Spencer had been sitting on his FBI acceptance papers for two and a half weeks before Owen found them. Spencer wasn't hiding them, per se, but just choosing to wait to tell Owen about the job offer. Everything had happened so fast- Erin Strauss, Section Chief of the BAU, calling his office line and offering a job, Spencer knew it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. There was something said about "wartime relaxing the rules", how Spencer would be an incredible asset to the nation if he accepted the position in DC.

He hadn't accepted the job yet- he had told Strauss it was because he had to get clearance from MIT, but Spencer was more worried about his boyfriend than his advisor. It didn't matter in the end, though, because Owen found the papers when he was cleaning out his office in May, trying to clear everything out from the end of the semester.

"Spencer, what the fuck is this?"

Spencer was sitting in the living room, curled up in some French Romance novel when Owen dropped the papers on his book. He was silent, trying to collect his thoughts before he spoke.

"I didn't know how to tell you."

Owen rubbed his temples, clearly frustrated.

"I don't like you keeping things from me, Spencer. Especially big things- leaving school to move 8 hours away."

"I know. It was a shitty thing to do."

Spencer shut his book and sat it down on the coffee table, pulling Owen down on to the couch next to him.

"I'm not going to tell you not to go. I am going to tell you that I'm not moving to DC for the first serious relationship I've been in, especially when I worked my ass off for 16 years to end up at MIT."

"I know." Spencer grabbed Owen's hands, holding them tight. "I don't want you to think that I want to leave you. But this is what I've been waiting for my whole life, Owen."

"And that's fine, Spencer. I'm not going to stop you." Owen was quiet, not looking at Spencer. "I just don't want you to be surprised if you take this job and you move to DC and I'm not with you."

Owen laid down on the couch, resting his head on Spencer's thighs.

"When did you get the offer?"

"Two and a half weeks ago."

"Did you talk to your advisor yet?"

"No." Spencer was lying now. "I wanted to wait to tell you."

Spencer's advisor was fine with it, as long as he turned in his thesis before he moved to DC. He was already halfway through typing out his dissertation.

"Alright."

Owen looked up at Spencer. "When do you start?"

"August 1st"

"We'll have to find you an apartment, I guess."

Spencer was surprised at how well Owen was taking the news. He had expected more resistance- more talk about how he was a class traitor and a sellout, a whore for Bush, something with emotion. He didn't expect Owen to drag him halfway across town to Home Goods searching for a rug.

It was nice to have a day out with Owen. He had bought Spencer breakfast and a coffee from Dunkin before they made it to the strip mall. Spencer could tell something was bothering Owen- he was antsy in the store, zig-zagging between different displays with no rhyme or reason. His boyfriend was being extra sweet, calling him baby and asking for his opinion on things Owen usually didn't ask for Spencer's opinion on- like scented candles and what color throw pillows should be.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Owen looked at his boyfriend and set down the scented candle he was sniffing. "What do you mean? Do you not want me to help you decorate your apartment?"

"No, I just don't get how you went from almost breaking up with me over applying for this job to helping me pick out throw pillows for an apartment I haven't even found yet."

"It's a coping mechanism, Spencer." Owen rolled his eyes without meaning to. "If I can help you pick out enough towels or throw pillows everything will be fine."

"Owen…"

"I don't want to talk about this, Spencer. You aren't my therapist."

Owen chucked the scented candle into their cart.

"Owen." Spencer grabbed his boyfriend by the shoulders, turning him so they were facing each other. "We can talk about this."

"Why? You already submitted your thesis and you've accepted your position. There's nothing to talk about besides your apartment, Spencer."

"That doesn't mean you can't tell me how you feel."

"I've told you how I feel- I've been telling you exactly how I feel since you first brought up working for the FBI. If it didn't matter to you when you were applying for this job or when you accepted, I don't see why my opinion would matter now."

"I don't want you to resent me, Owen."

"I'm sorry for bringing it up."

