Criminal Minds Fanfic: Step Up (Part 1 of 3)

[impulsiveanswer]

Title: Step Up
Part: 1 of 3
Pairing: Reid/Hotch
Characters: (in this part): Reid, Rossi, and Hotch; (in the whole story): Reid, Hotch, Rossi, Jessica, and a cameo by Jack
Rating: (this part): T; (entire story): M
Warnings: Slash, angst, some fluff (not really in this part)
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds - there'd be some boy-kissing in every episode if I did!
Note: This story is done.  I just need to post it in three parts because it's pretty long and I'm still editing parts 2 and 3

Summary for the entire story: Reid's mother dies.  As Reid struggles to deal with it, Hotch has to decide whether or not he should act on his feelings.

Summary for this part: Reid loses his mother and fears losing himself; Rossi makes a discovery and a decision; and Hotch finds out just how quickly things can change

Step Up (Part 1 of 3)

Spencer Reid knew that statistically it was probable that his mother would die before he was middle-aged.   Schizophrenics were more likely to commit suicide, either through direct action or simply by not taking care of themselves. Intense medication over several years was also a culprit, slowly breaking down bodies even as it offered their minds some lucidity. Although his mind was prepared for the possibility, his soul dreaded the day he got the phone call from Bennington Sanitarium. Mainly it was because he couldn’t imagine life without his mother; but he was also afraid. He’d seen so many perfectly normal people crumble under the weight of their grief - would his own sanity survive such a loss?

He had been at work the day the phone call came. Spencer was grateful for that, actually; knowing the team was around to witness his reaction had kept him from letting himself dissolve into an incoherent puddle of grief right there in the bullpen. Instead he’d tightly but politely thanked Dr. Norman, hung up, and walked immediately up to Hotch’s office, trying to ignore Emily’s questioning eyes as he left.

“My mother - my mother just died,” he’d told Hotch. Those dark eyes had sparkled with empathy and it had taken all of Spencer’s control not to fling himself into the older man’s arms.

“I’m so sorry, Reid,” Hotch had said kindly. “Is there anything I can do?”

‘Hold me, hide me, love me until this all goes away,’ Spencer had thought immediately, but Hotch didn’t love him - certainly not in the way he loved-cherished-yearned for Hotch - and even if he did the situation wasn’t going away. So instead he’d said: “I need some time off to make - to go to Las Vegas.”

“Of course,” Hotch had nodded. “Two weeks, starting immediately.”

“Bereavement leave is only one week,” Spencer had said automatically, wringing his hands so he’d have something to concentrate on besides the growing tornado of emotions currently destroying his insides.

Hotch had stood up, come around the desk, and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I know. Two weeks,” he’d reiterated, and Spencer had loved him even more. Loved him because Hotch knew a loss this great couldn’t be properly dealt with in the time it takes to make arrangements and start settling estates. Loved him because he was going to make sure Spencer got that extra week to begin to come to terms with the fact that his mother was gone. Gone…

Tears had sprung into his eyes and he’d managed to choke out a “thanks” before all-but-fleeing to the men’s room so he could pull himself together in privacy.

He’d been so determined to clamp down on that grief, that grief that felt scarily close to insanity, and he’d thought he’d succeed too. He’d managed to endure the round of condolences from the other members of the team, accepting them with a small ‘thank you for your support’ smile that family members of victims gave all the time. He’d outwardly remained calm as he flew out to Las Vegas and drove to the sanitarium. He hadn’t given in to the sorrow-fueled hysteria that was getting harder and harder to control as he’d been subjected to another chorus of sympathy, this time from doctors and nurses before being led to Diana Reid’s former room so he could pack up her few possessions. He’d made it through what was supposed to be the most difficult part without breaking down once.

Who knew talking with the mortician would make him lose it completely?

“I’ll make the arrangements to cremate her remains,” the man promised as they sat together in what the sanitarium called the ‘family room’, probably, Spencer had concluded, because calling it the ‘the place we stick people after their loved ones die’ was too blunt. “Now, I can answer any questions you have about your mother’s memorial service. You’ll want to make sure the death notice is printed as soon as possible and the obituary within a week, and definitely by the day of the service. I happen to know a few things about writing proper obituaries…”

A mental panic attack drowned out the man’s ramblings about the importance of obituaries in genealogy. Spencer had been so focused on controlling the pain, settling up the loose ends in his mother’s life, and dealing with the remains; he’d never considered what was supposed to happen afterwards.   What kind of service would his mother have wanted? Where should he have it? Who would conduct it? Neither he nor his mother had ever attended any sort of church or other religious organization. It would have to be some stranger, standing at an alter in a place the two of them had never been, going on about Diana like he knew her in front of Spencer and..and….

