy with you. He told Derek your name, the beauty of it dripping from his tongue as his teammate nodded with approval. “She was running late for work, and she had so many things in her arms that I gave her my seat,” he explained, trying to contain his smile.

Morgan nodded in approval, “A gentleman.” He winked as if to say, I taught him everything he knows.

“Once she caught her breath, she pulled a book out from her purse and started reading,” Spencer said, standing up when Hotch told them they were good to head out for the night.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Derek grinned, “What book was it?”

Spencer glared at him while they waited for the elevator, “I’m getting there.” Really, the opportunity to tell Morgan about a girl he met was rare—it usually was the other way around. “I had my book out already, so I looked down at hers,” he continued. Initially, he just wanted to apprise your taste, but he discovered something even more interesting, “We were reading the same book.”

Derek just stared, dumbfounded, “Like… the exact same book?”

Nodding in excitement, Spencer watched as the elevator numbers went down, “Same edition and everything.” His smile hadn’t faded the whole time they were talking, “Do you want to guess the book?”

“And face your scrutiny? No thanks,” Derek said, pulling the keys to his truck out of his bag while they exited the elevator.

Spencer buzzed with excitement, “Le comte de Monte-Cristo.” He noticed Derek’s confused look, “It’s The Count of Monte Cristo in the original French.”

Morgan’s expression said it all, he was fully appalled. “You were both reading the book in French?”

“That’s not even the best part,” Spencer said, nearly laughing at the shock on Derek’s face, “When I looked over at her book, I noticed we had both just finished the betrothal feast.”

Stopping in his tracks, Derek looked at Spencer with the same wide eyes, “You were at the same place in the book?”

“Same page,” Spencer confirmed.

Derek shook his head in disbelief, “Just tell me you didn’t say something stupid like ‘Looks like we’re on the same page.’”

His smile faltered, eyes flittering around and laughing nervously, “No, I wouldn’t have said that.”

“Kid,” Morgan said, clearly not believing the lie the moment it came out of his mouth. He shook his head, “You can’t just say stuff like that to women.” He started his lecture, “Listen, we’ll go out this weekend, I’ll find you a honey to talk to.”

Spencer shrugged, walking past Derek’s truck and continuing through, “I’m good, actually. My methods worked perfectly fine,” he said, walking to where you were standing.

You leaned against your car, smiling at the sight of Spencer in front of you. “Hey, is that Derek?” You asked, staring at the man who was staring at the two of you, unmoving.

Glancing over his shoulder, Spencer nodded, “Yeah.”

“Why is he staring?” You asked nervously, accepting Spencer’s hug when he opened an arm for you. Waving apprehensively, you sighed in relief when he waved back from his truck.

Humming, Spencer dropped his bag in the backseat of your car, “Maybe he’s entranced by how pretty you are. I know that usually gets me.”

Your cheeks warmed at his compliment, “Did you tell him the story?”

“Yeah,” he responded, stealing a kiss from you before you got behind the wheel, “I’m still not sure what’s so unbelievable about it.”

The cool nighttime covered the bloodshot appearance of your eyes, but as you faced him, you sniffled, giving yourself away. He wondered if you came out here to cry in peace, and now he was disturbing you. For a moment, he considered leaving you be, but before long, he decided he didn’t want you to be alone right now. “It’s good to see you,” he told you, leaning his cane against the bench and walking in front of it, holding out a hand to help you down.

“Despite the circumstances, right?” You grumbled like it was something people had been telling you a lot today. Discussions about how it’s been too long and that they’re sorry it had to be like this.

Instead of agreeing, Spencer shook his head. “No, including the circumstances,” he corrected you, gripping your hand tightly when you dropped unceremoniously from your perch, once again leaving him with the height advantage. “I’m glad I got to see you, especially today,” he said, “I haven’t, until now.”

You nodded, sitting on the bench so you could pull your heels back on. “I’ve been hanging back with my grandpa. He’s pretty uh… pissed off at my dad right now, so I made a deal with Aunt Jess,” you explained. “I’ve got grandpa, she’s got dad and Jack,” you told him the details of your arrangement.

Spencer took a seat next to you, turning and resting an elbow on the back of the bench so he could get a better look at you. Who has you? He’d wanted to ask, wondering if you’d acknowledge your own grief or if you were too preoccupied with helping everyone else that you forgot to help yourself. You’d always been that way—a bit too magnanimous—it was why you’d make a great doctor someday. “It was a beautiful service,” he offered, searching his brain for normal things to tell someone who had just lost their mother.

Humming, you leaned back and looked at the stars, swallowing thickly while you waited for words to come back to you. “Right, and then we all just have to move on,” you said bitterly. “Continue on with our lives like business as usual,” the idea seemed like a foreign concept to you. He supposed it was, living in a world that your mom was no longer a part of.

He waited in silence for a moment, “And what about you?” He asked tentatively, “Are you gonna go back to school?” Part of him was nervous to hear your answer, wondering if you’d given up on your dream in the last several months. It was late autumn, and you’d needed to leave early in the semester, but there might be time for you to register for the spring.

“Probably not,” you answered a little too easily for his liking. “Med schools aren’t usually very forgiving when it comes to abrupt leaves of absence,” you tried to explain your decision, but it seemed to him like you were trying to weasel your way out with administrative excuses.

Spencer raised his eyebrows inquisitively, “I think you might have what they’d consider an extenuating circumstance.” In his experience, most people who hear the term WITSEC squirm in their seats before complying.

You were quiet in response, crossing your arms in front of your abdomen. He wondered if you were cold but knew you wouldn’t complain.

“Come on,” he nudged you gently. “We’ll get you a letter from your marshal, maybe one from Morgan,” he suggested, surely hearing from a U.S. marshal and the acting BAU unit chief would hold some weight, even in a medical school administrator’s office.

You looked over at him, eyes nearly glowing in the moonlight, “At the very least, they’ll feel so bad for me that they have to let me come back.”

Spencer nodded, “Exactly.”

Really, he wasn’t entirely sure if you were really considering it or just humoring him, but he’d remember. He’d call you on Monday and ask if you were going to call the office, maybe see if you needed help composing an email, but for a moment, his concern washed away because there was a smile on your face. Your shoulders shook slightly as you tried to choke down soft laughter.

Then your smile was gone as quickly as it appeared, you looked back at the house, remembering where you were—remembering why you were there. “I think Dave’s looking for you,” you said, your voice returning to the solemnity it’d had when he first approached.

Looking over his shoulder, Spencer saw Rossi looking over at the pond. Sure enough, Rossi nodded his head backwards, signaling to him that he needed to come back into the house. “Do you wanna come back with me?” Spencer offered to you, “Have you eaten anything?”

Without even thinking about it, you shook your head, “No thanks, I’m just gonna sit out here for a little while longer.”

He knew better than to try to convince you otherwise, so he got up, gathering his cane and making his way back to where the BAU was starting to gather. Once he was within earshot, Rossi asked if that had been you out there. “Yeah, she was alone, so I thought I’d check in,” Spencer said, sighing once he reached the top of the stairs.

Rossi looked shocked, “She talked to you?” His tone was incredulous in a way that Spencer found a tad dramatic.

Shrugging, Spencer looked back at you, heels once again in your hand, pacing along the seat of the bench. “She always talks to me,” he said as if that were an explanation enough. The two of you weren’t best friends, but you called occasionally. You always stopped by his desk when you were visiting Quantico.

