(POV Change)

Spencer uncapped his pen and drummed his fingers on the desk's polished surface. From the shadows of his bedroom, he told himself this was what needed to be done.

Moments ago, birds had been chirping from within the trees. The notes lingered in the stuffy air and soon ceased altogether. Too many things were left unexplained in Spencer's life. He needed answers. Phone calls in the night, violent mood swings, loss of interest; these were her symptoms. Over the past month, Audrey was falling apart before his eyes. Clearly, it was time for an intervention, right? Since Spencer realized he would lose his nerve if he brought these problems up aloud, he decided a letter would work just as effectively. It went something like this:

Audrey,

First of all, I want to say that I know I love you. Please don't take what I am about to say the wrong way. You're really wonderful. Most of the time when I look at you, I just feel so confused. My IQ drops to about zero, and I have trouble determining which way is up. Those feelings of confusion have only grown stronger as of late. But I am not confused because of love; I am confused because of your behavior. Do you think I don't notice when you sneak out of bed to answer your phone? Is it wrong that I looked through your call history? I am so sorry. Curiosity and jealousy got the best of me. But you know what? No one. No one has called you because you deleted all your call history. All of it. I know this makes me sound incredibly pathetic, but I don't entirely mind if you're cheating on me. I mean, I'd be sad, but I would still love you. In fact, I think I might always love you. Please share what you're hiding from me. You can tell me anything. Go ahead. You can trust me.

We can work through this because we're stronger than other people. Stronger than my own parents even-because we have something so many others lack. We are so cautious and full of reason. Let's continue to be weird science geeks together, just you and me. Communication-that's all I'm asking for. I love you, Audrey, but sometimes (most of the time), I just can't understand you.

Much Love,

Spencer

Audrey's POV

I didn't even hear Spencer let himself in with his key. His footsteps were silent against my soft carpet. I rubbed my eyes and realized I hadn't gotten out of bed yet. A glace at my alarm clock informed me that it was already four o'clock in the afternoon.

The shadow of a frowzy-haired figure projected itself onto the wall to my left. There was only one person it could be. Being the respectful person that he was, Spencer knocked on my bedroom door before entering. Any normal person would have been terrifyied to have an intruder in their home, but I was only slightly irritated. "It's too early to get up. Go home."

"Actually, it's almost dinner time," Spencer stated plainly.

I pushed myself upright. "I know."

He extended a slender hand to help me up and sighed. "You've been acting really strange lately... I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Well, we need to talk about this, you know? It's my job to take care of you."

I sulked all the way to my living room and threw myself down on the sofa. Spencer asked if I was hungry, but I just shook my head. Everything tasted insipid nowadays; there was no point. "What do you want?" I asked groggily.

He sighed again and perched himself on the chair opposite me. I was starting to get a little uneasy. "I wanted to give you this," the man I hardly new anymore mumbled.

It turned out "this" was a slightly rumpled envelope.

I just held it stupidly in my hands. "Open it," he directed me quietly.

I fumbled with the paper until a folded letter slid out into my tired hands. I glanced up at Spencer before unfolding it. He looked incredibly nervous. As my eyes swept across Spencer's messy scrawl, my stomach sank. "How sweet of you," I muttered when I finished.

The look of disappointment on his face nearly broke my heart. "I thought..." he whispered, "I thought maybe you would consider seeing a therapist or-"

Whenever someone mentions the word "therapist," I tend to explode. That single word evokes memories that I've worked much too hard to supress. And explode. I. did. "No. I am NOT some LITTLE BIPOLAR IDIOT WHO NEEDS A THERAPIST! WHAT ABOUT YOU? DO YOU NEED A THERAPIST? OBVIOUSLY, YOU HAVE A LOT OF PROBLEMS!"

Spencer didn't say anything. He just picked at a loose thread on the chair. "I-I'm so sorry... I was wrong... It's okay. You know, just forget it."

I couldn't take this anymore. Spencer always had to play the victim. Fighting back tears, I stood up. "I'm sorry, Spence."

