I don't own Criminal Minds or any of the characters from the show.

Las Vegas, November 1990

William Reid slipped the old photo he had of Spencer and he at the baseball game back into the side pocket of his wallet. It had been taken just before… the incident, and he'd still been trying to get his boy interested in normal activities. He thought baseball seemed like a good idea. He seemed to like the game, watching the ball fly across the field, using the primary mathematics he'd already learned to see where it would land, and for a time William had thought Spencer might enjoy playing the actual sport. Until another little brat had thrown the ball into Spencer's face. Explaining to Diana how that had happened had not been fun.

He'd spent so many hours trying to connect with Spencer. Always his mother's son, his boy seemed just to be unreachable. He'd been so proud of his genius wife and genius son until he realised that they could communicate on a level he would just never understand. They didn't see the world like he did, and as he grew further apart from Diana after that night, he grew further apart from Spencer. Every time he failed Diana, he failed Spencer. Then he walked out, seven months ago, and he had never gone back.

He had definitely failed them when he'd left them. There was no turning back after that. But he just couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take care of Diana, of Spencer and he couldn't stand the guilt of watching his greatest failure unfold before him. His wife was right, he was a coward, and pathetic, and full of self-fucking-pity. He had considered taking Spencer with him. More than anything he dreamed he might have been able to continue a life with Spencer, even if he couldn't live with Diana anymore. But Diana begged him to take him he knew she needed him. At least that's what he told himself when he imagined Spencer looking after Diana.

"Do you want another refill, Will?" Gary asked. He was one of his old neighbours he used to be close to, when he was still close to Lou Jenkins. Even after he'd left Diana, he still managed to remain a regular at Gary's campus bar.

"Sure, thank-you."

"Ooo, scotch! I'll take one too please!" a perky little voice butted in next to him. "And a tall glass of water."

"Sure thing, Ma'am," Gary shot her a smirk. William heard the flirtatious tone in her voice and resisted the urge to shake his head and laugh. Gary did always attract the ladies.

"Excuse me, sir, my mother is 'Ma'am," she smirked. "Long day at the office?"

It took William a couple of seconds to realise the question was directed at him when Gary started smirking in his direction. He shook his head with stupidity. There was no one else at the bar in a suit with a massive paperwork briefing in front of them after all.

Turning to the girl, he replied, "Believe it or not, this is light."

"You and I have different definitions of the word 'light'. What are you doing working on that anyway? Shouldn't you be watching the game up there?" she gestured lightly towards the big screen TV where the 51s were hitting the ball out of the park. William smiled, knowing Spencer could probably predict to the millimetre where the next swing would land as soon as the ball was swung.

"I didn't even know they were playing tonight," he murmured, smiling as his team made a home run. "You a fan, too."

"Red Sox, home team, through and through," she smiled, sweetly. Behind her, a group of boys taking shots made a cheer for their home team. Lowering her voice, she leaned in with a teasing glint in her eye. "But don't tell anyone here. I might be shot."

"Your secret is safe with me," he smiled back. She'd leaned in so close he could smell her perfume –sweet roses – and now he could also see her eyes more clearly in the low light. They were a deep, dark blue, flecked with grey, with a clarity that startled him, glowing with the intemperance and endeavour of youth. When she brushed her hand up against his forearm, quite deliberately tracing her fingernails along the skin below his wristwatch, he realised why Gary had seemed so disinterested in the "tall glass of water" comment. "So, um, Red Sox… Boston native?"

"When I want to be. At the moment I'm enjoying being a Las Vegas girl," she had raised her eyes a little when he stammered, probably taking it as encouragement when he didn't withdraw. When he swallowed, she smiled, clearly enjoying making him nervous. "I'm finding I get very lucky in the casinos. They like to think they're taking advantage of the innocent, little college girl, but my poker face is way too good for them."

"Ah, so, you're good at… poker?"

"I'm a master," she purred. She reached behind her, picking up their scotch's that Gary had quietly set down beside them. Bringing one to her lips, she smacked them together, moving away.