But Dave still looked shocked, shaking his head in disbelief, “Hotch said she hasn’t talked since…” His voice trailed off, his profiler’s mind beginning to draw the same connection as Spencer’s. “Well, it’s good that she talked to you,” he concluded.

Given the notion that you weren’t on speaking terms with your father, Spencer wanted to return to you, wanted to hear your voice again before you went back to your dad’s apartment and went quiet again, but there was a case. He had to go, had to leave you behind.

Your name wasn’t mentioned again until the jet was in the air. As soon as Derek had finished telling the team that even though their thoughts were with Hotch, they still needed to focus on the case, Rossi pulled Spencer aside, crossing in front of JJ and bringing him back to the galley. “I want you to ignore everything Morgan just said to you,” Dave instructed him easily.

Derek slipped past the curtain that separated the galley from the rest of the jet, crossing his arms in front of his chest, ever authoritative.

“What are you talking about?” Spencer asked, tapping the hand that held his cane against his thigh nervously, wondering if he had somehow done something wrong. “You don’t want me to work this case?”

The acting unit chief shook his head, “No, kid. We have a different job for you.” Leaning casually against the counter, Derek looked between Dave and him, “Rossi told me you talked with Hotch’s daughter before we left. He also told me that’s the first time she’s really talked to someone since Haley’s death.”

Spencer nodded apprehensively, resting most of his weight on his good leg, “Yeah, we just talked about school, really. I asked if she was planning on going back.” He was still confused, but wanted to help you, no matter what it took. “What do I need to do?”

“Text her when we land, tell her the case is an open and shut, and we were only called in because the locals were looking bad,” Rossi ordered him. His tone was serious, as if this were life or death. “Tell her she can call you whenever she needs someone to talk to, even if she doesn’t think it’s a big deal or she doesn’t think it’s important, tell her to call you.”

Doubtful that this plan was going to work, Spencer opened his mouth to question it, but Derek spoke before he could. “Listen, she won’t talk to anyone else. Hotch said she hadn’t spoken a word to him, and she only talks to Jack when he isn’t around,” Derek explained. “You’ll always be with someone, working the case like you normally would, but if your phone rings, she has to take priority.”

Quickly, it clicked in his head, the fact that these two were running around trying to connect the two of you together. It was something he’d wanted to ask at the wake, when you were talking about being with your grandfather. Everyone else had different priorities. Your dad was invested in Jack, your aunt was invested in your dad, and the rest of the BAU had up and left the moment they got called away. Someone needed to prioritize you, and for better or for worse, you’d decided to let Spencer in. He nodded in agreement, “Yeah, I’ve got her.”

Rossi glared at Spencer, looking at him as if I’ve got her wasn’t sufficient enough for the old man. “You’d better,” Dave spoke it like a threat, and if there was ever a moment Spencer would forget he’s known you for your entire life, it certainly wouldn’t be now.

He followed through on his promise, sending you a text once the plane landed. There was plenty of time to type it out while Rossi fought with the GPS.

Spencer Reid: Hey, just wanted to reach out. We landed in Nashville, and the case seems to be an open and shut. If you wanted to text or call, I’ll be around to answer. For anything.

His phone beeped when he pressed send, rereading the message repeatedly to look for typographical errors before JJ nudged him with her elbow. “What are you looking at?”

Flipping the phone screen side down, he leaned back in his seat, “Nothing, just checking for messages.”

She didn’t believe him, but she also didn’t push for more information, humming while she turned back to her phone. He didn’t concern himself with his phone again until he was in the precinct, and it went off. As previously discussed, he peeled away from the group, checking his phone to see a text from you.

You: open and shut case but they called u in?

Beside himself, he smiled at your texting lingo, typing a quick message back.

Spencer Reid: The lead detective is worried about press optics; they’re trying to save face.

You didn’t respond to him immediately, but he hoped that it was a good thing. He hoped it just meant you didn’t need someone to lean on at this exact moment, not that you wouldn’t reach out when you did need him.

He returned to the team, Rossi giving him an appraising look, “All good?”

Spencer’s head bobbed in confirmation, “She’s alright.” You’d texted him back at least, and he’d take his wins even in small doses.

In fact, you were so alright that he didn’t hear from you again until he was in his hotel room for the night. Everyone was tired and a little irritable, so Morgan had everyone go to get some rest and get back to the case in the morning.

He’d just gotten out of the shower when his phone started to ring, the chime he’d specially assigned to you ringing through the thin walls of the hotel when he scrambled to answer it. “Hey,” he greeted you immediately, making sure he didn’t miss your call—lest he incur the fury of David Rossi. You didn’t respond, so he checked his phone to make sure he hadn’t declined it on accident. “Hello?” He tried again, this time more unsure.

“Hi,” you greeted softly, sniffling into the phone a bit. “I’m sorry to call so late, it’s just… You said I could call, and I was thinking, so I was wondering if you were around, and I figured I’d just… call.”

Spencer nodded in understanding, even though you couldn’t see him. “It’s okay, you can always call me,” he repeated his offer that he’d texted you. Your rambling had caught him off guard, so endearing that it brought a smile to his face. “How are you doing?” His question was gentle, not wanting to put any pressure on you to talk about things you weren’t ready to speak aloud.

You hummed, “I’m tired,” you whispered through the phone. “I drove up to my apartment today,” you told him. “Everything’s covered in a layer of dust,” he could imagine you talking right now, crinkling your nose in disgust. “So, I’ve been cleaning. My bedding is still in the wash.”

“You drove back to Baltimore?” He asked, surprised that you’d leave so soon, wondering if something had driven you away or if you were just ready for something different.

Your end of the call was quiet; this time, he wondered if the call had dropped. You took a moment before responding, “Yeah. Jack wanted to watch home videos before bed, and it turns out it was too much for me.”

He paused for a moment, not entirely sure how to respond. “Were they hard to watch?”

“It wasn’t so much about seeing her as it was about the fact that it was a reminder that I don’t have any to remember her by,” you replied, misery creeping into your tone. “They were just so young when I was born. My dad was in school, and my mom was all I had all day; they didn’t really make any home videos.” You took a deep, shuddering breath, “I’m sorry. I’ve never talked to anyone about this before.”

Spencer sat down on the ledge of the hotel bed. “You can talk to me about anything.”

There was that familiar silence, but this time he just waited for you to speak again, knowing you needed time. “Will you tell me about him?”

“About whom?” Spencer asked, setting the hotel alarm clock while keeping the phone secure to his ear.

“George Foyet,” you whispered, the name sending goosebumps along his skin. “It’s just, I know my mom’s marshal told her everything about him for safety reasons, but mine didn’t tell me anything about him because he thought he was protecting me.” You rambled again, “I know it’s probably like… something you’re not supposed to talk about, but this is someone who wouldn’t have hesitated to kill me or my brother.” All of your words were painful reminders. He knew, of course, he knew, but he couldn’t. “He tried to kill my dad, and he… he killed my mom.”

You were fully crying now, full heaving sobs that made Spencer’s chest ache. It hurt even more to answer you, “I can’t.” He bowed his head in shame, “I will, eventually, but I can’t—not now.” Not while you were alone in your apartment that he’d never seen, “I’ll come see you when we get back.” This was a promise, even if he never said the word specifically: “It’s a long story, honey, and it’s not something you should be by yourself for.”

