Four months later
"Morning!" Anthea's voice was cheery over the phone. Spencer ran a hand through his hair, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It made no sense to him, but hearing her voice always brightened his mood. It was barely ten, and she sounded like she'd been up for hours. "What's up?"
"Hey. Nothing, nothing really." Good mood or not, this was hard. Spencer closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. It throbbed uncomfortably. "I just got back from a case."
"I remember. Texas, right?" he heard a door slam in the back, and she cursed "Sorry, I almost spilled coffee on my new shoes. Did you get back this morning?"
"Yeah, I did," Spencer tried again. "Listen, I need to talk to you."
"Sure. When do I see you?" her voice was still perky. "I finally finished that Nietzsche collection, and I've been dying to talk about it ever since. My friend Alice said if I try to bring it up with her again she'll stop having coffee with me on the days that you're away."
"Yeah, that's just it, I, uh," Spencer sighed and decided to rip the proverbial bandage off quickly. "I got a little knocked up in Texas, I won't be able to see you for a few days."
There was silence at the other end, and then: "What?" Her voice was grave, and soft. He had never heard her use that tone before. It was the tone his team sometimes used when he had spent time in the hospital, it was the tone Maeve had used when she had told him about her stalker, it was the tone he could remember his mother using if he ever ended up scraping his knees on those rare days out in the park. She was concerned, and she was afraid.
The ache in his chest intensified and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to regain control before speaking. "I'll be fine," he murmured eventually. He wanted to reassure her, but his tone was half-hearted. His headache was getting worse. "The arrest just went a little south. You know it's embarrassing when I have to use anything other than my brain."
She didn't laugh at his weak joke. "What happened to you?" her voice was still soft.
"Concussion, a few bruises and broken ribs," he winced and pushed himself off the wall, finally trusting himself enough to make his way towards where his car was parked outside the FBI building. "I can go home, but I can't get around easily for a while, so I –"
"Spencer, if you have a concussion you really shouldn't be alone," she sighed.
"I know exactly what to do in order to avoid falling into a coma, don't worry."
"Can't one of your friends –"
"The team's busy, Anthea," he exhaled quietly. "They all have families."
"Oh," her tone stated that she didn't like his answer. "Well, I could come over? I have classes for a few hours, but I –"
"You have your seminar tomorrow and I know you haven't prepared anything for it," interrupted Spencer gently. "We talked about it two days ago the last time I called you, remember? You were rambling about Marlowe and Shakespeare and conspiracy theories."
"Yeah, I was," she sighed. "I hate the thought of you being alone while you're hurt, though."
"I've been hurt worse." She had no idea.
"I guess so, but that was before I –" abruptly, she stopped talking. Spencer frowned. That was odd. What had she been going to say? Before she... what? "Never mind."
"You're not worried, right?" he asked, getting into the car and tossing his bags onto the passenger seat. He didn't know why the thought of her worrying about him made him worry about her. This was why he didn't have any friends outside the bureau, he thought to himself grimly. Who else would understand this?
"If you say you'll be okay, I believe you," her voice was still small. "Will you at least call me when you're home so I know you arrived safely?"
"You'll be in class, or the library by then," he tried to argue. It made no sense to bother her with his phone calls. He enjoyed spending time with her, he thought she was beautiful and smart and everything that was good and sweet, but the idea that she felt the same way was too ridiculous to even entertain. He had thought about it only four times in the four months they had known each other, and he didn't intend to allow himself to dwell on it just because she was worried about him. So why call her again and again and hear her gentle voice ask him if he was okay?
"It doesn't matter, Spencer. I want you to call me."
He sighed. "I'll text you," he said finally.
Anthea was quiet for a few seconds. "You know how to text?"
Spencer's lips twitched. "Oh, you're funny."
"I should have been a comedian."
"Not that funny."
"Okay, you win. Get going, and call me when you're home. Are you sure you don't want company?"
