"It's more tedious than prohibitive," Spencer sets.

He's retying his blindfold again. I lost count after the 4th time he removed it. Rarely, I described him as antsy. Were on the floor of his sitting room period he sits cross legged, blinded, and he's trying to do the puzzle with me. His fingers twitch whenever he leans forward to hover over pieces, but mostly he sits and thinks.

Unfortunately, I keep moving the pieces slightly when i pick them up. It's not intentional but still, he keeps grabbing the wrong pieces.

"Are you ambidextrous?"

"Colette, please don't tie a hand behind my back."

He's smiling though. Just from the way I say the words, no visual input required to understand my insinuation. With the blindfold on, he can't see that I'm smiling too. We're drinking espresso martinis, sitting in his living room. One is our limit, because I got too drunk a few days ago. He could handle a few more. Spencer has never relapsed, though the possibility is always there, in my brain. The two year anniversary of his abduction was about two weeks ago. February 5th, and the knowledge doesn't escape both of us. I wonder if he cans ee that too, with his blindfold on snug against his face.

I don't want to bring it up. After all, there's no guarantee ever that we will have a conversation without interruption. Spencer could be called out any second for a case. So could I, I guess now. Even if I wasn't called out, I'd also have to leave here. His home isn't mine, no matter how many toiletries he collects on my behalf.

"I'm buying you a plant," I decide.

His brow twitches and he moves a hand to readjust his blindfold.

"I can't have any," he says. "Unless it's a succulent or some other plant that doesn't require regular watering. A spider plant would do me well, I suppose, but they require indirect sunlight and I'm not sure where it would be best to put one. Snake plants can deal with more variation in the sunlight, but they require watering more often."

I'd let him talk for the rest of the night, but the oven dings. I'm on my feet before he is. The blindfold is definitely tedious since he grunts while fiddling with the not. The kitchen smells divine. It's woody almost, more then his home which smells like him. Leather and coffee, and wool. Although, his hair distinctly smells like coconut. I've seen his conditioner.

Footsteps tapped me back. I step through the kitchen and grab oven mitts. The cheese on the pizza looks gooey, slightly Browning his plain but mine has feta, spinach, and sundried tomato. Stéphane would gag eating it. I don't mind. The heat engulfs me as I open the oven and pull them out.

"They're done."

Behind me, Spencer is setting his kitchen table. His face is aglow with candlelight. I think they were just for me if the candles weren't getting smaller between our visits. There are lights here, but he never uses the overhead ones. For every dozen books here there must be a lamp, and he's got hundreds of books. He's always lit from below, dim and hard to see. I feel at home in this kind of like, but he looks less like himself here.

Only recently, with my help organizing the place, has he allowed himself to use candles here. It's less of an archive now, and more of a home. The wallpaper even, seems stuck more firmly too the wall.

We sit down at the table. We start to eat. The thin slices are a bit floppy, but they taste even better than the smell. Gooey and rich and wonderful.

"Just need someone to water it when you aren't around," I say, wiping the corners of my mouth. "A plant, I mean."

"I wouldn't trust most people alone in here," Spencer gestures to his right. "My office is too many confidential files. Hotch said in my review that I need to start digitizing information this year. It seems more tedious than your blindfold. I'm never going to want to use a computer no matter how much Garcia shows me, or how Hotch stresses security. Screens are too bright."

"I'm going to distract me. I'm buying you a plant."

He looks up at me and raises an eyebrow, "isn't it Rachel's chore to take care of your plants? You don't even water your own."

I roll my eyes, "yes, but we split chores. If Rachel disappeared it would get done. You'd never let a plant die, Spen. You're too sentimental."

He laughs.

God, his laugh. Even that one, brief. His memory dwarfs mine. Terrible medical emergency excepting, Spencer will always remember more about me. He won't just remember what I wore to the first day in our office, which was a white button up and navy-blue trousers. He'll remember what I've worn every day since. I know what he wore that day, a light blue shirt with a red tie, and his horn-rimmed glasses that I like, which he only ever wears now if he's reading at his desk. But I don't remember the day the changed happened, or even really did I notice it. He'd know. He remembers everything. And so I cling to his laugh. Let it be mine to hold.

"Your annual review from Hotch suggested an opposite problem," he says. "How is the team bonding going in your opinion? Because, well, I think if you're worried about it, I can maybe help. Just a bit, particularly with Morgan because I know you disagree with him frequently."

The thought of Morgan turns my stomach. It could be the martini. I'm finished with it, and liquor for the rest of the night, but my body hasn't reached the same conclusion. Despite the pizza, my mouth feels acidic. The corners are almost sticky and so I wipe my lips again. So there furrows his brow beyond the candles.

"I need a vacation," I decide.

"Thinking about Peru?"

Down the cloth. His eyes are shining, candlelight like glowing in his hazel irises, and I blink and look away. He doesn't look like himself when he's dimly lit. At least, he doesn't look like someone he wants to be.

"Spencer, you know we can't."

I don't look over. His chair scrapes on the floor. I only glanced at his plate, still half full of salad and a slice of pizza. He approaches me, reaching my side and squatting down.

"Are you..." he swallows. "Did I do something wrong?"

"What?" then I meet his eyes. They look darker here, somehow, when he's closer to me. I must be casting a shadow. I hadn't noticed, somehow. It should be self-evident, but I suppose I'm not as clever as I think. "No, of course you haven't."

How do my eyes look? Still green? The colour that I share with Caro and Bastien? Or are they cold and dark? Do they look hazel? I couldn't imagine it. I've never had a vivid imagination.

"I don't..." he stops. "I just don't- well, why? I mean, if I haven't done anything, then why can't we go on vacation together?"

At least I'm glad I don't' blame it on my fear of leaving again. I went with Estelle to Scotland and came back, and before that I went to Portugal. I'm doing well. I'm in therapy. The homework nags at the back of my mind. I could tell him about Mary. I won't, but I could. It wouldn't be answering his question though.

"We'd both have to book time off," I look at him. His gaze narrows a bit and I sigh, "at the same time, Spencer. We'd have to tell Hotch we were booking time off. He rarely approves two administrative assistants taking leave at the same time. We'd have him understaffed and JJ is barely back from mat leave."

Spencer swallows, "we can't know that Hotch won't approve until we ask. Besides you're not supposed to go on most missions anyway."

"Hotch isn't an idiot," I reach for Spencer's hand. My fingers slip into his, but he pulls his hand back. "Spen, he'd figure out. Or would we lie about where we were going? You with your fake girlfriend, me roping my siblings into something?"

"We could, well..." this time he doesn't add more.

He stands up and crosses back around the table to grab his plate. Then, Spencer moves behind me, deeper into the darkness of the kitchen. I hear a cupboard open. Something scrapping, being dragged out and then placed onto the counter. The candlelight before me flickers. The wax isn't that tall anymore.

Fuck it. I get up and cross over to where he is packing his food into a container.

"Well, what?" I ask, my voice quiet, trapped in my narrow throat. It doesn't come out properly, the way I want it to sound. All I can say positively about it is that it doesn't sound accusatory.

"Maybe it's.... I mean, it's time. Maybe." Spencer doesn't look up from the plate. Maybe I did sound harsher than I thought, even more than I wanted to sound. "I mean, maybe we should tell Hotch and the rest of the team, about us."

~~~~~

Couldn't be assed to edit, but this definitely ends in drama! Oh Cole, how will you screw up now? (Wrong answers only)