#it's a case by case basis i guess we've always worked with people who need it we dont evict unless someone is actively negligent | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

geniusgub · 3 years

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north//chapter twelve

genre: angst, tiny bit of fluff

pairing: season 11 and 12 spencer reid x oc

warnings: panic attack

word count: 12.4k

summary: change is wonderful. but there’s some changes that are far too drastic for spencer and amelia to handle.

pay attention to the pov changes and the time jump or else you’ll be confused!!!!!! it’s about to get good.

AMELIA

Months go by, and life goes on, and that's about all I have to say about the last few months. Spencer works and I bask in the successful, metaphorical glow of my last exhibit. I do some light work here and there but mostly, I take some time off and resort to lounging around and drawing in my sketchbook. Spencer complains though because he claims that if I have all this free time then he should too. But regardless, he leaves bed every day to go to work and fight the monsters of the world.

But nobody more than me knows that things change quickly. I accepted that a long time ago and the nature of Spencer's job just reiterated that sentiment, especially after he got shot. So even though it’s a bit too overwhelming when he comes home with cuts and bruises on his face, or get upset when he misses loosely planned dates because of cases, or we disagree on where to order dinner from or if we should even order at all instead of just cooking, nothing surprises me anymore.

It doesn't surprise me when Spencer calls me from work and tells me he needs to go to Houston for a case, and that he might be gone for a while. He tells me he loves me and that he'll be home as soon as possible, to be safe, and to drink a glass of wine for him. So I tell him that he's the one who needs to be careful and remind him many times of my love, then I force him to promise that he'll be careful. He does, and I send him in his way with one more proclamation of love.

Spencer has been through a lot. He's a very strong person, and he tells me a lot, but I know he doesn't tell me everything. He only wears his heart on his sleeve when it comes to his feelings for me, but not with anything else. He's not an open book when it comes to work and the horrors he sees on a daily basis and relives in his dreams. I wish he was, but I know that part of the reason he doesn't is so he doesn't affect me. I wish he didn't think that way. I wish he could just confide in me without worrying about upsetting me.

That being said, he doesn't cry. As I lay on my couch and listen to one of the records Spencer bought me for Christmas, a glass of wine about to fall out of my hand, my eyes closed, I try to remember a time Spencer cried in front of me. I scrunch up my nose when I realize I can't think of a specific time. Well, maybe he has cried. Maybe he did in the hospital. Maybe he did when he revealed what happened with Maeve, or his drug addiction. I don't have his memory. Maybe my worries are for nothing and I don't need to waste my time worrying over him so much.

But the days pass and I hear very little from Spencer, so I distract myself with my friends. We go out and we spend nights at clubs and we congregate at someone's apartment to watch movies and it's a wonderful distraction, but it doesn't fill the void that Spencer leaves. So I often find myself leaving him quick voicemails in bathrooms and balconies and bedrooms, telling him that I hope he's safe and that I love him and to let me know when he's coming home so I can see him. I don’t ever hear back.

Friday's are normally easy and Friday's are brunch days with my friends. So I wake up and shower and dress for my day, pulling on my skirt and blouse, singing along to the records playing downstairs. I finish getting dressed and fall back into bed, reaching for my sketchbook to occupy me for another half hour until I need to leave.

"Amelia?" Spencer's voice comes through my apartment, frantic and panicked, as the door hits the brick wall and rattles the picture frames. "Baby, are you home?"

"Spencer?" I respond, and his head whips up, landing on me. He looks like an utter mess in a loose tie and disheveled suit, messenger and go-bag having already clattered to the floor. His hair can be likened to bed head and I can see from here that his eyes are red. I immediately rush down the stairs and forget everything I was just about to do. "Sweetheart, what happened?" I grab his cheeks, performing my normal routine of checking for injuries, and when I find none, I become utterly confused and even more concerned.

Spencer's lips quiver as he sniffles, but he can't hold anything back when tears start to pour down his cheeks. "I-" his hands reach for my waistline, grasping my skin and drawing me closer, "I missed you so damn much, Lia, god."

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" I ask when he pulls me even closer, our bodies pressing together and I can feel his rapid heartbeat against my chest. He tucks his head into my neck as he shakes his head no, arms finally circling my waist. "Okay," I whisper, coursing my fingers through his hair, closing my eyes as I breathe in the faint scent of his cologne. "I've got you, dove. I'm right here."

It only takes a second for Spencer to break down in tears, clutching my body like his life depends on it. Hearing his whimpers and feeling his shaking form breaks my heart, but I hold it together, rubbing him back, petting his hair, cooing in his ear, and telling him everything will be okay. His knees eventually give out so I lower us to the floor, landing in a weird position where I'm half in Spencer's lap while he cries in my neck. But neither of us seem to pay any mind to the fact that we're on the floor in the middle of my apartment. I just hold him and mutter sweet nothings and cheesy nicknames and pray to myself that he's okay.

"Spence, my love, can you talk to me? Can you tell me what's going on?" I whisper, trying to keep my voice low. I know that whenever I'm needing his comfort, his calm and low voice always helps me, so I try to provide the same for him. "I'm right here, sweetheart, talk to me," Spencer hiccups a few times as he lifts his head, and I reach forward to wipe his tears. "Take a breath, love. Just breathe, you're okay, I'm right here.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and grasps at my thighs, and his head hanging forward. "I-" he takes a long, shallow breath, "you were clearly about to go out. Don't let me interrupt you."

I scoff out a laugh, shaking my head and pressing a kiss to his. He leans into my touch in a way that nearly makes me swoon. "Absolutely not, I'm not leaving you like this. You were on a case, is this about the case?"

Spencer nods slowly, keeping his head down. "You know about the whole thing with the group of assassins we've been hunting? The dirty dozen?"

"The people who've been targeting Penelope?" He nods again, and his hands tighten around my thighs. "Nothing happened to her, right?"

"No, no," Spencer finally lifts his head and sniffles again, wiping his cheeks with the heel of his hand, "she's fine. Actually, she's finally able to go home now because of this case."

"Okay, tell me what happened. Something must have happened if you're crying," I put my hands on top of his and brush my thumbs over his knuckles, hoping to bring him extra comfort. He brings them against his chest, allowing me to feel it rise and fall a little too quickly for liking.

Spencer gulps. "I had to pose as a married man who wanted his pregnant wife killed so I could lure the last hitwoman out of hiding so we could capture her. We'd gotten everyone else, it was just her. She was so smart and she saw through the whole thing. She knew my ring was fake right off the bat. She set a timer on my phone and was asking me all these questions about me and how we found her and about me and my family and-"

"Your family?"

"After she got rid of my ring, she asked if I had a girlfriend and I said no and somehow, she believed me. And then she was telling me that the only person who would actually date me would be a brat and an idiot."

“I mean, I guess it’s up for debate but I wouldn’t categorize myself as either of those things.”