The pet name had slipped from his tongue easily, maybe too easily, but he hoped you hadn’t heard it. Maybe one of your sobs had covered it up, maybe you’d never have to mention it again. “Okay,” you mumbled sadly, shuffling where he assumed you were now lying on your couch.

“I’m sorry,” he told you, lying back on the hotel pillows, the papery pillowcases rustling through the receiver.

You hummed on the other end of the call, but through your tears, it sounded more like a whimper. “’s okay, Spence,” you mumbled his nickname sleepily, and he had to pretend he didn’t love hearing it from you. After a beat of silence, you murmured again, “Can you do me a favor?”

He looked up at the ceiling, nothing but the bedside lamp illuminating the hotel room, “Name it.”

“Don’t hang up,” you told him, fear creeping into your voice.

It’s been a long time since you slept in your apartment alone, and if you just wanted someone to sit on the phone with you, then he’d be more than happy to. “I’m not going anywhere,” he assured you, resting back on the bed. He listened to you, hearing the moment your breathing evened out, and you had fallen asleep. Once you were out, he felt alright doing the same, turning out the lamp and finally closing his eyes.

The rest of his time in Nashville, the two of you repeated the same routine, texting through the day and calling at night. His heart broke for you every night, listening to you cry yourself to sleep, sometimes because you missed your mother, sometimes because you were having conflicting feelings about your father.

When he got back to his apartment in the district, the first thing he did was call you. You’d finally gone to the administration at your school and put in an appeal, members of the team were writing letters to be presented, and last night Spencer helped you pick an outfit to wear to the committee hearing. Really, he’d hummed and nodded while you chose an outfit, pretending he knew exactly what you were talking about while you went through your closet.

“Hey,” You greeted him, something clearly bothering you even as you tried to front with a sunny demeanor. “How was the flight back?”

He hummed, setting his bag down on the kitchen table so he could unpack it. “It wasn’t so bad,” he said. The flight was on the quicker side. “How are you doing?”

It was always the first question he asked you, just a courteous check-in for your phone calls, but it always seemed to catch you off guard, like it was the first time you’d really thought about it that day. “I talked to my dad,” you told him. “He asked if I’d come down to see him and Jack for dinner tomorrow,” you continued.

“Are you gonna go?” He asked, leaning against the table and giving you his full attention.

You sighed, “I don’t know.” He heard a rustling on the other end of the call, a grocery bag maybe, “I haven’t seen Jack since the funeral, so I should probably go.”

Spencer nodded, thinking about what to say, “But then you’d have to see your dad.” It was something he’d gotten over easily, referring to him as your dad instead of Hotch. To him, they were entirely different people. Who he was as a father was entirely different than who he was as a boss.

“Right,” you confirmed. “I’m just… Can I ask you something?”

Freezing, Spencer hesitated for a moment before answering, “What is it?” He was nervous, knowing your last question had been if he’d tell you about the man who murdered your mother.

“If…” you paused, “If he’d done anything differently…?” Your voice trailed off again, unable to get the question out.

Solemnly, Spencer shook his head, “It wouldn’t have saved her.”

You seemed to struggle with this answer, looking for him to say something different, something to confirm your suspicions about your mother’s death, “What about the deal?”

He sat in one of his kitchen chairs, “Well… I don’t want to assume anything.”

“I’m asking you to,” you prodded, desperate for an answer.

Swallowing thickly, Spencer answered your question, “I think it still would’ve driven a wedge between your parents. I’m not sure Foyet had the control to make that deal twice, and the fact that your dad didn’t gave your mom a little more time.”

You were silent, absorbing the reply before speaking again, “Time with Jack.” Your response was painful, but true. You’d been placed somewhere else with your marshal, away from your family, away from everyone and everything you knew. The last day you’d seen your mother was in the hospital after your dad had been attacked. “I didn’t get anything else,” you said mournfully.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer whispered, tracing the woodgrain of the table with his fingertips.

You sniffled, “It’s okay. It’s just… I’m just gonna go to bed, Spence,” you said, pushing him away when he wanted nothing more than to help you.

“Honey,” he tried to say, but his phone beeped, and you’d already hung up the phone.

He set the phone down, making sure his ringer was all the way up in case you decided to call him back. Sitting on his couch, he stared at the phone, still and silent, while he practically willed it to ring. To chirp with a text message from you. He’d take anything at this point.

Spencer worried you weren’t going to bed; it was only seven, and you’d been going to sleep later and later these days. He worried you were lying in your bed, grief-stricken and alone, skipping dinner and falling asleep hungry because you couldn’t feel anything except for your loss.

Eventually, it became too much for him, grabbing his rarely used car keys from the hook and leaving his apartment behind. He knew your address from years of hearing it tossed around the office, and he drove to Baltimore, not even sure you’d open the door for him.

You lived in a nice apartment complex, and he was able to sneak in behind someone, thanking them when they held the door open for him. He made his way up to the fourth floor, finding your door and knocking on it apprehensively.

There was a groan on the other side of the door, like you’d rather do anything other than get up and open the door for a stranger. You must not have peeked through the door to see who it was, because when you opened the door to display Spencer, your jaw dropped. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” he admitted. “I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he added, sighing in relief when you let him in.

You were still looking at him in awe, “Thank you.” Your eyes filled with tears, like the sight of a friendly face was more than welcome to you. Surprising him, you walked to him, putting your arms around him and resting your face on his chest. “Thank you,” you repeated tearfully.

Spencer reciprocated the hug, pulling you tightly against his chest while you cried. He ushered you over to your couch, getting you to sit down, but neither of you wanted to let go, and you practically fell on top of him. His chest burned with a mix of happiness and sympathy. He was so glad to finally be with you, after so long of just talking on the phone, but, god, you were in so much pain. “It’s okay,” he consoled you, “I’ve got you.”

Nodding into his shirt, you lifted your head and looked at him. He was absentmindedly dragging his cold fingertips over your hairline. “Spence?” You asked him after a while, interrupting the gentle peace that had filled your apartment.

“Yeah?” He responded, looking down at you, meeting your curious eyes. He was prepared for you to ask something about your mother again, seeking details about her death.

The corner of your mouth quirked up in amusement before you asked, “Have you always had a crush on me?”

His breathing hitched as your question took him by surprise. “I’m not– I don’t– what?” He stammered, his ministrations faltering at your temple.

You smiled now, an impish grin, while you nodded, “Yeah… yeah, you do.”

Admittedly, he did find himself very fond of you, but even so, he wanted to wait to talk to you about it. There were other things on your mind, other people you needed to worry about. “Okay,” he acquiesced, “Who wouldn’t?”

“You’re sweet,” you murmured, going back to rest your head on his chest. It was natural, like this wasn’t the first time you’d found yourselves together like this. “We can talk about it, you know,” you whispered, slightly less sure of yourself. “Because it’s… I do too, and you’ve been so good to me, but I’m just… I can’t right now.”

He nodded in understanding, “That’s okay.” His voice was a low rumble, gentle in a way that was now reserved for you, “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m scared,” you whispered. “Of falling in love with you,” you admitted. “I’m scared of starting something with you and having it turn out like my parents,” you told him.

Spencer shushed you gently, pressing a small, tentative kiss to the crown of your head before you melted into him. “We’ll talk about it,” he assured you. “Just let yourself rest for now, okay? There’s plenty of time.”