Spencer looked at his boyfriend, absolutely confused in the candle aisle. Owen had been antsier as Spencer counted down the days until he was moving. In 32 days and a handful of hours, Owen was going to drive a U-Haul to DC while Spencer drove his car, and they were going to move Spencer into his apartment. Spencer still hadn't signed a lease or figured out how to get the government to pay his rent for his FBI training as they promised.

"Are you going to be okay? When I move?"

"I was doing just fine before I met you."

"Were you?"

"Yeah, probably better actually. I didn't have separation anxiety then." Owen cracked a smile before grabbing the cart. "Now come help me find a rug."

Spencer knew picking up three bottles of wine from Pier One Imports was a bad idea. Owen had absolutely no filter when he was drunk, and usually, it was fine. Usually, Spencer was on the receiving end of a whole bunch of love, pet names, and slurred iloveyou's. Tonight, Spencer had a feeling Owen was going to go on one of his anti-government rants, about how the United States had a military-industrial complex hell-bent on destroying the world.

Instead, Owen put on some old Motown records and made Spencer dance with him around the kitchen. There was something about slow dancing to Marvin Gaye, wine drunk in the arms of a lover.

Spencer never would've seen himself there- especially when he was younger. He had told his mom about Owen (and also came out) earlier that month, in the same letter he announced his FBI job to her. He had received the usual encouragement back, but the idea of being out and in love was something Spencer never thought he would've been able to achieve.

Not after Matt Shepard, or Brandon Teena. Phillip Walsted or Barry Winchell.

He hadn't realized he had stopped dancing until Owen was pushing him, trying to get Spencer to spin around with him.

"What's up?"

"I'm just happy, Owen."

Spencer looked at his boyfriend, light brown eyes and fluffy hair, somebody Spencer loved and felt safe around.

"Well, I'm happy too." Owen kissed Spencer on the cheek before yanking him halfway across the kitchen. "Now dance with me."

Owen turned the volume up on the stereo, filling the room with Diana Ross. He pulled Spencer close to him, resting his head against his boyfriend. The two of them were swaying across the kitchen, spinning around and tripping over Spencer's two left feet.

"I'm gonna miss you when you're gone."

"I'm going to miss you too."

Owen had a countdown to Spencer moving out on the whiteboard in their office. Spencer had a to-do list next to it- when he had to get his apartment lease confirmed and when he had to book his U-Haul. The biggest hang-up Spencer had was getting his rent paid for the 20 weeks he was going to be in training- there was no way his savings were going to cover 5 months' worth of rent (plus a deposit), and it was something that the director of the FBI had promised they would do.

Spencer was complaining to Owen about it while he was cleaning up after dinner- Owen had taken his research position through the summer so he was back to reading some paper at the kitchen table with a 6 pack of Dos Equis in front of him. They both were half in their own world, but Spencer had been going on about the bureaucratic nonsense of getting a per-diem approved, even when he had it in writing that he was entitled to it.

Something about a "misuse of government funds".

"I was looking at the healthcare I get, and I get a better copay on therapist's visits that the student health insurance you have now."

"Way to brag, huh? And you're not even the one who sees a therapist once a week."

"I'm just saying, Owen."

Owen looked up at his boyfriend, who was scouring a pan that had been sitting in their sink for two days.

"Are you proposing? After a cool 9 months of dating?"

Spencer dropped the pan in the sink, and Owen couldn't help but laugh. Owen drained the last of his beer and cracked open another one.

"What would you say?"

"I'd say yes, but my therapist would probably call me manic."

"Manic?"

"I don't know- probably hypomanic because it's not impacting my quality of life. But, yeah. Hypomanic."

"So, you're…"

"Bipolar? I don't know- I didn't ask. I just listen to my therapist when she tells me I need to slow down."

Owen had never offered up so much information about his mental health- he had only just told Spencer he saw a therapist, and Spencer had assumed his boyfriend wanted his privacy. Spencer's mind was whirring- offering up statistics on bipolar disorder and manic episodes, trying to retroactively piece together everything he knew about his boyfriend.

Was this why their relationship had moved so fast? Why Spencer could never predict how Owen would react to things and why they fought so much (but only sometimes)?

From his spot at the table, Owen could tell Spencer's mind was racing. This was what he was hoping to avoid- his PhD in Psychology boyfriend psychoanalyzing him while he cleaned up after dinner.