Spencer giggles, just a little bit, but a joyful noise nonetheless, and that’s enough for right this second. "Then it turns out that she had a partner in the restaurant the whole time who had rigged bombs in the basement. She threatened to kill all these innocent people if I didn't let her walk free, but I couldn't do either of those things." He's getting worked up again and his eyes are tearing up and his breathing is shallowing and it just breaks my heart.

"Bub," I whisper, squeezing his hands, "breathe, okay? You're here now, you're okay."

Spencer lets out a heavy breath that sounds painful. But he squeezes my hands tighter and continues. "The only way I could throw her off her game was by lying to her. Her father had, um," Spencer glances up at me with a nervous look in his eye, "killed her mother when she was young and she was fostered," oh, that's why he was hesitant to say that, "and I had to tell her that I went looking for her father and that I found him and he just didn't recognize her, but that wasn't true. I couldn't find him at all. But then when Morgan moved in to take her down, he lied and told her that her father was at the restaurant and I just-” he shutters, “it was so horrible. I was so scared. She had a gun on me the whole time and I've had guns pointed at me so many times but I knew she wanted to shoot me and I knew she hated me and I knew she would have no problem killing me at any time. It was- god, it was so horrible."

I scoop Spencer into my arms again as he collapses into a new fit of sobs, body trembling. "Spence, I'm so sorry. But you did the right thing. Just think about Penelope. She's safe now, right? She can go home now and she can sleep peacefully knowing that there aren't hitmen coming for her and that you helped take them down. That hitwoman is in prison and you won't have to see her ever again. Now you're here with me and you're safe, okay?"

Spencer doesn't answer. He just lets me hold him and whisper in his ear and part of me hates that he's not talking. He shuts himself off and just barely hears what I’m saying, and only reacts when I touch his hair. He doesn’t return any verbal or physical expressions of love, not that I’m the one who needs them right now, but he just lays limp in my arms and whimpers like a kicked puppy.

"Hey," I whisper, pulling him up a bit and holding his face in my hands, "why don't you go change your clothes and maybe take a shower, if you want, and then come back down? Maybe you'll feel a little better."

Spencer nods and pushes himself up. Without another word, he grabs his two bags and trudges up the stairs to my bedroom, and just a moment later, I hear the bathroom door open and then the shower running.

With a heavy sigh, I locate my phone and text my friends to tell them I won't be making it to brunch. I don't bother to wait for their inevitably irritated responses before tucking my phone away, rushing around my apartment. I find the basket I'm looking for and then snatch the blanket from the back of the couch. I toss food and snacks and drinks into the basket, listening carefully to the running shower upstairs. When I've assembled everything I need, I take a seat on the island and wait for Spencer to be done in the shower.

It's almost half an hour before Spencer comes strolling down the stairs in jeans, a tee-shirt, and his converse. His work attire and weekend attire have too much of a layover, in my opinion. He’s always wearing his trousers and cardigans, occasionally a blazer. I’ve only gotten the pleasure of seeing him in jeans and a tee-shirt a handful of times, so despite the fact that he's the one with the fancy memory, I try to commit the sight to memory.

He's running his fingers through his wet and growing curls when he enters the kitchen, furrowing his eyebrows. "What's all this?"

"We, my dove," I quip, reaching my hands out for him, "are going on a picnic."

Spencer's eyebrows pitch up while he half-heartedly puts his hands in mine and steps closer to me, standing between my legs. "A picnic? Where? On the balcony?"

"No, silly," I giggle, leaning forward to kiss his nose. It makes him scrunch up his nose in the most adorable way. "We're gonna go to the park. It's nice out today and it's rare that I get to have you home during the day so let me cheer you up. Just- humor me, okay?"

Spencer glances beside me at the basket and the blanket, then back at my pouting face. He sighs, resigned. "Okay, sure."

"Good," I grin, leaning forward to press my lips to his briefly. “Let's go before it gets too late."

Spencer grabs the basket and helps me off the island, leaving me to grab the blanket. I lock up my apartment and we head off, walking hand in hand, silence looming over us. We would both usually attempt to fill the silence on a walk, but this time, it feels appropriate. We let the silence exist and distract ourselves by swinging our hands between us. I’m content with it though and I can only hope Spencer is too. I can only hope the silence isn’t letting Spencer get lost in his thoughts.

We finally reach the park and pick a spot to set up, using our shoes to hold down the edges of the blanket before taking our seats. We unload the basket and pass snacks to each other, avoiding the wine I brought, just in case we wanted to let loose. But this clearly isn’t the time for alcohol. So I work on my pretzels and watch a little boy giggle as he flies a kite with his mom.

"So, um," Spencer eventually hums, staring down at the container of walnuts in his hand, "I actually, um, I lied to you."

My hands freeze when they reach for a water bottle, my eyebrows raising. "Excuse me?"

Spencer lets out a breath. He reaches for a walnut but doesn't eat it, and just swirls it between his fingers. "I did go to Houston but it wasn't for a case. I went to see my mom. I asked Garcia to cover for me if you asked or went to the office."

"Why'd you have to lie about that? Is she okay? Spence, I could've gone with you.”

"I know, I should've told you and I feel bad that I didn't but I just wanted to deal with it myself."

"So what happened? Something happened. I can tell. What happened?"

The walnut in his hand slips out and falls onto the blanket, and now that his distraction is gone, he hangs his head again. "I got a call from the facility and they said the medication they were giving her wasn't working anymore. She was agitated and angry and they wanted me to go see her. So I went and when I went into her room, for three seconds-" he lets out a shaky breath and I find myself wondering if he even has any more tears to fall, but I quickly get that answer, "she had no idea who I was. So I had her tested and I found that night that she has an early onset of dementia."

I'm speechless for a moment, just processing that heavy information. I surely don't know as much as Spencer does but I know that this is not apart of schizophrenia. I've never heard stories of Diana not know her own son. I’ve never seen him so upset after a visit with his mom. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this intensely sad. Usually, if he’s upset from a case, I can spend an hour or two distracting him and then I’ll be blessed with seeing his smile again. But after this, I don’t know if he’ll ever smile.

"Oh, Spencer," I lurch forward and hug him for what seems like the millionth time, but he doesn't make an effort to hug me back. His arms hang loosely at his side and he just noses at my neck, not even caring enough to kiss me or hug me or touch me at all. "Love, I'm so sorry. And I'm sorry you had to go through that alone. I don’t know what to say other than I’ll be here for you and Diana and I’m always gonna be here to help you if you want it."

Spencer still doesn't respond and he still doesn't hug me back. So I let go and drop my arms to my side, chewing on my lip. I want to comfort him. I want to help. But he seems so lost in his own head, and that's the most dangerous place to be lost in. I know what it’s like to be trapped in your head with your thoughts, and I know Spencer does too, and it’s not a nice place to be. But I have no idea what I’m doing and I have no clue how to help him.