Spencer’s stomach clenched. Who else would be attending this service? Family? His mother had been an only child, her parents had died before he was born, and she’d never told him about any aunts, uncles, or cousins. His father would probably come but Spencer couldn’t deal with the idea of William Reid playing the part of a grieving husband, like he hadn’t left her almost two decades earlier, or comforting father, as if clearing the air the last time he was in Las Vegas had magically erased the cowardly abandonment of the past.   No - Spencer would send word to him about Diana’s death soon enough, but his father would not be attending any memorial service he held for her.

Friends, perhaps? But that wasn’t a possibility either: the few friends that Diana still had when she’d been committed had vanished from her life soon after. He doubted she’d made any at the hospital, at least not any that could or would attend a memorial service. The doctors and nurses also wouldn’t be coming; as great and supportive as they were, he understood the need to keep a professional distance and focus on the patients still around, who could still be helped. And Spencer certainly didn’t have friends in the Las Vegas area. He really didn’t have anyone he could call a friend at all outside of the team.

The team! Spencer suddenly wanted them there with him so badly it hurt. Garcia would hug him and promise to help with the service before slowly taking over and planning something quirky but perfect. Rossi would tell him that he’d get through this and Spencer would believe him because Rossi always spoke the truth. JJ and Prentiss would hold his hands and constantly check on him to make sure he was okay and Morgan would rescue him from them just when he was starting to feel smothered, whisking him off to someplace private, somewhere where Spencer would feel safe enough to let his brave façade crack just a little bit. Hotch…Hotch would be there, comforting him with his presence alone. Hotch was quiet strength that made it feel like the world would always turn right-side up again no matter how upside-down it got; he was compassion instead of pity; he was…he was the man Spencer loved. Even though Hotch would never feel the same way about him, Spencer would still find true comfort in how his love made him feel like it was possible for his heart to heal from the loss of his mother.

He closed his eyes and almost saw the service unfolding: it wouldn’t matter that he was listening to the empty words of some anonymous pastor. The team would be there, sitting all around him, and he would feel like he was still had family left in this world. Garcia, all maternal affection, would sit next to him, clutching his hand and smiling reassuringly at him through her sympathetic tears. Hotch would be on the other side, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder, silently offering him strength and support…

Except Hotch wouldn’t be there. He had a team to run at work and a life to rebuild with his son at home. Tears suddenly sprang to Spencer’s eyes. ‘I’m such an idiot sometimes,’ he thought miserably. Hotch couldn’t drop everything because of him and Spencer never wanted to put him in the position where Hotch would have to tell him that point-blank.

The rest of the team wouldn’t be coming either. The service they provided was too in-demand for the FBI higher-ups to give everyone the time off (Haley Hotchner’s funeral had been an exception because of the circumstances of her death, and even then they got called away before it was all over). Besides, were they just supposed to put their lives on hold because he wanted them to? Rossi was on annual leave and busy with a book tour. Garcia had a boyfriend, her grief counseling for victims’ families, and would be needed if a case came up.   JJ had Will and Henry, and couldn’t just leave for a few days on a whim.   Morgan and Emily might come if by some miracle they could get the time off, but Reid hated the idea of asking them to waste their vacation days attending a memorial service for someone they didn’t know just because he was feeling all needy and selfish.

He loved the team too much to ever become such a bother to them.

“I think,” Spencer managed to force out, half-startling the mortician, “I-I-I think I just need to make arrangements to take my mother - my mother’s ashes back to D.C. I just-just need that to happen as soon as possible.”

“Very well,” agreed the mortician.

Two days later, after the paperwork was finished, his mother’s belongings were packed up for shipping or donation, the mortician and the hospital were paid, and Diana’s ashes were cleared for air travel, Spencer Reid left his hometown for the last time. With his mother gone he had no reason to return.

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Spencer was profoundly relieved when the box containing his mother’s books finally arrived at the end of his first week of bereavement leave. He needed something else - anything else - to do other than the almost non-stop reading he’d been occupying his time with since returning to D.C. four days earlier. Reading and rereading every piece of medieval literature he owned was starting to wear down his mind, but he hadn’t been able to stop. Burying himself in the words that his mother had not only taught professionally and but also ingrained in him to love had been the only way he could think of to honor her memory.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. Spencer looked up from the piles of well-used books he was sorting through to his mother’s urn on his living room end table. Once he’d decided on cremation he’d planned to scatter her ashes in the park where he went to play chess - it was pretty there, and he liked the idea of her final resting place being somewhere he loved and visited often. He’d even called the proper authorities to find out what paperwork went along with something like that. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it - he couldn’t imagine just…letting her go like that.

