Leah's Point of View

I hadn't expected him to be home when I called the home number he had given me. I expected an answering machine and a "Leave a message after the beep," message. It was work hours— about two o'clock, if my watch was working; and he had said he had a case, so I had prepared a short explanation to leave on his voicemail. Talking to a phone was easy. Talking to a person was much messier.

"Oh," I said, mind racing to find words to say to him, "Hi, Spencer. I didn't realise you'd be home. I was just going to leave a message." I paused, mulling over the exact reasons why he might be home. "Did you finish that case already?"

I felt a jealous pang in my stomach. How come the FBI could solve that case in a matter of hours, and mine probably hadn't been looked at in weeks? Spencer chuckled on the other end of the phone.

"No, we haven't solved it yet. I'm just home to uh..." I swear I could hear the gears turning to make up an excuse. It had just been that kind of trailing off. "Get some rest." It was a bad excuse, but I wasn't going to call him on it. I didn't need to know why he was off the case. I had my own problems to think about.

"I see. Well, I just called to let you know I won't be in the city for much longer. I'm going to be in Denver for a while." I heard his sharp intake of breath and wondered briefly how much he'd miss me.

"Denver? As in Denver, Colorado?" he asked almost shakily. I sighed into the receiver.

"Yeah. I guess my sister heard through the grapevine about my attack, and she told my parents, who are now insisting I come home for a month or two to recover. It's only been a month, after all, and they 'want me to heal in a place I feel safe.'" I rolled my eyes, leaning against my kitchen counter and pinching the bridge of my nose. "They wouldn't let me say no."

Spencer was quiet for almost a whole minute before he answered. I almost asked him if he was still there, but I could hear him quietly breathing and knew he was just thinking, spacing out the way he always did.

"Denver is approximately one thousand, eight-hundred and thirty miles from Quantico," he said at last, and my brow furrowed.

"I guess that's about right. But I don't see how that has anything to do with—"

"So I won't be able to give you any more shooting lessons, or have breakfast with you again, then."

My breath caught. Did he just basically say he wanted to see me again? My heart was racing, and I was very angry at my parents for deciding I had to come home just then. I was just starting to get used to how things were now, the new me and how I was growing as a person. I was just getting used to the idea that I could trust Spencer, and now my parents wanted to take all that away so that I could spend time with them four States over. It just wasn't fair.

"I'm sorry, Spencer," I mumbled, sighing again. "Maybe when I get back we could do something, but right now, my parents are being pretty insistent..." That was putting it mildly. "...and I really can't get out of it."

"Well, I hope you have a good time, then," he said, but I didn't hear any of the sarcasm I had been expecting. "And err... feel... better?"

I laughed at that. He was the only thing that ever made me feel better, as of late. But I casually replied, "I hope so too," instead of vocalising it. Why should I make him worry, anyway? I'd be okay with my family in Colorado for a month. It was only a month, after all.

We said our goodbyes and I hung up, feeling only slightly better after hearing his voice. A whole month away from him; I was more nervous now than when my mother had called earlier and thrown her hysterics in my face. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose once more for a moment before heading into my bedroom to finish packing.

Spencer's Point of View

It wasn't ten minutes later that I was standing at her doorstep, feeling much like an idiot. Though I had come there with words in mind to say, they died on my tongue as I raised my hand to knock. Why had I come? I couldn't remember.

I took a deep breath and knocked anyway, hoping that my spontaneity wasn't unwarranted. She answered the door a moment later, and her sudden outbreak in a huge smile told me that it wasn't. She opened the door to let me in, all the while showing off her teeth. Her smile was wonderful. It was a good look on her.

"Spencer! I didn't expect you to come over," she said, though she looked happy enough that I had. I smiled in return, making sure the door was closed behind me as I took a step inside.

"I thought I'd come over and say good-bye properly, at least. When are you leaving?"

Her smile faded a little. "I've just finished packing, actually." My heart sank.

"So soon?" I asked, a little flabbergasted. This was all happening so fast. I barely had time to think about her not being around me, and she was practically already gone?

"Yeah, my mom and dad are really worried, and they've already pre-bought train tickets." She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her pull-over, shrugging. "I was about to call a cab."

"Oh, you don't have to do that. I'll give you a lift to the... uh... train station." My voice squeaked a little on the last words, but I managed— at least, I hoped I managed— to look nonchalant about it. She laughed, taking a hand on of her pocket and putting it on my arm. My skin seemed to burn at her touch, even though my dress shirt.

"You don't have a car."

I smirked. "Actually I do. I just... don't drive often." Never, was more like it. And Derek's car was much prettier than mine, at any rate. But I had gotten out the keys to the car that sat in my parking spot in the garage bellow my building, just so I could see her.

"Then why...?" She paused, obviously deciding it was better not to ask. "You know what, thank you. I'll just uh... get my stuff and we can go."

She disappeared for a moment and returned with a hot pink and lime green striped suitcase and a black duffel bag. I took the suitcase from her raising an eyebrow at the colour.

"I haven't used it for a while, okay?" Was her explanation for the hideous thing, which I took in stride with a light laugh. She smiled back at me and we talked a while as we walked to my car.

"This is yours?" she asked sceptically, eying the '86 Chevy.

"I haven't used it in a while, okay?" I parroted, mimicking her just enough for her to laugh. She shook her head and put the duffel bag in the truck after I popped it. I slid the suitcase in beside it and snapped it closed with a sigh. "It was my mother's, if you must know. I never had the heart to get rid of the old thing."

"Get rid of it? Why would you want to if it still runs?" She paused as I opened the passenger door for her. "It does still run, right?" she joked as she climbed in and buckled up.

"Of course it runs!" I replied indignantly. We laughed, again. I think I love her laugh.