THAT SATURNALIA

1

Love shows no anger, greed, hatred nor envy, all love knows is peace, kindness and gratitude. I hold love in my heart always, you should too.

This was a quote which Reid often thought about, wondered what, really, what that meant.

Floyd had read it: Bullshit.

Sam hadn't read it. Floyd had told Spencer, once he'd untied him from the radiator in the bedroom, not to even hint that kindness and gratitude had anything to do with love.

After years of some weird but also quite wonderful peace, they sat facing each other with slightly different expressions on their faces. One looked confused, one looked pissed off and maybe disappointed and finally the last looked as though the blood on his knuckles was just beginning to dry out, the look on his face was that of someone who had just been told that one of the three of them would not be going to Vegas for Christmas.

'We discussed this last year.' Spencer muttered around a sore looking mouth.

'You didn't talk to me about it.' The youth snapped.

Floyd looked at Spencer and then at Sam. It wasn't his compromising expression. 'I don't give a flying fuck what you thought we said or didn't say. Do I look like I give a shit? Things change. I want you to go and visit Mother and I need you gone by… yesterday would have been good, but you're still here, drinking my wine, thinking you have any say in any fucking matter ever. As for you, Sam… I was under the impression you were going to hitch a vacation with Hotch.'

'I told Mother I wouldn't be going. She's made other arrangements.' Spencer stood from the chair he was sitting in and made to go to the kitchen. He had made his own plans and for once, just this once, he wanted things to run smoothly. The tree, for that is what that thing in the corner of the room was. At least it had been before Sam had set eyes on it and torn it apart like a cat. It was a ruined lump and the baubles were missing, but it had been a tree and Spencer had put it up and decorated it and put gifts under it, which once again, Sam had destroyed by opening them all even if his name hadn't been written on the tag. For now it was going to be a drink of coffee. Something other than some kind of drug, to sooth the nerves, though he had to admit that it didn't always have the desired effect. Especially on Sam… he would get Sam a drink of cocoa.

'Hotch told me to fuck off.' Sam informed them.

And this caused Spencer to turn and frown at Sam because Hotch would never use language like that.

Floyd slid back a bit on the coffee table and managed somehow to give Sam a quick grope and a backhand around the face at the same time. 'Every sodding year you both have to do something to ruin my fun. I was assuming that you both would be away, and as I would have had time alone, and as I know I would have spent that time pacing the room and wondering what shit you were both getting up to, well I invited a couple of old friends around for a few days and I don't think that I want you here too, so Sammy, call Hotch and ask if you can spend a few days there and Spencer… What about a visit to Rossi?'

There was no real way that Spencer could get his voice to be heard over the screams of protest from Sam, so he ignored what Floyd had said and made his way down to the kitchen.

The phone call Hotch received happened once the noise in the Reid household had calmed down a bit, it went something like this:

'Hotch? Is that you? I recognise your heavy breathing…'

'What do you want, Sam? I'm busy.'

'Well, you see, it's well into night-time now, so I knew you'd be home from work and I knew that Jack would be in bed – let's hope he's asleep at this time of the night, huh? And I knew that you would have finished your dinner and loaded the dishwasher, and I checked the television channels and there's nothing worth watching, so all in all I picked a fabulous time to call you and show you that I can be a thoughtful and even maybe loving person.'

Sam took a breath and listened to the way Hotch's breathing had deepened somewhat and was that a good sign or not, he wasn't all that sure.

'Sam…' That was what Hotch finally sighed out between his lips which had suddenly gone very dry. 'What do you need?'

'Need? Oh I don't need anything. I was just calling to check up and see, you know… make sure that you're alone. Not alone, I didn't mean alone, not in a creepy sort of way but, I'm not sure how to broach the subject, but I really do promise I'm not actually after anything.'