Something in her tone made him pause. He was going to assure her he was fine alone, but he didn't want her to think he was outright rejecting her offer to stay with him because he didn't want her there. "If you're talking about your company, you know I always enjoy it," he said hesitantly. "But you have work to do and I don't want you to miss anything because my physical training is lacking and someone punched me."
"The way to get a girl off your back is not to tell her you got punched at work," said Anthea dryly, but the concern was still apparent in her voice. "Just call me when you're home, Spencer. Drive safe, okay?"
"I will," he assured her, and hung up. He started the car and backed out of the lot, keeping his mind clear and focusing on the road. He drove slowly, almost excruciatingly so, but the dull throbbing behind his eyes was only going to get worse, especially without medication. The best therapy would be tea and sleep, if he could find a comfortable position to lie in with his aching ribs. The couch had worked last time…
Twenty minutes later than it normally took, he pulled into the parking of his apartment complex and breathed a sigh of relief. His ribs still hurt, and the morning sun was annoying his eyes and triggering his headache, but otherwise he was okay. He decided to leave his go-bag in the car. He could get it when he was feeling better tomorrow. He slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, wincing at the movement, and reached for his cell-phone that was lying on the passenger seat.
Spencer hesitated. He could call her now. Technically, he was home, and he didn't want to bother her too much. A quick glance at his watch showed that her classes would begin any minute. Better for her to be five minutes late than deal with a buzzing phone in between lectures. Taking a deep breath, he dialled quickly.
She picked up on the second ring. "You made it?" she was speaking normally, and there was no noise behind her.
"Yeah, I'm in the parking lot," Spencer frowned. "Aren't you in class?"
"I'm sitting in reception waiting for the professor," she replied easily. Too easily. She was lying. He opened his mouth to say something, to point it out, but thought better of it. What if she wasn't lying, and she took his comment to mean that he wanted her to come see him? He would be lying to himself if he said he didn't want her here, but he knew how important her degree was to her, and he refused to get in the way. Dating an FBI agent would definitely get in the way, and finding out that said FBI agent had feelings for her would only confuse her. She wasn't stupid, she was actually uncommonly smart. If he wasn't careful, she would know that he spent most of his free time daydreaming about when he'd see her next.
"Spencer?" her voice sounded far away. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, sorry," he blinked, cursing himself for getting lost in thought again. "What were you saying?"
"I really don't think you should be alone," Anthea sounded even more worried now.
He shook his head to clear it. "Don't worry about it, I'm heading upstairs now. I'll call you later?"
"Yeah, sure," she still sounded worried. "Bye."
Spencer said his goodbyes and hung up. Sighing, he stared at his screen for a few moments before getting out of the car and heading towards the main door. Adjusting his bag and stuffing his phone into his coat pocket, he trudged his way up the stairs. By the time he reached his floor, he was breathing heavily. He leaned against the wall, and saw something that immediately made him freeze.
There was a huddled figure leaning against the wall just opposite his door, with a plastic bag and a black handbag lying on the floor next to them. Frowning, Spencer inched forward slowly, one hand clutching his keys and the other automatically reaching for his gun. The figure turned around when they heard movement, and Spencer let out a sigh of relief when he saw who it was.
And then he frowned.
"Anthea?"
"Hi," she tucked her hair behind her ears. It was in a messy bun that was half falling out. Her black coat was the one she usually wore on her way to the library, when she knew she would be spending extra time there and needed to stay warm, and there were a pair of rectangular glasses perched on top of her head. Her fingers were tapping restlessly against her thighs. She bit her lip. "Surprise?"
Spencer unfroze to cross the hallway quickly and worked on unlocking his door. "What are you doing here?" he realized how rude he sounded as soon as he spoke, and immediately winced. "Sorry, I meant –"
"No, it's okay," she shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. "I look like a stalker, I know. I swear, I'm not that creepy. I remembered your address from when you told me about that book-store across the road, and one of your neighbours buzzed me in. I may have told her I'm your girlfriend," she grimaced. "I think we'll have to break-up before she can ask you about it."
