***Author's Notes: To anyone who is re-reading this chapter (and I hope that you are), please forgive me for the horrific number of typos in the initial posting. I accidentally posted the document with the completely un-proofed version of this chapter. Thanks to all who brought the typos to my attention.

This is pretty much the parallel of Chapter 11. We're back to following Spencer, and a lot of this chapter is what he's thinking. Direct thoughts, as always, are in italics. Read and review; I hope you enjoy.***

He had been grasping at sleep for nearly two hours now, and still it eluded him. The faint sound of the heartbeat beneath his ear was usually a balm on nights like this- nights when he couldn't get his brain to just… stop long enough to allow him to rest. The warm weight of the arm draped across his back was usually a reminder that he was safe, protected, loved. That he wasn't alone. For the first time, it wasn't enough.

So many times on that seemingly endless drive, he'd wanted to speak, but fear blazed like fire in his mind, burning and consuming all rational thought. He couldn't think. He couldn't not think. He couldn't trust his thoughts. He damn sure couldn't voice them.

What could he have said, really? 'I'm losing my mind? Is this even real? Are you real?' He was sure that wouldn't have gone over too well. He could just see it now: Derek would look at him with that dark, piercing gaze. His brows would knit together in a look of utter confusion and concern. He would pull to the side of the road. The silence would be unbearable at first, and then he would speak. That deep, calming voice would weave its spell, soothing him, comforting him, telling him that everything would be alright. Derek would urge him to reveal more, to lay his mind bare. Then he would proceed to pick it apart. After that, it would just be a short detour to the nearest psychiatric facility. It was almost enough to make him laugh. He couldn't tell Derek. He hadn't packed that many clothes.

By the time Spencer had finished his shower, he was so desperate to avoid conversation that he stalled in any way that he could. He took his time dressing himself in his favorite pair of pajamas, thankful that he'd thought to grab his Go Bag on the way through the bedroom. He examined his face after wiping the steam-fogged mirror with a towel and frowned at the weary man staring back at him. He really needed to sleep.

Spencer could hear Derek moving about in the next room, no doubt getting ready for bed himself. 'Just a little longer,' he thought as he pulled a toothbrush from his travel kit. It was time to replace the one he'd left here. The movement in the next room had all but stopped. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.

And the ADA does recommend brushing for a full two minutes or about 10 seconds per tooth surface.

He would do twelve.

At last, there was no sound coming from the other side of the door. Spencer crept out of the bathroom, fully expecting to see Derek fast asleep on the left side of the bed, closest to the bedroom door. Instead, the man was just entering said door, a thick dark blue blanket folded in his arms. He looked at Spencer, briefly scanning his form as if trying to spot what was out of place and then turned to spread the blanket out over the bed.

"You wanna talk about it?"

There was nothing he'd rather do less. He edged his way toward the bedroom door, a hundred excuses for leaving the room 'just for a minute' forming in his mind.

"Okay. We don't have to talk about it right now."

I wonder how long that will last.

"You know, the bed's a lot more comfortable."

He needed more time to think, to plan his words in the assuredly unavoidable confrontation. But then, maybe he shouldn't plan his words. Maybe he should just tell the truth. Derek would hear him out. He would at least try to understand. Wouldn't he?

But what if he didn't? What if he decided that he didn't want any part of the mess that his life had become? What if he left? What if he asked him to leave? No- Derek wouldn't do that. What kind of person was he to suggest, even to himself, that his boyfriend would be that cruel? They'd talked about this before. It was only in theory then, but Derek had promised that he would never abandon the one he loved. Derek was nothing like his father.

"Spencer, what-"

He'd done it again- gotten lost in his thoughts. Only this time, there was no amused grin, no playful ruffling of his hair. Derek sounded irritated. Irritated and tired.

Tired of dealing with me

"Okay. I said we didn't have to talk about it. I'm sorry. Let's just go to bed."

So the dreaded discussion would be postponed after all. He could do this. It would probably all end tomorrow, but they still had tonight.

For one last night, let me pretend.

2:10... 2:27... 3:17...