"Don't call me that," he muttered just as irritably, "You have no right to call me that."

I balked. My lungs seemed to lose all air in a single instant. I turned my entire body around to face him. "Why?" I demanded.

"Because only JJ calls me that." He paused. "And I've been in love with her forever."

Without even thinking, I smashed his letter and threw it to the carpet. Making a dash for my bedroom, I slammed the door behind me and locked it. I crawled to the corner to let it out, but I couldn't. I seemed fresh out of tears.

A half hour must have ticked by. Just when I was sure Spencer had gone home, a timid tap sounded from the other side of my door. "Go away," I grumbled. He did no such thing. After a few clicks from within the lock, my bedroom door swung open. "Did you just pick that lock?!"

Spencer put something back in his pocket and smiled shyly. "Yeah, I've always wanted to try it." There are certain moments when I'm not sure if Spencer is really himself-this was one of those moments.

In two swift strides, he was beside me. Spencer pulled me into his lap with surprising strength. "I lied." It was all he said, but I understood what he meant.

His button-up shirt felt cool against my face and its familiar scent made it impossible to stay angry. I wondered if this effect was intentional. "I lied too," I murmured. "You don't have a lot of problems."

"You know, it's okay to see a therapist. I'll go with you. Maybe we can sort out everything together. Would you, um, consider that?"

My voice faltered within my throat. "Yeah."

Spencer kissed my forehead. I just patted his hand lamely.

One week later, I found myself in an uncomfortable chair next to Spencer. We were in Dr. Camplin's office. It turns out Spencer had been serious when he talked about seeing a therapist; he had even missed a flight to Oregon with his team just to go with me. I felt my palms getting moist and wiped them quickly on my pants. Spencer seemed unable to look at me. "Tell her about the phone calls."

"She doesn't need to know about that." I shot a wild glance in his direction, yet Spencer was still looking straight at Dr. Camplin.

Dr. Camplin removed her dark-rimmed glasses and folded her hands on the desk. "What phone calls? Please explain. I assure you, Audrey. Everything said here is extremely confidential. That means that I won't repeat what you say to anyone."

I looked her directly in the eye. "I know what 'confidential' means."

"My apologies. Now, about the phone calls?"

I laughed dryly. "It's an old friend of mine. She lives in hiding and doesn't have anyone else to talk to. She can only call me at weird times-like in the middle of the night."

Spencer gave away little expression, but Dr. Camplin did not hold back. She let out a false laugh and put on a facetious smile that reminded me of my creepy English professor. "Now, now. There is no reason to lie. If this mysterious person were, let's just say for the purpose of conversation, another man-"

"Is that what you think?!" I couldn't take her crap any longer. "I think I'd rather just talk to Spencer about this myself! How much are we paying you anyway? All you do is talk down to people and expect their problems to fix themselves. You're a complete and utter idiot!"

"It's okay," she responded forcefully. "Have a tissue. Get over it."

"No, I will not be getting over it," I snapped. "We're leaving. Now."

"That went well," Spencer muttered as I slammed the door to my mustang behind me.

I stayed silent for a while. "Was that really the truth about those phone calls?" he asked timidly.

I nodded.

"Then why didn't you just tell me?"

A sigh escaped my throat. "Because I wanted to protect her. It wasn't the time to drop another burden on you."

"You're not a burden, Audrey," Spencer said smoothly, "You're a blessing."

I didn't respond.

"My mother used to tell me that all the time," he added.

"I'd love to meet her sometime."

The rest of the car ride played out in silence.

In the month that followed, Spencer hardly ever went anywhere with the rest of his team. He had his brilliant mind fixed on taking care of me. Every once in a while, Garcia or JJ would call to check on me. I looked forward to these occasions which is why, one day, I dashed to answer my ringing cell phone. It was not from my secret friend, Garcia, or JJ. Spencer had run to the store to get some milk, but it wasn't from his number either.

I answered it anyway.

"Hello?" I asked shyly.

"Is this Audrey Borders?"

I responded cautiously. "Yes. And who is this?"