“I know,” he assured you. “I just wanted to make sure no one had said anything. You didn’t answer your cell phone when I called.” He sounded nervous but didn’t clue you in to what was fueling his anxiety.

A quick glance around the lab told you that you’d left it in your office this morning, because you remembered having it in the car on your way to work. “I’m in the lab,” you told him, knowing he’d probably called your lab phone with a slightly elevated heart rate—concern that was only ever reserved for you.

Someone cleared their throat on the other line, and you realized Spencer wasn’t alone. “Are you busy?”

“Not too busy for the BAU,” you told him, knowing that was the only reason he’d have you on speakerphone during an active case.

Eventually, someone else spoke up. “Hey, girl genius,” Derek said in his usual smooth tone. “How high would a university faculty member need to rank in order to have access to sarin?”

Your mouth went dry. Tamping down your imagination before it ran entirely wild, you tried to maintain your focus. “Strictly speaking? Not very high. Sarin’s an organophosphorus compound and an irreversible inhibitor of acetylcholinesterase-“

“Hey, English for us common folk, please,” Rossi interrupted, stopping you from going off on a tangent in what might as well be an entirely different language.

An unfamiliar voice spoke next, “How on earth did you find two of them?”

Cheeks burning, you heard JJ explain that you were Spencer’s fiancé before you continued speaking. “It’s a compound. Made up of phosphorus, fluorine, a methyl group, and an isopropoxy group, all of which are relatively accessible in most labs. It’s not about what’s in it, it’s the compounding of each component that turns it into sarin.”

“So, it’s not difficult to make?” Hotch asked you over the phone, his tone verging on frustration that you were rarely privy to. Spencer tried his best to keep his work away from you, exactly how you wanted it.

You sighed, “No, it’s not. The difficulty comes in transport and storage. Usually, it’s kept as what’s called a binary weapon, meaning it’s kept in two parts that, when combined, make sarin. We don’t keep it in the lab, but I’ve made it before.”

“Do any labs keep it around?” The stranger’s voice asked.

Racking your brain for anything you’d heard through the rumor mill, you shrugged. “Military labs, probably,” you said. “It’s highly regulated; you have to go through all kinds of paperwork to use it for research purposes. If you don’t have the proper approvals, you’re probably committing a war crime.”

The guy cleared his throat, “Is there another person we could ask?”

“No,” Spencer answered for you. “If you’re looking for an expert in chemical warfare, she’s the best in her field.”

You smiled softly at the compliment, “I’m also not someone you have to worry about blabbing to the media.”

“She’s our favorite consultant for all things chemistry related,” Derek said, and you imagined him winking at Spencer, tormenting him.

Humming, the rest of the team said goodbye to you, and you were just left with Spencer. “Am I still on speaker?”

There was a shuffling on the other side before you heard his voice again, “Not anymore. Are you okay?”

You knew he was specifically thinking of another time he’d asked for your help with a case. It’d thrown you into such a funk that the two of you made a deal. You were only available to help with problems that were strictly chemistry-related, and Spencer would only tell you surface-level case information. “Yeah,” you whispered, throat dry. “Spence, you’re being careful, right?” You looked down at your left hand, engagement ring sparkling under the fluorescent light of the lab.

Spencer sighed, trying to think of an answer that would comfort you, “Have I ever not come home to you?”

Laughing humorlessly, you rolled your eyes. “Is that really the yardstick you want to be using?” In the five years you’ve been together, there have been many injuries, the worst of which was a bullet to the neck. Not to mention the shot to the knee and anthrax poisoning that you’d been told about after the fact—on your third date.

“We’re being safe, my love,” he told you, keeping his voice down to avoid being teased for his affection toward you.

You tried to take a deep breath, but there was still a pit in your chest. “And the reason you called me for help with a question you already knew the answer to…?”

He hummed in amusement, knowing he’d been caught. “I miss you,” his voice was gentle, so much so that you wondered how such a gentle person could do such a horrific job. Though you supposed that’s part of why you worked so well together.

“I miss you too,” you whispered, though there were no prying eyes around you. “I love you,” you added for good measure.

“I love you too,” he responded in kind. “I have to go, stay away from the news, okay, baby?”

His tone didn’t exactly instill confidence in you, but still, you replied, “Yeah, promise.” And after a hesitant beat, the call ended.

He rarely got angry with you—the world, yes—but he’d only snapped at you once the whole time you were together. “What were you thinking?” He asked you, a lowness to it that didn’t seem angry.

You glared at him, still maintaining a few feet of distance. “You could’ve knocked,” you told him, crossing your arms in front of your chest and resting most of your weight on one leg, bending your knee slightly while you stared him down.

“It’s my apartment,” he shot back, stepping towards you as if to say Why would I knock to enter my apartment?

Backing up slightly, your legs hit the edge of his mattress, nearly falling on your back before you huffed at him. “And I’m your girlfriend.” Your gaze softened when he was right in front of you, peering down at you from his advantageous height. “So,” you swallowed thickly, “Why wouldn’t I show off my underwear in your apartment?”

Spencer’s eyebrows raised curiously, planting both hands firmly on your waist, holding you in place. “So,” he echoed you, “You agree—you were showing off.”

Your lips parted in surprise, “I- Oh.” You stammered, Spencer now pressing his body flush with yours, and he pushed at your shoulder with one hand. There was very little force behind his action, but you let yourself fall to the mattress anyway.

With your back on the mattress, you instinctively lifted your legs from the floor. Finally, you knew what he was getting at, pressed up against you, you could feel his hard length pressed against your clothed core. The look in his eyes was jealous, the same look you saw when other people came to flirt with you—multiplied tenfold. “Spreading yourself out on my couch, waiting for me to come home and fuck you. Is that what you wanted, baby?”

Boldly, you shook your head, looking up at him from your place on the mattress, “Was just thinking of using my hands.” You lied through your teeth, “Easier that way. Better too.”

His head tipped to the side, rubbing the insides of your thighs in a way that made your head spin. “Oh, do you really expect me to believe that?” His fingers slipped under the lace fabric of your panties. “You soaked through these.” His fingertips skimmed over your folds, gathering your slick while you tried to compose yourself. He couldn’t win, not yet anyway.

You nodded, “Waiting in here thinking about your friend, I thought- fuck!” The curse was broken from your throat, having egged Spencer on so much that he thrust two fingers into your hole, starting at a relentless pace and not letting up on you.

“I was thinking about you all day. That’s why I called when you got out of class, I wanted you to be waiting for me when I got him, but I didn’t expect you to be so eager,” he said, resting his free hand on your stomach while he fucked you with his hand. “Then again, you’ve always been so good for me,” he mused, pushing down on your stomach when you arched your back off the mattress. “Always ready for me when I need you, aren’t you, baby?”

There were no words coming from your mouth, only breathless moans as you nodded, gasping when he lifted your leg over his shoulder. He pried you open with his body, giving him a better angle to continue thrusting his fingers in your pussy. Your clit begged for attention while he pointedly ignored it, being careful not to even graze the sensitive nub. You wouldn’t plead with him, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being right—Spencer got enough of that from his day job.

He hummed, “Oh, you’re so close.” His voice was almost a coo, one hand still holding you flat on the mattress while you craved more contact, wanting to kiss him. “You’re gonna come from just my fingers, aren’t you? So needy for me that you just need these to get you off.”