The night was passing slower than he'd expected. Each passing second brought them closer to a new day. He thought of Silvia then. Of her uncanny way of boiling down any thought or feeling, any moment in time, to a few choice lines of literature. He could almost hear her now.

'We had no other thing to do, save to wait for the sign to come. So, like things of stone in a valley lone, quiet we sat and dumb…'

Or something to that effect. She seemed partial to Wilde, in any case.

The smile that this brought to his lips vanished in an instant. He hadn't just heard her voice, had he? No. It was only a thought. Silvia wasn't here. She was safe behind the locked door of his apartment, 12.3 miles away. There was no way he could have heard her.

And he should have left it at that. But being the logical, analytical person that he was, he couldn't simply abandon a thought once it had begun. What was there to stop Silvia and Gabriel from showing up right now? He knew that they weren't real, physical beings- that they were products of his own treacherous mind. Realistically, they could manifest in any place that he happened to be. Unconsciously, he clung a bit tighter to Derek's sleeping form.

This is real.

He repeated the phrase like a mantra in his head.

This is real. This is real…

But was it?

It was the Paradox of Broken Glass all over again: If the glass had broken while he was in the room, he must have broken it. If the glass had broken while he stood outside the door, he still had to have broken it. If he heard the glass break on the other side of the door, and the glass was actually broken by himself, then the source of the sound was real and actually generated by himself. But Derek had stood right beside him and had given no indication that anything was amiss. Despite his love of the Sci-Fi genre, he'd never believed that a person could be in two different places at once.

So one of these 'realities' always has to be false.

He snuggled closer into Derek's warmth and shuddered at the thought that, in a way, the evidence of his sanity potentially rested on broken glass. That is, if all was as he assumed. If the presence of a third-party witness disproved the reality of the broken glass, couldn't the presence of the broken glass, in fact, disprove the reality of the third-party witness?

His clothing was suddenly too restrictive. The fabric was scratchy against his skin. Moving as little as possible, Spencer shed the offending articles and all but melded his body against the other man's.

This is real. This is real.

But the thought had already taken root.

If the glass is broken, then that is real. If that is real, then this is not. How do I know that this is real? How do I know that I'm not at home, still lying on my bathroom floor? How do I know if anything is real?

As if in reply to the silent question, he felt the large, gun-calloused hand rub soothingly up and down his back.

Yes…

Derek's fingers carded lovingly through his hair, more tenderness in that one touch than some people experienced in a lifetime.

Don't stop…

His very soul seemed to shudder at the touch. He felt the body beneath him shift and let out a shaky breath

"Spencer… C'mon baby, wake up."

"…"

"Have you slept at all?"

This wasn't in his head. It couldn't be. As brilliant as he would admit that his mind was, he doubted if it could ever create something this beautiful, this perfect.

"…I couldn't."

"You couldn't sleep?"

"No. I…"

just needed to know. You have no idea how much I need you- how lost I would be without you.

He met those warm, dark depths and held their gaze, striving to convey with his own eyes the words that had lodged in his throat.

Don't give up on me. Don't leave me with myself. Please, just… prove to me that this is real. And if I forget, prove it to me again and again…

Before either could question his actions, Spencer closed the last few inches between them. The soft, full lips parted against his own, and the strong arms that wrapped around him tightened and loosened, unsure of the appropriate response. With a firm grip on the thick biceps, Spencer urged the man to reverse their positions. They turned, kiss unbroken, the fledgling sounds of kindled passion banishing the silence. Their breaths mingled, warm and moist in the shared space.

"Should I even ask?" He peppered kisses down the pale column of Spencer's neck.

"Probably not."

"Are you sure this is what you want right now?"

"I don't want to be able to think about anything else."

A seductive laugh and a ghosting of lips.

"I think I can accomplish that."

He looked up then. Those fierce eyes softened and became so tender and full of emotion that Spencer thought that just looking into them might be his undoing.

"It's just you and me, Spencer. No one else."

"Promise?"

He'd meant for it to sound less desperate. The kiss that this prompted left him reeling and clinging to the edges of coherent thought as tightly as he clung to his lover's body.

"Always," came the whispered reply.

And that was all he needed to hear. This was real.

TBC…

Comments and constructive criticisms are most welcome.