"Sam Blakely. I'm with the FBI. There's an opening at our field office in the state of Alaska. You would be stationed there within two weeks. If not, I can't say there will be another opportunity soon... Are you still interested in a career with us?"

I closed my eyes to think it over. With the direction my life was headed in, I had to admit... It did sound rather appealing. "Is it okay if I think it over for a night?" I asked slowly, "I'm quite interested, I assure you. Can you give me one day before calling anybody else? Is that okay?"

"Okay, miss. Call me at this number as soon as you've made a desicion."

"I will."

The line beeped.

I had barely gotten the phone back in my purse before Spencer walked through my apartment's front door. "They didn't have skim, so I had to get one percent...I hope that's okay."

It took me a few second to realize Spencer was talking about varieties of milk. "Oh," I mused, "That's perfectly alright."

My mood had brightened considerably since talking to Sam Blakely on the phone. The look of confusion on Spencer's face showed that he sensed it too.

After the first lively dinner we'd had together in a long time, I felt myself become extremely relaxed. I hadn't felt this relaxed around anyone since I was a child.

"Spencer," I said evenly, "Do you want to go to bed?"

He raised his soft brown eyebrows at me. "Sure... But isn't a little early for sleeping?"

I looked him square in the face. "I don't recall saying anything about sleeping. I asked if, um, you wanted to go to bed with me."

Spencer blinked several times and looked at the table. "Well then. I... I would actually. Sure."

I woke up at four a.m. the next morning. I'm acting crazy, I thought to myself. A thin crack running through my ceiling distracted me. I blinked to make sense of my surroundings. All night, I'd been thinking about it. I knew my answer to Sam Blakely's question.

I reawakened three hours later, but Spencer was still fast asleep. I had to call him before I lost my nerve. Being careful not to shake the mattress, I slid out of bed and shrugged on my robe.

The phone felt slippery in my nervous hand. I looked through my recent calls and hit send when I got to the number I was looking for.

It seemed to ring forever. Finally, a gruff voice answered. "Sam Blakely, FBI."

I swallowed. "Hello, this is Audrey Borders! I talked to you yesterday about that job opening," I said brightly.

"I remember," he said without expression, "Have you thought it over?"

"Yes. And I've decided that I'm taking it."

Sam surprised me by laughing at the other end. "Well then! I hope you like cold weather. It's practically Siberia up there."

"I don't mind the cold."

Blakely stopped laughing. "Okay then. I'll let my supervisor know. You have two weeks to settle everything over there in Quantico."

"Okay then. Sounds good to me." But it did not sound good to me.

I decided I would wait a while before telling Spencer.

I spent the next two days in Phoenix. I told Spencer I was seeing my mother, but if he knew more about me, he'd know otherwise. The weather was sweaty and hot there as always. He hadn't offered to go with me. So why was I really there? To confront my worst nightmare. (After my experience with Henry Blake, my mother was no longer my worst nightmare.)

I took a bus to the prison. Usually, I'm a pretty impatient person, but I wanted that bus ride to last forever. I'd already gone to all this trouble, so there was no giving up now. As the bus screeched to a halt in front of tall chain-link fences, I forced myself to step down onto the hot pavement. Now or never.

The gruff woman at the front desk gave me a visitor's pass and sent me into another room for a full-body scan. It did nothing to soothe my nerves. A guard sporting a stupid expression on his face came shortly to escort me to the high-security cells.

Click. Click. Click. Thump. Thump. Thump. Each click of my dress shoes sped up the thumping of my heart. I saw that none of the cell doors had windows. They must have been sound-proofed because the silence was deafening. It was a true oxymoron.

Finally, we reached a door that looked like any other door you might come across if you ever find yourself strolling through the high-security part of a prison. The guard slid a card in the slot next to the steel door. It opened outward without a sound.

The inside was larger than I had imagined but smaller than any room you'd like to live in. Truth be told, people tend to remember the things we find most frightening. As proof, we dream more often about things that worry us than we do about those that bring us joy. At this moment, I found Henry Blake to be the most frightening object in the harsh lighting of the cell. His skin was almost as pale as the white walls that surrounded us and blended in with the straight jacket bound tightly around his wirey frame.

