12 months later

"Big anniversary coming up?" asked Rossi casually.

Spencer choked on his coffee. "Wh-what?"

Rossi raised an eyebrow at him. "The recruitment fair is next week. Didn't you meet Anthea there last year?"

"Well, yeah, but that isn't an anniversary," Spencer put his coffee down and looked up at Rossi. "We just met that day. We didn't start dating until a couple of months later."

"Hmm," Rossi leaned against the edge of Spencer's desk and gave him a look. "Does she remember you guys met a year ago?"

"She mentioned the fair this morning, so I –"

"Is she happy when you buy her presents for an occasion?"

"Well, I've only done it once but she took it pretty well so I –"

"And didn't you say she teaches Renaissance literature, which basically comprises of tragedies and epic love stories?"

"What does that have to do with –"

Rossi held up a hand to silence him. "Yeah, she'll know it's an anniversary, kid. Do something nice for her."

Spencer ran a hand through his hair awkwardly and gave Rossi a feeble smile. "Sure. Thanks, Rossi."

"No problem. We'll see you when we get back," Rossi nodded and made his way towards the door, where JJ, Morgan and Tara were waiting, files in hand. "Keep your phone on you, Garcia said she'd patch you through if we needed any help."

"I'll have the geo-profile ready when she sends me the info."

The rest of the team called out their goodbyes, and Spencer raised a hand in farewell as the bullpen emptied. As soon as the door closed behind them, the small smile slipped off his face and he sat back down in his chair heavily.

It had been a month since he'd come back home after being shot, which meant he still couldn't travel with the team even though he was back at his desk for the work day. It also meant it had been a month since he'd told Anthea about everything that had happened to him.

It had been a month, and things hadn't been the same since.

They hadn't broken up, which was the only reason Spencer thought he was even functioning normally. Because if Anthea were to end things with him, he wasn't sure what he would do; even thinking about it made him pause in between tasks, the anxiety resting heavy in the pit of his stomach. The atmosphere in her apartment, where he'd been staying, was tense. They avoided all discussion of their conversation from that night, and though Anthea was always home before him and usually left for work after him, they never talked about it. She helped him change his bandages, offered her arm as a crutch almost reflexively, and did everything she could to make him comfortable. But she didn't ask him to read to her, she rarely elaborated on how her day had been even though he couldn't remember a time she wouldn't ply him with even the most mundane of details, and she studiously avoided eye contact as often as she could. There was an uneasy thought at the back of Spencer's mind, that she was withdrawing, setting herself up for the pain that would inevitably follow once she broke up with him after he was officially cleared to go back to work full-time.

His phone buzzed with an incoming text, and he opened it automatically.

AG: Hey. Chinese for dinner?

He winced.

SR: I'm sorry, I'm stuck her for a while. We have a case.

AG: Can I drop by later anyway?

AG: You haven't eaten all day. I'll stay out of your way, I promise.

SR: Of course you can. I'll tell them to send you straight up.

AG: See you in a few hours. Xx

Spencer's heart thudded painfully in his chest as he read her reply, even as his anxiety dissipated slightly. That was the problem – when he was away from her, he worried constantly about what she was thinking, and whether she was questioning being with him (as he knew she should). It was reassuring when she teased him now, or sent him a heart emoji or even the double x that she had started doing a few months after they'd begun dating. This was how his teenage self would have felt, he surmised, if he'd have had anything like a love life in high school. Anthea's texts were the highlight of his day: through them, they could both pretend nothing had changed, sticking to topics like dinner, a funny story about one of her students, or a message from someone on his team to her. It was the closest thing to normal they had now.

He forced himself to put his relationship out of his mind, at least for a few hours, and concentrated on the paperwork piling up on his desk. The team had been busy the past month, and even though Spencer wasn't travelling with them, he was still contributing to building the profiles, and he had just as much work as anyone. He had just finished writing up an overview of their last case when his phone suddenly rang, with an unfamiliar number flashing on the screen.

Spencer frowned. Hesitating only momentarily, he picked up the phone and his jacket, heading out of the bullpen to answer it.

He picked up on the last ring. "Hello?"

"Hello," it was an unfamiliar female voice. "Is this Dr. Reid?"

"Yes," Spencer glanced at the number again. "Who is this?"

"My son gave me your number, Dr. Reid. I am so sorry to call you in the middle of your work day. My name is Helen Grayson. I'm Anthea's mother."

Spencer froze, his hand halfway to pressing the elevator call button. He took a deep breath and forced himself to speak. "Of course. Hello, Mrs. Grayson."

Helen Grayson laughed quietly, and Spencer felt a pang in his chest again when he realized Anthea laughed in the same way: quietly, a little breathlessly. "Please, dear, call me Helen. How are you? Both my children say such wonderful things about you, I feel as though I know you already."

Spencer found himself smiling a little. Something about the voice at the other end of the line put him at ease immediately. "Thank you. I, uh, I'm doing well. How – how are you?"

"I'm very well, thank you. I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk?" she sounded slightly unsure now. "Anthea would be furious if she found out I was speaking to you, she's such a private person, but I just felt like I had to. Do you mind?"

"No, no, of course not," said Spencer immediately. He gave up on the elevator and turned to cross the hall, limping slightly in his haste to get to the empty conference room close by. "What would you like to talk about?"

"Well, she mentioned you two were thinking of coming down for Thanksgiving to see us in Chicago, and only yesterday my son reminded me that I should probably call you, just as a way to introduce myself," said Helen cheerily. "I have to say, we're all very excited to meet you. Anthea's never been very vocal about her relationships in the past, but I can tell how happy she is with you."

Spencer cleared his throat. "Thank you. She makes me very happy too."

"Wonderful! Well, I hope you're looking forward to meeting everyone too. Thanksgiving is just close family every year, and we don't want to overwhelm you with all of Anthea's cousins and aunts and uncles. They can be a handful even for me, and I've been married for over thirty years now."

"Ah," Spencer swallowed awkwardly, wondering how in the world he was supposed to explain to his girlfriend's mother that travelling by Thanksgiving would be impossible for him. He had completely forgotten he and Anthea had discussed spending the holidays with her parents, and he wondered if she would be willing to leave him now, after everything that had happened. Did her mother even know what had happened? "You should really talk to Thea about this, Mrs. Grayson," he said quickly. "I, uh, I'm just going to follow her lead on this."

"Oh," Helen sounded surprised. "Well, that's very sweet of you, Spencer, but I hope you don't feel pressured into coming. That wasn't my intention with this call at all."

"No, of course not!" said Spencer hastily. "I just…" he trailed off, completely lost as to what to say. "I just really think you should speak to Anthea about this. Our plans might not be the same as before."

Helen clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Spencer, I know we don't know each other very well, but I hope you don't think my daughter got her brains from her father's side of the family."

Spencer was taken aback by her statement, until he realized what she meant. He found himself smiling a little again. "No, ma'am."

"Good," said Helen briskly. "Now, let's not beat about the bush here. Clearly, something is going on with my daughter, I don't need to be a genius to see it. I had hoped you'd be willing to tell me on your own, but you're sharper than I thought. So, I'm just going to ask you: what has happened to her?"

"Mrs. Grayson, I don't think –"

"Spencer," the disapproving tone of her voice was so similar to Anthea's that he found himself struck dumb. "I promise you, Anthea will not find out if she doesn't need to know. However, I do need to know."

Spencer only hesitated for ten seconds before letting out a weary sigh. "It's all my fault."

"That's just what we want men to think, dear. Now, tell me what's happened."

Spencer sent a silent prayer up to whatever higher power there was that he wasn't making a mistake and began to speak.