That was as far as Sam got. It didn't seem to Floyd that he was going to say what he actually needed to, so however much he hated the phone, Floyd snatched it out of Sam's hand and snapped his own words at Hotch. 'It's like this, Aaron, it looks like it's going to be cold over the next couple of weeks and for that reason I thought that you'd not want to see Sam walking the streets and selling his wares to any stranger who will offer him enough money to drop his pants. And I don't think that you want to be called in halfway through your celebrations to be told that Sam had been found dead or seriously injured, in the park, frozen, destroyed and with your phone number stuffed in his back pocket, no change available for the phone because in the beaten state he would be in by that point… you can tell where this is going, can't you? Sam needs a place to stay over the holidays and I know what a kind and generous heart you have so I suggested that he goes to you. He can be there in half an hour. I'll give him money for a cab and something to keep his, I'll… I will not give him drugs. Thank you Aaron, I knew you'd not tell him to fuck off. Have a lovely time and give Jack a hug for me.' The phone was slammed down before Hotch could protest. 'Done. See how easy that was?'

'I really don't think that Hotch wants Sam there. Did he agree to it?' Spencer placed the cocoa and the coffee on the table, on the coasters and flinched slightly when Floyd's fingers twitched. To Reid, this was not going well. This was going to lead to exactly what Floyd had said to Hotch would happen. Sam was going to end up beaten and alone in some hole. Beaten probably by Floyd, but that wasn't the point. He couldn't personally see how Sam was going to be able to spend a few days (which was more likely going to be a couple of weeks at least) at Hotch's place. It wouldn't work. A couple of hours maybe, but over-night? More than one night? Disaster was looming for Hotch.

Spencer's fingernails suddenly became very interesting. He stared at them as he tried to block out the sound of the voices rattling around his head. Ignoring Floyd was not really a very sensible thing to do, but he was doing just that. He ignored the constant demands from Floyd to contact Rossi. He was not going to stay there. He was not going to phone Dave and beg for somewhere to stay over the break. No way that was going to happen. As far as all outside this room knew, life was good. There were no problems. Things might not be set out the way other people would have their lives, but this was Spencer's life and he was not going on his belly, admitting that Floyd had thrown him out so he could have a couple of whores there to celebrate whatever it was Floyd celebrated (it certainly wasn't Christmas) over these next few weeks.

As Spencer inspected his fingernails, ignored a voice which was now directly in his head and not going via his ears (hard to ignore, but ignored nonetheless) he started to grind his teeth and the voice became not only words which Spencer was never sure if was his imagination, his private madness, or voices from hades, someone started to pinch him, on the arm, inner arm, where it actually hurt. He opened his eyes and looked at Floyd who was peering back at him.

'Go say goodbye to Sam. He's packed and ready and then you need to get your things together and you need to prepare to say your goodbyes to me and they might take a bit longer than what I am going to allow you to say to Sam,' Floyd glanced over at where Sam was standing. '…or give Sam. Now look at that happy face of his, and Spence, babes, stop that thing you're doing with your teeth, how many times do I have to tie you up before you'll stop that shit. Move it. Get and say what you need to say, and remember that you don't need to use your hands, fingers, or tongue or any other body part to say goodbye to someone, unless you're saying it to me.'

o-o-o

Hotch stood next to the window in his tidy lounge. He was wearing jeans and Tshirt, and a frown. Carefully he had arranged the curtains, closed, very small gap he could look through to check who or what was going to come knocking on his door or ringing on his bell. This wasn't because he didn't want Jack to wake, though that would have been a good reason. He wanted to make very sure that he didn't accidentally open the door to Sam, who he could see right this moment, sliding out of a yellow coloured cab and slamming the rear door, shouting something at the driver and kicking out just missing doing damage as the car sped away. It had just started to rain. It looked cold. Sam stood for a moment looking over at Hotch's house, his safe place… the light wasn't good enough, nor was the angle of the view he had, to tell what the look was on Sam's face. Hotch let out a long sigh as he watched the teenager walk slowly towards his pathway and then up towards his door.

Though he had no intention, not at all… never would he let that creature into his home, he found he was now standing in front of his lovely front door with his forehead resting on the cool wood, knowing that the door would be opened. Knowing that even though he didn't want Sam in his house, that… yes… even as he was thinking it, he was opening the door, smiling and letting Sam in, taking his bag for him, asking him if there was anything he needed.

'You know, Sam, I don't want trouble. I want you to keep away from Jack. I need you to keep your clothes on and I would really appreciate it if you didn't throw your food at the walls.' A few rules which under normal circumstances, would have been a bit odd, but this was Sam. 'No drugs. No smoking in the house.' He added to the end of his greeting.

