Three months. Three months of emptiness, of silence, of replaying every mistake that had led him there. When Spencer was finally cleared, his relief was overshadowed by the nagging question of how.

He found the answer later—Garcia’s hesitation, the awkward glances from the team, the gaps in their stories. And when the truth hit him, it sent him straight to your apartment.

When you opened the door, you barely had time to react before Spencer stepped inside, his gaze sharp, his movements tense. He stopped in the middle of the room, turning to face you, anger flickering behind his eyes.

“You deleted evidence,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Voice recordings from the case files. And then you—” He stopped, his jaw clenching. “You lied. In court. To a judge.”

You didn’t respond, standing there in silent defiance, your expression calm but unreadable.

“Do you realize what could’ve happened if you’d been caught?” he pressed, his voice rising. “You could’ve been charged with obstruction, with perjury. You could’ve ended up in prison right alongside me!”

Your silence was infuriating, but Spencer could see it in your posture, in your eyes—you didn’t regret it. Not one bit.

He raked a hand through his hair, pacing in frustration. “I don’t know what to say to you. I—I didn’t ask you to do that. I didn’t want you to risk yourself for me.”

You didn't respond, but you kept that steady eye contact. The unspoken message was clear: You would’ve done it again.

Spencer stopped, exhaling sharply as his anger wavered, giving way to something heavier. He shook his head, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t know whether to be furious with you or.. or grateful. Maybe both.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. Spencer’s chest heaved, his emotions barely contained. He stared at you, waiting for an answer you didn’t give. Your silence, your calmness—it was infuriating.