Spencer knew better than most men how deep the bond between a man and his mother could be. Just as true, he had felt immense anger at his own father for abandoning both of them. This most recent unsub's rage was quite comprehensible to him, but that was where the similarity ended. Spencer banged his closed fist rapidly into his temple as he reminded himself again that empathising with an unsub's difficult childhood was not a bad thing. He forced himself to stop stimming only when the discomfort became true pain. He could feel the panic rising and a full meltdown approaching. He had not been brought to this point since he was at Caltech. As always, the impending loss of control was terrifying.

Spencer began to frenetically pace the floor of his sitting room—the twin emotions of self-disgust and longing twirling a vicious dance through his mind. His desire for her was unbearable. Never in his entire life had he felt this way or wanted anything nearly as much. He loved her in a miserable, desperate, and pathetic way that was certainly unhealthy and could hardly be attractive. He would do anything for her—even things he would not naturally ever consider doing, which horrified him. Of course, Charlotte would not even consider that she had the quite real power to constrain him to do whatever she wanted, nor would she want to do so.

Suddenly so overcome that he could barely think, Spencer snatched up his keys, phone, and jacket and nearly ran out of his apartment and down the stairs. What had worked years before might work again. He needed to exhaust himself physically or he would lose himself in the type of self-harming that had characterised the extreme meltdowns of his teens and early twenties.

He began walking as fast as he could manage with his hands gripped behind his neck and a low, constant rumbling sound emanating from his chest. He had truly forgotten how comforting that sensation could be. It was hard not to pull on his hair, but he kept his hands firmly pressing on the back of his neck and continued marching down the rest of his street and then around the corner. It was not until he had nearly worn himself out that he began to slow down and allow himself to think about what had him so panicked.

Despite having read hundreds of books, plays, and poems on the subject, he really had never before understood the darker, obsessive side of love. Yet now, Spencer was mortified that the more uncertain he was of her or of himself, the more this ugly new side of himself wanted to demand total possession. Thankfully this horrible instinct would be simple to shut down whenever it reared its head again, since he despised the impulse entirely. It was additionally frightening to realise that certain past unsubs were suddenly more comprehensible to him.

He stopped at the coffee shop, which was just about to close. Spencer did not have the energy left to work a coffee maker, but he wanted a large cup of coffee however unwise it might be to ingest a stimulant. As he ambled back up his street, his exhausted body buzzed with almost uniform sensory overload. Abruptly, with a terrified gasp, he realised with dread that he had left his mother alone in the apartment asleep. He knew she was deeply medicated and was unlikely to wake for quite some time; however, he could not imagine how he could have forgotten. Anything could happen. If she awoke alone she would be terrified and then might harm herself. The muscles in his legs burned as he raced up the stairs. His hands shook so he could barely work the lock on the front door. The moment he stepped into the apartment and saw the door to his bedroom was closed and everything was quiet, he slid down the wall beside his door onto the floor. His coffee cup gripped between both hands, Spencer leant his head back against the wall and sobbed.


"I cannot believe how long it has been since I made it over to the barn, Pips. Poor Bucie looked pitifully happy to see me and you know how moody he can be. Bethany says that he has been off lately."

"I've visited him each time I was out there this last week and he seemed as cheeky as ever. Quite frankly, Bethany is neurotic about Bucephalas. She might actually love him more than you do."

Charlotte shrugged. "She dotes on him, but of course my Bucie is the best horse in the world so that is perfectly natural."

Philippa laughed. "You are a horrid snob about that horse. It is lucky that I understand you, you know? My darling Reddie may not be a vaunted Hannoverian of perfect lineage, but he is my delight and I might actually love him more than Rhys. I'm so going to miss doing this with you."

"I'm sorry. I promise that I didn't mean anything unkind about Reddie, really. He is a love. But why won't we be able to train together anymore? What is wrong?"

Philippa laid her hand on her friend's shoulder and said, "Of course we can still ride together, although I don't think what I do can be called training as I have not competed in years. However, we won't be able to spend the entire day together and then come back to the house and talk horses all through dinner. You know?"

"Oh! Oh." Suddenly, Charlotte's face crumpled as she said, "I had not thought about that at all."

"Well dearest, you and Spencer will be here together in five months. My moving day is in less than a fortnight. Things are going to change."

Charlotte sniffed and said in a wobbly voice, "I know and I can hardly wait to be married to Spencer. I just don't want our friendship to change and it will."

Philippa smiled at her friend with understanding and patted her hand. "True, but soon you will have your husband and I'll have Rhys."

"I suppose. So how is Rhys?"

Laughing out loud, Philippa rolled her eyes and replied, "Odd as ever. I have often thought that he must put actual work into clashing so many pieces of clothing at once, but I think he just picks at random. Though lately he seems to be selecting his least horrid jumpers and the ties that don't have spots on them. Actually, my darling Rhys has been trying so hard at everything that he asked me this morning if I would really prefer if he shaved his beard. His pride and joy that he spent years growing and shaping!"