'Ah.' Sam said in reply as he walked to the lounge and threw himself onto the couch. 'But it's not drugs. Not as such. I am in such dreadful pain. Awful, dreadful pain. It's medicinal and if you want you can put it in a high up place where Jack can't get to it. For now it's in my bag, near the bottom. But it's really for pain.' Sam pointed to his bag. 'It's just a bit of morphine. Nothing illegal.'

'Go have a shower. Use the downstairs one. Give me that morphine. I'll look after it for you. Please, Sam, don't come out of the shower unless you have dressed yourself again, so whatever it is you wear in bed, put that on.'

Sam raised an eyebrow and nearly smiled. 'Wear in bed? Really?' Now he actually grinned at the man who he was going to try really hard to be nice to, to keep to the rules. He didn't want to be thrown out of the house. Already Spencer had told him to leave and he would let Hotch know that it was all Spencer's fault. Spencer would do anything to make him miserable. That much was shown at the way he reacted during the Christmas tree debacle.

o-o-o

Spencer was not going to contact Rossi. He was not going to tell Floyd, though. There was no need to argue over the matter. There was a very nice motel the other side of the city and it was there he was going to go and spend a few days – really he hoped it wasn't going to be more than that – just relaxing and watching TV and maybe drinking just a bit too much and eating, probably, all the wrong food, but that said, it would be his choices made. No need to compromise on anything.

Oh please, don't go assuming that he minded the little shifts he had to make to keep Floyd happy. He adored that man. Nothing would ever change that. Not even the thought that the man of his dreams – and nightmares – was going to be screwing around with old friends, it wasn't going behind his back, therefore it was not being dishonest and so was not a big problem. It wasn't like he had told Floyd not to do it. (Spencer wanted to spend the next week, at least without a split lip and black eye) It wasn't cheating because Spencer knew all about it. Still made him grind his teeth when he was packing a bag.

He left his, the apartment he shared, after giving his man a quick kiss and a wave goodbye. There were rules he had been told to follow and one of those was to not play around with Dave, which was not likely to happen even if that was where he was going, not to take too many drugs, not to get blind drunk and not to eat too much. Then he was virtually shoved through the door which was closed and locked behind him.

There was money in his bag. He didn't have a card to use – not that he wasn't permitted one; that would have been crazy! Spencer did have his driver's license, but his gun was in the side drawer back at the apartment along with other interesting things. His cell phone was on the table in the hallway. His life was being dragged behind him, but his soul was left behind. It was cold out. It was raining. It was going to be the most miserable week of his life – one of the most miserable, at least he wasn't nailed to a table or tied to a tree, or down a sewer. Fine, not even close to being one of the most miserable, but it still wasn't going to be fun.

The cab dropped him off in the parking lot next to the reception of the motel. The driver huffed some merry words to Spencer, thanked him for the tip, which Reid had accidentally given him and then he strode to the brightly lit building with Christmassy decorations around the window and went in to book a room.

That was perhaps his first mistake.

Maybe, it wasn't. Leaving his cell phone behind might have been the first, or the matter of the gun… perhaps it was that. Not contacting Dave, yes, that was a mistake too and not telling Floyd where he was going.

As Spencer stood in front of door number 7, he considered that first kiss. The one on his dimple. Was that his first mistake, or was it getting on the back of that big old bike with a stranger, almost a stranger. He slipped the key into the lock and pushed the door open to reveal a not very exciting room with a bed and a door leading to the bathroom. A yellow cover over the bed, a dark grey carpet and a small cabinet with somewhere to make a drink (coffee) (granules provided along with small plastic things with a tiny amount of not very nice milk). The room was clean. The red curtains pulled open, and quickly closed to the wet and miserable weather. Spencer dropped his bag onto a small yellow, plastic, chair which stood next to the bed and after closing the door, checking he'd closed the door, making sure that the window was locked, peeking into the bathroom to ensure no stranger was in there. All safe. All secure. He sat on the bed and looked at the TV which he could use if he provided money. With a sigh Spencer flopped back on to the bed and wondered what he was going to do with himself for a week.

He need not have been worried. As it happened, there was plenty of excitement.