trust
verb
belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of.


Max calms as she stands against him, to point of dozing off, her body emotionally and physically exhausted.

Spencer notices the change in her breathing, and gently tells her to "come on" walking her to her bed, eyes still practically closed.

He watches her as she falls asleep.


She wakes, hours later and the sun is peeping through her curtains.

He's buttoning his shirt, almost dressed in yesterday's clothes, the clothes he wore before he knew.

His eyes meet her and he reluctantly smiles.

"I've got a case." He says, sitting on the side of the bed closest to her.

He reaches for her, and fingers the end of her hair gently before moving back to finish his last two buttons.

The marks from last night are covered, but under his eye remains pink.

I hope it doesn't bruise. Max thinks

"Great timing," she says sarcastically, but also with some relief.

"I know." Spencer sighs, chewing on the bottom of his lip in thought. "Do you want me to stay?" He asks.

"You can do that?" She says, eyes widening in jest. She doesn't want to get in the way of his work, though, and he knows it.

He furrows his brows in response and Max laughs.

"It's fine, I'm fine." She says as she sits up.

He's worried about leaving me alone, she thinks.

"Will you call Michelle?" He asks, his face is highlighted by the windows beams.

He looks sad, and Max thinks she would too if her girlfriend as she knew her basically died last night.

"It's Saturday. I'm sure she'll call me by noon." Max responds, and Spencer looks down at his hands as if he isn't sure what to do with them.

"Are you mad at me?" Max says after a few beats of silence.

It sounds childish, but she didn't know what else to say.

"No." He says quickly, eyes snapping to hers.

"So what are we going to do?" She asks.

"I don't know." He says, looking into her eyes. "And I think that's ok for now."

Her eyes light up ever so playfully as he parrots her familiar words.

She reaches for his hand, half expecting for him to jump away, but he takes it, and gives it a squeeze before standing up.

He stops at her door, turning to look at her once more, then, without another word, he's gone.


As expected, Michelle calls at 11 am sharp.

Before Max could say "hello" she hears Michelle saying, "there is bottomless mimosas at the Factory. I'm picking you up in 20, and I don't care if the agent is still over there, he ain't coming."

"Ok" Max says, mentally preparing her self for how to tell her about the night before.

"What the hell is wrong." Michelle says.

This bitch should be a profiler too.

"I..." Max falters, and all she could get out next is "he knows."

Max could hear Michelle inhale deeply, but before she could say anything Max continues "I told him."

"Shit." Michelle says, exhaling into the phone.

Max thought she should get an award for how many times she has left Michelle speechless over the last few months.

"Why?" Michelle's tone is blunt.

"Well I clawed the shit out of him in bed last night, and not in a fun way— so I kinda had to." Max says, switching the phone to her other ear.

"I had another one of those sleep episodes" Max continues when Michelle doesn't respond.

"How did he take it." Michelle asks, finally.

"Not horrible, but I don't know." Max says, "but it's ok. He just left for a case this morning, so that's probably good. Give us some time to think."

"The fact that your not worried about him telling one of his friends is confusing to me right now," Michelle says it cautiously, knowing how Max usually thinks.

"He won't." Max says, "he knew I was being sketchy this whole time, but he was genuinely shocked when I told him."

"Who are you?" Michelle says, before continuing, "I'm assuming he knew all about... everything, though... Mr. Walking Enciclopedia."

"Pretty much." Max says.

"And he didn't run for the hills," Michelle says matter o factly.

"Yeah" Max says, fighting a smile.

"You trust him." Michelle states.

"Yeah, I do."


They had just briefed the case and were gathering their things to get on the jet.

Penelope stopped at Spencer's desk to hand him a file and gasps.

"What?" Spencer says, but follows her gaze to under his eye. He instinctively touches the mark and looks at her sheepishly.

His response causes her to smirk and she asks in a low voice "Max getting rough with ya?"

Spencer looks down and shakes his head, letting out a quick "no" before leaning down and grabbing his messenger bag.

When he meets her face again her eyes narrow at him.

He sighs, "I mean, yeah I guess— but it was an accident."

"Ah, the ole elbow to the face," Penelope teases, face contorting back to amusement as she lifts her elbow in a forward motion.

"Don't be shy about that my sweet vanilla boy genius, it happens," she shrugs and begins to walk to her office.

She turns back to him after a couple of steps "if you're going to insist on keeping the fun stuff to yourself, at least let it be juicy. Be safe out there."

Spencer stares after her, thinking of all the things he'd love to share, but can't.


*text message later that day*

Max: you ok?

Spencer: yeah.

Spencer: I'm not going to say anything to anyone.

Max: thank you...

Max: ...I just don't trust anyone.

Spencer: Thank you for trusting me. Now you just need to trust yourself.


✈️

"Fear leads to more fear, and trust leads to more trust."