**Author's Note: Sadly, I cannot take credit for Reid's Hallmark comment...it was part of an anonymous e-card I saw on Facebook. But all other ideas are mine...just not the characters enacting them.**
A loud metallic crash jolted Erin Strauss awake with a small cry of alarm, arms flailing wildly as she was ripped from peaceful slumber. She laid there for a moment, not moving, not breathing, waiting for another sound, another clue, her mind already traveling to the handgun she kept tucked under the edge of the mattress.
Her muscles relaxed when she heard the familiar sound of her progeny moving around downstairs—the three distinct laughs (Christopher's deep, rolling chuckle, Anna's high-pitched giggle, Jordan's snort), the three different treads, the distinct feeling she got whenever she instinctively knew all three of her chicks were back in the nest. She rolled over to look at the clock and felt another wave of shock—all three of her brood in her house before 6 am? It must be a very special occasion.
Of course. It was Valentine's Day.
Erin gave an irritated sigh. She knew she should be touched by their concern, but sometimes her children's sentimentality really irked her (they got that from their father, she certainly wasn't the one with the emotive mood swings).
It was her second Valentine's Day as a single divorcee. It was her first one as a single sober divorcee. She groaned with the realization that a lovely bottle of Roscato (or two or three) would not be allowed to help her get through the day. She personally bore no ill-will towards the holiday; she could even withstand the profusions of love and the gooey-eyed couples that would seemly spring from nowhere simply because this day held some magical powers over the human emotion. She enjoyed being single (most of the time), and now she enjoyed being sober (some of the time). What she couldn't stand, what she didn't enjoy, were all the people who pitied her, the people who seemed to think that her current relationship status was a source of embarrassment, a delicate subject that would turn her into a puddle of tears, broken pieces of her heart crunching underfoot like shattered glass. Erin Strauss would rather endure a root canal sans novocaine than be the source of someone's pity.
There was another disturbance downstairs; she could hear Jordan's low voice, obviously chiding them to be quieter. Erin chuckled—stealth had never been her children's strong suit. With one last sigh, she pushed herself out of bed, wrapped her frame in her favorite house coat (worn, warm, comfortable, a gift from Mother's Day over a decade ago), and padded barefoot down the stairs.
The three culprits were in the kitchen—Christopher holding a large bowl of pancake mixture, Jordan leaning over the recipe card, face scrunched as she read her mother's spidery scrawl, Anna sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, not really offering much help.
Anna saw her first, beaming at her mother brightly, "Morning, Mom. Happy Valentine's Day."
"It would be much happier if I was allowed to at least sleep until sunrise," Erin replied dryly, although the grin on her face gave her away.
Jordan moved across the kitchen, deftly pouring her mother a cup of coffee and preparing it just how she liked it. She offered the mug with a quick peck on her mother's cheek, "I knew you'd hear us before it was over. You and your ultra-sonic hearing."
Erin chuckled. Her children always joked that they could drop a pin on the other end of the house and she would appear in ten seconds to investigate, "Well, you weren't exactly ninjas this morning."
Her children all exchanged sheepish smiles. Erin took a sip of her coffee and then set it to the side, shooing Chris away from the mixing bowl and taking over.
"We're supposed to be cooking for you, not the other way around," Jordan chided, but she didn't actually move to stop her mother—she knew better.
Erin simply smiled. Christopher bounded over to the kitchen table, drawing her attention to a tasteful bouquet of irises and tulips.
"Oh, you shouldn't have," Erin's eyes were wide.
Chris shook his head, holding up a hand to stop his mother's effusions, "It wasn't me. It was on the front doorstep when Jordan and I showed up."
"Looks like you have a valentine after all," Anna added with an arched eyebrow.
Erin shot her youngest daughter a slightly reprimanding look. Anna was the only one still living at home; she knew better than anyone that her mother was still very much single.
"What's the card say?" She asked nonchalantly, turning her focus to the pancake mixture and effectively hiding her interest, which was definitely piqued by this surprise gift.
"That's just it," Jordan's face scrunched in confusion. "There isn't any."
"Then how do we know they're for me?" Erin poured the batter onto the griddle with the effortless ease from years of practice. She motioned to Anna with her chin, "Maybe it's one of Anna's little boyfriends."
Jordan gave a contemptuous snort, "Like any of them would have the taste to pick out a bouquet like that."
Anna shot her sister a dark look, but didn't respond.
"Besides, these flowers are your favorites," Chris pointed out. "It has to be someone who knows you."
"It could be a delivery mix up," Erin countered. "I'm not the only woman in this city who prefers tulips to roses."
The incredulous look that passed between Jordan and Christopher told her that they highly doubted this.
"It's someone who knows you very well," Jordan stated, taking the now-empty batter bowl from her mother and rinsing it in the sink before depositing it in the dishwasher.
"And who wants to know you even better," Chris wagged his eyebrows playfully.
"Christopher," his mother's tone was reprimanding, but there was a smile at the corner of her mouth.
