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Chapter Text

He felt as though his heart was about to leap out of his chest. He had spent so many weeks staring at those same four walls- if you could even call the bars a wall, more like half a wall. He knew that something in him had died in there- the bright, young twenty-three-year-old who entered the BAU wide-eyed and hopeful had been laid to rest, put into a grave that Spencer himself had dug with his own hands. Risen from that dirt was a hollow, stony, dark-eyed man, the bones from the skeletons in his closet trailing behind him as he walked into the sun, following behind JJ. 

He accepted every hug he could get. The kind, gentle touch was something he hadn’t felt for months- everything had been fingers digging into his flesh, swinging fists and jabs to his torso, leaving his ribs aching, his brain reeling. It almost didn’t feel real. He’d wrapped himself in layers and layers of stone, and the team were slowly peeling it back with each kind word. It wasn’t until they brought his mother forward, and he saw the unfamiliarity in her eyes, which gave way to her love that he crumbled, pulling her in and cradling the back of her head as if she was the most precious thing in the entire world to him- and she was. 

Bringing her back to the apartment was a no-brainer. After what had transpired over the past few days, let alone the past few months, he didn’t want to let her out of his sight. He didn’t care that he hadn’t slept in a proper bed in months, he would give it up for her. 

“Spencer,” Diana said as she got into bed, and he looked up, humming in response. She took his hand, and he held it tight, his other hand going to envelop it. She couldn’t look away from his bruised and scarred hands. 

“These are my fault.” She said, her other hand coming over to trace the pale white lines.

“No, no. They’re not, Mom, I promise.” He told her, but she shook her head.

“Don’t lie to me.” She said sternly. He sighed, giving her those sad, puppy dog eyes. She softened, before waving for him to climb into the bed next to her. He didn’t think twice, he crawled under the sheets, letting her embrace him. He felt warm, no more stone on his joints. Suddenly, he was a kid again. 

“I met JJ’s husband,” Diana said, running her fingers through Spencer’s long tresses. His hair had grown a lot in prison. 

“Will. He’s a very kind man.” Spencer commented. Diana nodded in response. 

“And her boys. I always hoped to have grandkids, you know.” She told him pointedly, and Spencer let out a huff, smiling. 

“Yes, Mom. I know.” He replied. She nodded. 

“Good. Because I’d like to have them before I go completely crazy.” She said, and Spencer looked up at her. 

“You’re not going crazy-”

“-what did I just say about lying to me?” She looked down. He sighed, falling silent. There was no point in denying the inevitable of what was happening to her. Spencer had felt her slipping through his fingers like sand since he was in high school, but now the grains were falling faster and he couldn’t catch them in time.

He looked back down, staring at the wall. The beige of his wallpaper was such a welcome adjustment to the grey cold walls of Milburn. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to give you grandchildren.” He admitted. “Every time I try to find someone, try to settle down… things fall apart. People get hurt.”

She fell quiet, tracing his scalp now with her short, slightly jagged nails. “But that’s no reason to quit. Never stopped you in the past.” 

He hummed. She wasn’t wrong- he was always persistent. He wasn’t one to be deterred by minor setbacks, but these were more than minor. He’d watched Maeve have her brains scattered right in front of him. The only other woman who had even shown vague interest in him since then was a deranged assassin who’d kidnapped the very woman who was holding him tight now. It wasn’t like he could just walk up to a woman. That was ridiculous. 

“I could find someone for you. There are some nice ladies who work at the facility-”

“-Mom, you are not setting me up on a date-”

“-why not?”

“Because you’re my Mom! And I’m 37 years old!” He said, almost exasperated. She had a glint in her eye, knowing she was teasing him probably more than she should. 

“The perfect age to settle down by.” She said, and he groaned. She couldn’t help the teasing smile on her lips. 

“You’re enjoying this far too much.” He mumbled into her and the teasing smile turned into a grin. He didn’t care, not really; he knew his Mom meant well, in her own tired and scattered way. It didn’t mean he would hold her any less tightly that night. 

It took Spencer some time to settle back into his everyday life. He went to therapy, was under psychological evaluation from the FBI in order to return to his job, and he even made it a regular thing to get coffee with Morgan every Thursday, giving him an opportunity to see his godson, who had grown up so fast since Spencer last saw him all those months ago in Morgan and Savannah’s arms. But there was something missing. He wasn’t entirely feeling whole. He could feel that stone growing back, making him unable to move his aching joints again. But how could he explain that to a psychiatrist? He wanted nothing more than to just dive back into work, take on his cases, and bring some normality back into his life after seven months of Hell. If he told the therapist he felt stagnant, cold, downright numb somedays, then he’d definitely not be allowed to go back. Who would trust an ex-prisoner who can’t even take a cold shower somedays without having a panic attack to hold a gun?

“We’re fine, Spence.” Emily would insist. “You know we can all handle things without you here. You getting better and taking time for yourself is what’s more important right now.” 

Am I getting better? He asked himself as he got out of his car, looking at the door to his therapist’s office. His nails were bitten down to the quick. He had only sanitized his hands and arms two times this morning before leaving his apartment rather than his usual four. He’d woken up with a nightmare that morning, experiencing sleep paralysis, silently screaming alone in his apartment. Am I taking time for myself? Or is time taking myself from me?

Mandated therapy sessions were three times a week- Monday, Wednesday, Friday. He was growing impatient at this point. He was giving her answers he knew she wanted to hear- yes, I’m sleeping through, yes, I’m communicating with friends, yes, I’m journaling just like you asked. He thought he was doing everything right- he’d done enough evaluations in his time at the FBI to know what to do.

“Doctor Reid, this isn’t going to work unless you’re honest with me.” The doctor said, putting down her pen and paper, looking at him over the rim of her glasses. 

“I am being honest.” He lied through his teeth. She smiled pitifully. 

“You’ve been seeing me three days a week for the past two months. I can tell that what you’re telling me isn’t truthful. You’re telling me what you think I need to hear in order to approve you to the board to go back to work.” She said. 

His shoulders slumped. He was the profiler- he was supposed to be good at this. Had he lost his skills over the months he was in prison? Had he become so used to trying to move with the grain of the unsubs they tried to catch, that he was turning into one himself? Had he been consumed by the darkness that was lapping at his heels like angry waves for months on end? Was this truly his therapist in front of him, or was it Medusa, wanting him to turn back into that stony man he had become due to the cold dampness he felt in that room? Was he even out? He would stand from the couch and he’d be back at Milburn, he just knew it-

“-Spencer.”

Her voice finally cut through his haze. He looked down at his hands, seeing them shaking. 