My eyes stray from his to the park around us. There are kids running around and dogs on leases and people going on runs. It's a stunning day out, and when my eyes linger up to the sky, squinting at the sun, I smile. I shift my body and lay down on my back, reaching back to rest my hand on Spencer's knee as I stare at the vast color that seems to match my eyes, or so I've been told.

"I think," I say softly, pointing upwards, "that one looks like a dinosaur." The clouds roll along in the sky and I study each of them quickly, searching for distinguishable shapes that I can point out. "And that one kinda looks like, well, I was gonna say an alien but now it looks more like a turtle," In the corner of my eye, I see Spencer tilt his head up to stare up at the sky. "And that one," I point to a passing cloud, "looks like a hat."

Spencer grabs the hand that is resting on his knees and intertwines our hands before laying down beside me. "I still don't get it. They're just clouds,"

"Then tell me about the clouds," I quip, letting my head fall onto his shoulder. "Educate me."

“Well, there are three main types of clouds. Cumulus, stratus, and cirrus. Stratus clouds are flat and featureless, like layered sheets. Cumulus clouds are puffy. Cirrus clouds are thin and wispy and are usually high in the sky.”

Spencer surely educates me. He goes on and on about the different types of clouds and the variations of them, and which produces the most rainwater and which form the fastest. I think he talks for close to half an hour, going on and on with his beautiful voice about something I never really give a second thought to. But I stare straight up and barely move a muscle, keeping my head on his shoulder and my hand laced in his.

"I talked for a while," Spencer chuckles as his lecture comes to an end, and he twists his neck to kiss my forehead. "Sorry."

"I enjoyed it. Can't say I'll remember it, but I like hearing you talk," I smile, turning to capture his lips in a kiss. "But I think that one looks like a lamp."

"I still don't see any pictures," Spencer sighs, returning his gaze up to the sky.

"That's okay. You will one day. It takes practice," I pause, squinting my eyes. "That's definitely a car. Like, a pickup truck," I reach my free hand over and grab Spencer’s cheeks, twisting his head for him at the passing cloud. Cumulus, I think. “There. That’s the pickup truck.”

"Thank you for taking my mind off everything," Spencer whispers, and his head breaks free from my grasp to look over at me. My hand drops to his chest. "I don't know what I'd do without you. I think I'd go crazy. I truly don't know what I did before you and I don't know what I'd do if you-"

"You-" I cut him off before he can even finish his sentence, "don't have to worry about living without me because I'm not going anywhere. That's a camera, no doubt."

Spencer laughs, returning his gaze up. "Whatever you say, beautiful."

“You know,” I drag my hand down to his stomach and brush my thumb over the soft fabric of his shirt, “this might sound a little stupid. But the day we met, when I left my apartment for the cafe, when I looked up, there was a cloud in the shape of a heart. And I don’t know why but I just knew it would be a good day. Is that stupid?”

“No, it’s not stupid,” Spencer says. “Actually, if we were characters in a fiction novel, that heart cloud could be considered an objective correlative. That’s a symbol or event or group of things that are meant to represent emotions in the story. So in a movie, it could be thunder and lightning before a bad event or feeling a chill go down your spine. Or the cloud could be considered foreshadowing, even though foreshadowing doesn’t exist in real life. And if it does then it’s just a coincidence. Yeah, I guess for you it would’ve been a coincidence. A good coincidence. An accurate one because, you know, you kinda fell in love after you saw the heart cloud.”

It's my turn to look at him now, and I study the curve of his nose, his jawline, the outline of his lips. He's stunning. The sun illuminates his features, even the sweat gathering at his hairline, and I can’t remember a time when I was this utterly, wholeheartedly in love with him. With everything about him. The good and the bad. "Spence, I know it doesn't seem like it, but everything is gonna be okay," I whisper, moving closer to him, nuzzling my nose against his neck while his arm wraps around my waist. "And even if it's not, I'm gonna be right here, holding your hand and staying by your side the entire time. I'm not going anywhere. You can't get rid of me. No way."

"I wouldn't want to," Spencer quips, moving his arm around my waist. "I love you too much."

"I love you too. Come here," I sit up just a bit and draw his lips closer to mine, letting my eyes flutter closed. "Everything is gonna be okay, dove.”

///

ABOUT SIX MONTHS LATER

///

"Ow! Fuck, Spencer! That's way too hot!"

"Then turn it down."

"Well, my hands are a little tied right now."

"That's not my fault."

"It kinda is your fault because you made the stove too hot!"

Spencer laughs and comes up behind me, his arms circling my waist, resting his chin atop my head. "I'm sorry. You know cooking and baking aren't my forte."

I send Spencer a sharp look over my shoulder, huffing. "You're so lucky you're cute."

He rolls his eyes and then moves beside me, gently grabbing my wrist. "Let me see," he pulls my hand from under the running cold water to inspect my finger. "It's fine, just a little red."

"I know," I smile as Spencer brings my pointer finger up to his lips to lay a sweet kiss on my skin. "You're just so adorable."

"I try," Spencer shrugs innocently, making me laugh. "Okay, let's finish chocolate covering these strawberries and get them in the freezer."

I hum in agreement and move back to the stove, the heat setting now turned down by Spencer, post finger burning. So I reach over Spencer and grab another strawberry and dip it into the chocolate before setting it onto the wax paper. Once we've run out of strawberries, Spencer puts the tray in the freezer. I go skipping into his living room and curl up on the couch, turning on the tv and waiting for him to arrive.

It's only a minute before he's curling up beside me, pulling me into his arms and kissing my cheek. "It's amazing you didn't get called into work today," I say. "I guess since you had to miss our birthdays and Halloween this year, the serials killers decided to let us celebrate our two year anniversary together."

Spencer laughs as he pulls me even closer to his chest, placing a kiss on the top of my head. "I'm glad they did. I mean, I wish they let us spend every day together but I'm glad they let today be an exception."

I settle my head against Spencer's chest and keep my eyes on whatever's playing on the tv, brushing my fingers up and down his arm aimlessly. He hums contently and a smile comes to my face. These moments of quiet are rare. And getting to have these moments on days like today, our two-year anniversary, are few and far between. We have to take advantage of them while we can.

"Hey," Spencer whispers, "I've got a question." I hum in response, flickering my eyes up to him for a moment. "So, you know, you're always spending your time here and I'm always spending my time at your apartment," I immediately look back up at him, already understanding what he's about to ask. "We're always together so doesn't it just make sense that, you know, we live together?" He raises his eyebrows, then sucks his bottom lip between his teeth out of anxiousness. "We always make a point to get together when I'm home, and I know you sometimes stop by here when I'm away on cases. We should- doesn't it make sense? We'd get to see each other more."

My grin spreads across my face as I tackle him to his back, squeezing his waist. "Spencer, that sounds perfect. I'd absolutely love to move in with you."

