One month later

"Morning," Anthea didn't look up from the book she was reading, but slid the steaming mug of coffee across the table with one hand. "You're late."

Spencer gave the redhead in front of him a tired smile and grabbed the coffee gratefully. "I just got back last night."

"I saw your text. You wanted to meet early." She still didn't look up.

"I didn't think I'd be this tired. Sorry about the wait."

"I don't mind," Anthea shrugged and finally snapped her book shut, placing it carefully onto the table and raising an eyebrow at the man sitting opposite her. "Well?"

Spencer took a gulp of coffee.

She clicked her tongue. "You said you'd read it."

He nodded, hiding his smile behind his mug.

Anthea scowled. "Spencer!"

He gave up. "I read it on the metro on the way home."

Anthea huffed. "Damn eidetic memory. What did you think?"

Spencer shrugged. "I thought it was good."

"You're teasing me."

His lips twitched. "Sorry."

"Hand it over, Dr. Reid."

Spencer chuckled and ducked down to remove something from his messenger bag. It was an old essay of Anthea's, perfectly formatted and annotated, and now covered in his scribbles. "I made notes."

"You mean you wrote an essay on my essay," said Anthea. She didn't sound angry. In fact, she was smiling. "Will I be able to take the criticism?"

Spencer took another gulp of coffee before answering. "There's not a lot of criticism. You know your stuff, Dr. Grayson."

"Don't call me that," muttered Anthea, flipping through the pages. She didn't have an eidetic memory, but she was a fast reader. "You didn't hate the passage on Barthes?"

"No, but I could have lived without it."

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, a now-familiar glint lighting them up. "But I love Mythologies!"

Spencer smiled. "I could tell, which is why I didn't cut it out."

Anthea opened her mouth to argue, but her expression told him she had probably just remembered their last conversation on Roland Barthes, which hadn't ended well. She sighed. "Fair enough. But seriously, thanks for this," she gave him a smile which bordered on a beam. "I'd say I hope I didn't waste any of your time, but –"

Spencer interrupted her. "I enjoyed it."

Anthea hummed in reply, already thumbing through his notes slowly, reading them with greater care this time. Spencer studied her as she read, confident that she had no idea he was watching her, she was so absorbed in her reading.

Anthea was beautiful. There was no other word for it. Her skin was creamy, her lips were full, her eyes were wide and bright, and her dark auburn hair was in a high ponytail. Today, she was wearing a plain black coat, though he could see a hint of green peeking out from under her collar, with leggings and high-heeled boots. More than that, though, it was her voice. Everything she said, he had read in a hundred different books, phrased in a hundred different ways, but it just sounded better when she chose to say it. He had noticed it the day they first met, but it had been a passing thought. Then, he had gone back to Georgetown the next day. He hadn't needed to go, but he had taken some time off and attended a lecture on humanities versus science subjects at university, and there she was, seated in the front row with the same notebook in hand that she had been fidgeting with the previous day. It had hit him like a ton of bricks that she was the reason he had travelled out of his way to attend lectures he probably already knew better than the speakers, and she was smiling at him pleasantly, obviously recognizing him.

He had hesitated. In roughly twenty seconds, he had debated the pros and cons of engaging in conversation with her. He found women attractive often enough, but it was rare that he actually wanted to speak to them. His conversation with Anthea had been perfect. Did he want to ruin that by making a fool out of himself today? Did she even want him to sit next to her? Did she even remember him, or was he misconstruing a pleasant expression for a welcoming smile and an invitation to approach? She was so normal. She was probably smarter than the average person, but she looked normal. Did she need him in her life?

And then she had raised one eyebrow and clearly inclined her head towards the seat next to her. In front of his eyes, she picked up her large handbag off the chair and gave him another smile before returning her attention to the podium. Spencer had sat down without another word.

"Stop it," Anthea's words jerked him out of his reverie, and he blinked.

"What?"

"You've been looking at me for over two hundred seconds," she looked up at him from under her lashes. The look was almost shy. "Do I have something on my face?"

He merely shook his head at her question, too awkward to speak. Anthea, however, was nonplussed. She merely shrugged and flicked open the essay again. "Then stare away, Dr. Reid. Six hundred would be when I call the cops on you."