"Oh," Spencer blinked. Mrs. Hoffman was nosy, but not enough to mess with the "doctor" living across the hall. She still asked him for advice for her rheumatism. "That's okay, I guess, but why are you here? Not that I don't want you here," he added hastily. "I mean, you being here is okay, it's great, but I thought you were at Georgetown. In the reception," he added pointedly.
Anthea shrugged, unrepentant. "I knew you didn't believe me anyway."
"I didn't," Spencer ran a hand through his head and leaned against the wall opposite her. "I'm serious though. You had classes."
She nodded. "Yeah, I called in sick."
Spencer frowned. "You're not sick."
"But you are."
"Technically, I'm –"
"Save the technicalities."
He sighed. "Anthea, I'm okay."
"You can barely stand without leaning against the wall, I could hear you panting two floors up when you climbed those stairs from all the way over here, and –" he felt her fingers brush through his hair before he realized what was happening. She was touching the sore spot at the back of his head, but it wasn't sore anymore. Her fingers were pleasantly cold, and it soothed the ache, but the rest of him was now burning. How did she do that? "– and you have a duck egg growing out of the back of your head. Have you had any pain medication?"
"I, uh," he stammered, her touch momentarily derailing his thoughts, and then he realized what she was asking him. "No, I – I don't have that."
"Don't have it?" Anthea frowned in confusion. "What, you don't take pain meds?" he shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. He saw her eyes widen with confusion, but she didn't push. Instead, she shrugged and gestured to the bags lying on the floor. "Well, okay. I brought you food that's easy on the stomach, and I plan to do most of my seminar work while you rest. I won't talk, unless it's to ask if you have coffee, and if you don't I'll go get some. I'll sit on the floor outside if I have to, but you're not staying here alone. Okay?"
"So you skipped a relatively important day of lectures and study-time to come and babysit me?" asked Spencer. He needed clarification.
Anthea nodded. "Yes, that's right."
"Why?"
Anthea bit her lip and stepped closer. She reached up a hand and Spencer felt her fingers brush his cheek. He knew he had a bruise there as well. "Because." And that was that. She pushed past him and entered his apartment, shrugging out of her coat and kicking off her shoes near the entrance and drifting towards the kitchen. Spencer stared after her in confusion for a few moments before entering behind her, shaking his head.
"You need to eat," he heard her say from the kitchen, as he dumped his bag and gun in the living-room and made his way to the sofa. "You didn't get any teeth knocked out, did you?"
"I didn't," said Spencer, smiling a little. "But I ate on the plane, save it for later," he added, collapsing onto the sofa. He groaned at the abrupt contact, but didn't bother moving. The pain would recede eventually. He closed his eyes and rested his head against a cushion, concentrating on his breathing.
However, his grunt had obviously been loud, since he heard Anthea's quick footsteps enter the room. Her hand brushed against his hair, but he didn't open his eyes. It felt nice. "Are you sure you don't want anything for the pain?" her voice was soft.
"I'm sure," he sighed. He would have to explain his aversion to her eventually, he could see that now. She had an uncanny ability of knowing when he wanted her around, and of materializing exactly when that moment occurred. And since he wanted her around all the time, it would be wise if she knew what she was getting herself into.
But he didn't want to tell her now. Her fingers were stroking his hair soothingly, and he couldn't remember ever enjoying a feeling more.
He must have fallen asleep, because when he finally opened his eyes there was a throw that normally was folded at the end of the couch – a present from JJ and Will – wrapped around him and Anthea's touch was gone, replaced by her dark auburn hair directly in his line of sight. She was leaning against the couch near his head, flipping through one of her books and sipping a cup of coffee.
His movement alerted her that he was awake, because she turned around and gave him a small smile. "Hey, sleeping beauty."
Spencer smiled back, but it came off as a grimace. His head was killing him. "Did I fall asleep on you?"
"Yup."
"Sorry about that."