"Seriously? You'd actually wanna buy a house with me?"

"Of course!" I giggle, bringing my hands to his jawline, holding his face in front of me. "Why do you think I’ve stuck around so long? Yes, Spencer, of course I do," He attacks me with kisses, quickly lifting me up and carrying me towards his bedroom. "Dove, the strawberries-"

"I don’t want the strawberries right now. I want you."

It was silly of me to expect that moment to last forever. Our second year together was amazing. Well, as amazing as it could have been. Spencer hunts the worst people in society and parts of him break every day and I start a new exhibit, but we still meet up when we can and hold each other and make each other laugh and cook and look at clouds (with only me describing shapes) and just comfort each other. It was completely foolish of me to expect that happiness bubble not to burst.

Spencer doesn't like change and that's not hard to tell. The change of dating me was hard enough for him and I've learned that it was hard for him to get used to a new daily routine with another person in it. But then the BAU team changes and that almost makes Spencer spiral. Alex Blake left a while ago and Spencer was crushed, and then Kate came and he loved her. But then she left to have a baby. Then Morgan went through a trauma and decided to leave to protect Savannah and his baby. He lost Morgan and then soon lost Hotch.

Hotch was targeted by a serial killer that I only know by the name of Mr. Scratch. He sounds horrible, especially since he captured Hotch and drugged him, then tried to get him to kill his team. Then there was a prison break that sounded absolutely terrifying and made me almost spiral when I heard about it, and Mr. Scratch escaped. And the first thing he did? Stalk Hotch and his son. Hotch decided to leave the team in the hands of Emily Prentiss, who I've learned is an old team member who left to work for Interpol after a very complicated sequence of events, and entered Witness Protection to keep Jack safe. Spencer learned so much from Hotch and looked up to him, so losing the unit chief was a huge hit. It was a hit for everyone on the team, but this huge change meant creating another new routine.

Although losing those valued team members was horrible and stressful, they gained amazing replacements. Tara, Emily, Luke, and Stephen are amazing profilers who jumped into the BAU pool with both feet in, and the rest of the team appreciated that. They give their all to the team and together, they're taking down the escaped serial killers who got away during the Rawdon prison break.

But then Spencer starts to get some phone calls. It started out as one, interrupting a late-night dinner date on the balcony after Spencer got home from a case. He didn't think much of it at first, not even going inside to his apartment to talk privately. Turns out, his mother wasn't reacting well to the new trial he just got her into. Spencer didn't take this news well and our dinner was ruined. He stormed inside and spent the rest of the night at his desk, reading the same stack of books about experimental medicine over and over. I cleaned up our plates and went home. That's when I first started to see him pull away from me. From life. From everyone.

The calls became more frequent after that and the books piled up on his desk. The dinner dates and the hookups and the mid-case phone calls stopped, and our before-work cafe dates have been completely nonexistent. Spencer put every ounce of free time he had into helping his mother and her condition, and I had to respect that so I didn't say anything. I let him research experimental medicine and do all the fancy doctor things that I'll never understand, and I just kept my focus on my art.

He decides to go out and visit her and insists I don't come, that he can do it alone. I try so hard to convince him, but he doesn't budge. So I concede and he takes a week off of work to go, and I practically lock myself in my studio. My friends come by and I keep my concerns about Spencer to myself, but then I rant when it's only Jenna around. She's confused too, understandably, but offers no valid advice. I don't blame her, if the roles were reversed, I wouldn't have a clue what to say. And when Jenna asks me if we've found a house that we like yet, I tell her that we haven't even started looking yet. Spencer has been too occupied with more important things.

When Spencer returns, a selfish thought comes to mind. I think maybe everything has been solved. I think that maybe all those hours Spencer spent ignoring me and focusing on his mom and researching experimental medicine have paid off and he's solved world hunger and now his mom is cured. It's absolutely horrible. It's maybe the worst thing I've ever thought. No, it's definitely the worst thing I've thought. But am I wrong for wanting things to go back to the way they were? Am I wrong for wanting my boyfriend back? No. Yes? I'm not sure. But all I know is that I'm worn down and no amount of wine can distract me.

When Spencer returns, he sits me down. And when he sits me down, I know my selfish thought was too selfish. My selfish thought made karma come back to bite me in the ass. He's got a solemn look on his face and he's not holding my hand or touching me at all, he barely even wanted to kiss me when he showed up at my apartment.

"So," Spencer sighed, running his hand through his grown-out hair, "um, the clinical trial that my mom is in isn't helping. She's not getting better." I had raised my eyebrows, waiting for him to get to the horrible and dark, inevitable punchline. "I'm gonna bring her here to live with me."

My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, eyebrows turning in. "What?"

Spencer groaned, burying his face in his hands. "She isn't getting better but whenever I go to visit, she seems to be fine. So I'm gonna bring her back here with me and she's gonna live with me. I'm gonna hire a nurse to watch her while I'm away on cases."

"Spencer, that's-" I let out a breath, tangling my hands on my hair. "I love you and you know that but I really don't think this is a good idea. Maybe this trial isn't helping her but another might. Find something close to here so you can see her more often but taking care of her yourself is going to be so hard. I don't think you realize what-"

"I've made up my mind, Lia," Spencer said stubbornly, as if ending the conversation there. "I've spent too long away from my mom and I don't want to anymore. She always feels better around me and I want her to get better already."

"Spencer." Just speaking his name made my heart hurt because I could feel the foundation under us crumbling. I could see it crumble when he doesn’t soften at the sound of his name from my mouth. That used to always happen. "This is a bad idea. Please reconsider. You're so busy with work already and then you're gonna go home and have to take care of your mother. You're not gonna have time to see me, or Henry and Michael and Hank, or do literally anything else. Spence," the selfish thoughts came back, "I'm sorry to be like this but you asked me to move in with you."

Spencer sighed, and that was all I needed. I stood from his couch and he quickly followed me to the door where I had already started pulling on my shoes. "Amelia, please. I know I asked you to move in with me but she's my mother and I can't abandon her-"

"She needs professional help!" I exclaimed, whipping around to face him. "You went through this pain when you were eighteen and you're gonna force yourself to go through it yet again when you don't even have to. Hey, Spencer, did you notice I got a new piercing?" I pointed to my ear and watched his face fall. "Yeah, I got my tragus pierced. But you've been so caught up in this experimental medicine thing that you haven't even noticed that. Just imagine how much more time you won't have when your mom starts living with you."

Spencer shook his head at me, just tucking his hands in his pockets and staring down at his shoes. "You're not listening to me." And then I left.

We didn't talk much after that. I texted him to make sure he was doing okay during his cases and got minimal responses. He eventually told me that he found a nurse to take care of Diana, and that he'd be traveling to Houston to take his mother out of the trial. It was surely the worst decision for Diana, but I guess I have to support my boyfriend.