He smiled at that. She often counted time in seconds. Spencer knew it had something to do with the rhythmic tapping of her fingernails against flat surfaces, a habit she kept up no matter where she was or what she was doing, though he had failed to notice it the last few times they met since she seemed to use her thigh instead of the table where it would draw less attention. He wanted to ask her about it, in his mind categorizing it as some form of OCD, but unwilling to voice his suspicions lest she be offended.

"You never did tell me how long you're here for," once again, her voice had to jerk him from his thoughts. It was almost embarrassing now, but her eyes were still glued to the page. She hadn't looked up in a while.

"I have to leave for work in about an hour." Could she detect the reluctance in his voice?

"Really?" she looked up from the page and frowned. "You should have told me earlier, I wouldn't have wasted time doing something I could have done at home," she folded the paper into half neatly and dove for her bag, stuffing it inside. She placed her elbows on the table, cupped her face, and grinned. "So?"

Spencer laughed again. "So?"

Anthea shrugged. "Tell me something new."

"We talked on the phone last night, there hasn't been much new since then," said Spencer. He felt like slapping himself as soon as he'd said it, of course. Why did he have to be so idiotic? He should have made a charming comment, but instead he had said something completely unemotional and factual.

To his surprise, Anthea didn't even blink. In fact, she looked like she... understood? "I know!" she exclaimed. "We've known each other like a month and already I feel like I've talked to you about everything."

Spencer recovered from his shock quick enough to respond. "We do talk a lot, in your defence."

"No lies there," she picked up her coffee and drained it quickly, screwing up her eyes in distaste. Brain freeze, noted Spencer silently, and gave her a sympathetic smile when she opened her eyes again. Her phone buzzed, and she gave him an apologetic look before sliding her thumb across the screen to read her text. She frowned.

"Bad news?" asked Spencer.

"No. My friend keeps calling you 'the cutie in the purple scarf'," Anthea rolled her eyes. "She wanted to know why I couldn't make her pancakes this morning so I told her I'm meeting you."

Spencer's eyes widened. "Y-your friend?" She talked to her friends about him?

Anthea frowned. "Yeah, Alice? She was sitting next to me that day at Georgetown. Don't you remember her?" Spencer looked at her blankly. Anthea raised her eyebrows. "She was the one I was supposed to get a ride with, but she ditched me so we split a cab?"

"I didn't think I'd met her," muttered Spencer, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Had he forgotten her friend already? He knew he had been busy staring at Anthea and hanging onto her every word, and he did tend to forget his surroundings when he was talking to her, but had it been that bad on the second meeting?

"You probably forgot," Anthea waved it off. "Anyway, she's convinced I'm trying to keep you away from her."

That was an interesting notion. "And are you?" asked Spencer curiously.

Anthea hesitated. Her expression made Spencer feel like he had said something wrong. "Maybe I'm just not ready to share you yet," she said quietly. Uncharacteristically, her eyes lowered as she played with the straw in her empty glass. She didn't look up.

Spencer sighed inwardly. This would be the moment when, if the circumstances were normal, he'd take her hand and squeeze it, she'd look up at him and he'd confess his strengthening feelings for her, she'd reply in kind and they'd live happily ever after.

Unfortunately, he wasn't normal, so by extension none of his relationships could ever be either. He couldn't touch her. He wanted to, but something always held him back. He wasn't sure if it was habit, or just fear of rejection. She acted like she liked him more than a friend: pupils dilated, smiles, a catch in her breath, all the signs were there and yet his own feelings meant that he felt uncomfortable deciphering her like she was a victim or an UnSub. And he did have feelings for her, but he didn't know if they were strong enough to overcome all the baggage they would both deal with if she felt the same way. Or maybe the feelings were so strong that he didn't want her to have to deal with anything unpleasant, and that was what held him back? It was an interesting thought.

So, as much as Spencer wanted to touch her, he didn't. He merely waited until she sneaked a look at him and gave her a warm smile, hopefully putting some of her unease at rest. "I don't think I want to share you either," he said simply. Please understand what I mean.

Her answering smile told him that yes, she did understand.