So he stayed holed up in his apartment, turning his attention back to the mounds of books before him. He and his mother had a lot of the same books and his original plan was to figure out which ones he already had so he could donate the duplicates in good condition to one of the nearby public or academic libraries and discard the ones that were falling apart. However, it was always his copy that ended up in the donate/discard pile - he couldn’t stand the thought of giving away his mother’s, no matter how bad a condition they were in.

‘So you’ll keep her books no matter what condition they’re in,’ he thought, unbidden. ‘It’s a shame you didn’t feel the same way about her. You called them to take her away.’

‘I had to,’ he argued miserably with himself. ‘I couldn’t take care of her anymore  and she couldn’t take care of herself. Every day I was scared I would get a phone call, telling me she was…she was…’

‘Dead?’ mocked the part of himself he’d been suppressing all week. ‘You weren’t worried enough to stay. You went off to school, then to the FBI academy, and then you took a job on the other side of the country. You took a job that gave you every excuse you needed to never even visit her in the hospital you dumped her in!’

‘It wasn’t like that!’ Spencer silently protested, clutching the sides of the box as if to brace himself against this onslaught from his subconscious. ‘I was just looking for a place where I belonged.’

‘Away from the one person who always loved you, who always saw you as a gift rather than a freak, who never looked at you like you were from another planet?’ demanded that part of his brain. ‘Who else is going to love you except her?’

Spencer couldn’t stop himself from looking back to the end table to framed photo of the team he kept there. He had several team photos, actually - Garcia always insisted on taking a group shot whenever she got a new camera to play with, and that was often - but this one, taken after the trial of Brian Matloff, the Blue Ridge Strangler, but before that horrible case in New York where they’d come so close to losing Hotch, was special. He’d been standing next to Hotch when Garcia entered the break room with her latest toy, demanding that everyone squeeze together and smile. Hotch had whispered an apology for invading his personal space and put his hand on the small of the younger man’s back. As ridiculous as it was, Spencer had felt the spot where that hand had rested tingle until the next day; even now, every time he looked at that photo he could feel the warmth and strength of Hotch’s hand.

‘Hotch?’ sneered the voice of his guilt and self-loathing. ‘You think Hotch could ever love you? You actually think a smart and handsome man who can have anyone he wants is going to want a weird, skinny freak like you?’

Spencer felt like he was choking. God, where was this coming from? He’d dealt with most of his self-esteem issues after joining the FBI and BAU and had managed to come to peace with himself - even learned to like himself for the most part. Why was all of this surfacing now? He tried to draw in a deep breath and get a hold of himself. He couldn’t lose control of his mind now!

‘Besides,’ this dark part of him continued, ‘even if by some incredible lapse of judgment Hotch did manage to forget he can do so much better, what do you think would happen? Are you going to become his partner, a stepfather to Jack? Why would Hotch want you anywhere near his son? Even if you weren’t a drug addict from a family with history of schizophrenia, you’d still be Spencer Reid, the socially inept freak whose very presence makes children cry. There’s no place for you in the Hotchner family, which means there’s no place for you in Hotch’s heart. There’s no place for you anywhere now that the only person who could ever love you is gone.’

Trying desperately to ignore the tears streaming down his face, Spencer steeled his mind against the cruel onslaught and forced himself to pick up another book from the box. His breath caught when he realized which one it was: the Margery Kempe book he’d left as a gift the day he’d lost his nerve and fled the sanitarium before letting his mother know he was there. “One of her minor works,” she’d told him, but it was obvious that this book had been read several times. His mother had read - had cherished - his present, even with its flaws, because she cherished and loved him even with his flaws.

And now she was gone.

Spencer broke then, clutching the book to his chest as if it were a lifeline as he gave into his tears. ‘I sent her away!’ he cried silently. ‘She was the only person who had ever or will ever love me and I just threw that away. Now I’ll never be able to tell her how sorry I am and that I love her too and it’s nobody’s fault but mine.’

He tried to suck in a breath and ended up coughing violently. God, it felt like there was no air left in his apartment. He had to get out.