"Don't be. You looked like you needed it, and I got some work done," she smiled reassuringly and stood up, moving towards the kitchen. "You should eat now, it's almost five. Your phone rang twice, but I didn't answer," her voice got further away, and he heard her open his fridge and rummage through the plastic bags she had brought with her. "You should call back."
"On it," Spencer suppressed a yawn and picked up his phone. He had two calls from JJ, along with a concerned text asking if he was okay. He quickly replied, assuring her he was fine and he would see her on Monday. She replied immediately saying to call if he needed anything, and extending an invitation for dinner the next day. Spencer agreed, and looked up in time to see Anthea enter the room with a plate of sandwiches and a bowl of soup, which she offered him. He laughed when he saw what it was.
"I still don't know why you like this stuff," she grumbled, sinking onto the sofa next to him and grabbing a sandwich for herself. "It looks like something a vampire would enjoy."
"You make it sound so appetizing," joked Spencer, grabbing the spoon she held out and digging into the tomato soup. He had it often, on the rare days they went out for lunch instead of breakfast, and he was oddly pleased that she remembered he liked it.
"I make it sound about as appetizing as it is," she shot back. Spencer chuckled. They ate in silence for a while, and he saw her open a book from the corner of his eye and read, nibbling on her sandwich as she did so. He finished the soup and gabbed another sandwich off the plate on the coffee table, leaning back carefully and glancing over her shoulder. "The Goblin Emperor," she answered his unspoken question. "Quite good, actually."
"I'll have to borrow it."
"You should," she smiled up at him, and then returned to her book. Knowing there was no point in talking while she read, and since he couldn't stare at her ridiculously, Spencer grabbed a random book off the coffee table – book two in a Stephen King series that Anthea was trying to enjoy – and began to read. He had finished the three-hundred-page book easily when he felt Anthea shift.
"Sorry," he blinked and looked up at her. "Did you want –"
"No, go ahead," she shook her head. "I was going to clean up," she gestured to the crockery lying on the table and picked it up, heading for the kitchen.
"You don't have to do that," protested Spencer, grabbing the bowl from her hands and reaching for the plate. Anthea rolled her eyes and held it behind her, moving away until her back was pressed against the wall. Spencer rolled his eyes. "Anthea, come on."
"You're being ridiculous," huffed Anthea.
"I'm not," he shook his head. "You've done way too much already, and I still have no idea why."
"Spencer, I like cleaning," she insisted. "And what do you mean, you have no idea? You're a genius!"
"I still don't know why you want to help me so much," he confessed. It was true. Anthea bit her lip, and he immediately realized he had said something wrong. "Maybe I shouldn't have –"
"You really have no idea why?" she asked. Her voice was quiet, but her eyes were wide and genuine. She truly wanted to know what he thought. Spencer shook his head, confirming his earlier statement. She sighed, and her warm breath brushed against his face gently. They were very close. In trying to grab the plate, Spencer had basically pressed her up against the wall, his hand enclosing one of her wrists gently. He was about to step back and offer her some personal space, when Anthea tilted her head up and caught his lips in a soft kiss.
It lasted barely a minute, but in those few moments Spencer experienced a sensory overload. Everything was on fire, including his hands, one of which was still holding her wrist and the other had somehow found its way to her waist, holding her trapped between himself and the wall. The bowl in his hands had slipped to the floor, fortunately landing on the carpet and making a dull thud noise that they both ignored. Her lips were soft, but firm, unyielding against his mouth. He could feel her free hand run through his hair, and he was sure his headache was gone by now. He could have stayed like that forever, in fact he wanted to, but the need to breathe overcame it, and he drew back a few inches, breathing deeply.
Immediately, Anthea's eyes flew open and she clasped a hand over her mouth. The plate also fell to the ground, but Spencer barely noticed. The look of horror on her face was distracting him. "Oh my God," she whispered. Her eyes were wide with fright. "I am so sorry, Spencer, I have no idea what came over me."
