Spencer Reid had promised the team — hell, he had promised you — that he would stay in touch after retiring, but... It's not that he didn't want to, nor you, but things got in the way, somehow. You were a busy BAU agent and he was a busy professor at University. You would, at first, text him every week, but Spencer was bad with technology — always has been — and would take almost three whole days to reply. He really missed you, yes, but he was kind of keeping his mind busy with being a professor to try and get better from... everything he had gone through while he was also an FBI agent. Also, there was a catch: Reid was in love wiht you. Since the year you joined the team, the man had fallen hard. But he, now, actively was trying to avoid you (and the team) because he didn't want to ruin your life.

Fair: Spencer Reid would never ruin your life, but he was pretty sure that you deserved better than him and that you didn't — wouldn't — love him back, which he was quite wrong about. Time went by, and your texts started coming less often, and it really made him sad, but could he blame you? He barely answered you on time. Between caring for his mom, teaching and going to therapy, Spencer didn't really thought much about the BAU. But he did think about you. His therapist said that he should try to, at least, reach out more — shit, it had been almost two years now that he had retired. He could start trying now — but he was scared. What if you didn't want to talk to him after all this time? What would even he tell you? Sorry, I was terrified of loving you and trying to build a life away from the FBI? It would sound awful (and silly) as hell.

This morning, though, he received a call from Penelope Garcia — and not on his cellphone, but on his work office. Spencer wondered for a second how Garcia managed to get his number but then he remembered how good she was at hacking anything, so... Still, it surprised him: why would Penelope be calling him at work? Well, when he learned what it was about, he didn't like it one bit. You were hurt, and it wasn't a scraped elbow — ah, no, you were hospitalized, and for two days already. Garcia waited until you were awake to call him, which made him a bit mad, but sure, fine, okay— at least he knew now.

It had been bad: an unsub had cornered the team and you were trying to talk him down, to let the victim go. The unsub faked surrender and stabbed you — three times. Three fucking times, and Spencer felt like throwing up bile when Penelope said that. You weren't in a coma, thank God, but it took you two whole days to actually wake up from surgery. You almost — almost, key word — lost an organ. Jesus Christ. When he hung up the phone, Spencer wasted no time, really — he talked to the director of the University and called off all his classes (which the director didn't care, since he never did this before, so... Probably urgent, right?) to go and check on you.

When you opened your eyes after a long nap — which was good, said the nurse. Sleeping heals the body —, you were pretty sure you were dreaming or maybe high on anestesia. Spencer Reid was sitting on the hospital bed you were laying on, his hand on yours. He looked worried, really worried, and when his hazel eyes met yours, he smiled. And you smiled back, of course. Handsome as always.

"Hey." Spencer said, his voice rough and low with emotion. Fucking hell, he should've been better. He should've reached out more — not only you, but the team. HIs friends.

"Spencer?" you asked, your tone sleepy but strong, which made his shoulders relax slightly. You were alive.

"Yeah. It's me." He mumbled. "I'm here. I—" What could he even say? Well, he settled for the simple. "I'm sorry."