A/N: This is written for the "Everything's Coming up…Flowers" April Challenge at Chit Chat on Author's Corner. My chosen character was David Rossi, and chosen flower was daffodils. My assigned character was Spencer Reid. I'm late getting it posted, but here it is now.
Flowers are words which even a babe may understand.- Arthur Cleveland Coxe
As he parked his car and started to walk, David Rossi remembered that he hated cemeteries. Dave mentally rolled his eyes at his thought. Most people hated cemeteries, with the exception of genealogical researchers and the odd crackpot. But Dave had a very good reason for hating Columbia Gardens Cemetery in particular. Within these nicely manicured grounds, were the remains of James David Rossi, Dave's son, who drew breath on this earth for a mere four hours before his damaged heart could no longer go on. The first few times that Dave had come here, to try to talk to James, he couldn't face it without a few glasses of fine red wine circulating in his blood, but as the years went on, he didn't need the alcohol as liquid courage, but continued to bring a bottle of Shiraz, first one, then two glasses and a small blanket. Sometimes, for a few brief, blissful moments, Dave could pretend that he was just having a picnic with his son. As he rounded the corner that lead to his son's resting place, Dave was surprised to see a figure standing over James's headstone. Even from this distance, the figure was unmistakable, but what Dave couldn't figure out was why Spencer Reid would be standing there, with a bouquet of daffodils clutched in his hand. Dave continued his trek to the gravesite, purposely walking loudly, as not to alarm his son's unexpected visitor. When he was within a few feet, he cleared his throat and simply said, "Dr. Reid"
Spencer's head swiveled towards the voice, he had hear the footsteps but was still a bit startled. Not quite looking Dave in the eye, words started to tumble from his mouth.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude, but when I was here visiting Emily two weeks ago, I was feeling restless, so I went for a walk afterwards, just reading the headstones as I went. And I saw this one, I know Rossi isn't an uncommon name, but with David being the middle name, I didn't think it was a coincidence. And I just kind of felt that this," Spencer took a quick breath, made a fidgety gesture with the hand not holding the daffodils, then continued, "familiarity. And I saw the date, so I figured when I came this week to see Emily, I would bring flowers for your son too. I took a class in collage about the meaning of flowers, my counselor wanted me to take at least one class a semester that was 'artistic'. So both the flowers for your son and for Emily have meaning. I come to see Emily every week, I read something, about an island tribe in the Caribbean, who mourn, full out, for lost love ones for 10 weeks and somehow it seemed a good thing to do."
Dave was unfazed by the rapid, almost steam of consciousness, ramblings was listening to. Over the years he had slowly gotten used to how Spencer disseminated information, with feelings laced within the facts and he couldn't help but admire his young colleague. Having been raised a traditional Italian male, he was used to the idea of keeping his emotions to himself, but Spencer had always worn his on his sleeve, and more than once Dave had wondered if that wasn't more healthy. The whole team had taken the loss of Emily hard, but apparently Spencer was the only one acting on his feelings of grief. But not wanting to make the young man feel uncomfortable about all he had revealed, Dave focused on the flowers first. "So, what do they mean?" he asked, warmly, a slight nod of his head to the bouquet in Spencer's hand.
"The daffodil is a symbol of rebirth - a sign of the new beginnings that come with spring. As a spring flower that blossoms when the sun begins to shine, it expresses joy, signifying love, regard, and respect, and since his birthday is in spring, I thought they would be appropriate," Spencer said, adjusting his grip on the flowers, before placing them in the holder. "Then Emily's are mixed zinnias and statice. The zinnias mean thinking of an absent friend and the statice is symbolic of remembrance. I made sure there were a few red ones, red being Emily's favorite color." Spencer bend down, picking up his messenger bag, and the bouquet that had been lying next to it. "Did you want to go with me to take these to her?" Spencer invited, somewhat hesitantly.
Dave was torn, he didn't want him to have to do this alone, but hearing the hesitation in Spencer's voice he knew that Spencer probably needed privacy to talk to Emily the way he would want to. Compromising, Dave said, "Why don't you head over and I will join you in a little while." Dave didn't miss the brief expression of relief that flashed on his young friend's face and was glad he had decided to answer the way he did.
Spencer smiled faintly at Dave, nervously adjusted his messenger bag on his shoulder, and then said, "Take all the time you need here, I'll wait for you."
As Dave watched Spencer walk towards Emily's grave, he realized that had J.D. lived, he and Spencer would be near the same age. He wondered if subconsciously he had never thought of that before because he didn't want the daily reminder of his loss. Dave couldn't help but think that he would have been a very proud father if his son had grown up to be the type of man Spencer was. Highly educated, working an important but stressful job, Spencer had somehow maintain a naiveté that was charming. And he had accomplished everything in his life without any input from a father. When working on a case in Las Vegas, Dave had learned that Spencer had not spoken with his father ever as an adult. Basically, Spencer was a son without a dad and Dave was a dad without a son, and Dave now knew this needed to change. He might not have been there to give Spencer the sex talk or for graduations, but Dave would help guide Spencer through the time left in his 10 weeks of mourning for Emily, and reassure him when he realized the pain didn't go away on a time schedule. He would advise him what it meant when that cute girl at a coffee shop smiled at him and acted coy. Dave vowed from this day forward he would be there for Spencer as a father would.
"What do you think, J.D.?" Dave asked, stroking his hand across the top of James's headstone, "Do you want a big, little brother?" Just then, a soft breeze came up, and Spencer's daffodils swayed gently, the heads of the flowers seeming to nod up and down.
Dave smiled, "that just what I thought you'd say."
All day long blew the daffodils,
Oh, what a sight to see,
A myriad gold-gowned daffodils,
Moved to a rhythmic glee.
Teresa Hooley