Jordan was at her elbow again, lightly pushing Erin out of the way. "Go sit down. I can handle this part."
Erin didn't argue; she scooped up her coffee and settled into a chair, angling so that she could see all of her children. Chris sat across the table, pushing the bouquet towards her, "Aren't you even going to look at them?"
She picked up the blooms with one hand, turning it over to inspect the wrapping. It wasn't a pre-fab bouquet bought in a hurry at some grocery store—it was handpicked, arranged and wrapped at a real flower shop. They were right—it was a personal gift from someone who knew her very well.
"Maybe you could take it to work and have it dusted for prints," Anna suggested, hopping off the counter top.
Erin gave a dry laugh at the idea. That would be just too perfect, storming around the FBI building, trying to track down the identity of the sender like some love-starved, obsessed woman in a Lifetime movie.
"It's not really my style, sweetie," she set the bouquet back on the table. Anna quickly swooped in, taking the flowers and moving back to the cabinets in search of a vase. She glanced at both of her elder children, "So…no hot dates for either of you this evening?"
"Oh, Mom," Jordan wrinkled her nose in distaste. She flipped another pancake with the spatula, her eyes flitting over to Chris, "I'm sure ol' lover boy has some bottle-blonde coed lined up."
"Hey," Erin warned playfully, lightly running her fingers across her own tresses. "Nothing wrong with bottle-blondes."
"And who says I only have one lined up?" Chris asked playfully. Jordan simply shook head with a dramatic sigh, and Erin's amusement blossomed into a full grin as she enjoyed the caustic banter that had filled her house for almost as long as those two were both able to talk. Jordan was twenty-three now; Chris would be nineteen next month—but they both looked too young to be so old (Erin didn't look so baby-faced and innocent when she was their ages, at least she didn't think so). She missed having them under the same roof, missed the noise and the laughter, missed the quiet moments of mothering she'd had with each of them, curling up on the couch to watch movies or cooking meals or walking around the block with them as they sorted through the emotional roller-coaster of high school.
"Uh-oh," Jordan noticed her nostalgic expression. She transferred another pancake from the griddle onto a plate, setting down the spatula and moving around the island towards her mother.
"I'm fine," Erin held up a hand to ward her off, but her daughter simply pushed forward, wrapping her into a hug.
"You're so adorably tough," Jordan planted another kiss atop her hair, letting go and moving back to the stove. Anna popped up from the cabinets again, holding a vase up triumphantly. She filled it with water,removed the wrapping from the flowers and set them in the vase, placing it in the middle of the kitchen island with a small smile of satisfaction.
"They really are quite nice," Jordan changed the subject.
"Yes," Erin admitted with a smile. "They are."
Penelope Garcia flounced onto the elevator, her neon green dress with anatomically correct royal blue hearts perfectly matched to the equally bright patent pumps. There were streaks and baubles in her hair of various neon shades, which seemed only to make her fiery tresses glow like a lite-brite collage. This outfit was complimented with a cheery, brilliant smile that benefited the unofficial Mad Hatter of Quantico.
"Good morning," she sing-songed with childish excitement as she beamed at Morgan, Reid, and Blake. "And a happy Saint Valentine's Day to you all!"
"Saint Valentine was beaten, stoned, and beheaded," Reid stated in his usual matter-of-fact tone, as if he were simply commenting on the weather. He looked down at his phone, his face skewed in confusion, "The Hallmark cards never mention that."
Derek Morgan simply stared at him for a full beat, this boy who was so oblivious and factual and so very...Spencer.
Just as the doors were about to close, a hand reached out, causing the doors to automatically jump back open. Erin Strauss slipped in, maneuvering herself and her bag around the other occupants. Spencer Reid fought back the urge to reprimand her for sticking her hand in like that—every year, 20 to 30 elevator-related fatalities occurred and some were from people getting limbs caught in the closing doors and being pulled up to the next story. Luckily for his fellow occupants, he kept this to himself.
"Happy Valentine's Day, ma'am," Penelope leaned over, almost conspiratorially.
Erin gave a quick nod, "You, too, Agent Garcia."
She looked over her shoulder, giving a nod of greeting to the other agents as well, "Agent Blake, Agent Morgan, Dr. Reid."
"Morning, ma'am," Alex Blake replied flatly, and somehow, she made it sound like an insult.
Erin noted the tone, but simply looked away. Her phone buzzed and she fumbled inside her purse until she found it, answering it with a tart, "What?"
Her favorite child was unfazed by her greeting, "So, have you found out who the mystery guy is yet?"
"No, and I don't plan to," she lowered her voice, trying to edge into the corner of the elevator, as far away from the others as possible.
Penelope Garcia instantly picked up on this furtive move, and she slowly shifted closer, thanking the gods above for blessing her with exceptionally good hearing, which allowed her to make out most of the conversation—whoever was on the phone with Erin spoke in a deep enough voice to carry quite well.
"Mom, someone left you flowers—your favorite flowers—on your doorstep on the most romantic day of the year," the voice spoke again (obviously, it was Erin's son…or a daughter with hormonal issues). "You can't just let it go."