“This is what I mean. You clearly have more going on in your head than you’re letting me know. I want to help you, but I can’t do that if you don’t open up and talk to me.” She told him. He couldn’t look her in the eyes. He didn’t want to be honest with her- he didn’t want anyone to know what was going on in his brain. He couldn’t handle it, so how could someone else?

She sighed, putting the pen and notebook aside. “We don’t have to talk about this today. But you and I both know that letting this fester will just make it worse. You have two days without talking to me, and rather than spending them obsessively trying to figure out how to crack the formula to return to work, spend them noting down what’s lingering. Spend them outside, soaking up some Vitamin D. Your body needs it after so long indoors.” 

He reached up to press the heel of his hand to his eyes- he could feel a migraine creeping up on him. “It’s forecast to rain for the next two days.” He muttered. That pulled a smile from her. 

“You’ve told me you like the rain in the past. And I know you own an umbrella.” She said to him, and he gave her a weak smile. She was trying her best, even if Spencer thought he was hopeless, even if he refused to open up to her. He needed to put the extra effort in back- he knew he was being difficult.

The next morning, he had pulled on some Doc Martens, hoping those would fare the weather better than his usual converse, hoping for them to prevent the horrible sensory hell that was wet socks. A sweater, a thick grey pea coat, and his satchel- in which he grabbed only his wallet, his keys, his journal and pen, and his gun. He refused to go anywhere unarmed now, fear of being caught off guard and unarmed haunting him. 

He drove for a while, no particular destination in mind. He just knew he wanted to get DC behind him, embark further into the Virginia woodland. He could smell the rain soaked pine trees through the crack in his windows, the feeling in the air making him nostalgic. 

It reminded him of Gideon. 

He ended up at a carpark near a forest walk. There were only a few other cars, but they provided him with comfort rather than anxiety. On one hand, he didn’t know who the cars had held. But on the other hand, he knew it was much more likely that a campervan held a travelling tourist couple than an ex-con who he’d locked away twelve years ago. 

He grabbed his satchel from the passenger seat, reaching over the back to grab the umbrella he’d brought with him too. There was only a 46% chance of rain in the next two hours, but he wasn’t willing to gamble with the Virginian autumn weather. 

He walked for a while, taking note of his surroundings; a brightly coloured tree marker about twelve feet ahead, a small creek travelling alongside him on his right. The path wasn’t overly clear, but he could see some previous footprints, giving him guidance. He appreciated the sound of the slightly damp but crunching leaves beneath his feet. He would spend upwards of ten minutes picking out the mulched mess from between the cleats of his brown boots when he returned to his apartment complex carpark, but that was a problem for Spencer that evening. 

Eventually, he came to a small clearing where the creek turned into a small waterhole, rocks piled up around it. Despite his brain telling him otherwise, he paused and dipped his fingers in the running water, a chill shooting down his spine at the temperature. Surely it would be pleasant during a hot Southeastern summer, but for now, it was definitely not something he wanted to be soaking in. 

He pulled back, looking around the clearing. Even before prison, his brain made sure he had multiple escape routes in case of someone running up and ambushing him. He could clearly see the path he’d come from, and could see far off into the woods enough to know where to run if he had to. He felt comfortable at that, so he found a flat looking rock that had been placed against a shady tree as a form of makeshift seat, rested his umbrella up against the tree trunk, before sitting down, pulling out his journal. 

He wrote for what felt like hours until he felt the familiar ache in his muscles he commonly got when he was writing by hand. He rolled his wrist and stretched his back, sighing, looking up. 

There was a figure watching him from across the clearing. 

She wasn’t ominous, or threatening. She was just… watching. Her eyes were gentle, curious. She was barefoot, her slip on shoes in her left hand. Spencer stared for a moment, taking in the strange sight. He almost thought he was hallucinating for a moment, before her voice rang through the trees, cutting through the wind and the birdsong. 

“That’s my spot.”

He almost laughed at the absurdity of the statement. She came a little closer, the sound of the damp leaves under her feet squelching a little. He straightened up. Oh, she was being serious. 

“I’m sorry. There was nothing indicating that anyone was here before me. And I’ve been here for-” he checked his watch “-two hours.”

She huffed, getting closer. “Yeah, because I went home to sleep. But I’m back now.”

He closed his journal instinctively as she got close. It was peculiar. She seemed almost defensive of the rock. He knew better than to argue with an odd stranger, simply picking up his umbrella and standing. 

She softened. “I… really? You’re just going to move?” 

Spencer shrugged, putting the journal into his satchel again. “I was about done anyway. I’ve been out here a while.” He tried not to be distracted by how odd the whole situation was. His eyes flicked down to shoes in her hand, then back up to her eyes. She didn’t seem visibly intoxicated, and he couldn’t smell any alcohol or weed. She just seemed… peculiar.

“I know it’s weird.” She held up her shoes, smiling slightly sheepishly. “My therapist thinks it’s good for me to connect with nature and boost my mood. Helps, oddly enough.” She put the shoes down next to the rock.

He smiled at that. “There’s many studies that being out in nature has both psychological and physical benefits for human wellbeing. It’s been said that having even visual access to greenery assists with attentional functioning. It’s logical that physical contact would improve mood too.” He couldn’t help as the facts poured from him. She smiled, listening attentively.

“You sound just like my therapist. If she ever falls through, good to know there’s a random guy in the woods who can fill her place.” She told him, and he let out a huff of a laugh. 

“I’m not a licensed psychologist or psychiatrist, but I’m honoured.” He said, slinging his satchel over his shoulder. “I hope the woods… uh, I hope they bring you peace.” He nodded politely, before walking away.

He could feel her eyes on his back as he returned back to the path he had entered the woods in. He didn’t turn back, as much as his head was screaming at him that there was something in that moment, something he desperately wanted to seize. Despite this, he fought his better judgement, and kept walking.

“Wait!” He heard, and turned- the girl was running towards him, holding something pointy in her hand. He felt his eyes widen, tensed as he prepared himself for a fight, prepared for the worst… but relaxed when he saw his pen was in her hand. 

“Sorry. You dropped this. It looked nice… didn’t feel right to just keep it.” She handed him the fountain pen, their fingers touching for only a brief moment. He gratefully took it from her, rubbing the dirt off the silver body of the pen with his thumb. 

“Yeah, it was expensive. I’m sort of a pen snob.” He smiled, before looking back up at her. “Thank you.” 

“Didn’t know such things existed.” She said, smiling back at him and giving him a polite nod. “But it’s no problem.” 