"I don't want you to think about this too much, Spencer. It's not a big deal." Owen flipped a bottle cap in Spencer's general direction as he spoke, smiling at his boyfriend. "We can't get married, genius. Not under Bush, at least."

"I think your mental health is a big deal- especially if it means I need to keep an eye out so I don't enable your manic phases."

"Hypomanic, Spencer. There's a difference."

"Not to me! I want to help you, Owen."

"I don't need your help! I'm not a fucking kid, Spencer- I'm older than you, remember? I was doing just fine before you."

"You don't need to be rude about it! I love you, Owen! I want what's best for you!"

"Spencer, you're one acid trip away from turning into the Unabomber for Christ's Sake! I don't need you of all people telling me about my mental health."

"Are you high, Owen? What the fuck are you talking about."

"Do you not read the articles I send you?"

Spencer sat down the pot he was scrubbing. This was definitely not the fight he had envisioned getting in with Owen.

"I mean, sometimes I do. Most of the time. But some of them are just … not interesting."

Owen rolled his eyes from the kitchen table, something Spencer couldn't see but could definitely feel.

"When Ted Kaczynski was 16 and at Harvard, they put him through MK-Ultra experiments. Torture tactics specifically designed to break him. It's why he hates science, why he attacked the people he did. And the government has never once acknowledged that all of the pain he caused could've been prevented if they would've done their experiments ethically."

"I don't know what CIA funded experiments during the Cold War have to do with this, Owen."

"It's not just MKUltra, Spencer. It's the fact that the CIA started Al Qaeda in the 70's to get back at the USSR and now we're here, after the collapse of the Soviet Union, watching Bush shove all this money into fighting the same people we used to support. I don't get how you could support this."

"I'm not working for the CIA, Owen, I'm working for the FBI. There's a difference."

"And when you're torturing people in Gitmo for government secrets it won't mean anything."

"You sound crazy right now, Owen. There's no way I'm going to be a field agent. I'm going to be doing paperwork in some cubical for the next 10 years."

Spencer knew he had fucked up the second the words left his mouth. He had always hated people calling him crazy, and he knew it was something he should've thought more about. Owen didn't give him the chance to say anything before he started going in on Spencer, Dos Equis in his hand, and 4 empties on the table in front of him.

"So, you're fine with being complicit in war crimes?"

"You know what, Owen, if you're so high and mighty stop driving your car until they stop drilling for oil in Louisiana. Or stop drinking coffee until the industry is slave-free. There's nothing ethical about existing in the United States, Owen, and my bills have to get paid somehow."

"How dare I criticize a society I live in! I guess I'm not allowed to be mad that my boyfriend is leaving me for the government."

"Is this what this is about? Me leaving?"

Owen looked down at the table in front of him.

"I don't want to say it."

"Say what- that you're going to miss me when I'm gone for 20 weeks?"

"Something else."

"Well spit it out, Owen."

"I slept with somebody in January! When I had a layover in Chicago coming back from Vancouver."

Owen looked over at Spencer, eyes glassy and cheeks red. It wasn't like he had cheated on Spencer-they had always agreed that their relationship was open.

That didn't make him feel any better, though.

"And?"

Spencer looked back at Owen. All he had ever asked for was for Owen to keep his flings to himself, it's what Spencer had been doing with the girls who talked to him. It was the polite thing to do, and one of the few things Spencer asked Owen for.

"I don't…"

"If you're going to tell me, tell me everything, Owen."

There was something about all the thoughts swirling around Spencer's head- all the imagined possibilities of his boyfriend, secretly in love with some guy in Chicago who probably had a lot more fun than Spencer Reid, PhD.

"I did it because I wanted a free place to stay for the night. He just gave me a blowjob then we slept on his friend's couch- it really wasn't anything serious."

"And?"

"I wanted you to know because he called me a few weeks ago."

"Just say it, Owen! It's so much worse when you don't."

Owen sat silently at the kitchen table.

"I've been texting him back! He's in some band and he's going to be in DC in 6 months and thought of me."