"I think that he is just so worried that you might change your mind, Pips. He wants to do anything to make you happy."

With a quite satisfied grin and a faraway look, Philippa sighed. "Hmm, I know. It is good for him to be on edge and uncertain. He needn't know that a massive great loadall couldn't move me."

Charlotte asked uncertainly, "Are you happy, Pips?"

"Deliriously so. All I have wanted was Rhys, you know that."

Charlotte nodded, but did not say anything as she watched her friend with concern.

"I know that you don't understand my attraction to him, but he is everything that I want."

"I do understand why he is so exciting to you, actually. I don't think that I could explain it, but it makes sense to me. Anyway, all I want to know is that you are happy." Charlotte budged closer to her friend and bumped shoulders with her conspiratorially, "We have always been opposites, but a perfect pair."

Philippa leant her head against Charlotte's and replied, "Always. You are happy with Spencer, aren't you dearest?"

"I am, but he is not. Spencer is struggling. He thinks that I don't know."

Sitting upright in consternation, Philippa demanded, "Struggling with what? You don't mean the drugs?"

Charlotte gasped with exasperation. "No, of course not! His time in the prison was traumatising. He has PTSD and is not getting any therapy. His mother has Alzheimer's and he insists on keeping her with only a day nurse in his apartment, which means so much stress for him. Lastly, he has never had a romantic relationship like this. He loved Maeve, but they never got to be together outside of letters and phone calls. Being with a girl in person is very different and has him completely off kilter. Theory is not the same as reality."

"Well I hope so! If a real breathing girl isn't better than a fantasy, then he isn't much of a man."

"No, Pips. That is not what I mean. I just meant that, as someone with Asperger's, this part of our relationship is a struggle for him. I don't always act like he expects, and he often isn't fully aware of his emotional state until he is overwhelmed."

Philippa made a sound that clearly indicated scepticism. "Are you quite sure he is on the spectrum? He is a little odd, but I don't really see it. How can someone who is autistic be a behavioural profiler?"

"Yes, I am certain, since he has told me that he is. He was diagnosed quite young. Spencer is extremely secretive about it, since he feels it would make people doubt his capability. He also thinks that his team does not know, but of course they must."

"If you say so. He seems unusual, but only in the way that socially awkward geniuses would be."

Charlotte stood up from the sofa and stalked over to the drinks cupboard. As she unstoppered a bottle of Benedictine, she said in a steely tone, "Your private observation is unlikely to change Spencer's reality, Philippa. Spencer's strength is geographic profiling, as well as analysing facts and reported behaviours of a criminal extremely quickly—at which he is quite excellent. A man can be autistic and also quite highly competent and functional."

Shocked, Philippa whistled and said, "Ok. Sorry. No need to have a strop on. I know he is a genius and well respected."

Charlotte poured out a large scotch for Philippa and stated firmly, "You are being just like my brothers. Even Alistair, who I thought would be the first to understand, cannot believe that Spencer might make a credible FBI agent. Spencer is a truly remarkable man, Philippa. Why don't you ask Rhys his opinion? His area might be research into abnormal psychology, but he would certainly have recognised certain behaviours in Spencer."

Contritely, Philippa accepted her glass with a quick thank you, "Cheers." Then she took a swallow before saying cautiously, "I understand about Alistair and his struggles. However, he is very rigid and uptight. He has much more stereotypically strong interests like his 'War Room' where he rehashes all the battles of your War of Independence and such. I don't see any of that in Spencer or even the rocking back and forth stuff."

Charlotte still looked uncharacteristically fierce, but she replied less harshly than before, "Stimming, you mean. Well Alistair's sensory seeking behaviours are very noticeable, since he really doesn't care who sees him doing them. Spencer has worked to develop more socially acceptable stimming. He really wants to keep his challenges private."

"Does he know that you have talked to me about this?" Philippa's concern was very evident in her frown.

Charlotte nodded seriously. "Of course. I won't betray his secrets, Pips, not even to you."


Spencer got up from his sofa where he had been slowly paging through an old notebook from his second year at Caltech to place it back in its box. He had not kept many things from his past, but he had found a few notebooks and papers after searching through the bins he kept in his storage. Charlotte had asked about his time before the FBI, which had made him start looking for anything that he might be able to share with her. He had never worried about pictures much, so all he had found were his earliest published works and a couple of drawings that he had made one summer. Nothing that would interest anyone but him. In fact, he wasn't even sure why he had kept them.

As he pulled a box of leftover Indian food from the refrigerator, Spencer thought how surreal his life had become. It seemed so impossible and utterly wonderful that she could truly love him. He was a weird, gawky, and very nerdy man. He was strange and quite socially inept. Worst of all he was a former drug addict—an issue that he struggled with far more than he had explained to her.