She turned back, walking towards the rock. Now he was watching her- watching how her hair bounced as she walked, how her jeans sat on her waist. He wondered about her words. Did her therapist know she was walking through the woods, barefoot on a damp and rainy afternoon, pine needles between her toes? Surely she wouldn’t expect her patient to be taking her words so literally as to be alone in a forest, sitting on a damp rock to stare into the unknown, accompanied by nothing but birdsong and the dripping of water from pine needles. 

All Spencer knew was that his curiosity had been piqued. And that he’d be writing about her in his journal when he got home that evening.

Chapter Text

“So you think she was on something?”

Spencer had a feeling he’d regret bringing up the incident to Morgan at coffee that week. His friend was protective, of course he was after all that Spencer had been through, but Spencer knew that he needed someone to confirm he wasn’t going insane. 

“No, I don’t think so. She was just strange, you know? Seemed a little haunted.” Spencer took a sip of his coffee cup. Hank was over playing and talking with other kids on the playground, Morgan keeping a watchful eye on his son as the men talked. 

“We’ve seen weird people, kid.” Morgan commented. Spencer shook his head. 

“No, no. This was different. She seemed all there, she wasn’t screaming unsub.” He looked at his best friend. Morgan gave him a look, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Hey, I’m not about to tell you to go back and sit in the woods all day in hopes you’ll see some random girl who could very well be a figment of your imagination.” Morgan teased, and Spencer scoffed, rolling his eyes a little. 

“She was real. She gave me my pen back.” He said, and Morgan smiled that same cheeky grin that he had every time he saw Spencer like this. 

“Listen, Reid.” Morgan placed one of his hands on his friend’s shoulder. “Did going out and sitting in the woods make you feel better?”

Spencer thought for a moment. The facts he’d prattled off to the random woman in the woods really were right- he’d felt better after some time alone in nature. “Yeah, it did.”

“Then do it again. You seem a lot less high-strung this week.” 

“I’m not highly strung-”

“-oh, please, you text me telling me that you were going to be two minutes and thirty six seconds late last Thursday, you only do that when you’re worried-”

“-it’s just the polite thing to do-”

“-kid.”

Spencer sighed, but looked at Morgan, who had earnest but soft eyes. 

“I’m a big supporter of you getting better, you know that. If going out to the woods and spending time out there is beneficial to you, then do it. And maybe you’ll find the weird girl you clearly can’t stop thinking about while you’re out there.”

He blushed as Morgan spoke. He was right, of course. He and the girl hadn’t spoken for more than two minutes to each other, but he hadn’t stopped thinking about her all week. “You don’t think it’s weird?” Spencer asked tentatively. Morgan smiled as he took a sip from his cup.

“Oh, yeah, it’s weird. But I stopped questioning why you do the things you do about a year after I started to work with you.” 

After the pair had parted ways that afternoon, Spencer knew he’d be returning to that forest on Saturday afternoon. Was it ill advised? Absolutely. Did it go against everything he’d been taught in the Academy? Most certainly. But for the first time since before he went to prison, he felt intrigued. It was a strange, yet welcome feeling. A buzzing in his chest that grew more persistent every day. 

There was no certainty of the stranger returning, he knew that. But in all his years studying human behavior, he’d come to understand the habitual practices of the brain. In the way the woman had claimed the spot as hers, he was about 90% sure that their paths would cross again. 

He arrived at the same time as the week prior, wandering in while wearing his converse this time. It was significantly dryer, the flippant weather unpredictable enough for him to have a pocket umbrella tucked into his satchel. He listened to the birds in the trees, watching squirrels skittering up trunks. The creek was flowing fast, bouncing over rocks, leading him on his path to the water hole he’d already scouted out.

When he came to the clearing, his eyes widened a little. There she was. 

She was deep in thought, her knees tucked up, writing in a journal that was pressed against them with what looked to be a hand whittled pencil. She was barefoot again, her shoes dropped off on the forest floor next to her. Her hair was up in a claw clip, messy in an obvious attempt to pull it out of her face. She was frowning, focused, but then as she heard leaves crunching, she looked up. Her face lit up in a smile once she saw him.

“Hey. It’s my back-up therapist slash pen snob.” She quipped. His shoulders immediately softened at her words. 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be here. But I, uh, see you beat me to the rock this time.” He smiled back. 

“I did tell you it was my spot, didn’t I? Had to try hard to find a flat surface to sit on out here that’s not covered in puddles to make my butt wet.” She told him. He laughed at that, looking down and nodding as he came closer. 

“I suppose you scouted out something good then. If this spot is permanently occupied on Saturdays, I may have to bring my own chair with me.” He told her. She arched her brow. 

“Oh, you plan to interrupt my peace every Saturday?” 

Her comment could have seemed cold, but there was a spark in her eyes that let him know there was no malicious intent. He smiled back.

“Are you opposed to the company?” He asked. She paused for only a moment, but then shook her head. 

“No, I guess not.” 

She then folded her legs, leaving room on the rock for Spencer to sit opposite her. He settled down quickly, looking at her, taking her in up close. 

“Is there something on my face?” She joked, and his eyes widened. 

“No! No, I, ah…” He blushed, realising he’d been caught staring. “It’s just nice to see you again.”

Her eyes sparkled with something genuine as her shoulders relaxed, as if shocked but pleased simultaneously at his words. “Thanks, pen snob.”

He laughed nervously. “It’s, ah, my name’s Spencer.” 

She gave him her name as he fished for his journal from his satchel, nodding at him. “Nice to put a name to the face that’s been on my mind for the last week.” She admitted to him. His eyes widened as he looked up, notebook in hand.

“You’ve been thinking about me?”

“Please. You have a face that’s kind of hard to forget. Prince Charming type.” She said nonchalantly, and his face went red again. Sure, he knew he wasn’t bad on the eyes, he’d been told as much, but he hadn’t had someone be so forward in quite some time. He didn’t know how to respond so he simply didn’t, just looked down at the book in his lap. He didn’t want to ruin the moment by spouting something off and getting carried away.

She simply opened her journal again, acting as if nothing happened. He looked at the hand whittled pencil, smiling a little as he pulled out his fountain pen. They sat in comfortable silence as they started to write together, the only sound being the creek bouncing off rocks and the chattering of animals in the brush. Spencer found his words flowing onto the page, something that had been a struggle all week. The change of scenery and the company had truly made a world of difference that he hadn’t even expected as time ticked on, the faint sound of the hands of his watch catching in his ears when he focused enough. 

There seemed to be a sanctity in their small clearing of the wilderness. The birds sang like an angel’s choir, blessing them with the words on their pages. Spencer couldn’t help it- he began to write of the woman as if he were writing of his own deity that he’d worshipped all his life. It had been little more than two hours of knowing her- including the week prior- but something in his heart knew. This wasn’t comparable to Maeve, not in the slightest, but that spark, that warmth he felt by simply existing next to her was something he’d only felt once before. Morgan would surely tease him mercilessly for it, he knew it already, so maybe he’d keep the details to himself for now.

