"Has it been working?"

"Yeah," Spencer ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the closed bedroom door behind him, making sure Anthea was still asleep. "I mean, I think so. She's definitely talking to me more."

"That's good," said Helen reassuringly. "As long as she keeps that up, you're on the right track. Did she mention anything more about coming to Chicago?"

"She tried to play it cool. She pretended she had too much to do for an upcoming conference, but I know she doesn't want to go because she'd have to leave me alone," Spencer made a noise of frustration. "I've been so selfish, I didn't realise how hard this would be on her but I just don't know how to help her."

"Thea doesn't like it when people help her, dear. She likes to be the one doing the helping," Helen sighed. "But she's also let you help her more than anyone else she's ever met. I suppose that has to count for something. You're doing a good job, Spencer. Robbie mentioned yesterday she already sounds happier."

"It's only been a week," said Spencer. "I should be doing more."

"I don't know if you can do much more, I'm afraid. I think it's time to let her come to you," said Helen. "And she will come around eventually, Spencer. I know my daughter, and she loves you very much."

Spencer sighed quietly and said goodbye, staring at the phone morosely when Helen had hung up. Of course, Anthea loved him. He knew that, but he was afraid. Afraid that, alongside loving him, she would think that she had to love his job, his lifestyle, his past. And she didn't, because he didn't want her to. All he wanted to do was move on from the awkwardness that was hanging over both their heads, because despite the small alleviation in the past week, it was still suffocating him. And he missed hearing her laugh. Over the past week, even though things had gotten better, he had only heard her laugh a handful of times: in a different room, on the phone with –

Spencer's eyes widened with realisation and he fumbled with his phone, his hands trembling only slightly as he input a number he had never called before and held the device up to his ear. The fingers of his free hand tapped out a rhythm against his thigh as he waited for someone to answer, his thoughts muddled. Of course, that was the solution. He couldn't believe he'd been blind enough to miss it.

"Hello?"

"Hi," Spencer's hand stilled and went up to run through his hair anxiously. "It's Spencer Reid. Can we talk?"

!

SR: You're going to be brilliant. I'm so proud of you already, Thea.

AG: I wish I had your faith. I'm so nervous I'm cutting myself off from caffeine.

SR: Wise choice. Just breathe.

SR: How's it going?

AG: Exhausting, but I haven't said anything stupid. Yet.

SR: You'll be great. Can't wait to hear all about it.

SR: Lunch?

AG: Excessive coffee. Why did I ever sign up for this?

SR: Stop tapping. You're the smartest person in that room.

AG: You can't know that!

SR: Yes, I can. I'm a certified genius, remember?

AG: Dork. xxxxxx

AG: Halfway done.

SR: I love you.

AG: I love you too.

AG: Dinner?

SR: Already done. Italian ok?

AG: You didn't have to do that, I could have gotten us something on my way back!

SR: Took Zeus out for a walk and found a new place on the way. When do you think you'll be home?

AG: The reception is just starting but I'm making my escape in just about an hour. Thank you for all the help prepping this weekend, you've been such a lifesaver.

SR: My pleasure. Anything for you.

AG: See you in a bit. Xx

Anthea smiled as she read her text exchange with Spencer from that morning to just a few hours ago, when she had been stuck in a lecture theatre with nothing to look forward to except lukewarm coffee and whatever snacks the department would scrounge up for the conference attendees later in the day. She hadn't been lying when she'd told Spencer he had been a lifesaver: she had easily been the youngest and the seemingly most unqualified person in the room, and no amount of intelligence would make her acceptable to the stern-looking men who had looked at her dismissively as they walked past her chair. She was used to the odd looks, the whispers, and the disdain from her peers by now. Being a woman in academia wasn't easy, and it certainly didn't help that she was young, pretty, and altogether too opinionated to be palatable.

Still, with Spencer's help Anthea had ensured she at least knew the material that was being discussed and then some, because Spencer couldn't bear to teach someone unless he was providing context for every fact he gave that was unknown to her. It had been stressful, but he had been endlessly patient and understanding, not to mention unbearable sweet all day by texting her to make sure she wasn't panicking. In the end, she had held her own and had even received a few grudging compliments as she made her excuses early and practically fled the stuffy reception.

Now, nestled into a corner of the bus with her phone open and scrolling through the many texts Spencer had sent her through the day, she allowed the tension to fall from her shoulders. Things had been so, so much better since the day he'd sat down opposite her in the kitchen and practically forced her to talk to him, albeit casually. Anthea hadn't realised how far she had shut him out until she saw that her dog, a smart one though he was, seemed to be far more attuned to Spencer's every move than she was. It had bothered her more than she'd allowed him to see, because the whole point of him staying with her had been because she knew him, his habits and his ways, and she'd known nobody could help him like she could. And then he'd confessed he'd wanted to hold her, possibly every time he woke up in pain, but he had thought she wouldn't want him that close to her, and her heart had almost broken. Because no matter how upset she was, and no matter how much she wished she was strong enough to take Spencer's past in stride instead of blocking it all out of her memory, she was still hopelessly in love with him, and the thought of causing him more pain than he was already in made her hate herself.