"I don't believe it's really any of your business, Christopher," Erin said tiredly, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. She knew that the others could at least hear her side of the conversation (she was completely unaware of Garcia's covert listening abilities) and she cringed as she realized how horrible she sounded—she was certainly furthering her rep as the spiteful bitch upstairs.
"Mom—"
"I really have to go," Erin lowered her voice. "I love you, you know I do, but I have to go."
She hung up, despite the protests of her child, letting out a huge sigh. The elevator chimed as the doors opened, and the rest of the BAU team got out, leaving Erin to travel alone two more floors up to her office.
Once the doors closed, Garcia let out a squeal of glee, "Strauss has got herself a fancy man!"
"Fancy man?" Blake laughed at the term.
"Someone's been watching Downton Abbey again," Morgan commented.
"She does!" Penelope would not be deterred. "I overheard the other person on the phone—someone sent her flowers! Her favorite flowers!"
"Probably Rossi," Blake spoke before she realized what she was saying. Penelope turned to her with wide eyes, and Blake knew she was in trouble.
"Rossi?" Morgan looked at her in confusion. Garcia and Reid simply exchanged cryptic looks (that morning at the hotel, they'd seen Rossi leave, followed by Strauss…).
"They…they have history," Blake tried to down-play it. "They've known each other for decades; he would know stuff like that…"
"I would," Rossi's voice took them all by surprise. He breezed by without a backward glance, "Irises and tulips, but I didn't send her anything."
Penelope's jaw dropped, "How much did you overhear?"
"Enough to know what you do on Sunday nights," he replied easily, climbing the stairs and disappearing into his office with a small smirk. Sometimes it was just too easy.
"So if it wasn't Rossi, then who was it?" Penelope crossed her arms over her chest.
"It could be someone from outside the Bureau." Morgan suggested. This earned him a snort from Blake.
"That woman's married to the job. She wouldn't have time to meet anyone outside of this building," the brunette sat at her desk and began sorting through the papers in her in-box.
"Give us a theory, Boy-Wonder," Penelope nudged Spencer, who'd remained awfully quiet throughout the conversation.
"It was me," he said simply, tucking his hands into his pockets.
His coworkers all stopped and slowly turned to look at him as if he'd grown a second head.
"She's in AA now; romantic relationships are highly discouraged. I knew she'd feel a little low on a day like today. So I sent her flowers," he shrugged easily, as if it wasn't a big deal at all that he had just sent a bouquet of flowers on Valentine's Day to the Section Chief (who happened to be an easy twenty years his senior).
"How did you know what her favorites were?" Morgan tried to wrap his head around the whole thing.
"It was a hunch, really. When I first came to the BAU, she had some framed floral prints in her office—they were all irises and tulips."
"Wow. I can't…I just…wow." Penelope blinked hard, trying to clear the weird fog of shock from her mind.
"What?" Reid looked at her. "It's not like I sent her roses or some other traditionally romantic symbol. It was just a friendly gift."
Morgan began to chuckle to himself. Blake simply returned her attention to her papers, avoiding his gaze.
"What? It was!" Reid repeated.
"My darling, darling boy," Penelope wrapped her arm around his thin shoulders. "For all your intelligence, you really haven't mastered understanding the difference between male and female logic."
"Good morning," JJ appeared with a smile and a stack of folders. "We've got a new case—I'm calling a briefing just as soon as I drop these action reports off at Strauss' office."
"Let Spence do it," Penelope suggested brightly.
"What?" Reid turned to look at her.
"Why?" JJ was lost. Penelope's sly smile wasn't exactly a welcome omen.
"They have a lot to talk about this morning," came the cheerful reply as the brightly-decorated technical analyst snatched away the folders and thrust them into Reid's arms. "Go, Flower Power."
Reid mumbled something in protest, but he dutifully headed towards the elevators.
"What just happened?" JJ asked slowly, not quite sure she wanted the answer.
"Reid sent Strauss flowers this morning," Penelope replied, as if that answered everything.
"What?!"
"C'mon," she grabbed the blonde's hand with a conspiratorial grin. "There's a janitor's closet next to Strauss' office and I know the pass code—we should totally eavesdrop on them! Oh, please, JJ, please!"
JJ turned to Morgan, who simply walked away, throwing up his hands in surrender. But Penelope wouldn't take no for an answer, and JJ didn't really want to miss the potential comedic situation, so the two quickly disappeared.
Alex Blake shook her head with a heavy sigh. Aaron Hotchner walked in, looking around in surprise, "Where's everyone gone?"
"Crazy, apparently," Blake muttered, turning her attention back to her computer screen. "I mean, who sends irises on Valentine's Day?"
**Also: For those of you who aren't Downton Abbey fans, "fancy man" is usually what the downstairs staff use in reference to a beau. And it airs on Sunday nights in the US, hence Rossi's quip about knowing what Garcia did on Sundays...which means that ROSSI knows the DA air schedule...hmmm...**