Your hands scrambled for something to hold on to, grabbing at his wrist with one hand and bunching the sheets in the other. The knot in your stomach felt impossibly taut while his pace refused to cease, your nails digging crescent moons in his skin while your toes curled on either side. “Spence,” you cried his name as you came, tears springing in your eyes when his hand fucked you through your orgasm. “Ah,” you whimpered through overstimulation, trying to squirm away from him before he withdrew his fingers suddenly, leaving your walls clenching around nothing while you waited for his next move.

Spencer pulled at the fabric of your underwear, snapping the lace against your sensitive cunt and watching you yelp at the sting. “Was that just as good as your own fingers, baby?”

Refusing to give in, you nodded, though at this point, you both knew you were full of shit. “Yeah, that’s light stuff,” you said breathlessly, knowing you were in for a long night. He wouldn’t have ignored your clit like that if you were one and done.

As you expected, he climbed onto the bed, dragging you around on the mattress, eliciting a yelp as he practically tossed you to the head of the bed. “Come here, then,” he said, covering your body with his and craning his neck down to kiss you. It was immediately messy, no room for deterioration, as he started with nipping at your bottom lip, dragging his lips along your jawline, sucking lightly at the soft skin before he made his way down your neck, soft as he went down the column of your throat, but aggressive once he reached your collarbone.

Your hips instinctively lifted from the mattress while he sucked on your skin, pulling the collar of your t-shirt down so he could have better access. Eventually, he sat up, lifting you with him so he could whip the cotton from your body, flinging it somewhere across the room.

His pupils were impossibly large, hypnotically dilated as he looked at your body. Every time was like the first with him, admiring the swell of your breasts, the way your nipples hardened when they hit the air. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Pretty,” his voice was so gentle now, genuinely taken aback by the sight of you, “Pretty girl.”

Spencer ducked his head again, reattaching his lips to your bare skin with a bigger canvas now. You gasped at the sensation of his lips on your breasts, taking one nipple in his mouth and bringing his hand up to give attention to the other one. While his tongue soothed the ripples of one, he rolled the other between his index finger and his thumb, tugging at it lightly before he moved his mouth to the rest of your chest. Both hands palmed your breasts, massaging them while his mouth sucked and pulled at your supple skin.

Horrified, your hips bucked up again, realizing the pleasure he was giving your chest was going straight to your core. “Spence,” you moaned, your head tipping back while you gasped for air, “I’m gonna…”

He hummed against you, the vibrations causing your cunt to clench while he clearly wanted to encourage your orgasm. Sucking on your breasts, he left them littered with marks that would serve as a reminder of him for days to come.

“Oh, god,” you gasped, crying out as your orgasm knocked the air from your lungs. You gasped for air while your fingers tugged at Spencer’s hair. You were beside yourself while you came around nothing, stimulated on your chest while your pussy searched for something to bear down on.

Spencer pulled away from your chest, moving up to kiss your lips again while you tried to catch your breath. You gasped against his lips, moving your head like you were chasing something.

No matter how it seemed, Spencer loved you, and he wasn’t cruel. His kisses went from deep and sensual to little pecks all over your face. He played until there was a small smile on your face and your breathing had evened out, but once you settled, his kisses continued, travelling between the valley of your breasts and past your navel before he finally reached your panties. The very thing that had gotten you in all this trouble in the first place, he dragged his tongue along the elastic band, causing goosebumps to ripple over your exposed skin.

He didn’t wait for you to lift your hips before tugging your underwear off, tearing them from your body, and leaving your wet heat exposed to the cool air. Usually, he’d work his way up to this, but he licked his lips while staring. Just that look alone almost pulled a moan from your chest. Spencer dipped his head, lying between your thighs while he separated your lips with an almost clinical curiosity, inspecting your cunt. He admired the swell of your clit, knowing he’d made it that needy, and before you could think about it, he dropped his lips to your core.

With a practiced familiarity, your thighs easily slung themselves over his shoulders, and his arms wrapped around you. He licked you, eating you out like it was something new to him instead of something he asked for. Your heat burned with sensitivity, knowing that at this point, it would just get easier and easier for him to string your orgasms together. He cleaned you up with his mouth, lips encircling your hole while he drank up your wetness.

Once you were moaning breathlessly beneath him, his lips travelled up, his tongue gently flicking at your neglected clit while his grip on your thighs tightened. Your body’s instincts were telling you to pull away, but Spencer held you in place while your thighs shook with effort.

While he licked your clit, your breath hitched when he moved one of his arms from your thigh, positioning his fingers back where they belonged at your entrance. “Shit,” you cried when his two fingers entered you, a much more languid pace than you’d started with, but that didn’t stop that all too familiar knot from forming in your belly.

He moaned against you, the vibrations rippling through your body so quickly they almost choked you. Spencer closed his mouth around your clit, sucking harder while his fingers curled inside of you. The pads of his fingers swiped gently over your gummy walls before straightening out so they grazed the spot inside of you that made you see stars.

You were being pulled impossibly taut, eventually hoping your orgasm would hit because your eyes were already rolling into the back of your head, being slowly driven insane by the sounds coming from Spencer. The squelching of your pussy was impossibly loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. You yelled when his two fingers separated inside of you, spreading you open with a scissoring motion while Spencer sucked on your clit. Immediately, you lifted one of your hands to your mouth, biting on your knuckle to muffle yourself.

While you whined, Spencer pulled away ever so slightly, never lapsing on his ministrations inside of you, while he looked up at you with hooded eyes. “Don’t do that, I wanna hear you,” he muttered.

Whimpering at the feeling of his fingers inside of you, you shook your head. “What about your—ah—neighbors?”

“Fuck them,” Spencer answered, his passive response causing your cunt to flutter around his fingers. “You like that? Wanna make sure everyone knows how good I make you feel,” he said, harshly curling his fingers inside of you and drawing out a guttural moan. “Muffle yourself again, and I’m binding your hands,” he threatened.

You were officially a goner, dropping both of your hands to his head and tugging at his hair while your head flipped back. “Shit,” you gasped, grip on him tightening while you clenched around his fingers.

His tongue lapped at you happily while his fingers scissored your walls in time with your orgasm, prying you open every time your body tried to force him out. It made you dizzy, eyes rolling back, while you seemingly forgot how to behave normally. He withdrew his fingers, the aftershocks of your climax sending ripple effects through your whole body. Spencer’s oral ministrations softened, working you through your third orgasm. He hummed, finally pulling away, letting your thigh’s part naturally while he sat back, his fingers working at the buttons of his shirt.

You’d offer to help, but you were sure you’d just fumble with them, and he’d have to take over anyway, so you just lay back and watched instead. “You have more in you, baby. Don’t you?” His voice was so gentle, his mouth still glistening with your juices while your stomach flipped at the idea of more orgasms.

Three was usually where you stopped, if you even got there in the first place, but at this point, you needed Spencer to fuck you. Looking down at where his cock was straining against the fly of his pants, you took your bottom lip between your teeth.

Shirtless, he hovered over you, dropping a sickeningly sweet kiss to the tip of your nose before whispering, “You’d tell me if you were done, right?”