The guard offered to bring me a chair, but I politely declined. He nodded and went to stand quietly in the corner. I didn't wait for Blake to strike up a conversation. I was here for closure and nothing more.

"You don't look so good," I commented without feeling the least bit sorry for him. "But as for me, I feel just wonderful." He didn't say anything to me, but smirked slightly in acknowledgement. I smirked right on back. "You know, you remind me of my first boyfriend."

"You would date someone like me?" he hissed. A fire danced in his unforgiving eyes that I was sure would cease to burn someday. I decided I would ignore his inane comments as long as I lived.

My lips seemed to move on their own as I continued. "I hated my first boyfriend. He was into death and anything having to do with blood. Looking back, I'm certain he was sociopathic-he wasn't a psychopath like you though. He only cared about his mother and a girl named Kate. I knew he loved Kate more than me; oh, I could just feel it. But you-you don't love anybody, do you? ...Perhaps not even yourself."

A cold stare collided with my eyes, yet I forced my story onward. "One day, my boyfriend invited me over to his house for the hundredth time, and I finally agreed just to shut him up. We sat on the floor of his room. I was drawing a cartoon picture and he was trying to fix his music player. And you know what he asked me? He asked me to bite his neck. It was so awful-I was mentally unstable enough to do it. And then do you know what he did? After I went home, he showed it to his family. I was never allowed back there... After that, he would constantly ramble about how much he wanted me to cut him open...and his desire for human flesh. He said that 'Donovan' was talking to him and that the voices wouldn't leave him alone anymore. I just couldn't take it."

"So he was masochistic and a cannibal and a schizophrenic?" Henry sounded disturbingly impressed. His wet tongue swept across his chapped lips, sending waves of terror down my back.

"He...He wanted to eat me, and his friends, and oh, especially Kate. I was terrified, but I couldn't tell anyone. The entire time I had just played along with the whole thing. It was the end that was quite strange. He didn't answer my calls for an entire month, and I started to get worried. I called his friend's phone, and conveniently, my boyfriend was there at his house. He passed the phone to him, and I quickly brought up the subject of us breaking up. And he dumped me. He dumped me before I even had a chance to dump him."

"You're quite the control freak aren't you?" Blake mused with a grin full of yellow teeth.

"I suppose you could say that. Yes."

"But what does that have to do with me? You came here for a reason, didn't you? Get to the point, darling."

"I came here to show you that I'm fine. Spencer is fine. Agent Hotchner and Morgan are fine."

Blake gave away no expression. "Good for you guys."

At that moment, I can up with a plan. If I could pull it off, I would trick Blake into a life of misery. I chose my words with absolute care. "Does it bother you that we're out there living our lives while you're stuck in here paying for our sorrows? Does it bother you that we're transferring our pain to you? Now you're stuck with not only their pain, but my pain. I'm not talking about what happened to me with Hotch and Spencer. I'm talking about the pain that's been haunting me my entire life. All that stuff I just told you? About my crazy boyfriend? That's yours to deal with now. It doesn't bother me anymore."

Before Blake could say anything, I nodded to the guard. Henry's breathing became ragged and his eyes narrowed. "You're wrong!" He bellowed, "STOP! You have no idea what line you just-please! It's not FAIR! It is not your place to-"

But I never heard what it wasn't my place to do. The guard swung the door shut behind me and I grinned with true satisfaction for the first time in over ten years. "What kind of punishment does he get for yelling at someone like that? Two days without dinner?"

The guard avoided meeting my gaze, but I could see something was twinkling there in his eyes. "I suppose that's only fair."

And as I stepped off the plane in DC, I guess you could say there was a little extra spring in my step. The only hard part left was telling Spencer. It was unfair to keep him in the dark about my new job any longer. I knew it was wrong, but revenge seemed to have just solved all of my problems.

I couldn't have been more mistaken.