“Spencer?”

He looked up at her. A strand of hair had fallen across her face, drawing his attention to her tired eyes. “Hm?” 

“Are you only going to come to the woods on Saturdays?”

He thought for a moment. His days were mostly occupied with therapy, his mother (when she wasn’t having an episode), and his Thursday coffee lunches with Morgan and Hank. He’d get the occasional call from the team, an unofficial consult on the case, but he wasn’t allowed back for a while, if his assessments came back approving his return to duty. He really didn’t have much better to do most days.

“I suppose I can come out here other days.” He shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant. “I, ah, don’t really have a regular schedule. Except therapy. And Thursday commitments.”

She lit up a little at that, before schooling her face. Spencer had seen that expression far too many times. Hope.

“I… I’m out here a lot. My brain is…” She trailed off as he closed his journal to focus on her. “... overwhelmed, at the moment. And this is my escape, I guess.” 

He hummed in agreement. “It’s not a bad place to escape to. The mood boost an individual can receive from just fifteen minutes of Vitamin D is something many people don’t realise.” 

She laughed a little at that. “Yeah, that, and the fact that you don’t actually hear anything but nature out here. It’s practically untouched by society. You don’t hear the cars. It’s so… calming. Peaceful.” She tilted her head up to look into the trees. He watched her, looking at the way her neck craned upward. He wanted to trace his fingers across her skin, feel it beneath his fingertips. He wanted to explore the intimacy he hadn’t had more than a handful of times. He wanted to hear her humming again, just like she had been doing forty six minutes ago for a moment. He wanted to know her. He could feel the stone cracking. 

“Have you heard of parallel play?” He sputtered out. She looked back to him, tilting her head slightly, akin to a curious dog. 

“Yeah, I think I read something about that online. It’s a neurodivergence thing, right?”

“Not necessarily just for people who are neurodivergent. It’s actually common for children who are still developing their social skills; but it’s basically when two people exist in the same space, doing things parallel to each other, but not interacting.” He explained. She let out an intrigued noise. 

“So we’re basically developing children.” She joked. He smiled and shook his head.

“You know what I’m trying to say. There are psychological benefits to simply being near someone. It’s said to boost serotonin levels and to reduce stress.” 

She nodded, then tilted her head back up to the sky in thought. “I definitely need less stress right now.” 

He watched her run her nails along the hand whittled pencil. Her cuticles were raw and picked at, just like his. He was trying so hard not to profile her, just to let her remain a mystery, but god, was it difficult.

“Consider this parallel play, then.” She looked back at him. “We can embrace our inner antisocial child.” 

He smiled, reaching into his satchel to pull out his small diary, wanting to see when he was next available. He frowned when he saw the blank gap in the pages where they were ordinarily full- an indication of his absence and his time in prison. He flicked past it, coming over the page to see his next month ahead. 

Friday - Psychological Assessment

He had pushed that so far back in his brain that he’d essentially forgotten. It was the deciding factor on his reinstatement to working at the BAU. His anxiety bubbled in his stomach at the sheer thought.

Shouldn’t he be excited? This was his family, after all. They would make the transition back into work the easiest that they possibly could, he knew that. They were people he’d worked with for years and knew him better than he knew himself at times. Despite that, he knew that there was a mountain ahead of him. He’d barely been processing his time in prison, was just learning to cope with the fact his mother was slowly being lost to an incurable and potentially hereditary illness. How was he going to convince them he was sane enough to catch killers, pedophiles and real life villains when his first thoughts were of the ways he wanted to hurt them, not of the ways they can reform?

“Earth to Spencer.”

He snapped his head up to find her looking at him with that gentle smile. He shook himself out of it. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

She shook her head. “No. You just had a look in your eyes. Seemed a mile away.” 

He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry-”

“-you apologise a lot, you know that?”

He laughed, meeting her eyes again. “... sorry.”

She shook her head, laughing. God, that sound. He could listen to it forever. “What are you doing Monday afternoon?” She asked.

“I have therapy for an hour at noon, but other than that-”

“-picnic. You and me.” She said. He didn’t even hesitate, just nodded. 

“Yeah, okay. Yeah.” He agreed, and she smiled, before picking up her pencil again, continuing to write. He stared for a few more moments, before looking down at his journal. He could barely hide the smile on his face.

Monday, 2PM - Picnic in the woods

Chapter Text

What does one wear for a date? Was this even a date?

Last time he’d done this, he’d researched excessively, even called Blake who was the only person who knew about Maeve at the time, but this felt different. He was going for a picnic in the woods with a woman he hardly knew anything about other than her name and the fact she liked to walk in leaves barefoot. Not comparable to his short lived phone relationship with a brilliant geneticist who didn’t know what he looked like. This time, he couldn’t cater for her preconceived perception of how he looked. She’d seen his eyebags, the five o'clock shadow (which he’d shaved in preparation for this), his hair that was desperately in need of a cut. 

And she didn’t care.

Therapy couldn’t be over fast enough. He’d seen her less than 72 hours prior, but she was on his mind the whole session. How could she not be? He couldn’t stop thinking about that laugh, her hair that was a little tangled from the wind, that sparkle that was in her eyes. 

“You seem distracted today, Doctor Reid.” The doctor, Doctor Rodriguez, said. Spencer finally honed in to the therapy session he’d been zoned out for the first thirty minutes of.

“Hm?” He asked. Doctor Rodriguez smiled. 

“I said you seem distracted. It’s unlike you.” She prompted. Spencer fidgeted with the edge of his cardigan. 

“Sorry.” He mumbled. “I’m just… I’m focused on something else.”

She raised her eyebrow. “Has something happened?”

He hesitated. He didn’t really want to tell anyone about her yet. But what if his keeping secrets held him back from coming back to work? He had to trust her, for the sake of his sanity. 

“… I met someone.” He muttered. She looked at him with an eyebrow raised. 

“Someone?” She asked. “Was this in a romantic context?” 

Spencer shook his head. He didn’t have confirmation of that yet, so he wasn’t going to get ahead of himself. “We actually met when I went for a walk in the woods. I was trying to get some vitamin D, like you recommended.”

She smiled. “Good to see you actually following my advice for once.” She closed her notebook, seemingly noticing this was something that Spencer wasn’t prepared to have on the books. “Do you want to tell me more about them?”

Spencer hesitated. No, because I don’t want the only person to know about my potential crush on this stranger to be my therapist, he really wanted to say. But he instead opted for something he knew was a bit more socially acceptable. 