So after Diana is settled into Spencer's apartment as much as she can be, I head over. She knew who I was right away from the two times I'd met her before, and Spencer and I were both surprised about that. I expected her to not recognize me and Spencer expected her to accuse me of being a spy. I didn't fully understand that, but when he explained how Diana had accused the nurse of being just that, it made sense. Kind of. I don't know how Spencer couldn't see it, but Diana didn't seem comfortable in his little apartment. Or maybe he did see it and just ignored it because he liked having her so close after so long.

Exactly what I predicted happened. I barely saw Spencer for two weeks and in the few times that we got to text, I found out that Diana wasn't doing well at all. She flooded the apartment and ran out the first nurse and now Spencer couldn't go on a case until he found a new nurse. She hated the taste of her medicine, which is odd because I've never found that pills have much of a taste unless you hold them in your mouth too long, and didn't want to take it. But Spencer is a hardass about medicine. I know that from experience when he complained I wasn't taking medication for my panic attacks.

But eventually, Spencer finds a wonderful nurse named Cassie who agrees to work with them and Spencer goes off on a case, and I accept that I'll never get to see him again. We text occasionally but I haven't heard his voice in weeks and we haven't gone on a proper date in maybe months and god knows we haven't had sex in forever. All those selfish thoughts return to make me feel like a horrible person, but am I horrible? Diana needs to be in a care facility, not her son’s apartment where he leaves every few days, and with a stranger who Diana believes is a spy.

I was completely ignorant to believe that our happiness bubble wouldn’t pop. No, the harsh beginning of our relationship would prove that no happiness lasts. We couldn't even get through a year without something tragic happening.

And it sounds so horrible, but at this point, I'm incapable of creating my own happiness. I need Spencer to be happy. I need him to be able to enjoy my tea in the morning. I need him to enjoy watching The Polar Express. I need him to find shapes in the clouds. I need him to make my spontaneous trips to the BAU to see Penelope. I need him so I can be happy. It's codependent and maybe it's toxic but he's my whole world. He's the reason I live and breathe.

///

SPENCER

///

I'm good at holding myself together. I'm good at putting on a smile and helping others before I help myself. It's become a skill of mine over the years, and maybe one that I shouldn't be so good at. But it is and I pride myself on not alarming my teammates when anything is wrong. But stalking cases are a whole other story. I do my best to keep up my world-class poker face when I see that the object of the unsubs affection is a brunette with bangs, but it proves to get harder and harder throughout.

I commend myself for keeping it together. I commend myself for keeping it together when the unsub kidnaps the brunette after we arrive. I commend myself for keeping it together when we witness the unsub send a bullet through the brunette's head. I commend myself for keeping it together as I slap handcuffs on the unsub and shove him in the backseat of a car. I even manage to keep it together through questioning from the whole team. Emily, Rossi, Luke, Tara, JJ, Stephen, and Garcia all ask me if I'm doing okay. Seriously, even the new people. I promise I'm fine. It was a while ago, I tell them, I'm fine.

I should be proud of myself for keeping it together until I get back to the hotel. I keep it together through the wrap-up interviews with the unsub and the goodbye with the local police, ignoring the images that are circling in my brain, now adding another set of images to resurface when I wish they never would.

I don't break down until I'm lying in my hotel room bed. It doesn't happen at first. I just lay down and stare at the ceiling and then my eyes start to burn and then suddenly, there are tears dripping down my cheeks. And as soon as one tear falls, there's a waterfall that follows.

I reach into my pocket and rip out my phone, searching for Amelia's number. I'm blinded by my own tears but I hiccup and hold the phone up to my ear, curling up on my side, ignoring the way I feel so uncomfortable in my trousers and converse and way-too-tight tie. After the phone rings twice, I accept that she's not going to answer, but then she does, and I feel a wave of relief wash over me.

"Hi," she answers softly, and then pauses. "Spencer, what's wrong? What happened? You're crying."

"I know you're mad at me," I cry helplessly, squeezing my eyes shut, "but I really need you right now."

"Of course. I’m right here," she answers in her beautiful, sweet, calming voice. "What do you need? Are you okay?"

I hiccup again, bringing my hand up to my eyes and trying to wiping my cheeks. "It was-" I sniffle, "a stalking case.”

"Oh," Amelia answers, fully understanding. "Okay, dove, do you have your medallion?"

I suddenly remember that and I sit up, hastily grabbing my messenger bag and digging it out of one of the many pockets. "Y-Yeah, I have it now."

"Good,"

"Could you pick me up? I don't wanna drive home."

"Of course. I'll be waiting when you get back."

///

The ride up the sixth floor is excruciating. I'm cramped with everyone else and I just want to go to sleep. I just want to be with my girlfriend. Emily looks over at me and smiles, but I don't bother to profile her smile. Whether it was pity or sorrow or just plain friendliness, I don't care at the moment.

I'm the first one out of the elevator when the doors slide open and my eyes wander inside and to my desk, and my feet glue to the floor. Everyone passes right by me and into the bullpen, but I just stare at the beautiful scene in front of me.

Amelia is sitting on my desk with her legs crossed, dressed in oversized sweats, which are definitely mine, with her curly hair in a bun and her glasses on. I can't blame her for her outfit choice, it is nearing midnight. But she's got her sketchbook in her lap and she's speaking to Henry who's sitting in my desk chair with a notebook in his lap, and she's clearly instructing him on how to draw something. He turns his notebook to her and she grins proudly before giving him a high five. Henry encourages her to teach him something else and they both flip their pages. Amelia leans in with her pencil in hand to show him something else.

"Hey," JJ comes from behind me and lands at my side, following my line of sight. She grins and watches the two interact perfectly, and Amelia gives Henry another high five. "You know, if we don't get a case this weekend, I'm available to go look at rings."

I just start to nod slowly, my head fuzzy with the amount of love I'm feeling for my girlfriend. We haven't been in a good place with our relationship and that's not really a secret. She isn’t happy with my choice to bring home my mom, and she's upset that she feels like her life has to suffer because of the choices I've made, and that's completely valid. But here she is, dropping everything to come and comfort her crying boyfriend at midnight on a Wednesday night, despite how upset she is with me.

So I just look down at JJ, nodding, and her smile grows as I say, "Deal."

///

AMELIA

Change can be such a beautiful thing. Change can be the thing that encourages people to start over and become a new person. A big enough change can transform a life. My life has been change after change after change that I've embraced it and welcomed it. If I don't accept something that happens so constantly in my life, where would that get me?

But sometimes change isn't good. Sometimes it's imperative that things stay the same. There are times where life is too hectic and busy and it would be detrimental for change to make an appearance. Change, then, makes life far too stressful and just plain unlivable.

I thought I'd gone through enough change since meeting Spencer. Dating an FBI agent, specifically, someone in the BAU, changes enough. But then he gets injured and he misses important dates and he works with the man who arrested my serial killer father and he brings his paranoid schizophrenic mother with dementia home to live with him. That's enough change for anyone, and Spencer hates change. I've never met a person who hates change more than him.