Catching Gary's eye over her shoulder, William shifted in his seat so he was more comfortable, and raised his glass to toast with her. "Gary, can you put the young lady's drink on my tab, please?" Gary responded with a quick thumbs up, before moving back down the bar. "And do I get to know your name, or are we going to remain anonymous?"

"Saphya," she smiled. When he raised his eyebrows, she rolled her eyes and smiled. "It's my nickname. My Christian name is Sapphire and my mother is Russian."

"I like it. It's much more interesting than mine. I'm just plain old William."

"William a great name. It's a name of kings," she laughed. "But thank you. Most guys tell me Sapphire sounds like a stripper name."

"Then those men are idiots," William smiled at her. From the corner of his eye, he saw the papers he had been reading disappear and his briefcase slide off the bar. He didn't need to look up to know that Gary was tucking them away for him. The movement jogged his memory of a particular present a very happy client had passed onto him a couple of weeks ago that he had had no intention of using until now. "Saphya have you ever been to The Galaxy Lounge?"

"Only in my dreams."

"I was hoping you'd say that. You see, I happen to currently be in possession of a V.I.P ticket for two. We could finish watching the game here, and move over to take our chances at the tables if you like."

"That sounds amazing," she grinned, happily, caught off her guard for the moment. "oh my god, how did you get that?"

"A very generous client with very good connections," he smiled, enjoying her smile growing wider and wider. It livened the eyes and sparkled the flecks of silver within them. Stretching his hand over the counter, he settled his fingers along her long, bony hands, smooth and perfectly manicured. With a genuine smile, she overturned her hand and weaved her fingers through his. After that moment, he did not think of Diana or Spencer again until the next morning.

A few days later, in the mountainous regions of Vermont where the sportsmen and women often gravitated to enjoy their winter holidays, Quentin Wilmot was navigating his car through one of the worst snowstorms to hit the north-eastern states for decades. It was impossible to avoid, of course. It had only hit him once he was half the way up the mountain, so he saw little point in turning back.

Outside, the piles of snow resting on the rocks were reaching higher than the average man. Whipped and peaked in the heavy wind, they threatened to loom and crush him, like a million tidal waves broken only by the sharp digs the road had hammered into the incline. His wipers were furiously batting at the thick balls of snow that threatened frost up his windscreen. Beyond a few meters, the entire world was invisible, like it had been swallowed by this chasm that had fallen with the storm. He needed to pace himself at a meter thirty mph if he was going to make it through this journey alive.

Beside him were his daughter's birthday presents, piled high on the seat. His mother had been so unexpectedly generous for Lillian again, as had Edward and Ekaterina, and Emmet and Shirley. Even Saphya, Elsa, Sally, Dinah, Wesley and James had sent little something's in the mail for their cousin. It was good to know that the Wilcot's had produced some decent brood in their most recent generation. Even if the rest of them remained as ignorant as his remaining siblings.

While Quentin pondered this, the curve of the road to bring him around the crag came into his view, courtesy of a powerful streetlight. Taking his car down a gear for the turn, he cast his eyes up for a moment, checking for other headlights, before moving a little further into the road so the turn would be less wide. As the car was just leaning upward, a series of thunders clapped over his head like an applause, muted slightly a sudden howl of the storm. The gearstick started to vibrate beneath his hand, suddenly jolting him into pilot mode, where his brain automatically though 'stall warning'. Then his seat, wheel and dashboard started to thrum quite violently as well, as the thunder gradually grew louder and faster, almost like a roar. Then it cracked wickedly, snapping at him. Curiosity tempted him to stop the car, but pilot instincts commanded that he slam his foot on the accelerator.

Quentin Wilcot didn't make any mistakes that night. In fact, had everything happened a few seconds slower he might not have been caught by the brunt of the avalanche. He would have been buried, battered and bruised, of course, by the surrounding snow and rocks, but it was the tree that caught him broadside. As one, the batter of snow, tree and boulder knocked him off the road and down two hundred meters into a crack running all the way up the mountain ridge.

I hope people got the euphemisms I was trying to do in the scene between William and Saphya. I'm terrible at flirtation scenes.