“I don’t want to jinx anything.” He said, looking down at his fingers. He was picking at his cuticles nervously, a habit he’d picked up from Emily.

“How so?” She asked. Spencer frowned.

“... everyone I care about in some way has either died, left me, or has tried to cause me harm.” He said timidly. “So I’m scared to talk about her… in case she ends up on the same path as the others.” 

Doctor Rodriguez frowned. “Spencer, I thought you were a man of science, not of superstition.”

Spencer’s lips quirked up in a tight smile. “Yeah, well, when you watch your first proper girlfriend get shot in front of you, it tends to make you think your love life is doomed from thereon out.”

Doctor Rodriguez nodded again. “You’re referring to Maeve, correct?” She asked, and Spencer gave a sad nod. It had been years since the incident had happened, but he could still close his eyes and picture the bullet, could still watch Maeve’s body crumple to the ground, could still feel the warmth drain from her soft flesh. He knew he’d never moved on, not really. He’d tried dating around, had a few hookups here and there, but they all left him yearning for something he could never have. Wanting her.

“I highly doubt I’ll be the first one to tell you that Maeve’s death was not your fault.” She told him. Spencer sighed, not wanting to respond. How could he? He’d practically picked himself to pieces over the years over it. He had thought through what felt like a million versions of the situation in his head, and the only variable that always led to Maeve’s demise was his involvement. His veins flooded with stone, stilling him immediately.

“Look, Spencer, if you’re not ready to talk about Maeve with me yet, that’s alright. But I think that talking to more people outside of your usual bubble is a really important thing. This person may be a force for positivity, more so than you think. There’s no harm in exploring this as something casual.” She suggested. Spencer frowned. He wanted to get to know his stranger, but he wanted to do so of his own accord. Someone else knowing about her didn’t let that happen.

“We’re meeting up this afternoon. A picnic.” He said quietly. She smiled encouragingly at him. 

“That’s awesome, Spencer. It’ll be nice to meet with someone who’s not involved with the FBI in any way.” She said, and Spencer hummed in acknowledgement. He still wasn’t looking up just yet.

“I talk to people who aren’t in the FBI.” He tried to counter, and she arched her eyebrow.

“Spencer, Derek doesn’t count just because he’s no longer in the FBI. You still worked with him as an agent for over ten years.” She said, and he hesitated. When he went to speak again, she knew what was coming. “Your mother and her carers also don’t count.”

That left him stumped. He really didn’t have any friends, just his team. He had people he knew in the educational world due to his doctorates, but it wasn’t like he could call them around for a cup of tea casually. Hell, if he didn’t have a business card to give people, he probably wouldn’t have 99% of the numbers in his phone.

“I cannot be the only normal person you know, Spencer.” Doctor Rodriguez interrupted his train of thought. “The point I’m trying to get across here is that you deserve to have normal relationships that are not formed on the basis of your job. Even if nothing romantic comes of this picnic today, you may have made a friend that is organic, not based around the shared role of your job and not based on shared trauma.”

That brought Spencer to a pause. She was right- the reason his team knew each other so well was that they had worked together for so long, and had seen the grime from the deepest pits of society. They’d been through so much hurt and pain together, he’d almost forgotten what it was like to form a normal, organic relationship. He smiled at the thought. 

“That might be nice.” He said softly, thinking.

“Well then. Go and get some food for the picnic, and go in without expectation. This is nothing yet, so don’t put pressure on yourself to make it something or see it as something.”

Even after he left Doctor Rodriguez’ office, after he’d stopped at a small convenience store to grab some extra bits for the picnic he’d already prepacked, and after he’d parked his car at his normal spot, he was still thinking about that. She was right. This wasn’t anything yet. It was two near strangers, existing in the same space as one another, with food offerings in the middle. It was catered parallel play. She didn’t owe him anything, and he didn’t owe her anything. 

But when he came to the clearing to see her already setting a blanket out, the stone in his veins crumbled, and all of Doctor Rodriguez’ words left his head. He knew he wanted this to be something, wanted it to blossom into something more than just this.

She looked up at the sound of leaves crunching underfoot, and her face lit up. “Hey, you made it.”

He checked his watch. “And I thought I was a little early.” He teased, and she blushed, shaking her head. 

“I had a free day, I thought it would be nice to spend some time out here anyway.” She admitted, before gesturing for him to sit. He happily settled on the mat, putting down the basket of food he had prepared.

“I, ah, realised we didn’t talk about who was bringing what, plus I didn’t ask you about your dietary requirements, so I- I might have overcatered.” He smiled weakly, beginning to unpack the food. There were cheeses, plentiful crackers and meats, fresh fruits, small pastries, and he wasn’t even done unloading the basket.

“Woah, you weren’t kidding.” She grinned at him. He stopped, laughing awkwardly as he had his hands still in the basket.

“It’s too much, isn’t it?” He asked. She was quick to shake her head.

“No, no. It’s nice to have options. But honestly, you could’ve brought a single apple on a plate and I would’ve been excited.” She told him, and he softened immediately. 

“Okay. B-because the last thing I want to do is mess up.” He said. She gently reached over, picking up one of the wrapped cheeses and a small knife. 

“You didn’t mess anything up, Spencer. It’s okay.” She said as she carefully began to cut it onto one of the small plates she’d laid out. He was too focused on how her hands were moving, how she sounded like a siren when she so much as said his name.

“So, how’s your day been?” She asked him. It snapped him from his daydream.

“Ah, it’s been okay. I had therapy at noon, and I slept in before that.” He said, reaching to pour them some tea he’d premade in a thermos. She took her cup with a nod of acknowledgement and a gentle smile.

“I’m surprised you let yourself sleep in. You seem like the type to have a really strict sleep schedule.” She told him, putting the cheese on one of the crackers and popping it in her mouth. He smiled, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. Truth was, he’d been allowing himself more sleep ins in a desperate attempt to break the cycle of early rising that prison had instilled in him.

“Yeah, I used to. But there was… a period of time… where I didn’t sleep great.” He said vaguely, thinking back to the strict prison schedule. “I tried sleep medication for a while afterwards, but it worked out better for my brain to simply turn off the alarms.” 

She knew there was something he wasn’t quite telling, but she didn’t pry. “I know there’s the whole ‘humans are supposed to have eight hours of sleep’ thing, but honestly, I feel like the human body benefits from a twelve hour nap every now and again.” She said through her mouthful of cracker and cheese.

“Actually, regular oversleeping has been linked to things like the increased risk of diabetes, obesity, headaches and heart disease.” He said, grabbing a grape and popping it in his own mouth. She shot him a look, somewhat shocked at how he could just rattle these things off. Spencer had missed the novelty of such a look on people’s faces.