I've learned to keep a normal routine since I met Spencer. Well, as normal as I can. Even though I may not be doing anything in a day, I always get up and get dressed, whether Spencer is around or not. I've gotten used to not changing things and I've found the comfort in it.

I don't let today differ from my other days. I wake up in my cold, empty bed and stumble into a cold shower, washing away the throbbing between my legs and the oil on my skin. I blow dry my hair and get dressed in a white sundress that Spencer once told me is his favorite, tying half my hair back with a bow. I do my makeup and put in my piercings and clean my new piercing and go about my life, checking my phone for a text from Spencer. But all I find is groupchat texts from my friends and a text from Jenna asking me if I wanna go out tonight, so I put my phone away and go make myself a cup of tea.

My tea tastes wrong today. I've put in too much sugar and it doesn't taste right when Spencer's not making it for me, or when he's not holding my hand, or when he's not stealing kisses before rushing out the door for work. Life just isn't the same without him and I wish that he could come to his senses about his mother.

I'm halfway through my cup of tea when there's a knock at my front door. The irrational part of my brain perks up and thinks it's Spencer coming home from his trip to Houston, but the rational part of my brain knows that he would go home to his mother first. His mother comes first now. That is a change I need to get used to. Selfish.

"Coming!" I call, setting my cup of tea down on the island. I double-check to make sure I've turned off the stove and the kettle is safely moved aside before rushing to the door.

I pull open the door and instantly, my heart sinks to my feet. Seeing Penelope and JJ standing at my door would usually make me smile and pull out a bottle of wine, but today, it makes my hands sweat. I know this isn't good. I can tell it isn't good by the way JJ is staring down at the floor and by the tears stains in Penelope's makeup.

Spencer is dead. That's it. He's gone. I don't know how it happened but he's dead and gone and I'm all alone. My head starts to spin and I grip the doorknob in my hand so tight that I think I might break it off.

JJ's head pops up a moment later and she gives me a quick, tight-lipped smile and I notice her grab onto Penelope's hand. "Hi, Amelia," she says, her voice quieter than I’ve ever heard it before. "We, um, we gotta talk to you."

I gulp, my chest burning as I nod and open up the door a little bit further for them. The two step inside and even though they've been in my apartment a few times, when I was invited to ladies nights and hosted, they walk as if they're strangers. They're uncomfortable strangers who would rather be anywhere else.

I close the door and the three of us linger in the entryway. I almost regret not putting on a record this morning because the silence is choking me. Garcia is avoiding eye contact and looking around and JJ is doing something similar, but her eyes are stuck on my wall of pictures. And it seems to be the picture of Spencer and I. It was one that had taken hours to convince him to take and when I'd finally pressed the button on my camera, we were giggling relentlessly and Spencer was clinging to my side. It's one of my favorite pictures of us, which is why it's on my wall. I look at it every day and wish we could go back to that moment.

"Do you guys want a drink or anything?" I offer because I just don't know what else to say. I truly don't want to hear what they have to tell me.

Penelope turns her head back to me and shakes her head. "Um, no. No thanks."

"Amelia," JJ states, her voice sharper than I imagined. But then she brings her eyes to mine and her face softens. "Do you, um, do you wanna sit?"

"Tell me what happened to him." I sputter, bringing my hands to my hips. I'm already breaking and there are already tears in my eyes. They wouldn't be here during a work day just to tell me that Spencer is happy and healthy at work, about to get on the jet so they can go to their case.

Penelope lets out a whimper and puts her face in her hands, pulling her hand away from JJ's. JJ sighs and looks between me and her friend. "Spence is, um," she lets out a breath again and forces out whatever words are painful on her tongue, "he got arrested in Mexico. He was in a car chase with the Mexican police and then he was found with a huge amount of cocaine and heroin in his trunk, and he was high out of his mind. Emily, Rossi, and Luke went down to Mexico to investigate and they found a body and they're now charging him with drug possession with the intent to distribute, and manslaughter."

Like I said, some change is good. Changing bed sheets, changing clothes after a workout, changing your mind on a restaurant for dinner. Change is necessary for life to go on. Not change like this. I could never accept a huge change like Spencer getting arrested in a foreign country while being high. All of that is absolutely ridiculous and I almost roll my eyes when JJ tells me. But her face stays stoic and I know it's true.

Sometimes, I can feel myself getting pushed into the ground. I can feel my feet melt into the hardwood floor and I watch as the room starts to spin like a carousel. But there's no eccentric horse and no cheerful children. It's just me and my tears and my trembling knees.

"Amelia?"

There's a voice but I can't tell who's it is. Maybe it's JJ. Maybe it's Jenna. Maybe it's Penelope. Maybe it's Spencer. Maybe it's my mom. Maybe no one spoke at all. I can't even tell what's real anymore. If Spencer is high and getting arrested then we surely, must have entered a new dimension.

"He was framed, Amelia, we know it."

There's the voice again, and suddenly there's a hand on my arm, but my whole body tenses. My eyes glaze over and I can't even breathe, my chest heaving every time I try. Silent tears fall down my cheeks and I know that the longer I stand here, the more pain I feel.

But the glue under my feet has taken a liking to this specific spot of the floor and I'm stuck. So utterly stuck in this spot, in my head, in this lifetime. I can't breathe anymore. My lungs are flattened and they won't inflate.

"Amelia, you need to breathe."

I move my lips but no words come out. I'm grappling for words and gasping for words and I know what's happening but I can't stop it. Spencer always stops them. He always speaks to me in his soothing voice and waits to touch me until the nonverbal part of my attack has passed and then he hugs me up until I almost bruise.

But thinking about Spencer makes my knees buckle and I crumble to the floor, staring down at the hardwood as my tears create a puddle. I hang my head and ball my hands into fists, trying to find something to ground me but there's nothing. JJ and Penelope don't know what to do and Spencer can't magically appear to help me. They can't even call him because he's been arrested. Arrested.

My boyfriend has been arrested. My FBI boyfriend who wasn't happy to bail me out I when I was arrested for spray painting a brick wall that was public property. And now he's getting arrested for being high, being in a car chase, narcotics possession, and now murder? My boyfriend? My boyfriend who walks around with his sobriety medallion and cringes when we even see a scene on tv of someone doing drugs. This isn't him. This isn't My Spencer.

"Emily, Luke, and Rossi are with him. They said he's hazy and missing time but he's okay."

He's not okay. God, no. He won't be okay. He relapsed and once he comes down, he's going to be crushed. Absolutely pulverized. He'll never want to look at his medallion again. His medallion. Where the hell is that?