She had to do better. They had to do better, or the relationship wouldn't survive, and the thought of not seeing Spencer anymore made Anthea's heart ache. The bus jolted to a stop and she stumbled out, rubbing her eyes tiredly. Her phone buzzed again a few times as she crossed the road to her building, but she knew it was just Spencer checking to make sure she was coming home safely and didn't bother to answer. The doorman smiled at her, his greeting brighter than usual, and Anthea smiled back in confusion as she squeezed into the elevator behind the elderly couple from the fifth floor. Mrs. Anderson was wearing the same perfume as her mother - lavender with a hint of roses - and the smell lingered even after they wished Anthea a good night and got off at their floor. The memory of her mother already made her smile a little softer, and she was just calculating the time difference between Washington and Chicago when she got to her door.

As soon as she stepped inside her apartment, the same scent hit her again like a truck.

"Spencer?" Anthea called out. Slightly dazed, she dropped her bag onto the floor and made her way to the kitchen, where the unmistakable sounds of someone rummaging through her cupboards could be heard. It couldn't be Spencer. The only person who did that was… "Mom?"

"You're late," Helen Grayson turned away from the cupboard of dishes she had been looking through and huffed. "And you don't have a serving dish anywhere! Didn't I buy you one for Christmas?"

"And then you kept it," said Anthea automatically. Then, she blinked and shook her head. "Wait – what are you doing here? I didn't know you were coming!"

"You said you couldn't make it for Thanksgiving," Helen folded her arms across her chest. "What was I supposed to do, leave my only daughter to celebrate the holiday weekend without me there? You know you can't make turkey."

"No, I can't," Anthea's smile grew wider and she closed the distance between herself and the older woman, throwing her arms around her. Helen's embrace was strong and comforting, and her right hand stroked through Anthea's tangles just as it had every time she hugged her. "I can't believe you came."

"It wasn't all my idea," Helen said softly.

"Is dad here?"

"No, I thought we shouldn't overwhelm Spencer with both the men in your family so soon."

"Both? Do you –"

"No fair, where's my hug?" the sound of wheels scraping against Anthea's carpeted floor was heard as her brother's wheelchair arrived at the door of the kitchen, pausing just outside. Robbie grinned and held out his arms, his face the picture of ease. "Surprise!"

"You're here too!" Anthea's heart was bursting as she ran at her brother, falling into his arms as she hugged him back tightly. Zeus barked from the other room as she laughed and Robbie shouted at her dog to shut up. Helen rolled her eyes and returned to going through her kitchen cupboards. "I can't believe you both did this!" said Anthea, turning to face her mother. "But isn't dad going to be lonely?"

"Oh, it wasn't all us," Robbie was still grinning as Anthea looked at him in confusion. "It was your FBI agent's idea. He convinced mom to give Aunt Em the Thanksgiving dinner reins this year, and someone called Garcia got us a last-minute flight at a suspiciously low rate. Spencer called me last week," Robbie added, when Anthea simply stared at him, mouth hanging open in surprise. "He knew you really wanted to see us, but you wouldn't leave him alone for the long weekend. Dad said we should go."

Anthea shook her head slowly, her mind still processing what her brother had told her. Spencer had done this? All this? For her? "I wasn't going to leave him alone, of course. I – I didn't even realise he was planning something."

"Well, you certainly have your father's brains, don't you?" Helen tapped the back of Anthea's head with her finger and raised her eyebrow when her daughter turned to look at her. "He's in the living-room. I'm going to make us all some tea. Robbie, why don't you stay in here with me?"

Robbie said something sly that caused his mother to snap at him, but Anthea ignored them both. Her feet moved of their own accord and she headed straight for the living-room, the muted sounds of the TV reaching her ears before anything else. Zeus was lying in his bed dozing, though he cracked open an eye and wagged his tail half-heartedly when he saw her enter. Almost as if he could sense the conversation was about to take place, however, he closed his eyes again and continued to snore softly.

Spencer was sitting on the sofa, closing the book he had no doubt read at least four times since she'd entered the house. He looked up as she walked in, almost shyly, and ran a hand through his hair, slowly getting to his feet. His cane was right next to him but he ignored it, instead resting a hand on the side of the sofa to steady himself. "Hey."

"Spencer…" Anthea trailed off, because she had no idea what to say. Spencer had done many thoughtful things for her since she'd met him, even more since they'd started dating, but this… "How did you know?"