Your chest ached at his earnestness while you nodded, needing him to fill you so desperately that you were almost giddy. Watching him as he got off the bed and took his pants off, you thought about him, how he’d reacted when Luke saw you in your panties. You’d never expected him to be so possessive over you, so bothered by an incident that he had to fuck you harder than ever before in order to process his feelings. Naturally, you wanted to poke at him. You wanted to instigate, so you tipped your head to the side and sighed, “It’s a shame you kicked Luke out.” You watched Spencer bristle at your comment, “He could’ve joined us.”

Spencer climbed back on the bed before he responded to you. He placed his hand on your neck—not tight, just firm, controlling. “You might be a handful, but you’re mine.” His breathing grew heavier; you could see the tip of his cock peeking out of his briefs, red and weeping for you. “I don’t share,” he told you, flipping you onto your stomach and lifting your hips for you.

He left you like that for just a moment, ass in the air and waiting for him to do something. Blood rushed in your ears while he rifled through his nightstand. You hummed, resting your head on the pillow while you stayed in the position he left you in, “You’ve explained before that I have a higher libido than you because I’m younger.” You knew you were treading in dangerous water now, “Maybe he could help you handle me.”

Back behind you, Spencer wrapped an arm around your waist, squeezing you tightly, “Have you ever left this bed dissatisfied?”

His question made your pussy clench with the memory of previous orgasms. Phantom pleasure rippled through your core, and you sighed at the feeling of his cock pressed up against your back. You couldn’t answer him, not without your voice trembling. Other than when you first started dating, you’d never left his apartment without the memory of an orgasm to keep you sated between visits.

He released you, letting your body fall back to the mattress while you presented your cunt to him, trembling in anticipation, while he tore open the condom wrapper, the wet sounds of him rolling it on his cock driving you insane. “That’s what I thought,” he said knowingly, positioning his tip at your entrance.

Between the slick of your orgasms and the lube on the condom, Spencer slammed into you easily, sheathing himself inside of you so quickly you cried out. His length reached so impossibly deep inside of you from this angle, you were already clenching around him by the time he made his first move.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped, finally finding some of his own relief for his painfully hard cock. “Squeezing me so tight,” he thrusted in and out of you, your pussy helplessly squelching with every move.

Unable to speak, you buried your face in the pillow beneath your head, trying to use it to muffle the uncontrollable moans that were flowing from your mouth, but you’d forgotten about Spencer’s threat, telling you he’d bind your hands if you muffled yourself again.

He didn’t pull you up, fucking you from behind and whispering in your ear. No, he grabbed your hands and held them behind your back, your moans plenty loud enough for him to hear them through the pillow, including you crying his name as you hurtled toward another orgasm. “I have you perfectly handled,” he muttered, focusing on his thrusts, trying not to let himself slip out of your sopping pussy.

You were fully lost in your own pleasure, depending on Spencer to keep you safe while your cunt clenched uncontrollably. While you trembled, your knees slipped on the sheets, falling flat on your stomach, while Spencer went with you. His pace slowed until he pulled out of you, your body shuddering at the loss while he flipped you to your back.

“Hey, pretty,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your lips while you hummed, “Wanna see your face.” He lifted your legs, bending your body in half so he could prop your legs over his shoulder. You were peering at him through your lashes, moaning when he reentered you, your arms resting on the sheets, gripping them while he found a new rhythm.

There was a tinge in your hip while he fucked you, and it pulled you from your stupor just enough that it bothered you. You whimpered his name, “Spence.” Your voice was pathetic, “Gentle.”

His change was immediate, dropping your legs so your knees were hooked under his arms instead. Your pleasure was instant as well, moaning from the relief in your body as well as the depths that his cock was reaching. “Fuck, baby,” he said, his thrusts slowly getting sloppier as he neared his orgasm. “You’re so good for me,” he huffed, dropping his head in the crook of your neck. “Keeping you all to myself,” he said, hips stuttering when you clenched around his length, unable to tell when one of your climaxes ended and the other began.

His rhythm fully faltered, nearly collapsing on you when his orgasm took over, groaning against your skin as you felt his cock spurt, his cum filling the condom while your breathing evened out from small, intermittent gasps to deep breaths.

“There you go,” Spencer encourages you, noticing the way your breathing evened out under him. Just like that, he moved into the next phase, “How are you doing, honey?” The sweet nickname fell from his lips as easily as the filth had just moments ago. He cupped your face gently, humming curiously.

You whimpered slightly, noticing the way he bit down on his lower lip while you went through the aftershocks. Your walls still pulsed around him, your sensitive pussy trying to force his cock out while you blinked the lust from your eyes. “Don’t go,” you murmured, your voice so soft even as he pulled out of you.

“I’ll be right back,” he assured you, pressing light kisses to your lips and face while he tried to maneuver himself out of your hold. “I’ve gotta take care of you, angel. Especially when we have sex like that,” he reminded you.

You nodded solemnly, eyes following him as he retreated to the bathroom, disposing of the condom and running the tap. He was washing his hands, or so you assumed, which meant you were surprised when he came back with two damp washcloths. He folded one over, resting the cool fabric over your forehead, and you hummed in contentment.

Spencer smiled at you softly, pressing a kiss to each of your still parted knees before he used the second cloth to wipe at the mess the two of you made. You winced at the contact, instinctively reaching out for Spencer and relaxing when he took your hand in his, threading your fingers together while using the cloth to clean you up. Eventually, he uncrumpled the washcloth and rested it on your mound, hoping the coolness of it would help soothe some of the ache. “You did so well,” he murmured to you, “My girl.”

You smiled at him sleepily, finally having enough control of your limbs to wipe at your face. “You like me,” you teased him softly, noting the way he took such care of you.

He nodded enthusiastically, “I love you very much,” he added. “Are you feeling alright?”

Humming, you melted into the mattress. “I feel great,” you answered, though that might’ve been an oversell; you certainly didn’t feel bad. You whined when Spencer moved one of your legs, stretching out your hips and using his thumb to dig into the areas where you ached.

“Oh,” he cooed, “I know, angel girl, I know.” His voice was so soft when he spoke to you, a sort of reverent whisper that was only meant for you, “It’ll be worse if I leave it.”

Nodding in understanding, you gratefully held his hand while he massaged the knots.

He bent down to kiss you before moving to your other hip, “I’m gonna have to wash the bedding before we sleep in it tonight.” He shushed you gently when you flinched at his ministrations, “but when you’re ready, we’ll get dressed and I’ll take you to the couch. Do you need a nap?”

You shook your head, “No, can we watch something?”

Spencer smiled softly, finally lying down next to you, dropping a kiss to your hair like he did. “Absolutely,” He pulled you closer to him, letting you rest your head on his chest while you clung to him. “We’ll order dinner and eat on the couch, if you’d like,” he offered, dragging his fingertips up and down your spine.

Slowly, your eyes started to shut, humming in approval, you rested a hand on his chest and settled into him.

He laughed gently, “I thought you didn’t need a nap?”

You shushed him in response, causing him to laugh again, “Maybe just a little one.”

You’d never hidden the fact that you were a mom from Spencer. When you told him at the beginning of your first date, you had half expected him to run in the other direction, but Spencer stayed. He stayed through all of your freak-outs and last-minute cancellations. He’d been steadfast through all ten months of your relationship, and now it was time to let him in—you couldn’t be a spinster widow forever.

