Spencer Reid trudged up the steps of his apartment building, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder and his go-bag trailing behind him. The flight had felt longer than it was, as the lack of sleep and intensity of the case had finally begun to catch up to him. As he reached the top of the stairs, he could see Avery sitting in the hall in front of his door through the rails of the landing.

"Hey." He smiled wearily as she stood to greet him.

"Hey you." She smiled back.

"Sorry it took longer than I thought to finally get out of there." Spencer wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. She hugged him back and a sense of familiar comfort washed over him.

"I brought you something." Spencer pulled away, opening his messenger bag and handing Avery a small package wrapped in a small brown paper sack before turning and unlocking his front door.

Avery pulled a book from the brown sack and held it in her hands.

"Pablo Neruda." She said in surprise. "How did you know he's my favorite?"

"The other books on your shelves are in no particular order." Spencer said as he entered his apartment, parking his go-back next to the armchair and tossing his messenger bag onto the couch. "But all of Neruda's works are kept together. You're missing that one, though."

Avery stared at him, studying his face intently as if desperately trying to see the future in his expression.

"Thank you." She said, swallowing. "But we need to talk."

"You're right, we do." Spencer agreed seriously.

"Me first." Avery looked at the floor, steeling herself against the words she had practiced in her head in the hall.

"Spence – Spencer, you are amazing." She looked at him, her face filled with admiration and hurt. "You are brilliant, and kind, and interesting and you have this tremendous capacity to care, and I -"

Her voice broke and she looked away. Her lip began to quiver and she took a breath.

"Avery," Spencer began, his voice filled with concern as he took a step toward her.

"I'm not Maeve." Avery blurted. "I would never think of replacing her. That's -" She shook her head. "But, um... I feel like we're going nowhere, and maybe it's because there's still things you want to say to her. So... until you work that out, maybe it's best if we -"

"Avery, don't do this." Spencer's voice was quiet but insistent.

"Spencer-" Avery began desperately.

"No." Spencer crossed to her, taking her shoulders gently in his hands, his expression imploring her to look at him. "No, Avery, let it be my turn now."

Avery was quiet.

"Avery, my job regularly puts me in physical danger." He began. "And... no matter how much I wish I could be, I'm never entirely certain that the people I care about will be safe because of that. It's not easy for me to form connections with other people, and if you feel like we're not moving forward because of things I haven't said, then you're right."

He swallowed.

"But it's not what I haven't said to Maeve." He finished. "It's what I haven't said to you."

Avery's expression changed. Spencer swallowed.

"And may- maybe part of why I've been holding back is because we haven't been together that long, and it wouldn't be considered socially normal, in some circles even acceptable, to admit how I feel about you, but really..." Spencer looked at the floor, his brow furrowed "Really, it's because if I admit how I feel about you, then I have to accept that you might not always be safe, and that's...that's terrifying."

Avery's mouth opened and closed, searching for words and finding none.

"And... how do you feel?" She almost whispered, her voice shaking.

"I love you, Avery Mitchell." Spencer admitted. The words choked his throat and his mouth was dry from nerves.

He waited a moment that felt like an eternity as she heard and absorbed the words. All at once, a smile spread across Avery's features. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief as she pulled Spencer close to her in a passionate kiss.

He wrapped his arms around, clinging to her tightly as he let himself be swept away in the feeling of being close to her.

There lips parted. Spencer closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers.

"I love you, too." She whispered. Even with his eyes closed, he could tell she was smiling. He could feel it, as though her smile was part of him. He smiled broadly in relief and surrender, pulling her closer and trailing his fingertips through the short hair behind her ear.

"It's getting late." She murmured.

"Stay." He said. "Stay with me tonight."

He kissed her again.

"Only do not forget, if I wake up crying
it's only because in my dream I'm a lost child

hunting through the leaves of the night for your hands..." - Pablo Neruda