"I didn't profile you," he said immediately, then smiled ruefully at his own defensiveness. "I mean, I didn't need to profile you. I just… wanted to make you happy."

"Oh," whispered Anthea. She couldn't think of what else to say. Three degrees and a career devoted to the English language, and yet she was suddenly speechless. "I-I don't know what to-"

"It's okay," he was still smiling. "I know."

Anthea swallowed the lump in her throat and closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around his neck. Spencer returned her hug, and she felt him kiss the side of her head just as he did every time she hugged him – except at that moment, she couldn't remember the last time she had done anything to deserve it.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled, burying her face into his sweater-vest. It smelled like coffee and his minimally-scented cologne, and she hadn't realised how much she had missed his scent until just then. "I wish I could explain, Spencer, but I didn't know how to feel for so long, and I-"

"You can cry, you know," he interrupted her quietly, his fingers running through her hair. "You don't have to keep pretending just for me."

Almost as if her tears had been waiting for permission, Anthea felt her eyes begin to sting uncontrollably and collapsed into sobs, the overwhelming pain of the past month hitting her full-force, combined with the unbearable sweetness that was every action that Spencer Reid took to make her happy. "I'm s-so s-sorry," she sobbed quietly. Her mother and brother were in the next room, but she didn't care; the catharsis that came from finally, finally being allowed to cry was too overwhelming for her to stop now. "I-I've been h-horrible to you, and y-you've b-been trying s-so hard t-to help m-me."

"You haven't been horrible," Spencer rested his cheek on top of her head. "You were upset because I kept something from you. But I'm okay, Thea. I promise. We just need to get back to normal now."

"I know y-you're ok-kay, b-but I j-just…" her sobs took over and she trailed off, refusing to let him go.

Spencer continued to hold her for what felt like hours, but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. Finally, Anthea's sobs quietened and she found herself slowly rocking on the balls of her feet in Spencer's arms, only sniffling occasionally. He hadn't said a word, but he didn't need to. Anthea wasn't a profiler but she knew him well enough to know that this – his breathing perfectly even and his hand running through her hair with soothing, mechanical movements – was how he was showing her that he was content, and happy. And it was enough to help her calm down too.

"Your mom's boiled the kettle four times since you came in here," said Spencer, and Anthea let out a croaky laugh. "Should I be worried that your brother will think I made you cry?"

Smiling, Anthea finally pulled away and wiped her eyes. "He won't say anything to you, don't worry. My mom might yell at me, though," she grimaced. "How did you manage to charm her in like, four hours?"

"Ah," bashfully, Spencer rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, it was more than four hours."

"Really?" Anthea was surprised. "How long have they been here, then? I mean, they had to arrive after I left this morning, right?"

"Oh, I didn't actually meet her until this afternoon. I meant…" he trailed off and gave her a nervous look. "I-I may have spoken to her before I called Robbie a few days ago. More than once."

Anthea narrowed her eyes. "What does that mean?"

"It means I called him a few weeks ago and gave him some motherly advice," said Helen's voice from the doorway. Mug of tea in hand, she raised her eyebrows when Anthea whipped around to glare at her. "Don't look at me like that, young lady. You were putting this poor man through hell, and you know it. It's not Spencer's fault I'm the only person who can get you to talk when you're in one of your moods. Now, come into the kitchen. The food is getting cold."

Anthea continued to stare at the doorway her mother had just vacated, until Spencer touched her shoulder. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I-I don't know how you feel about me speaking to your mother without telling you, let alone before you actually introduced us yourself, but I didn't know who else to talk to. I was worried, Thea."

Anthea sighed, shoulders slumping as she turned back to Spencer. "I know," she smiled as he tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. "I can't be mad at you for this, not really. I really wanted to be with them and you for the holidays, and you made it happen."

"I had help."

"Right. Remind me to bake Garcia those brownies she likes."

Spencer laughed. "Oh, she would love that."

Anthea giggled along with him and, hand in hand, they returned to the kitchen. Helen was writing something down in a small notebook and began to interrogate Anthea about groceries as soon as they walked in, clearly planning to takeover cooking Thanksgiving dinner. Robbie was quiet, playing with the teabag in his mug, but he made no move to try and kick Spencer out of the apartment, which he took as a good sign. He was still in his wheelchair, which was surprising to Spencer since he had heard from Anthea that physical therapy was going well and her brother should have been back on his feet by now, but he decided not to pry and accepted his own mug of coffee from Anthea, who was now nibbling on a biscuit and watching her mother make up a menu for that weekend with a look of adoration on her face. Smiling, he squeezed her hand and sipped his coffee, feeling the weight of the past month finally beginning to lift from his shoulders.