Spencer had come up with the meeting place—the Air and Space Museum—and you’d chosen the date because Theo had a half-day of school. You wondered to yourself if it was too late to call it off when you heard your name being called in the distance.

A soft spring breeze carried you away from your spiraling thoughts when you finally spotted a mess of brown curls in the sea of museum attendees. “Theo, c’mere.” You held your hand out for him to take, and once he was close enough to see the person you’d been waiting for, your son hid behind you. Using your body as a shield, the same way he had since he was a baby.

Normally, Spencer would greet you with a hug. Sometimes, a kiss was involved if he was feeling particularly bold, but today he stood in front of you, keeping a respectable distance while you rested your hand on Theo’s shoulder, gently trying to coax him out of his hiding place. Eventually, he stepped around you, standing right in front of you so both of your hands could rest on his shoulders.

“Theo,” you started, breaking through the infinite silence with an introduction. “This is Dr. Spencer Reid.” You smiled as Spencer gave him a lopsided smile accompanied by a small wave. “Spencer, this is Theodore, my son,” you finished anxiously, rocking back and forth on your feet while you waited for one of them to speak up.

To your surprise, Theo was the first one to step forward, holding his hand out in front of him for your boyfriend to shake. “Hi, Dr. Reid,” he greeted, a shy smile on his face.

Spencer graciously held his hand out, shaking your son’s hand, “Hi, Theodore, it’s nice to meet you, and you can call me Spencer if you’d like.”

Your son looked up at you, seeking your approval—which you gave—before he turned back to Spencer and grinned, “You can call me Theo.”

You found yourself frozen, suddenly unsure of what you were supposed to do now that the biggest hurdle had been surpassed. Sensing this, Spencer spoke up, “Have you ever been here before, Theo?”

Nodding, Theo backed up to be closer to you, reaching his hand up for you to take. “On a field trip,” he answered. “Are you gonna go in with us?”

“If that’s alright with you,” Spencer replied, offering him an out. Spencer’s brown eyes flickered over to you. If Theo said no now, the whole thing would be off. No harm, no foul.

Theo nodded again, more apprehensively this time, but even so, he followed yours and Spencer’s lead when you made your way to the entrance. Once you were inside, you helped him take his jacket off, fixing the long sleeves of his shirt before standing up straight. “Do you remember what I told you?” You asked, a soft smile on your face while checking in with him.

He smiled broadly, displaying the spot where he’d just lost his first tooth, “Stay with mommy.”

Satisfied, you nodded, letting him lead the way through the museum while Spencer fell back to walk with you. “Does he usually run away?”

You shrugged, “He’s five, sometimes he gets a little too involved in his own world.” Both of you kept trained eyes on him—Spencer’s professional, yours maternal. “You were great with him,” you praised, just like you knew he’d be.

Theo breezed through the exhibits, rushing through each one before getting himself where he really wanted to be—the spaceships. He strode up to one, looking at the pictures and trying to sound out the words on the placard, and getting frustrated when he couldn’t make sense of them.

Before you could react, Spencer crouched next to Theo and started reading to him, using his index finger to point out where he was reading from. Observing, you smiled as Spencer finished reading the paragraph, following up by pointing to the spaceship so Theo could see exactly what he was talking about.

Spencer answered all of his questions with practiced patience before Theo pointed at your boyfriend’s wrist, “Why is your watch on the outside?”

Humming, Spencer glanced down at his wristwatch, worn over his shirt, as he always has. “I had a really good friend who showed me how to do it like this,” he responded easily.

Theo seemed to think about the answer for a moment, pulling his shirt sleeve up slightly and glancing at his digital Paw Patrol watch that you’d gotten him for his birthday. “Can you make mine like that?”

He paused for a moment, seemingly surprised by the question. “Yeah, of course.”

Holding out his arm, Theo watched with keen interest while Spencer undid the latch of the bright blue watch and redid it. “It feels kind of funny,” Theo said, unsure of his new style.

“It does for a little while,” Spencer agreed, “but eventually you’ll get used to it, and it’ll just feel right.”

Theo smiled and nodded as if it made perfect sense to him, holding up his watch to show it to you. “It looks super cool, bud,” you grinned back at him. “What do you say to Spencer?”

Cocking his head at Spencer, he looked him up and down before speaking, “How old are you?”

Your face burned at your failed attempt to get your son to use his manners, nearly dropping his jacket on the ground when you clasped your hand over your mouth. “Theo,” you sighed, muffled through your fingers.

To your surprise, Spencer didn’t share your shock. Instead, he laughed lightly, “I’m thirty-five.”

Theo’s eyes widened, mirroring yours, “You’re older than mommy.” The words came out in a whisper, as if they were sharing secrets in the middle of the night.

“I am,” Spencer responded, obviously unfazed by Theo’s question.

Your embarrassment faded as Theo’s eyes focused on something new, excitedly grabbing Spencer’s hand and practically dragging him over to the next placard, pointing to the words and asking if he’d read it aloud—finally using the word please.

For just a moment, Spencer looked over at you, exchanging pleased smiles as you stepped back and watched them, resigning yourself to the fact that you were never going to get your boyfriend back—not while there were spaceships to be seen.

Shrinking back into the pillows, you swallowed down a wave of nausea as you reminded yourself to rest your head on the side. “I don’t want to bother him while he’s teaching,” you told her for the nth time that night—you were losing track. 

JJ hummed knowingly, “He’d hate that you just said that.” 

Lowering your arms, you crossed them in front of your stomach and curled into yourself, “He’ll be fine.” Your voice was soft as you faced away from the light, letting your eyes fall shut, hoping it would put an end to your vertigo. 

“Open your eyes,” your older sister warned, the edge in her voice telling you she’d pry your eyelids open if it came to that. “Don’t fall asleep,” she mothered you. 

A low keening sound came from the back of your throat as you opened your eyes, they felt sticky while you blinked, trying to make sense of the shapes that formed in front of you. Colors came together to make figures, the IV pole in your periphery, your sister perched in her chair, and your boyfriend, observing from the doorway. “Uh oh,” you whispered. 

Looking over her shoulder, your sister saw Spencer, intimidatingly tall from your perspective in the hospital bed. At a slothlike pace, you started to sit up, trying to prop yourself up with your hands, but you didn’t get very far before the two of them scolded you in sync, “Don’t sit up.” 

Silently, you closed your eyes while he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’m gonna go check in with Emily,” JJ announced, giving you both space to talk. 

You gave Spencer the best smile you could muster while he sat on the edge of your bed. Humming, let him take your hand in his and give it a squeeze. “Your heart is racing,” you murmured, contentedly eyeing him while he swiped his thumb over the back of your hand. 

“I was worried about you,” he responded, eyes flittering around the hospital room in a way that told you his concern hadn’t ebbed. Nervously, he tapped his shoe against the linoleum floors, reaching over and turning your vital monitor so he could see the screen better. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to touch those,” you whispered, knowing Spencer fretted when he was scared. 

His eyes went wide when they met yours once more, “Are you okay?” 

If your head hadn’t hurt so badly, you might’ve laughed. “I’m fine, Spence,” you assured him, though you knew there wasn’t much you could say to him to make him believe you. “I just hit my head,” you told him, lying through your teeth. 

“Garcia said you were attacked,” he challenged your lie, trying to get you to tell him the truth. 