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One thing that Dave Rossi liked about driving late at night (or very early morning, if he cared to be precise, which at the moment he didn’t) was how empty the streets were. He was enjoying feeling like he was the only one out in the whole city, even if he was more than a little tired.

Of course, he could have taken up his publisher’s offer for a nice hotel room in Baltimore, but that would have gone against the very reason why he’d insisted on having all of his appearances during this book tour be in cities that were a reasonable driving distance from his home. Traveling might have been alright during his retirement years, but now that he was back at the BAU and on the move all the time he found the idea of sleeping in his own bed whenever he could immensely appealing. He saw it as a sign of emotional maturity and not, as Aaron had wryly suggested, more evidence that he was getting old.

Dave had just stopped at a blinking red light when movement in the park adjacent to the road caught his eye. Squinting, he saw a tall but slight figure wandering around a small courtyard area consisting of a few benches and street lamps. The person - a young man, Dave suppose, judging by the lack of curves and haircut that reminded him of Reid’s - was wearing only sweatpants and a t-shirt, which was absolutely ridiculous. It was finally getting warmer after a brutal winter but it still wasn’t t-shirt-outside-at-night weather and this young man, who was also Reid-like in his build, must have been freezing his nuts off.

Then the figure turned his head and Dave threw his car into park. The Reid-like young man who was out too late and completely underdressed actually was Reid.

‘What the hell?’ Dave was out of his car in an instant, hurrying toward Reid before the young man had a chance to wander out of sight from the road. He half-expected him to disappear before he got close, like a sleep-deprived hallucination, but Reid was very much real. Very much real and, Dave was disconcerted to note, just had mismatched socks and some pathetic-looking slippers on his feet to complete his inappropriate outfit.

“Reid?” he asked, not bothering to keep the bafflement out of his voice.

Reid whipped around and Dave saw he was clutching a well-used book to his chest. ‘Why not?’ thought Dave dryly. ‘It makes about as much sense as anything else right now.’

“Hi, David,” greeted Reid politely as if they were just running into each other at the BAU coffee machine, as if his eyes weren’t wild with a jumble of emotions. He attempted what he must of thought was a reassuring smile that in reality made Dave want to speed-dial the rest of the team for back-up because he’d never seen Reid quite like this before and sure as hell didn’t know what to do to make it better.

“What are you doing here?” asked Dave incredulously, his stomach sinking as he fully took in Reid’s disheveled appearance, tear-stained face, and red eyes.

“I’m just out for a walk,” answered Reid a little too brightly. “I don’t live that far from here.”

Dave shook his head. “I don’t mean here like…like…I mean…” he fumbled for the right words, hating the feeling of being out of his depth. He knew about Reid’s mother’s sudden death - Aaron had told him right before he’d all but begged Dave to prepare a few written consults during his annual leave so that the BAU wouldn’t fall too far behind while they were two agents down - but he’d never thought he’d be offering his condolences under these circumstances. “I heard about your mom; I’m sorry. I thought you were still in Las Vegas.”

“Oh,” said Reid, his smile freezing just a little. “I got everything done I needed to get done there.”

“Including the funeral?” asked Dave before he really thought about the question. Perhaps not the best thing to ask at the moment but he couldn’t help feeling a little miffed that he hadn’t heard anything about it, especially since he specifically asked Aaron to let him know as soon as Reid told them the time and place of the service so he could send flowers.

“Oh,” said Reid again, this time his voice cracking through his faux blasé tone. “I decided not to have a funeral.”

Dave was floored. “Why not?”

“There’s no one who would have come except me,” replied Reid, his eyes starting to shine with unshed tears.

“What about your family?” asked Dave, flabbergasted. “Her friends? Reid, what about your -“

“No family; no friends,” interrupted Reid. The more he tried to sound upbeat the more his voice wavered. Dave’s hand went to his cell phone, ready to hit speed-dial to summon one of the team - any one of them - to help him out here. He’d seen Reid angry, sick, hurt, and sulky, but he’d never seen the poor kid so emotionally distraught before and, quite frankly, he didn’t think he was the one Reid would want to be around when he finally broke. “It’s just been me and my mom since…since I was ten,” Reid continued. “Neither of us have any friends…any friends in-in Las Vegas, so I just took care of the paperwork and came home.”

“When? No one told me you’d come back.”

“Four days,” Reid told Dave as he looked down at his feet. “I…I didn’t call anyone. You guys are busy and I-I didn’t want to be a bother….”