“That’s why I said every now and again. I’m not going to develop heart disease because of my depression naps, right?” She asked and he smiled, shaking his head no as he swallowed. 

“Not likely if it’s not a habit. The occasional oversleep isn’t going to kill you.” He told her, and she seemed more content with that. 

“Good. Because there’s only so much I’m willing to give up.” She said, before cutting another slice of cheese, putting it on the cracker and popping it on Spencer’s plate.

Spencer watched how her hands moved, her slender fingers with nails bitten to the quick, raw cuticles that looked to be painful. If he hadn’t had his own battles with the destructive form of self soothing stimulation, he would’ve probably expressed his concern, not only for her physical health but for her mental health too. As she stretched forward, the arms of her cardigan shifted upwards slightly, revealing faded scars on her wrist that he assumed stretched up her arm. He knew not to pry, but felt a twinge in his heart at the sight. He loathed the idea that someone with such brightness in her eyes had once had that sapped from her.

“So, Spencer. What is it you do with your days normally? No offence, but you seem well put together enough to not belong in the woods with weirdos like me.” She said, blowing on her tea. He smiled sheepishly, looking at his cup.

“Ah, as of the moment, it’s mostly just therapy, spending time with my Mom when she’s well enough for visitors, and I catch up with a friend of mine and his son on Thursdays for coffee. I’ll probably be heading back to work soon, though.” He said. She nodded, ruminating on the words. Where did she even start with that?

“Your Mom isn’t well.” She said softly, her eyes speaking the apologies he had heard all too many times from the mouths of medical personnel and from his own coworkers and friends. He nodded, holding the cup just a little bit tighter. 

“Yeah. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia when I was young, and it progressed really bad. She has dementia now, and she’s in a care facility where they can monitor her.” He explained. For whatever reason, he couldn’t look her in the eyes. 

She smiled tightly. “Shit. Sorry I mentioned it.” 

He shook his head, shrugging. “I’ve accepted it. I managed to dodge the schizophrenia gene, but her dementia has made me acutely aware of my own mortality.” 

She fell quiet for a moment, clearly mulling this over. “It’s not a guarantee-” She started but he cut her off quickly.

“- depending on the type of dementia, it’s a 50% chance.” He took a sip of the tea, looking up at her. She arched her brow.

“So you’re the kind to take comfort in research when it comes to this sort of thing.” She noted. He nodded immediately.

“Absolutely. Books, information, studies.” He said. She listened to him as he began to enthusiastically tell her the type of way he would absorb his knowledge. He talked about his studies too; psychology, chemistry, engineering. He wasn’t even noticing how much he was talking, just excited to give this information to someone new, someone who hadn’t known him for ten or more years.

“Jesus. How many degrees do you have?” She asked playfully after a while, and he smiled sheepishly. 

“I have three PhDs. And BA’s in Psychology, Sociology, and I really want to do one in philosophy…” He said. She choked on her tea, covering her mouth before swallowing dramatically.

“ Three? ” She looked at him, shocked. “It’s like… a life achievement for people to even get one. ” 

He scratched his neck, suddenly becoming very interested in the container of shaved ham in front of him. He was never bashful about his achievements, having spent his entire life being told of his brilliance, but for some reason her compliments brought heat to his face. “I, ah, yeah. I’m a bit of a chronic overachiever.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sounds like it. Probably putting Einstein to shame.” 

“He did only have one PhD, but plenty of honourary doctorates.” Spencer agreed. She scoffed, eating another cracker. 

“Oh, yeah. You put him to shame.” She said, but he shook his head, clearly disagreeing.

“In terms of what he achieved, he most certainly puts me to shame.” He said. “I used to think I would’ve found a cure to my mother’s schizophrenia by age thirty, and now I’m thirty seven and have nothing to show for it.” 

She frowned at that. “You clearly have a lot of love in your heart for your mother despite her condition. That’s not a cure, but that will damn well be a light in her darkness.” 

He looked at her. He supposed she was right; his mother, when she did recognise him, was so much more receptive and comfortable whenever he was present with her. He hadn’t found a cure for her, but he’d found help.

“Plus, I think it’s a lot of pressure to be putting on yourself to cure a genetic disease before you even hit the middle of your life.” She added, and he gave a huff of a laugh. They ate quietly, for a moment, before he finally worked up the nerve to ask a question that had been in his mind since he’d last seen her.

“You said you’re out in the forest a lot. Do you… not work?” He asked, and she bit her cheek.

“Ah, no. Not at the moment. I did some boring office administration stuff for some local companies, floated around, but nothing felt right. I couldn’t find something that I stuck to for more than a year or so.” She told him. “I moved back with my Mom a few months back, when I was discharged from hospital.” 

He looked at her, frowning. “Were you sick?” 

She hesitated. “I… I was, I guess. I was in a mental health ward for a good few months after I…” She crudely mimed a hanging, sticking her tongue out dramatically. Spencer’s eyes widened. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” 

She waved him off with a smile. “Don’t worry about it. My psych says my use of humour as a coping mechanism isn’t a bad thing, as long as I acknowledge what happened. And trust me, I acknowledge it. Multiple times a week.” 

He didn’t know what to say. He’d never seen someone so nonchalant about something so serious. It made the stone creep back up on him, thinking of the scene that whoever found her would’ve seen. The idea of her hurting to the point of that, to where she’d attempted to put an end to her suffering in the most final way possible. The hair on his neck was standing on its end as he closed his eyes, unable to help picturing it, and then her face turned into Maeve’s, then there was the blood, and she was cold on the floor-

“Spencer.”

He opened his eyes, realising he’d completely spaced out. Her face had worry written all over it, and her hand was tenderly placed on top of his.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve checked how you felt about me making those kinds of jokes-”

“-no, it’s, ah, it’s okay.” He said. He bit his cheek, trying to think about something else, anything but the sweet face in front of him cold and pale. “I… I just…” He trailed off. He dealt with death all the time as his job, but she was different. “... do you still have suicidal thoughts?”

She hesitated, but nodded. “More passive, I think. Being as close as I was to death made me feel really vulnerable, and it also made me think about those people I was leaving behind. Mostly about my cat. Don’t think my mother could deal with her on her own.” She joked, and he softened, letting out a huff, smiling at that. Her hand was still on his, giving him a sensation to focus on. For once, he wasn’t focused on the germs.

“Cats are really empathetic creatures.” He said, and she nodded.

“Exactly. And I can’t imagine leaving her behind. She’s needy, y’know?” Her words were playful, but there was a sense of truth behind her words. She’d found something to stay for, and that gave him a bit of comfort.

