Six months later

Crash.

"You what?"

"It could have been worse!"

"You almost got shot!"

"Well, that's part of the job, I –"

"Spencer!"

"Sorry," Spencer winced and bent down to pick up the shattered mug Anthea had dropped, careful to avoid the hot coffee that was in a puddle on her immaculate kitchen floor. He threw the shards into the bin, picking up a tea-towel from the counter and tossing it onto the floor to soak up the liquid. "Come here," he pulled her into his arms gently, helping her stand up and leading her towards the living-room. "I'm okay, I promise."

"You almost got shot," she repeated, but her voice was less shrill now. He had gotten back from a case late the night before, and Anthea had offered to cook him breakfast the next morning – Zeus was sick and she didn't want to leave him alone. However, an idle question about how his case had gone had resulted in her dropping the coffee she had been about to hand to him because the answer had made her hands shake.

"Almost," he reminded her. "Morgan pushed me out of the way."

"What if he hadn't gone with you?"

Spencer winced. "Thinking like that doesn't help, Anthea."

"How else am I supposed to think?" she sounded close to tears, her head buried under his chin and facing away from him. "What if something happened to you?"

"Nothing is going to happen to me."

"You can't promise that."

"Statistically, you're more likely to get hurt when you go to work than I am," he said automatically, and then felt like slapping himself when he felt her tense in his arms. "Sorry, that was insensitive."

"No, it wasn't," she sighed. "You're being logical, I'm being irrational."

"You're just worried. You don't need to be."

"I'm your girlfriend, Spencer," Anthea turned to face him, her eyes sad. "I will always worry, even if I don't need to. I don't want to lose you."

"The chances of that –"

"Answer me with another statistic and I'll punch you in the face."

Wisely, he chose not to argue.

!

Spencer frowned at the locked door, ringing the doorbell again and, when he received no answer for the fourth time, he knocked sharply. He heard a muffled bark from the other side, and immediately tensed. If Zeus was inside, it meant Anthea was either out of the house and she would be back soon, or she was inside and avoiding him. Or she could be sick and didn't want to answer the door, but then she should have checked her phone, considering the amount of times he had called her. He hadn't heard from her since last night, which in itself wasn't odd but he had a case to leave for this afternoon and that meant he needed to see her before he left.

However, it didn't look like he would be able to. Groaning, Spencer fished out a pad of paper and a sharpie from his messenger bag, quickly scribbling a note onto it and intending to stuff it through the mail-slot. When his fingers pushed through, however, something warm and wet touched them.

"Zeus?" Spencer narrowed his eyes and peered through the small opening of the door. Zeus' intelligent brown eyes stared back at him. "Where's Anthea?"

As if in response, Zeus let out a sharp bark and turned away from the door, in the direction of the bedroom. He returned with a book in his mouth, the slightly battered copy of Just So Stories he had bought her only a few days ago. Zeus whined and nudged the book pointedly, then barked again.

Completely lost as to what the dog wanted him to do, Spencer stepped back from the door and ran a hand through his hair wearily. He didn't have time to consult on a case and worry about the whereabouts of his girlfriend, but he didn't have a choice. Racking his brains, he finally remembered Anthea mentioning a neighbour called Elizabeth who sometimes fed Zeus and took him on walks when she was stuck working. Maybe she had an extra key she would let him borrow so he could at least check and see if she was just sick in bed. The only problem was, Anthea had about five neighbours, and that was only on her floor.

On the third door he knocked, he got lucky. A petite woman answered the door, probably not older than thirty, with clear blue eyes and blonde hair pulled up in a casual ponytail. She smiled politely when she saw Spencer, but her eyes were hesitant. As soon as he awkwardly introduced himself, however, her smile became genuine.

"You're Anthea's boyfriend, of course," she nodded immediately. "It's nice to finally meet you. She's mentioned you quite a bit."

"Er," how did you reply to that? Spencer decided to go with a polite smile and then quickly explained the problem, hoping that she wouldn't think his decision to enter his girlfriend's home uninvited at the behest of her dog was creepy. To her credit, Elizabeth didn't seem to find the fact that Zeus wanted to let Spencer in odd at all.

"He's one of the smartest dogs I've ever met," she shrugged and told him to wait, jogging back inside her apartment and reappearing moments later with a key tied with a bright yellow ribbon. "You can let yourself in and slip the key through the mail-slot when you're done. If she's sick or you need any help, just knock."

Spencer thanked her and made a beeline for Anthea's door quickly. As he fumbled with the key, he heard Zeus bark excitedly, and when the door was open he nearly fell over due to the dog's enthusiastic greeting.

"Calm down, boy," Spencer scratched him behind the ears and shut the door, dropping his bag and the key onto the hall table. The lights in the apartment were off, which was odd since it was nearing three in the afternoon, and Anthea's shoes were haphazardly thrown into a corner rather than neatly lined up against the wall. He frowned. "Anthea?" his call received no answer. He ventured inside and passed the kitchen, where there was a half-empty box of Chinese takeaway and a shattered plate on the floor. His heart skipped a beat.

At that moment, Zeus, who had unsuccessfully been trying to get Spencer's attention, finally latched onto his sleeve with his teeth and began tugging him towards the bedroom, whining all the while. Spencer allowed himself to be led to the closed door and shot the dog a look.

Zeus merely barked in response.

Spencer knocked on the door carefully, but there was no answer. He tried the handle and found it unlocked, so he opened it hesitantly. It was dark. "Anthea, are you in there?"

"Spencer?" her voice was low, hoarse. She sounded as if she was in pain.

Spencer pulled open the door and entered the room hurriedly. He didn't have time to take in what it even looked like – he spotted Anthea curled up in a corner on a sofa, hugging her knees. Her face was pale, her eyes were red, and her normally sleek hair was in a messy bun on top of her head. She looked ill, and she looked as if she had been crying.