Dave couldn’t believe it. A bother? Prentiss, Garcia, and J.J. doted on the kid like they were his mothers or his big sisters. Morgan thought of him as the little brother he’d never had. Aaron was freaking in love with him. Even Dave himself had to admit he found himself becoming fonder of him each passing day, and the kid thought he was a bother?

“Reid,” he started, but then cut himself off. He’d never seen Reid look so…well, so small before, but this wasn’t the time or place for what would undoubtedly be an extremely awkward speech that the kid probably wouldn’t believe anyway. “It’s late and it’s cold. Let me drive you home.”

Reid hugged the book closer to his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You’re driving back from a book signing, right? God, you must be tired. Don’t worry about me; I can walk home.”

Dave bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep the frustration off of his face and out of his voice lest Reid think he was angry at him. “You said it was close by, so it won’t take that long,” he said reasonably.

Reid didn’t move or even look up at him. Dave sighed and felt more than a little like a jerk as he said the only thing he could think of that would get the kid into his car without physically manhandling him: “Reid, I’m tired. The sooner I drive you home, the sooner I can go home myself. Get in the car.”

Reid flinched and scrunched up his face, and for a horrible moment Dave was afraid he was going to cry. Then his expression went eerily blank and he, blessedly, slinked meekly to the car. It was a half-mile (which, if Dave didn’t already feel like he’d kicked a puppy, would have pointed out was only close if traveling by car - not for someone walking in his slippers and a t-shirt on a cool night) back to Reid apartment, during which time neither of them said a word. Dave was both grateful for and spooked by the silence.

Only when Dave parked illegally in front of the building did Reid speak again. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and then frowned when Dave turned off the car and slapped his badge down on the dashboard. “What are you doing?”

“You’re welcome,” replied Dave with deliberate amiability. “And I’m displaying my badge so some over-eager traffic cop doesn’t ticket me or try to have my car towed while I walk you up to your apartment.”

“You don’t have -“ Reid started. Dave gave him a stern look and felt like an even bigger creep when the kid abruptly shut up and shrank back. “All right.”

There was no elevator in the building, so Dave followed Reid up three flights of stairs to the apartment. He couldn’t help frowning at how narrow and steep the stairs were - both he and Reid had to hold onto the railing tightly to make it up them in their exhausted states without falling. How had Reid managed to maneuver up and down this death trap all those months he was on crutches or using a cane? Had Reid ever asked if he could stay with someone with a more accessible place while he recovered or even for help with stuff like groceries or laundry? Had anyone ever offered? Dave doubted both more and more each moment he spent with Reid that night.

The older agent was relieved when Reid finally let them into his apartment. That relief died the instant he stepped through the door and got a good look inside.

Books were everywhere, from the box and piles half-blocking the entrance to the dozens scattered all over the small living room and dining area. The air was stale, like the place had been sealed off, and felt musty and suffocating.   There was one sympathy card signed “from the staff of the Bennington Sanitarium” displayed pitifully on the small table close to the door (nausea rolled through Dave when he realized that the team wouldn’t give Reid the one they’d all signed until he returned from bereavement leave).   An urn - his mother’s ashes, he supposed - sat on an end table next to a framed picture of the team. There was a slightly sour smell in the air, which Dave quickly traced to the carton of milk out on the kitchen counter. The only part of the whole apartment that seemed tidy enough to be considered livable was the neatly made bed he saw through a doorway off the living room, which he guessed hadn’t been used since before Reid got news of his mother’s death.

“Reid,” Dave managed to get out, knowing something needed to be said but the hell if he knew the right words. He gestured uncomfortably at the carton on the counter. “Your milk…”

“Right. Thank you,” nodded Reid. He half-stumbled into the kitchen, grabbed the carton, and, to Dave’s growing concern, put it back in the refrigerator before coming back into the living room. “Sorry about the mess. I’ve…I haven’t cleaned.”

Dave’s words caught in his throat and he could only nod as he made his own way to the refrigerator. There was nothing in it except for a half-empty ketchup bottle, a suspect-looking Styrofoam take-out container that clearly predated Reid’s mother’s death, and the spoiled milk. Dave grabbed the carton, dumped its contents into a sink that had exactly one dirty glass in it, and threw it away into the garbage can. Judging by the intensity of the smell when he opened the lid and how little there actually was in it, Dave knew it hadn’t been emptied or used since before Reid left for Las Vegas.

