Keep Holding On

chapter 42

a/n: another time jump! we are now in season 14!

After months of diligent searching and countless open houses, Spencer and Molly finally stumbled upon the perfect house, nestled in a quaint neighborhood with a charming, tree-lined street. It was a fixer-upper, with endless possibilities and untapped potential, and they both knew it was meant to be theirs. Despite their excitement, they were well aware that turning their newfound gem into a home would require time and effort.

So, for the time being, they continued to live separately, pouring their energy and resources into renovating their future abode.

.....................................

As Spencer stood outside Molly's apartment building, the weight of exhaustion heavy on his shoulders, the anticipation of their shared future mingled with the uncertainty of the present. He paced back and forth in front of her door, his steps uneven and restless.

It was late, nearing 10 p.m., and he hoped that she would be awake. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts, each more chaotic than the last.

As he knocked on the door, his heart pounded in his chest, the sound echoing in his ears like a drumbeat of anxiety. He waited with bated breath, his nerves stretched thin as he anticipated her response.

When Molly opened the door, Spencer's relief was palpable, but it was quickly overshadowed by the weight of whatever burden he carried. He stepped inside, his gaze distant and unfocused, his movements tense and jittery.

"Spencer..." Molly's voice trailed off as she watched him, concern evident in her eyes.

He walked in, still lost in his thoughts. The weight of whatever had happened hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the room.

"What happened?" Molly asked, her voice soft but insistent as she studied him closely.

Spencer must have just landed, his disheveled appearance a clear indicator of a long journey. He held his suit jacket and tie in his hand, his dress shirt untucked from his pants.

The sight of the gun strapped to his side startled Molly; she rarely saw him with a weapon. He always tried to keep his work separate from their relationship, shielding her from the darker aspects of his life as much as he could.

His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing the faint lines of exhaustion etched into his skin, and his curls were pushed back from his forehead. He had been on a case in LA, she remembered him mentioning it before he left. But whatever had transpired there seemed to weigh heavily on him, evident in the tension that coiled beneath the surface of his demeanor.

Molly watched him carefully, her concern growing with each passing moment. She noticed the weariness etched into his features, the way his shoulders slumped with fatigue.

Her concern deepened as she noticed his right hand wrapped in bandages. He was squeezing it, almost as if trying to coax out the blood, and it sent a shiver of worry down her spine.

"Oh my god, what happened to your hand?" Molly's voice was laced with concern as she approached him, gently taking hold of his injured hand to examine it and stop him from exacerbating the injury.

Finally, Spencer seemed to snap out of his trance, his gaze meeting hers. Molly held his hand gently, inspecting the bandages with a furrowed brow.

"Come here," she said softly, guiding him to the couch. He sat down without a word.

She fetched the necessary supplies to clean and re-bandage Spencer's hand, her movements deliberate and focused. She returned to the couch and sat beside him, gently placing his injured hand on her knees. Spencer's gaze remained fixed on her, his eyes searching hers for some semblance of comfort or reassurance.