"What's wrong?" he knelt in front of her and gently took one of her hands, noting with surprise that the nails on three of her right hand fingers were broken, with dried blood caking the tips. Her knuckles were bruised. "Did you get into a fight? Did someone hit you?" worse and worse scenarios flashed through his mind, and his eyes hardened. "Tell me who did this."

Anthea shook her head. "I did," she croaked. "I punched a wall a-and broke a glass – or maybe a p-plate."

Her voice was choked with tears. Unthinkingly, Spencer reached for her and she collapsed into his arms, sobs wracking her body as her injured hands clutched at him, her breathing laboured. Utterly lost as to what had made her lose her cool, Spencer shushed her as best he could and coaxed her up so he could lead her to the bed, which was still made. Had she not slept that night? She had been fine when he had left the night before, other than slightly upset about his near-death experience, but he was sure this had nothing to do with that.

When she was finally sitting on the bed, tears abated and her hands clutching at his arm, he tucked her loose hair behind her ears. "What's wrong?" he asked, trying to be as gentle as possible. It wasn't hard. The sight of her, with that heartbroken look in her eyes and the utterly defeated posture made his chest ache. What had happened in the twelve hours he had been away from her?

"R-R-Robbie," she choked out, her eyes filling with tears again. "H-He was in a-an acid-dent," she trailed off, the tears leaking out of her eyes even as she squeezed them shut. "My dad called me to tell me, late last night. He's not letting me come home."

She couldn't say more, but she didn't need to. Spencer allowed her to sob into his chest again, patting her hair and kissing her bruised hands. He knew there was nothing he could say or do now. She was family, she probably knew everything there was to know already. He wished he could have been there for her last night, held her as she cried or soothed her when she found out her hero, her saviour, was in trouble, but he had left early and she had been too distraught to call him, that was clear.

"Tell me what I can do," he murmured. Anthea merely held him tighter. He could feel her trembling in his arms, her grief still fresh, but the tears had stopped.

"Stay with me," she whispered.

"Always," he promised.

!

It was four days before he left her apartment. He had only gone out twice, both times when she had taken the prescribed sleeping pills he didn't know she had and gone to sleep. Once, he had returned the key to Elizabeth and explained what was happening, upon which she had insisted on giving him enough food to tide over Anthea for the next two weeks. Next, he had stepped just outside the doorway to call Hotch and explain that he was going to Vegas to see his mother, that she was sick and he needed to be there in person. He had felt no remorse for lying, but he had specifically chosen Hotch to call, knowing JJ would have sympathy that would make him feel guilty immediately and that Morgan would see through him in a second. Hotch had been surprised, but understanding.

Now, however, he was finally in the office, having dropped Anthea to the airport so she could catch a plane to Chicago. Her father had expressly forbidden her to come earlier, saying that the media was going insane and the police were still trying to figure out if Robbie had been targeted because of his last name, or whether it had been an accident. The second she had been told there was no evidence to suggest the family was in any danger, she had insisted on leaving immediately.

Spencer had offered to go with her, practically insisted, but she had smiled and kissed him, her arms tight around his waist. "You are the best thing about this whole situation," she had whispered, her cheek pressed against his shirt. "Go back to work, Dr. Reid. I'll be okay."

He hadn't wanted to go back. Despite the two days of hell, he had quickly realized how much he liked being around Anthea. She had been crying for most of the time, and when she wasn't crying she was listless, her eyes alert but her movements slow and lethargic. She had barely eaten, and Zeus had taken up vigil by her bed, but she couldn't even bring herself to pet him. She couldn't sleep at all, but when Spencer held her in his arms and read to her, or when they lay together in the dark and talked in low voices, he would feel her erratic breathing slow, and she would finally succumb to exhaustion. Despite the circumstances, despite the fact that he would have done it if that was what she had needed no matter how uncomfortable it had made him, the fact that being around her and being close to her had been something he had done instinctively, without even a second thought, had made him happy.

Was this love? Spencer had felt love before, and he had to admit it was similar. It was different with Anthea, though. He loved her mind, just as he had loved Maeve's, but he loved what she represented as well. It was selfish, he knew that, but he loved how patient she was. Finally, here was a person who was willing to take on all his emotional baggage, who was unwilling to give up on him, and asked for absolutely nothing in return, because she needed nothing from him. She hadn't even asked for his support when her brother had been injured. While they struggled to make their relationship seem normal, he knew that wasn't normal. And maybe it didn't have to be. Maybe, just maybe, with a little bit of effort, he could be enough for her.

Because he was quickly realizing that she was enough for him.

His phone buzzed. Missing you already, Dr. Reid.

He smiled. I miss you too. Are you feeling okay?

Yeah. Though I do think I was an idiot for saying you shouldn't come with me.

Spencer could feel his pulse quicken, both from worry and excitement. What's wrong?

Oh, calm down. I don't know how long I'll be gone for, that's all.

Spencer frowned. How is that important? I'll still be here when you come back.

He could almost imagine her sighing as he read her reply. I don't want you to forget me.

Her emotional state was projecting itself onto their conversation, he could tell. I could never forget you, Anthea.

I know, Spencer.

She was upset. He typed back without thinking. You are always new. The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest, the last smile the brightest, the last movement the gracefullest.

It did the trick. Her entire tone changed. You just quoted John Keats at me!

Spencer smiled. He knew how much she loved Keats. He was one of the few 'modern' poets she enjoyed. Did that help?

You get full marks in the romance department. I'm boarding now. Call me after work?

I will. Travel safe.

I will. Miss me lots. Xxx

You have no idea, Spencer said to himself silently as he put his phone down and got to work.