When you first met Spencer, you knew he never really wore his heart on his sleeve. It wasn’t because he was unemotional, no — in fact, it was quite the opposite. But years of having to care for himself left him more reserved than others.

But the more time you spent with him, the more you got to know him, the more in love with him you fell, you realized just how deeply he felt.

And when you had your first daughter?

Your relationship had slowly opened Spencer up to the beauty of vulnerability — falling into your arms at the end of the day when it all had been too much, calling you during cases just to hear your voice after a day of seeing things most people couldn’t imagine… you knew opening up was hard for him, but eventually it was second nature.

And then you had your firstborn, a beautiful baby girl that absolutely changed Spencer’s life. You and her were his everything.

Now, she’s five years old. He’s recently retired from his position as a behavioural analyst for the FBI to a professor of criminology, a change that let him live a peaceful life with his family. So more often than not, Spencer found himself at home with the two of you.

It’s a late summer afternoon — you’re cooking dinner while Spencer and your daughter’s laughter carries through the open window. He’d insisted on helping you with dinner, considering you’d been at work all day while he’d been at home, but your daughter had begged to play monster tag outside. And how could either of you say no to that face?

Just as you’re pouring the finished pasta onto three plates, you hear the laughter turn to crying, mixed with Spencer’s panicked words.

You quickly make your way outside — only to see Spencer cradling your daughter in his arms, her hands and knees slightly scraped and dirty. His eyes dart up to you, the guilt and sadness already present. His voice is shaky as he speaks. “I- I accidentally-“