You bit the inside of your cheek, “I got hit by a wooden plank.” You nearly flinched at the memory, getting hit in the head by that two-by-four and crumpling to the floor like a ragdoll. Vaguely, you recalled someone screaming, but for all you knew, the shriek had come from yourself. “Like a bat hitting a baseball,” you offered him a simile. 

Spencer’s gaze narrowed, “Are you being cute?” 

Frowning, you looked at him, “I was trying to. Is it working?”

“No,” he said shortly, eyeing the bags that were hanging from your IV pole. “She just… made it seem like it was really bad.” 

You shrugged, “I have a basilar skull fracture. Jayg said I was unconscious for a while, and I think they’re keeping me here overnight.” They’d done a CT upon your arrival to the hospital, but they’d followed up with an MRI when your nose started leaking clear fluid. When you relayed that information to Spencer, he visibly flinched. 

Your boyfriend took a deep breath, “You didn’t want anyone to tell me?” 

His voice was so low and melancholy that it made your chest ache. “I didn’t want anyone to bother you while you were teaching,” you tried to justify it to him. 

“I hate it when you use that word,” Spencer reminded you, his tone teetering on the ledge of care and cruelty. “You’re not a bother to me, and you never will be. Did you by chance remember that I’m your emergency contact? Penelope had to call me, no matter what you had to say about it.” 

You swallowed thickly. You’d forgotten he was your emergency contact, this was the first time you’d ever been hurt in the field and he hadn’t been right there with you. “It wasn’t that big of a deal,” you tried to wave him off, desperate to weasel your way out of the conversation. 

Spencer looked at you dubiously, “Maybe not now, but it was a big deal. Your skull might be fractured. You have an artery in that area of your head, you could’ve bled out before anyone really knew what was going on.”

“But I didn’t,” you insisted. 

“You could have,” he snapped at you. For a fleeting moment, he’d forgotten the environment you found yourselves in. Not entirely unfamiliar, but with particular details that places the sterile room in uncharted territory. Spencer was tightly wound, his time in prison had left him quicker to anger, and he was usually capable of reeling himself in, but not until he toed the point of no return. Slowly, he took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’m sorry.” His face softened and his arms fell to his sides, “You’re okay?” 

You blinked absently at him, “Yeah,” you whispered. “They said I’ll have some funny bruises, but I’m not in any immediate danger.” 

He inhaled, slowly drawing air in through his nostrils before releasing it in a sigh. “That’s good,” he murmured, reaching a hand out to drag a knuckle along your hairline. “I’m glad you’re alright.” 

The two of you sat in a strained silence, not sure if breaching the peace would lead to disaster. Eventually, you did it anyway. “It just felt weird,” you muttered, still fighting to keep your eyes open. 

Spencer hummed, “What did?” 

Shrugging slightly, you tipped your head to get a better look at him, “Waking up in the hospital and knowing you weren’t around.”

“I know,” he told you, “It’s just different, but I’m here now. That has to count for something.” 

You smiled in your concussion induced stupor, “That counts for everything, Spence.”

Smiling fondly at your sleeping form, he carefully stepped around the bed, crouched in front of you, and rested a hand on your upper arm so he could wake you without startling you.

Your nose crinkled as you started to wake up, groaning slightly when the light met your eyes. His thumb gently skimmed over your skin. “Hi,” you greeted him, still groggy. “What’re you doin’ here?”

His smile broadened, amused at your tired mumbling. “You’re in my apartment, honey,” he told you softly. “When did you get here?”

You turned on your back, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and staring at the spinning ceiling fan, trying to collect yourself. “Three?” You said, clearly unconfident in your answer.

“Did you go right to sleep?” He asked, letting his hand rest where it ended up on your stomach. You’d laid a plain white sheet over the bed, so you weren’t on his comforter with your school supplies and outside clothes.

Shaking your head, you looked at the textbook that you’d left on the bed as if you’d never seen it before; each rule of evidence was brand new to you. “I started on the couch, but I got too hot when the sun started to set,” you explained, dropping your head back on the pillow when Spencer took the book from you, marking the page with the appropriate color tab and setting it on the nightstand.

He nodded. The sun beamed right into the living room when it set. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he said, taking the blue highlighter and placing the cap on it before it could stain the sheet. You usually didn’t want his advice when studying, but at the very least, he could’ve kept you company.

You hummed, “’s okay. You had work.” You were clearly fighting to keep your eyes open when you mumbled, “How was Detroit?”

“Duluth,” he gently corrected, “It was alright. Cold,” he added. “Why’d you end up here?”

Your expression changed to one of displeasure while you recalled the sequence of events that had led you to seek refuge in your boyfriend’s apartment. “They’re turning over the apartment above mine,” you grumbled. “Replacing the floor and everything.”

He continued to listen, nodding in understanding while he turned to place his firearm in the gun safe.

“So, I had no choice but to go to the library, and someone was in my spot,” you whined.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in recognition, “The back corner table? How dare they?” He asked, a teasing lilt to his tone.

You pouted, “Don’t joke. It was very disappointing at the time,” you informed him. “And embarrassing,” you added, “I was so surprised someone was there, I just stood and stared. They probably thought I was an idiot.” You covered your face in residual humiliation, “So, I just got on the metro and came here.”

“To see me?” He inquired, resting a hand on your bare thigh while you recounted your tale.

Giving him a shy smile, you shook your head, “No. I remembered that you were away, but your apartment key was burning a hole in my pocket.” Sighing, you melted into the mattress, “Seeing you now is a nice surprise, though.”

“Did you sleep much last night?” He asked, knowing you tended to stay up much later than you really should. Besides that, you looked tired and had managed to fall asleep reading.

You shrugged, “Eh, I slept fine. I wasn’t that tired today; this case is just really boring.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows, doubtful that you were telling the truth—he knew you better than that. “Uh-huh,” he hummed. “You have blue highlighter on your face, by the way,” he told you, finally deducing what the mark on your cheek had been caused by.

He stood up then, laughing softly at the way you grumbled and rubbed at your face. He went through the laundry basket that rested along the wall, pulling pajamas that you’d previously left in his apartment out and setting them next to you. Spencer took your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before hauling you into a sitting position.

“C’mon,” he said, “Change and then bed.” Kissing the crown of your head before going to his dresser to find something for him to change into.

You shook your head, “I should finish my reading.” Despite your protests, you pulled your dirty t-shirt off in exchange for the one he’d laundered for you.

Turning back around, he smiled at the way you’d lain back down on the bed, your pajama pants haphazardly pulled on, and your arms thrown over your face. “Read it in the morning,” he suggested, tying the drawstring on your pajama pants and pretending not to notice the goosebumps that littered your skin. “I’ll buy you coffee,” he offered.

He started to get up, but you reached out for him, pulling him down to you by the tie and kissing him. You smiled against his lips, “You drive a hard bargain.”

Kissing you back, Spence rested a hand on your waist, “Mhm, no funny business.” He said, getting up and making his way to the bathroom.

“I like funny business,” you retorted, grinning so broadly you stuck your tongue behind your teeth to keep yourself from erupting in a fit of giggles.

He smiled, turning on the light and fan in the bathroom, “I have to shower, and you’ll probably be asleep by the time I get out anyway.”

You denied it then, trying to tell him you’d still be wide awake, but when he came out, you were sound asleep on his side of the bed, leaving him to climb in next to you, carefully, so he didn’t wake you again.