He returned to the living room to find Reid sitting on the one part of the couch not covered in books, staring at absolutely nothing.  “Reid,” he said with what he hoped was a good balance of kindness and firmness. The kid looked up at him; the light in the apartment was better than the streetlights and Dave could see the redness in his eyes wasn’t just from crying. “When was the last time you slept? Or ate, for that matter?”

The kid was silent long enough for Dave to know he didn’t know the answer to those questions. “I’m fine,” he quietly protested instead.

“No, you’re not,” Dave told him resolutely. “Reid, how long has this been going -“

Reid jumped to his feet much faster than he should have been able to in his current condition. “I’m not letting this get to me!” he cried furiously, stunning Dave once again that evening. “I have it under control, okay? I am not losing my mind!  I’M. NOT. CRAZY!” He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes as if trying to block out the entire world and repeated once more in a much quieter and desperate voice: “I’m not crazy.”

God, was Reid actually afraid of his intense but understandable sorrow? Dave gently grabbed his arm, pulling him close and throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Hey, I know you’re not crazy,” he said soothingly, feeling Reid’s body tremble with pent-up emotion. “You’re grieving, and you know better than I do that people who are grieving almost always think, do, and say things they wouldn’t under normal circumstances. It doesn’t make them or you crazy.”

Reid covered his face with both hands as he finally broke down and started to sob, as if embarrassed to let the older agent see his tears. A wave of strong emotions Dave could barely identify crashed through him and he knew what he had to do. “Reid, where’s your go bag?” he asked.

“By the door,” replied Reid in a small voice, sounding exhausted. “Why? Do we have a case?”

Dave gently led him to the door, grabbing the bag as they passed by. “No,” he said as he steered them out into the hallway towards the stairs, “but there’s somewhere else you can be right now.”

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Dave sat in his living room, nursing the single glass of scotch he’d allowed himself to have after finally getting home. Sure, the sun had come up about a half hour earlier but he figured it didn’t count as drinking in the morning if he hadn’t gone to bed the night before. Reid - ‘Spencer,’ he corrected himself, as they seemed to be beyond formalities at that point - had thankfully fallen asleep as soon as he hit the guestroom bed, but a similar rest remained elusive for Dave. A part of it was that he didn’t want to fall asleep in case Spencer needed anything. ‘Or,’ thought Dave with a perturbed grimace, ‘try to leave because he thinks he’s inconveniencing me’. Mostly, though, it was because he was finding it hard to understand how Spencer had ended up all alone during one of the most tragic events of his life in the first place.

It was common knowledge that Spencer didn’t have any friends or close acquaintances outside of the team. That was to be expected with any BAU agent -the very nature of their job had them cancelling more plans than they kept, and they weren’t exactly rays of sunshine when they did manage to show up - but that isolation had gone to the extreme in Spencer’s case. Before that night, Dave would have thought it was just because of the kid’s overwhelming intellect and almost comical social awkwardness, but now as he truly dissected the issue he realized how shallow that explanation was.

Spencer didn’t hide the fact that he was extremely smart. So what? He was working in a job that required him to figure out the puzzles of the disturbed human psyche while lives were at stake - a job he got, as he was undoubtedly painfully aware of, primarily because of that high I.Q. How many cases were broken by, and how much valuable information gleaned from, Spencer’s insights and discoveries? And through it all he never talked down to people, never did anything to deliberately make others feel stupid - not like the local law enforcement with the snarky asides or even the team with the occasional off-color joke.

‘I see you brought your own computer? He’s so life-like?’ thought Dave with a growing indignation. ‘How about ‘thank God you’re on our side, using your powers for good’?’

Yet Spencer never got angry about that as far as Dave could tell. Was it just because he was used to dealing with people who were shocked and/or threatened by his intelligence? Again, before that night he would have thought so; but now as he slipped his scotch and searched through those memories he could remember seeing flashes of emotions on Spencer’s face each time someone talked to or about him like that. There was hurt, yes, but also confusion - like he was afraid there was something wrong with him because he didn’t find the insults funny and he didn’t want to draw any attention to the fact that he didn’t get the so-called joke. So many people were willing to use Spencer’s intellect and then make him feel bad about himself because he was smarter than all of them, and the kid was so insecure he thought that the problem was with him.

The amazing and sad part was that Spencer was probably most sure of himself at work. The few times the team went out drinking after a particularly bad case had left Dave all but convinced the kid had been raised by robots or something. He never approached anyone, never initiated a conversation, and if someone did start talking to him he ended up babbling statistics at them until someone cut him off. He’d always thought it was just, well, just Spencer - too brainy to connect with most mere mortals on a personal level and not all that eager to try in the first place.