"Oh."

Spencer felt like he had just gotten the wind knocked out of him. He couldn't take a breath in- and all he could see was the rice still in the bottom of the sink. Owen was saying something about how it didn't mean anything, it was just nice to have somebody to talk to sometimes, but Spencer couldn't shake the feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because you're leaving me, Spencer. I'm losing the only person I've ever loved this much, and you're running off to DC to go work for the FBI."

"So, you're hoping that it'll make me stay?"

"It's so you won't try to take me with you, Spencer."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better or something?"

"I don't know! I don't know anything about your brain works, Spencer. You won't tell me anything- you keep your feelings so far away from me and I never know whether you hate me or you're in love with me."

"I'm in love with you Owen, of course, I'm in love with you."

"Then why are you so desperate to leave me? Leave what we have?"

Owen's phone buzzed, and he looked at the screen, lips tightening as he read the name on the screen.

"Is that him- the guy you fucked on your layover?"

"Does it matter, Spencer? We're fighting about your job or this guy but we're still fighting."

"It matters because you told me, Owen! I told you- I'm fine with you fucking whoever and living your life the way you want but just don't tell me if you don't want it to be a big deal. It must be a big deal if you're talking to him 5 months later."

"I haven't been talking to him this whole time! I told him I had a boyfriend when I left Chicago, but he called me when he was so drunk last month and …."

"And?"

"And it breaks my heart knowing the only man I've ever truly loved is leaving me in 30 days. So, when some hot guy who gave pretty good head started telling me I was cute I let him!"

Owen looked at Spencer, tears sitting in the corner of his eyes. It was better to tell Spencer everything before he left, get everything out in the open while Spencer still had the chance to leave him and never look back.

Spencer was looking back down at the sink, white-knuckle gripping the counter as the wine he drank hit his stomach.

"Every conference I go to I have sex with a random girl. I like the ones that give really good thesis presentations- the ones who don't get nervous when they're speaking to a room full of strangers in a city they've never been to before."

"Do you still talk to them?"

"It's never been the same girl twice. Sometimes they email me, or they cite my papers in articles they write. It makes me feel good."

"You've never told me that."

"I don't know if I like it. It feels sort of wrong sometimes- you've called me when I'm talking to them before, and it makes me feel like I'm going to be sick."

Spencer was pouring himself a drink at this point, overfilling his wine glass with the end of a big bottle of cheap Moscato. He considered drinking it from the bottle but it felt excessive. He had never told anybody about the girls he slept with- he didn't even think the other people he usually traveled with knew.

"I mean, you're not cheating on me if I'm okay with it."

Owen glanced at Spencer, who was making quick progress on his glass of wine.

"I know, it just still feels … wrong."

Spencer couldn't explain the feeling, and he couldn't tell if it was because he was drunk or because he didn't want to tell Owen what was actually wrong with him.

"Well, I think it's fine. And we don't have to talk about this part of our relationship if you don't want to, Spencer."

Owen stood up from the table, pushing back his papers and his empties as he stood up.

"I know it was wrong of me to bring this up- the guy in Chicago I mean. I know you never want me to talk about that stuff but…"

"You don't have to apologize, Owen. It's fine- we're adults in an adult relationship and we should be able to talk about our relationship."

Owen crossed the kitchen in two large steps, coming up next to Spencer and leaning against the kitchen counter.

"But we don't have to! If you want this to be discreet, Spencer, it can be discreet. I can forget about your conference girls and you can remember that I come home to you, not some boy in a band in Chicago."

"For now."

"For as long as you need to worry about me."

Spencer drained the last of his wine glass. He really wished Owen wasn't leaning against the silverware drawer- he wanted to get drunk if he was going to confront the realities of his relationship.

"Spencer, I'm sorry if you think that you're just an irrational, hypomanic choice I made. But the truth is that you're a choice I kept making- it's been 9 months and I'm still here. You moved in with me and I'm going to help you move to DC, and I love you."

Owen rested his head on Spencer's shoulder, leaning into his boyfriend. Spencer could smell the beer on his breath but he didn't necessarily mind.

"I love you too."