Time passes. So much time passes. It feels like forever. My hands bleed and my knees ache and my back is sore and my head starts to pound. I eventually collapse onto my side, almost curled up in the fetal position, my eyes squeezed shut. I need Spencer. I need him to hold me and to tell me he's going to be okay and to come home. Someone needs to tell me this has all been a cruel, disgusting, horrible prank.

"Amelia?" It's Penelope this time, that I know.

"Amelia, can you hear me?" And now it's JJ and she's crouching right beside me. I nod weakly and she sighs of relief. "Can I get you something? Water?" I nod again, and she goes rushing off to my kitchen.

Penelope helps me sit up again and leans me against the wall, wiping the tears from my cheeks. Her touch feels nice but it's not the same as Spencer's touch. Nothing will ever be the same.

"We're gonna save him," she whispers to me. "We're gonna prove that he was framed and we're gonna bring him home."

JJ returns with a glass of water for me and joins the two of us on the floor, crossing her legs. I sip slowly, my hands still shaking and my knees pulled up to my chest, protecting myself. My thoughts are shooting around in my head and I can't stop them.

"We've been fighting recently," I confess quietly. "Ever since he decided to bring his mom home, we have. On our anniversary, he asked me to move in with him and we agreed to buy a house, then he brought his mom home and started ignoring me. He cared more about experimental medicine than he did about me."

"That's not true," Penelope murmurs, placing her hand on my knee. "Anyone with eyes can see that Reid loved you more than himself. He'd lay down his life for you. He looks at you like you put the clouds in the sky," The statement makes my head spin quicker.

"Why don't you," JJ speaks next, "pack up some stuff and come to the BAU with us? You probably shouldn't be alone right now and you could use some company."

"Plus, we can keep you updated on Spencer when you're closer," Penelope says. "Go pack and we'll drive you."

I put the glass of water on the floor and manage to push myself to my feet. I trudge away from the girls and up the stairs to my bedroom, lugging a duffle bag out from under my bed. It almost doesn't feel real as I put a few things in the bag. It feels like someone else is controlling my body. I’m not moving like this. I’m not living in this dimension.

I make my way back down the stairs and see the two women still lingering in the doorway, not even speaking. But they give me pitiful smiles when I enter, and they don't say anything when I grab my keys and open the door. I don't clean up my water glass or my cup of tea or double-check anything. I just need to leave.

///

Stephen and Tara's heads pop up when the elevator doors open, but I keep my head high. They're profiling me, as they always are with everyone, but I don't want to give them the power to see me so broken. So I keep my face neutral as I march right past them and down the hallway, directly into an empty interview room and slam the door shut.

Maybe it's wrong of me to be so cold to the team that is doing their best to help Spencer, but I can't help it. And maybe I'm mad at him. Maybe I'm fucking furious. How could he do this? How could he go to Mexico and put his life at risk, being a federal agent and being such a big target? How could he neglect to tell me that he was leaving the country? How could he do this to his team and his mom? How could he do this to me?

"Amelia?" Tara's knocking at the door, entering before I can even say come in. "I'm just checking in on you. I'm sure you're upset. We all are."

"He's stupid," I'm not sure why that's the first thing out of my mouth, but it is. "He's a fucking idiot. I've always known that but I didn't think he'd be this stupid."

Tara sighs and leans against the wall, dropping her head and trying to stay calm and level for me. "Did you know he was going to Mexico?"

"He told me he was going to Houston to meet with a doctor, that's all," I shake my head, ripping the too-cheerful bow out of my hair and letting it fall to the floor.

"When Garcia looked into his travels, it turned out that he crossed the border three times." I can't even bother to react. My body just feels numb and no new information can get past the shield I'm putting up. "You had no idea of any of this?"

"He always told me he was going to Houston. I never would've thought he was going to Mexico. Tara," my teary eyes travel up to meet hers, "JJ and Penelope said he was framed. Who is trying to frame him?"

Tara grabs a chair from the table a few feet over and sits in front of me. "Did Spencer ever tell you about someone named Mr. Scratch?"

"Him? I thought he was going after Hotch."

"He's coming after all of us. He came after me, he kidnapped my brother and drugged him, and we know that he did the same to Reid. It's our job now to find the evidence that points to Scratch." Stephen is at the door now, giving me a pitiful smile before gesturing for Tara to follow him out. She pats my knee before standing. "We're gonna get him home. You're obviously welcome to stay here, and if you need anything, let us know."

///

I thought that being apart of one FBI-involved case was enough for one lifetime. I don't miss being in this stale interview by myself while the BAU does their work, scrambling for evidence that supports Spencer and gets him home. But there's clearly not much or else I would have heard something. All the horrible memories of my childhood in police stations surface and swirl around my brain, leaving me frantically covering my eyes to will them again. I’m a kid again, laying on an uncomfortable couch and watching officers go back and forth without even looking at me. I’m a kid again, lost and confused with nowhere to go and no one to love me.

JJ and Penelope stop by over the day to check in on me and bring me food whenever they order some, but I don't eat much. I just spend my time staring at the wall and trying not to cry. I eventually leave the room just to change into sweatpants and a hoodie, and when I return, my phone is buzzing with a call from Jenna.

"Hey," she answers, and there's quite a bit of commotion from her end. "You were supposed to be here a half hour ago and The Bachelor starts in twenty minutes, so are you coming? Everyone else is already here and Frankie said he's gonna eat your Popeye's order soon."

"No," I answer quietly, "I'm not gonna make it. Sorry. I forgot to call."

"Are you okay? You sound off," Jenna's no profiler but she's always been good at hearing when I'm off. "Did something happen? Is Spencer okay?"

I cover my eyes with my hand and let out a shaky breath. "No, Jen, he's not."

There's a moment of silence on her line and the shouting from our friends gets quieter as she gets further from them. "Are you guys fighting more? What'd you guys say this time?"

"It's so much worse than that," I cry, curling up on the couch as the waterworks start yet again. "He got arrested." And so I start the story, relaying the details as I know them.

It's now that I accept the situation. Spencer is being framed by a criminally sophisticated serial killer who organized a prison break from behind bars. There won't be evidence. No, actually, there will be evidence and it will all be planted to point to my boyfriend. The minimum sense for murder is twenty years and the maximum is life. No matter what, he's going away for a long time or for forever. I might never see him in my bed again, or on my balcony, or buy a house with him, or have a family with him.

And so I cry to Jenna for hours. She misses The Bachelor and she has no idea who gets sent home or who gets a rose, but I don't think she cares. She listens to me cry over my tainted life plans. The wedding I'll never have. The kids I'll never birth. The mortgage I'll never pay. The college acceptance days I'll never attend. The birthday parties I'll never throw. It may never happen. And I've never been a pessimist, but this is the perfect time to be one.

I know that I fall asleep on the phone with her because when I wake up, my phone is on the floor of the room and it's still unlocked, telling me that it's nearly three in the morning. I'm wide awake and plagued with memories of the times I used to sit in bed with Spencer at this early morning time, eating Chinese food or ice cream and sometimes playing dumb card games that he lets me win or watching movies in a language I don’t speak or teaching him how to braid my hair.