They were quiet for a while before she took her hand away from him, reaching for another cracker and putting some dip on it, popping it in her mouth. 

Spencer’s head was reeling, and he desperately wanted to make the conversation flow again. How could he possibly come back from talking about her suicide attempt? 

“I, ah, I know it’s not a competition, but I watched my girlfriend get murdered in front of me once.”

Nice one, Spencer. Real smooth.

She choked on her cracker, her eyes bulging. “Holy shit! You definitely win the trauma Olympics. Jesus.” She swallowed hard. Spencer, despite the seriousness of the situation, couldn’t help but smile. 

“I don’t think there’s such a thing as the trauma Olympics, but I appreciate the sentiment.” He joked. She just kept looking at him.

“I don’t even know what to say to that. Wow.” She said, reaching and taking a big gulp of her tea. He shook his head.

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s unfair for me to casually bring up my trauma in such a way.” He said. She shook her head. 

“No, no. It’s fine. I mean, just… wow.” She repeated. “I want to ask questions, but I don’t think that’s appropriate.” 

He smiled. Everyone treated him like he was so fragile whenever the topic of Maeve came up, the few times it did. She was like a breath of fresh air, sunshine in the darkness. 

“Ah, maybe not. Maybe that’s more second date type questions.” He said casually, sipping his tea before realising what he’d said. He practically spat it back out after that, seeing her eyes wide. 

“I mean, ah- that is if- if you want to go on a second date- if this even is a date-” He stuttered, trying to cover himself. She cut him off with a laugh, her eyes crinkling a little. He could’ve sworn angels were rejoicing in that moment.

“Spencer, it’s a date if you want it to be.” She told him. He lit up. 

“Really?” He grinned, and she nodded, reaching over and taking his hand again.

“Absolutely.” 

Chapter Text

He couldn’t stop thinking of her. Of the fact she’d confirmed it was a date. A real date. He didn’t even remember the last time he’d been on one of those- if he’d even been on one of those in recent years. There were a couple people about a year after Maeve, but no one that felt right.

Not like her.

That night, he found himself unable to be occupied by his book. He flicked through the pages, but it was taking him about thirty seconds per page. That was obscene by his standards.

He had told her that he loathed technology and texting, but she insisted that if he wanted to exist in the twenty-first century, that he’d have to grow more comfortable typing, which was why it was no surprise to see a notification from her on his screen. Spencer had nicknamed her as ‘ Sunshine ’ in his phone. 

[11:24PM] are you awake?

[11:25PM] i mean, you told me your sleep schedule is a mess so i would assume you are

He smiled at that, not hesitating to type a response to her. 

[11:32PM] I am indeed awake. Are you alright? 

He waited for a while before his phone pinged again. 

[11:32PM] yup. just can’t stop thinking about our picnic

He closed the book, entirely focused on her now. He just wished he had her in front of him; talking like this felt grossly impersonal to him.

[11:33PM] Neither can I. Do you think we should do it again another time, say, tomorrow?

He didn’t know what he was doing, all he knew was that he would be making Morgan proud. He could practically hear his best friend clapping his shoulder, going ‘my man’ with that cheeky grin on his face.

There was a few minutes of no response, and Spencer felt his stomach twist that maybe he’d taken it a bit too far, but he got a response a few moments later.

[11:38PM] sorry cat threw up yes please to date (weather permitting)

He smiled at that, typing again.

[11:39PM] Shall we try for 2PM again? Or is that not going to suit? 

[11:40PM] it’s really sweet of you to think that i have better things to do than meet up with the guy i met in the woods. 2pm is perfect

[11:40PM] Wonderful. Hope that the cat vomit hasn’t created too severe of a mess for you.

[11:41PM] totally unrelated to the vomit incident but if ur apartment takes cats, this one is definitely free to a good home

It felt so natural. It was strange, considering the only other woman who’d shown any form of interest in him in recent years was Cat, who then also kidnapped his mother and admitted to sexually assaulting him while pretending to be Maeve.

As Garcia would probably put it, ‘the bar is on the floor’. 

He was grateful that she was patient enough to put up with his questions. Now he knew what foods were okay for her, he could prepare something more substantial. He was up early the next morning, cooking some pasta a la David Rossi. He didn’t want to clue his boss in that he was going anywhere, so he instead was closing his eyes to best remember how he had watched the older man cook the noodles. 

He carefully put the meal into insulated containers, ensuring that it’d still be warm when he arrived, before putting in more drinks; some cold water, some fancy wine that he was certain Rossi would approve of because it was aged for more than 20 years, and a thermos of tea again. He wanted this to be perfect. He wanted her to see him as perfect. He wanted to be perfect for her. She deserved nothing less than perfection after all she had been through.

He wanted to beat her there this time. He arrived at 1:30, making it to their clearing before it was quarter to two, but she was already sitting on her rock, smiling at him. 

“I win.” She teased. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. He couldn’t be mad though; her smile was like gold to him.

As she helped him set the blanket out, he desperately wanted to hear her talk again. “How’s the cat?”

She rolled her eyes. “A terror. She ate grass on one of her many outdoor escapades, and apparently that was enough for her stomach to be upset all over my favourite blanket.” 

Spencer put the picnic basket down, sitting as he began to unload it. “Strangely enough, as long as your grass hasn’t been treated with chemicals or pesticides, there actually are some medicinal benefits to cats eating grass. It’s believed to help them purge hairballs, can ease constipation, or it may even prevent intestinal parasites.” He rattled off. She looked at him in almost shock. 

“And you just know this stuff off of the top of your head?” She asked, and he smiled sheepishly. 

“I read.”

“No shit you read. You’re like a walking encyclopedia. I wish I had capacity for that sort of knowledge, all I’ve got is niche stuff from late nights and Youtube documentaries.” She smiled. He laughed. 

“Well, I can almost guarantee there’s stuff you know that I don’t. Especially more modern media.” He told her, before he pulled out the wine bottle. She looked at him, that shocked look on her face again. 

“What’s the wine for?” She asked, and he looked at the bottle. 

“To go with the pasta. I looked up wine pairings.” He responded as if it was the most casual thing in the world. She laughed, smiling and shaking her head. 

“Spencer, as nice as it is, we don’t need wine. Like I said to you last time, I’m really easily pleased.” She leaned over and rubbed his knee. His face flushed red. His fingers went tense against the neck of the wine bottle. 

“Is it too much?” He asked, suddenly wanting to backtrack. “It’s just, I don’t want-”

“-it’s okay, Spencer. I just want you to know I don’t expect you to go above and beyond for me. It’s cute that you want to, though. Really.” She said, and he swallowed and nodded.

