Nine months later

Anthea slipped the key into the lock hurriedly, juggling her messenger bag, two bags of groceries and a pile of books as she slipped inside the softly lit apartment. She shut the door, dropped her keys into the ceramic bowl lying on a table nearby, and kicked off her shoes. She padded softly to the small living room, turning on the matching set of lamps on either side of a large, comfortable sofa. She carefully placed her messenger bag, books and plastic grocery bags on the dining table and finally turned around to glance at the other occupant in the apartment.

When Spencer had texted her an hour ago to say he had just landed and was on his way home, Anthea had just finished a class and was on her way back to her apartment, closer to Georgetown than Quantico. However, the simple text had caused her to take a detour and head straight for the familiar apartment building an hour away. She had expected to find him asleep when she came back, but she was more than a little surprised that he hadn't even stirred despite all the noise she had made.

It was barely six in the evening, so Anthea decided to let him rest. She turned off the lamp closest to his head and took the grocery bags to the small kitchenette. It had become routine – when Spencer was in the city, she would show up with bags of food and make sure he ate, slept, and functioned like a normal human being. She had even slept over, twice. Granted, it had not been planned either time but it was a massive improvement, and Anthea knew it had a lot to do with his confession last month. This was Spencer's way of letting her in, and showing her how comfortable he was with her.

And she was more than happy to accept whatever he gave.

Quietly, she emptied the bags and placed the items in their respective cupboards. She kept the milk out and made herself a cup of tea, carrying it to the dining table and cracking open a book to while away the time.

Three hours later, she heard the sofa creak and a few minutes passed before she felt a gentle hand touch her shoulder. "Sorry," his voice was groggy with sleep. "When did you get here?"

"Ages ago," Anthea closed her book and stood up, resting her head against his shoulder when Spencer wrapped his arms around her waist. Her hands, much smaller than his own, curled around his soft sweater-vest. "You okay?"

"I'm okay," he murmured into her hair. "You'd know if I wasn't."

"You wouldn't tell me," she tilted her face up and studied his exhausted features. "One week, Spencer?"

He frowned. "What?"

"You said two days. It's been a week."

"Oh," understanding lit up his face, and then his eyes darkened. "Serial killer," was all he said. Anthea bit her lip, but nodded. She sat down in her chair once more, but didn't open her book. Spencer went to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with a cup of coffee and a pot of sugar. "How have you been?" he asked, adding a heaped teaspoon to his drink. Anthea stopped him before he could repeat the action, raising her eyebrows pointedly. He smiled a little, but obeyed her unspoken command.

"I've been fine. Grading papers, mostly," she shrugged and traced the rim of her empty mug absently. Her free hand tapped the wooden table-top. She didn't even realize she had been doing it until Spencer's hand closed over it, halting her movements.

"Mid-terms are in a week, right?" he asked. His thumb rubbed soothing circles into the back of her hand.

Anthea nodded. "I don't expect them to take it seriously, though. They're all freshmen."

"Yeah, if only all freshmen were like us," Spencer chuckled. Anthea laughed as well, but her smile didn't reach her eyes. Spencer sighed, putting his half-finished mug down and coming to kneel near her chair. Anthea looked away, but he grasped her chin and made her look at him. "You don't need to worry," he spoke quietly. "You're the better shot, but I'm faster at dodging."

Anthea cracked a smile at that. She tugged her face out of his grip and kissed his cheek. "I know," she murmured. She stood up and headed for the kitchen, discreetly wiping her eyes. "I don't know why I'm being so weepy," she continued, her usual light returning to her eyes as she pulled out a pack of pasta from the cupboard. "It's not like me, you know that."

"Yes, but in new relationships the fear of loss is quite strong, and in my line of work –"

"I don't need your brain right now, Dr. Reid. It was a rhetorical statement."

"Sorry," he didn't sound sorry. Spencer rested his elbows on the kitchen island thoughtfully. "Did you miss me?"

Anthea frowned, turning to face him in confusion. "Of course I did," she raised an eyebrow when he didn't look convinced. "Spencer, I didn't call you constantly because –"

"I know why," he interrupted hastily, his eyes flicking down to his folded hands. Anthea bit her lip, but decided not to push him. She returned to the food, and Spencer let her work in silence for half an hour. When she had put the lasagne into the oven, he finally spoke again. "I changed my emergency contact information."

Anthea's heart skipped a beat, but she tried not to let her voice waver when she spoke. "Oh," she replied simply. She fiddled with the thermostat on the oven.

"You haven't met the team, and the christening is still a few weeks away. We could go on cases before then, and I want them to know to call you if something happens," Spencer ran a hand through his hair sheepishly when Anthea finally turned around.

"I'm sure Garcia could track me down if she wanted," smiled Anthea. She sat down next to him and rested her head against his shoulder. "Thank you, though. I won't be looking forward to that call, but I'll worry less now."

"Yeah," said Spencer quietly. He rested his own head on top of hers and picked up her hand, tracing the lines on her palm idly. "Thea?"

"Hmm?"

"I missed you too."

Anthea smiled and tilted her head to the side to catch his lips in a soft kiss. "I know you did."