I leave the dark interview room and wander into the dimly lit bullpen, finding right away that the four members of the BAU that are in the country are still in the conference room. They're working through the night and I wish I had the energy in me to thank them.

I push open the doors with every intention of forcing yself to have to energy to thank the team, but I pause when I get to Spencer's desk. His cardigan is still on the back of his chair, and there are more books covering the desk than I’ve ever seen. My pinky promise note has never moved from its spot on his computer and there are now two framed pictures of me on the desk. One is the same one that's hanging in my apartment, and the other is just me on my balcony, grinning at the camera. I hated the picture at the time and I still hate it now. Clearly, Spencer loved it enough to get it developed and put it on his desk. Every time I come here and see this picture, it makes me fall in love with Spencer just a little bit more.

I sit in the cardigan-covered chair and open the top drawer, finding basic office supplies. The next drawer is full of case files and paperwork that I don't have the stomach to go through, and besides, I'm sure I'd be the next to get arrested if I go through them. Federal business and all. I already know what is in the bottom drawer but I open it anyway, and I find that the stash of snacks I supply is still held there. I smile when I find that there are new snacks there, meaning that Spencer has finally learned and eats more when he's at work, even taking it upon himself to buy things other than what I provide for him.

I swivel the chair to the other side and open the only drawer on that side. This drawer is filled with the sketchbook/journals that I've provided for him, and at this point in our relationship, after two years, I've provided him with six already and he's working on his seventh. Each one is decorated differently and uniquely and each one is filled with whatever Spencer decides. I also find one of my hair scarves in here but I don't dare to touch it. I lost this scarf very early in our relationship and I realized I left it at Spencer's apartment, and I knew he'd never give it back to me. I steal his clothes and he steals my hair scarves.

The last thing I find is Spencer's medallion and I quickly pull that out, slamming the desk drawer closed. I'm not sure what to think of this. Did he leave it behind because he was tired of being sober? Did he leave it here on accident? Did he leave it here because he was framed and he didn't plan on getting drugged in a foreign country? I juggle the medallion between my fingers like I've seen Spencer do so many times and wonder if Spencer remembers his promise. I wonder if he remembers that he promised to always come home to me, that he'll always go north and he'll come home to me. Does he remember that?

"Hey," Penelope leans against the desk, giving me a small smile, "I've got a tiny bit of good news."

"Good news?" I echo, not at all convinced. How could they have good news that's tiny? The only good news in my book right now would be Spencer is released from custody.

"Yeah," she nods eagerly, "it turns out that the woman who was killed was a Mexican and an American citizen. The case was just extradited! They were gonna move Spencer to El Diablo Maximum Security Prison but instead, he's gonna go to federal jail here and await his trial."

I just nod at this news, because it's not really good. He's not proven innocent, in fact, plenty of people seem to think he's guilty if he was supposed to go to a Mexican prison. He still has to go to jail and stay there to wait for his trial and he still has to be proven innocent. It's not good news.

"Amelia, it's good, I promise. This means that we can control the case." But I still don't look up from the medallion as it passes between my fingers, and I only look up when she speaks again. "They're on their way back now and they're stopping by here first before bringing him to the federal jail."

"Really? Am I gonna be allowed to see him?" I perk up, the medallion rolling out of my fingers as I jump to my feet.

"Yeah! He's supposed to keep his handcuffs on but if we get you guys into an interview room or something, I'm sure we can make an exception for you," Penelope rubs her hand up and down my arms, smiling. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but everything's gonna be okay."

I scoff out a laugh, already retreating back to my lonely interview room. "It's funny, that's what I said to Spencer when he was upset over a case once. Guess I was wrong."

///

"Amelia, he's here." Penelope beams, waving me out of the interview room.

When I get to the elevator, Spencer is already hugging JJ. She sighs as she's nudged by his jacket-covered, handcuff-bound hands, hugging him as best as she can. I hear her promise the handcuffs are only because there are other people around, and Spencer nods in understanding. He looks horrible- exhausted and disheveled and nothing like the man I fell in love with. But as soon as I see him, a new wave of overwhelming, painful emotions wash over me.

Spencer lays eyes on me and his face crumbles, stepping past JJ to get to me. "I'm sorry," he whispers, but I'm not quite sure what it is he's apologizing for. There's a mountain of things it could be for. But I don't care.

I forget all the horrible things I was thinking before and pull the jacket away from his hands, ducking down and moving inside his circled arms, wrapping my arms around his neck. I squeeze him as tight as I can because I know he can't really hug me properly, and I hear him sigh contently. He melts into my embrace. His arms just hang around my waist but I barely pay mind to them. He's here and that's all I care about. He’s here and he’s touching me and he’s not okay, but he is alive and that’s all I care about.

"Are you okay?" I murmur into his neck, my eyes closed.

"No," he answers, and while I'm happy with his honesty, I'd do anything to change that answer. "I relapsed. After all those years, I relapsed."

"Spencer," I pull away and put my hands on his cheeks, staring into his red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes, "did you do it? Did you kill that woman and did you take those drugs and did you intend to distribute that stuff?"

"No, absolutely not," he answers quickly, shaking his head. "I-I was there," he looks over to make sure the team has left and they have, to give us privacy, "to get medication for my mom. I'm missing time from the drugs but that's the only thing I'm sure of. The medicine she was on wasn't helping and I found this experimental treatment but this doctor would only give it to me in Mexico and Scratch must have found out and used it against me and I'm so, so sorry, Amelia."

"Okay," I whisper back, nodding. "I believe you, dove. Whatever you tell me, I believe, you know that. The team believes you too and they're doing everything they can to prove your innocence."

He glances into the doors of the bullpen where the team is surely debriefing, now together after almost a week of being apart. Then Spencer brings his gaze back to me and rests his forehead against mine. "Are you okay? You look tired."

"Don't worry about me," I give him a tiny smile. "You worry about you."

"You had a panic attack." He quickly concludes, his face contorting into one of concern. "Where were you? Were you alone? Were you-"

"I was at home and I was with JJ and Penelope, but you know that you're the only one who helps. Anyone other than you just makes them worse. But it's fine, I'm fine. Don't waste your energy on me."

Spencer sighs, resigned, his eyes fluttering for a moment. "Can I give you a kiss?"

I savor the kiss. I savor the moment. I savor the way Spencer tries to get his hands on my back. I know that life is changing for a while. My pessimism is rearing its ugly head and I can't stop it. And whether I'm the only pessimist here or nobody else is confessing what they're thinking, I'm the only one acting on it, it seems. I kiss Spencer with everything I have because as soon as he's here, he's gone. He's sitting in a jail cell and he's staring at all without me and without his team. But this is the change that life has brought us. A change that I refuse to adapt to.

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