"Anthea –"
"I shouldn't have done that, Spencer, I know it's totally inexcusable. I mean –"
"Anthea, listen –"
"– the very idea that you would like me is insane, I should have –"
"What do you –"
"– stayed away, I can't believe I invaded your personal space like that, its completely idiotic of me, I am so –"
She was rambling. She had kissed him, and judging by her dilated pupils, accelerated heart-rate and speed of talking, she thought he wouldn't want her and so she was making excuses. The very idea was ridiculous. How could anyone not want someone as perfect as her? Spencer did want her, but would she want him once she learned everything? Her body language showed she was a few seconds away from running for the door. They needed to talk first, at least, before they could decide on anything. But she was already trying to move away, her face a deep red thanks to embarrassment, so Spencer decided upon the least logical, but probably the best, option.
He kissed her.
It wasn't a chaste, innocent kiss, like the one she had given him. It was slow, drawn out, and it made his stomach erupt with butterflies. He deepened the kiss immediately, and once again his senses exploded as soon as he tasted her. He would never be able to enjoy coffee the same way again, he realized dimly. Judging by the way she had pressed up against him, he was sure she was done talking. He pulled back, and then kissed her again.
And again.
And again.
He had lost count now. Every time his brain told him it was time to put some distance between them so he could talk to her, which is what he had wanted once she stopped talking, he would move his head back, stare at her for less than three seconds, and then one of them would close the distance between them again. It was a vicious cycle that he was quite enjoying. Her lips were soft, and her arms were wrapped around his neck, forcing him to angle his head down slightly due to the drastic disparity of their heights. One of his hands was resting on the small of her back, and the other had found its way to her cheek. He had never touched her face before. Her skin was flawless, but there were tell-tale marks of small scars that seemed out of character for an English professor to have accumulated in her short life.
"Hey," her whisper against his mouth drew him out of his stupor, and he blinked at her lazily, their lips still brushing. Anthea was smiling, a little dreamily. "So, I'm not insane?"
It took him ten seconds to figure out exactly what she was saying, and a further twenty to articulate his response. Kissing her was messing with his head. "You are," he murmured. "But I'm insane too," and he caught her lips in another kiss.
"So, this isn't a one-time thing?" she interrupted their kiss again, and Spencer was about to ask her why she kept doing that, but then he realized why. He had been so interested in getting her to stop talking so he could kiss her again he hadn't realized that her fears were very real, at least to her, and they needed addressing.
"Sorry," he said immediately, trying to put some distance between them, but Anthea didn't let him go. He frowned. "Don't you want to talk?"
"Talk. I'm fine here," she shrugged. Their faces were still very close.
Spencer knew he should give her a speech, or some sort of grand romantic gesture, or something similar to ease her fears, but he couldn't, because he had no idea if it was a one-time thing or not. He liked her, enough to date her, but also enough to want to stay friends with her if nothing worked out. "This is whatever you want it to be," he said finally.
"Me?" Anthea looked confused.
"I'm not a normal guy, Anthea," said Spencer slowly. "I've never had a normal… thing with a normal girl. I don't know how to. But I do like you," he added. She was biting her lip, which meant she expected this conversation to go badly. "I really like you."
"And I really like you," she shrugged. Her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck, and Spencer shivered. Anthea smirked. "So, whatever I want, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Will you read to me?"
Spencer blinked. "Huh?"
"I brought that Italian sonnets collection I told you I wanted to buy," Anthea untangled her fingers from his hair and gently pushed him back, diving towards the sofa and grabbing a book from her bag that was lying on the floor. She held it up. "So, will you?"
"Uh, yeah, sure," Spencer ran a hand through his hair awkwardly and made his way towards the sofa. He sat down and accepted the book, leaning back and almost jumping out of his skin when Anthea rested her head against his chest, curling into his side. His arm wrapped around her shoulders automatically, and she grinned, angling her face up so her lips caught his cheek.
"You can take me out on a date once you're feeling better," she murmured, and then settled back into his arm. Spencer nodded, then shook his head slightly to clear it, flipping open the book to a random page. He rested his cheek against the top of her head and began to read.