But that didn’t fit: Spencer never ignored or made rude remarks to anyone who approached him; he just stayed out of other people’s way. In fact, he always seemed so…surprised and almost honored when he was included in a conversation, and when someone basically told him to shut up he just accepted it as if that’s the way people were supposed to talk to him. And those statistics...

’It’s always statistics,’ Dave realized. ‘He’ll go on and on about facts, but it’s like pulling teeth to get him to talk about himself. Hell, I bet he could recite a list of the title to every one of John Wayne’s movies but he’d never think to mention whether or not he likes any of them.’

Jesus, it was even in the way he dressed. Sure, Spencer may not care about fashion, or he may actually be making a fashion statement like one of those young men who had more artistic flair than common sense when it came to clothes, but Dave doubted it. Everything about Spencer from the way he barely brushed his hair in the morning, to how little he shared about himself, to the way he let people treat him was his way of practically screaming: “I’m sorry for taking up space!  You don’t have to look at me, talk to me, or be nice to me in any way! I’ll just stand over here so you can forget about my existence whenever it’s not convenient for you to have me around!”

Somewhere along the way a brilliant, good-looking, nice kid had come to believe - to accept - he wasn’t worth any extra efforts and that he was bothering people if he asked anything of them. This went beyond what he’d learned from the school bullies of the past or the police station and bar bullies of the present; this was a lesson only people you loved could teach you. And Dave knew who his teachers were: his father, Jason Gideon, and Aaron Hotchner.

First was William Reid. Before that night Dave had been sympathetic, if unimpressed, with the man; parents weren’t perfect, after all, and sometimes they just make themselves be as strong as they supposed to be. Of course, Dave had also assumed there had been other family members around to help Spencer and Mrs. Reid in his absence. Finding out he’d abandoned a ten-year-old boy and an unstable paranoid schizophrenic into each other’s care because he couldn’t handle the fact that six years earlier his wife had unknowingly done something that a first year law student could have successfully defended her from had certainly changed that. How could anyone claim to be a decent human being when he’d lived only ten minutes away from a son and ex-wife who needed him and did absolutely nothing to help?

‘Coward,’ Dave now silently sent out to Spencer’s father. ‘Selfish coward, making your child handle what you refused to.’

The older agent suddenly remembered standing in that hotel with Spencer when he’d found out his father had been keeping tabs on him throughout his life: Garcia talking like she was giving him the best news ever, his own platitudes that William Reid’s interest meant something, and Spencer’s disgust. At the time he’d been taken aback - he’d never seen the kid so sarcastic and resentful before - but now he felt a swell of pride. Good for Spencer for being angry enough to know that he deserved more from his father than the occasional cyber-stalking, even when the rest of the team acted like he should be grateful for any attention the man gave him. Still, the lessons of childhood are not unlearned easily and William Reid’s abandonment taught Spencer that he was easy to leave when his presence became too inconvenient.

Next came Jason Gideon. Dave drained his glass at the idea that his former colleague had been a mentor/father figure to someone with Spencer’s emotional issues. Gideon was almost always a great profiler, oftentimes a good FBI agent, and someone a victim was lucky to have around; but as a mentor and a friend he fell painfully short. For one thing, he preferred to be respected and hero-worshipped rather than liked, and maintained a delicate balance of keeping people at arm’s length while doling out just enough attention and praise to keep his students and hangers-on hooked. He also believed that his words alone were enough to fix anything, and if someone needed more than just a sage sound-bite…well, that wasn’t his problem.

Worst of all, however, was that he forgot other people’s feelings mattered just as much as his own did. He’d do something that someone else would suffer for and then comfort himself by saying they’d understand (as if intellectually understanding erased the emotional fallout). When the bad things happened to him he’d retreat to sulk and leave others to deal with the ensuing mess; and when things went really wrong he picked up and left without thinking of what his abrupt departure would do to those left standing in his wake. Sure, he’d left a letter for Spencer (not mailed or anything like that - the kid had to seek Gideon out in order to find it), but that gave closure to Gideon and Gideon alone: all Spencer had were words unsaid and the knowledge that again he wasn’t important enough for someone he loved to stick around or even give a proper goodbye to.

