"Tell me about your wife."
The demand caught Spencer off guard and an image of Avery standing in their Las Vegas hotel room immediately flashed through his mind.
"Just... think about what you're asking." reverberated through his consciousness. It was hard not to think of Avery. Cat Adams was roughly the same height, with similar dark hair.
"If you don't mind, I'd, uh - I'd rather not talk about her." He said, refocusing his thoughts. He couldn't afford distraction.
"Don't you dare touch that crossword puzzle!" Avery ordered from the kitchenette.
"I'll just get it started." Spencer teased, picking up the paper and making sure to rustle it loud enough for her to hear from the other room.
"Don't!" Avery burst in, running across the room in her pajamas and socked feet, making a grab for the paper over the edge of the couch. Spencer grinned and laughed, extending it just out of her reach.
"Spencer, I swear -" Avery threatened, laughing at the ridiculousness of the weekly Saturday battle. "If you do that crossword before I get a chance, I will never make you breakfast again!"
Spencer stopped, fixing her with a mockingly serious expression.
"You're bluffing." He goaded.
"Try me." She matched his tone and expression, leaning against the arm of the couch. She narrowed her eyes at him, trying not to smile. "Think real hard about this, Dr. Reid. The most important meal of the day is at stake."
Spencer arched an eyebrow, sliding his gaze from her to the Saturday puzzle.
"Nine letters "like your aunt's husband" -" He read
"No!" Avery sidestepped the arm of the couch and made a lung for the paper, losing her balance against Spencer's knee as he tried to evade her and falling into him with a thud.
"Are you okay?" Spencer asked, his amusement temporarily pushed aside. Avery rolled over, her back resting across his legs and shaking with laughter. Spencer laughed with her.
"Avuncular!" Avery choked out at last as she caught her breath. "You jerk."
"That would make sense." Spencer nodded, studying the puzzle. "Especially since one down is-"
"Oh, you are never getting breakfast again." Avery interrupted in exasperated amusement.
Spencer grinned.
"Kettle's on." Geoffrey's head popped around the corner, into the living room where Avery sat, an opened book in her lap. "Fancy a cuppa?"
"Thanks, Dad." She nodded. Geoffrey disappeared around the corner. Avery set the book aside, no longer pretending to read.
"Want company?" He asked as he brought a mug of hot tea to his daughter. Avery took it gratefully, thinking over the question.
"...No." She said kindly. "Not really. I might just head to bed."
"Right." Her father nodded briskly, straightening to leave. "Well, If you need me, then." He leaned over, kissing the crown of Avery's head. " 'Night, Angel."
"Night, Dad." She watched him disappear once again around the corner and listened to him shuffle down the hall toward his bedroom. Avery sipped carefully from the mug, turning over the idea of sequestering herself in her father's guestroom and trying to sleep. Tired as she was, though, the idea didn't appeal to her.
A bit longer. She decided, drinking deeper of the tea and allowing her thoughts to wander.
Spencer watched Cat Adams as he fed her the narrative he had created, seeing how she soaked in the message. It was a plausible story. One he knew would resonate.
"I'm sorry." He offered sympathetically.
"You're not sorry." Cat, the black widow assassin known as Miss .45 dismissed him. "Sorry is what people say when they don't understand."
Spencer's brow furrowed. Cat cocked her head.
"Wait." She said. "Your mother. Tell me."
Spencer swallowed, trying to maintain a sense of control despite feeling completely cornered. He related the events of the past few weeks to her deliberately, giving her the details he knew she required, and thinking through each piece of information he offered.
"I thought I dodged a bullet when I turned 30 and didn't have a schizophrenic break like her, but.. uh-" The feelings he had kept pushed to the periphery of his thoughts found words as he spoke. "This is somehow bigger and scarier, because I can actually see it happening. All those memories that we used to share are just... dying. I can't stop it. I can't help her."
The words came uncomfortably, he squirmed inside, knowing everyone listening in now knew. The feelings that had been pushing in at the periphery of mind had found words he had been prepared to neither speak or hear. He struggled against the vulnerability, wanting to remain strong and focused. He looked at the woman sitting across the table from him, a thought dawning on him. His confession had weakened him in her eyes, but it had formed a connection. Tenuous, but present, and it gave him an edge.