“Okay. If you’re sure. I, ah, also made pasta. One of my team members is Italian, and he sometimes gives us his recipes.” He said, pulling out the small insulated containers. She smiled warmly as he presented one to her. 

“Y’know, I never actually asked. What do you do for work?” She asked casually as she picked up a fork. He sighed. It was bound to come up eventually. He used to be excited to tell people about his job; why, yes, he did indeed work for the FBI. Why, yes, he does work for one of the most prestigious units in the Bureau. That then invited the conversation of why he wasn’t currently at work, and he was absolutely terrified of saying too much and scaring her away. He felt himself growing cold again, concrete filling his veins as he became a statue.

“I, ah, I’m part of the FBI.” He finally relented, looking at the cutlery in his hands.

“No way!” She leaned forward, smiling at him. “Are you secretly here to catch me for all the movies I’ve pirated over the years?” She said playfully. He exhaled out of his nose in place of a laugh.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to admit that directly to law enforcement.” He told her, and she shrugged.

“Everyone’s done it at least once. Bet your team members are probably guilty of it too.” She poked his leg before lifting the fork to her mouth.

“I’ve never pirated anything.” He frowned. She stopped as the spaghetti went to hit her lips and grinned. 

“That’s because you’re like a caveman! I bet I could give you a guide and you wouldn’t even know where to look.” She laughed, taking a mouthful of the meal.

“I know how to operate a computer! I just don’t see a reason as to pirating movies when you can go to the cinema, or find a DVD-”

She cut him off, mouth full of pasta. “-Spencer, there’s literally only one still operating Blockbuster in the country.” She looked down at the meal in her hands, pointing at it with her fork. “This is good. If I drank, it would probably be really nice with your fancy wine.” 

He smiled at the compliment. “There’s still other places you can rent DVDs! Physical media is important. What happens if the internet suddenly- I don’t know, turns off?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “That’s not- please tell me that’s not how you think it works!”

The two of them went back and forth, and slowly, Spencer began to relax again. He felt warmth flooding his body, his jaw hurting from the grin that felt so natural. He laughed, his eyes crinkling in the corners. A genuine chest laugh. He hadn’t had many of those since he got out of prison. It felt nice to be light again, not to have the heavy weight of his time in prison on his shoulders.

They were talking for a while, any random topic seizing both of their hyperactive minds, leading to tangent after tangent, before she asked a question that made him freeze up again. 

“So, is there a reason you’re not out catching bad guys right now?” 

There it was.  

How was he supposed to answer that in a way that didn’t scare her? Even if he said he was innocent, had been exonerated of all crimes, and that they’d caught the person who framed him, she would never look at him the same. No one who was a good person went to prison. And if Spencer had been a good person going in, he was someone entirely different after he had come out. 

She noticed his anxiety and hesitation. “Sorry if that was an overstep, I-”

“No, no, it’s okay. I just, ah…” He trailed off. “... I don’t want you to look at me differently.”

She frowned, shaking her head. “Spencer, I like you. I don’t think anything you can tell me will make me look at you differently when you’re already, like, the coolest person I know.” 

He gave a timid smile. He supposed that her vulnerability yesterday helped him feel more comfortable, and her sunny disposition and good humour helped him feel like maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t run at the first sight of his past.

“It’s a long story.” He tried one more time to back out, and she shot him a raised eyebrow as if to say ‘really?’ 

“And I’ve got nothing but time. Seriously, Spencer, if you don’t want to tell me, it’s okay, but just know that I’m not going to look at you differently.”

And so he took a deep breath and started. He started telling her about how he seeked out alternative medicine to help his mother, how that led him to Mexico, crossing the border under a secret passport in order to not arouse FBI suspicion. How he’d been drugged, raped, framed for a murder he didn’t commit, incarcerated for three months, all to find out it could be traced back to the woman who had been obsessed with his downfall since he locked her up five years prior, who then organised someone to kidnap and almost murder his mother. She listened patiently, not interrupting his rambles, and to her credit, she didn’t look afraid in any way. She just listened, taking his hand after a while and rubbing his knuckles.

“I have my psychological evaluation tomorrow. And I know that I should be excited and ready to go back to work with my team… but I’m not sure. I don’t think I want to go back. Is that weird?”

She hummed, looking out over the waterhole, pensive. “Spencer, you went through something incredibly traumatic. You spent every day in that place fearing for your life, battling your moral compass while also trying to fly under the radar. I don’t think it’s weird to feel as though you have to readjust now that you’ve seen what it’s like on the inside of the place you send the people you catch to.”

He looked at her. “You sound like someone who’s been through something similar.”

She hummed in acknowledgement. “When I came out of care after my attempt, I felt like an alien. It felt like my world had frozen and was stuck to the ground in concrete shoes, but everything kept ticking on. I didn’t want to go back to work, because that meant I would have to face the fact that I was even away from work. I quit that job. I didn’t go back, because it meant that I had to look my trauma right in the eyes. And you’ll have to do the exact same thing, but it’s even worse for you.”

He looked at her in thought. She was right, of course. Every second of every day, he’d have to look at his team, at his gun and his badge and his handcuffs and he’d have to make the conscious decision to put people into the system that had almost killed him. 

“It used to be so easy.” He told her. “So black and white. I knew that we were the good guys, and we were catching the bad guys. But I think that over the years, that line has blurred more and more for me.”

“You are the good guys.” She quickly replied. “I can’t speak for the rest of your team, but Spencer, you acted on all of this to save your mother. And that… bitch that did all of that to you was for her own selfish revenge fantasies. You tried your best in an impossible situation, and it’s not your fault that things ended up the way that they did.” 

He smiled, looking down. The pasta in front of him didn’t seem as appetizing as it had when he’d cooked it. 

“You said that I sounded like I could replace your therapist when we first met. I think you could replace mine.” He told her. She snorted, shaking her head and swatting his shoulder.

“Oh, hell no. That’s way too much responsibility. I’m more of a wise uncle that’s travelled the world and has stories to tell from it.”

That made him laugh a little, flashing a toothy smile. “I’m just…” He breathed a little sigh of relief. “... I’m really glad you aren’t looking at me with that look that I normally get when I talk about this.”

She looked at him in confusion, so he elaborated. “Pity. Sadness. A little bit of fear.”

She shook her head. “Look, I know as part of your job you have to carry a gun, but I don’t think you’d ever intentionally hurt a fly.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. 

“You don’t scare me, Spencer.” She rubbed his knuckles, and warmth flooded through his body. “And if you really are a murderer who’s going to hack me to bits in the woods… I think that’d be a wonderful way to go.”