And now there was Aaron Hotchner. While it pained Dave to lump his friend into the same category as William Reid and Jason Gideon, he couldn’t ignore how the way Aaron’s behavior impacted how Spencer felt about himself. It was obvious the two of them were in love with each other; hell, when he first came back to the BAU he’d taken one look at Spencer’s naked devotion and how much Aaron adored the young agent in return and thought they were sleeping together. Things had seemed to be heading in that direction at any rate until, suddenly, Aaron had seemingly turned his affection off, distancing himself from Spencer and retreating into himself. How had Spencer, with his abandonment issues and his belief that he wasn’t worthy of other people’s attention, interpreted that?

Of course Dave knew Aaron well enough to know he was still in love with his agent and the reasons for the change had to do with what was going on in his own life. However, that didn’t change the fact that once again the poor kid had been abandoned (albeit not physically this time) by someone he trusted enough to love just because that person was having issues of his own.

What really killed him was that he was sure that William Reid, Gideon, and Aaron would all swear up and down that they genuinely cared for Spencer and would do anything to help him. And while three men who should know better let their own shit become the priority, Spencer had been sitting alone in that apartment with only those books for company, believing he was supposed to suffer alone.

Dave stared at the empty glass in his hand as a barrage of emotions he rarely felt outside of his interactions with the Galen children swelled up inside of him. Spencer needed a friend in his corner, a mentor who used action along with words to let him know he was cared for and wouldn’t suddenly vanish one day. Someone who knew he deserved to be happy and loved even when the kid didn’t believe it himself. It was a big job and a lifetime commitment, but Dave knew then and there that he was up for it.   Dave was going to be that someone for Spencer, dammit, and anyone who thought they could get away with treating him like crap would have to answer to him from then on.

The sudden chiming of the doorbell seemed to echo throughout the house. Dave winced and rushed to the front door, praying the noise hadn’t woken Spencer up.

Aaron Hotchner looked surprised to see it was Dave who answered the door. “Good morning,” he said, holding out a stack of three or four files. “I’m sorry to wake you. I thought your housekeeper would be answering the door.”

“I gave her the week off,” explained Dave tiredly. He rubbed his eyes before accepting the files. “And I was already up.”

Aaron eyed the empty glass Dave hadn’t realized he was still holding. “I’m guessing it was a late night for you,” he observed. He waited a beat, clearly expecting his friend to say something. “Well, aren’t you going to invite me in and regale me with tales of your annual leave debauchery?”

“No,” groused Dave in an annoyed tone as he glanced over his shoulder at the stairs, “and keep your voice down.”

“Dave,” said Aaron, his expression frighteningly reminiscent of that of Dave’s father during his wild teen years whenever he did something arguably legal but morally questionable. “Please tell me you don’t have some random book tour groupie in bed upstairs. You know better than to let a stranger know where you live!”

“Shhhh,” Dave hissed. “And it’s Spencer upstairs, not some ‘random groupie’.”

All humor slid off of Aaron’s face. His mouth went slack as his eyes, stricken and penetrating, darted toward the stairs.   “You…you have Reid in bed?”

Perhaps if he hadn’t been so tired Dave might have seen that Aaron’s expression held mostly confusion and concern. Maybe if he hadn’t spent the last hour or so making himself angry about the people in Spencer’s life that had let him down he may have laughed at that barest hint of jealously there and taken pity on his friend - after a good laugh at his expense, of course. However, Dave was tired and angry and more than ready to take it out on someone he thought clearly deserved at least part of it. “He’s in the guest room,” he snapped furiously. “He’s been dealing with his mother’s death all alone and he needed to get out of that apartment. And even if that wasn’t the case, what right do you have to say anything about it?”

Aaron looked taken aback. Dave didn’t care. “Do you think he’s supposed to love you from afar forever?” he continued. “You leave him to suffer through his mother’s death alone - hell, you left him alone long before that - and now you’re mad at the possibility that he could have moved on? Christ, I wish he wasn’t so hung up on you! At least then he could find someone who’s actually brave enough to do something about loving him.”

“I - I can’t -,” Aaron sputtered, clearly stunned. “There are rules about -“

“Don’t hide behind those stupid regs,” sneered Dave. “You’ve been in love with each other for years, yet someone your judgment can only be compromised if you act on it? No, the truth is that you’re a coward, Aaron - at least when it comes to Spencer. Well, that’s over, pal.”

“What?”

“He’s not going to be alone anymore, and I’m not going let anyone treat him like he’s supposed to be. It’s time you made a decision, Aaron: you either step up and love the kid the way he deserves to be loved or you let him down gently so he can move on.”  Dave gave the files in his hand a little wave. “No more consults after these - I’m busy this week.”

He shut the door in Aaron’s face before the other man could say another word.

To be continued…

Part 2