Shoving the plate with his dinner into the microwave, Spencer leant against the counter and tried to pull himself together. He knew that he was having an anxiety attack—his third of the week—but he couldn't seem to reign in his mind. Instead, it insisted on reminding him that he didn't have money or power, unlike her family, which had immense amounts of both. It also would not let him forget that his job was more likely to depress than impress. Lastly, his mind demanded that he consider what she could see in him. Outside of his co-workers he did not know anyone that found him worthy of friendship. Essentially all he had to offer was his intellect and total, abject devotion.

Spencer shook his hands to encourage circulation, since he had been gripping them together tightly whilst he tried to force himself to gain some control. He pushed himself to take careful, regular breaths, but the tunnel vision and crushing sensation in his chest were making it impossible to ground himself. Spencer stumbled over to the sofa, looking at his bedroom door on the way and wondering how much longer he had until his mother woke and needed something, and dropped onto the cushions. The smell of curry was making him nauseous. Then, as he bent over to place his head between his knees, Spencer noticed his phone on the floor. He could not resist the temptation to check the front screen to see if he had any missed calls or texts, although he knew there would not be any. They had already talked that afternoon and she never called him twice in one day.

What he saw made him lurch forwards with anticipation as he slid his finger over the screen and clicked the message folder.

"Hey, I couldn't sleep so I decided to send you a text. I hope you are resting though since you haven't gotten much sleep because of your case. I wish it were tomorrow night already so we were together again. I'm glad you are back in DC. Talking on the phone is nice but not the same. :-)"

Spencer sank onto the closest chair, rubbed his eyes and shook his head to try to focus his mind, and then read the message perhaps 10 more times before he finally realised that he should reply. He awkwardly tapped out an answer.

"I miss you, too. I have been thinking of you since the moment that we hung up earlier. Is there a reason you can't sleep? Is everything ok? If you need to talk it does not matter how late it is. I won't mind. SR"

Before he could turn off the screen, there was already a reply. "Is now ok?"

"Of course. SR"

The phone rang and Spencer eagerly answered, "Charlotte?"

"Hey! Why are you still awake? Is it work or something else? It isn't us, is it?"

Unwilling to lie, but not wanting to upset her, Spencer mildly said, "I have been thinking about our conversation tonight."

Her soft voice full of concern, Charlotte replied, "I am sorry, Spencer. I didn't know that we had talked about anything that had upset you. Mostly we discussed my love of anything regarding the Matter of Britain. Right?"

Clearing his throat to give himself a moment to consider his reply, Spencer finally explained, "Yes, broadly, but also quite specifically Erec and Enide. I was thinking about how you said you wanted to follow me on my adventure."

Answering a bit sharply, Charlotte asked, "You doubt that I meant that?"

"No. I have wondered why you visualise my adventure. Why is it not ours instead? You are a woman of superior intellect, so your career is of equal importance to mine."

Clearly surprised, Charlotte explained softly, "That wasn't really what I meant, but thank you. I don't know if I will always want to teach at a university or if I might want to spend my time researching exclusively. However, even if I were busy diapering toddlers or home-schooling children, I would never stop being interested in my subject."

Spencer replied with seriousness, "I would hope not. You have too great an intelligence to waste, Charlotte."

She stammered in reply, "Thank you. You know…well, before I met you I assumed that marriage would mean retirement from my career. Although I always hoped to be married and a mother, I also never expected that I would find someone compatible with this side of me."

"Any man who would expect a woman like you to dumb yourself down for him is an imbecile. Of course most men are comparative imbeciles next to you. Quite frankly, Charlotte, your intellect thrills me. However you wish to proceed with your career is up to you. I would be happiest knowing that you are doing what you want."

Replying thoughtfully, as if she had never really considered the possibility of what she was saying, Charlotte said, "I believe that I will want to spend more time at home if I have children, however, if I have the option of also working some, then I think that I probably would want to do that."

"Why would you not have that option? Do you mean because of me? I promise you that I would never make that decision for you."

Spencer heard Charlotte's pleased sigh before she replied, "Okay. We probably need to talk more concretely about how we both see the future. Children and that stuff. Right?"

"Yes. I think it would be best if we find a professional. Your brother Thom suggested that we meet with your priest here in DC for premarital counselling. We can either do that or arrange to meet with a therapist who specialises in relationship counselling."

"You know, I had not considered that. Do you think that we need it?"

Spencer cleared his throat and replied seriously, "I think that we should have a third party, who can help guide us through all the questions that we need to address before getting married. A professional will not be emotionally invested, whereas I know that I definitely am. I cannot be objective about us. In fact…"

Spencer bolted up from the sofa as he heard his mother shout in panic, "SPENCER!"

"Oh my goodness, was that your mama? Is she ok?"

"Yes, sorry." Spencer covered the phone and called out, "Coming, Mom. I'm coming."

Charlotte said soothingly, "It's ok. You go. I will talk to you tomorrow, ok?"

"Ok. Thank you. I love you." Spencer dropped the phone and hurried into his bedroom where his mother was desperately trying to open a window.