Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of the characters related to the series.

This follows Reid after Maeve's death. Some things will be cannon, others will not. (I picture Spencer like the end of season 8 Spencer and then the beginning of season 9 Spencer.) Many of the statistics that Spencer quotes in this story are fake. I made them up because if I had actually taken the time to research them all, you would have no story. Call it lazy if you wish. Some of the statistics are actually accurate, though.

○■●□ Nightingale

"Good evening, everyone. Thank you all for being here. Members, thank you for sticking it out and making it this far. Family, thank you for coming and supporting our members. Without your support, many of us would not make it. Yes, I say us. Some may not know how these programs work, but I, too, was an addict. I've been clean for over 15 years. I assure you, it is a long and hard road. I would not have made it this far without my family. This is our first family meeting. We will be opening up the rest of the meetings to family participation as well, so feel free to come to as many meetings as you'd like. We will now go around the room and share our names, drug, or drugs, of choice, and the name of the family member here with us today. I will begin. My name is John Harley. My choice drug was liquid heroin, or a type of GHB. With me today is my sister Sarah."

"Hi, John," the group collectively says.

I feel like I'm at a cult meeting.

"My name is Isobel Rodriguez. My drug was paint thinner. With me today is my husband, Edgar."

"Hi, Isobel."

Seriously, a cult meeting.

"My name is Spencer. I injected dilauded," a tall, skinny guy says that looks like he's too young to know what a drug is, let alone inject an opioid.

He's sitting alone, and he looks very uneasy. His dark eyes dart back and forth amongst us, but his glance lingers on me for slightly longer than everyone else.

"Is there no one here with you today, Spencer?" John asks.

"No," he says quickly. "I don't... there wasn't...my mom is...she's sick and I don't have any other family."

"Hi, Spencer," everyone says after a long lull.

The rest of the members introduce themselves, we greet them like a new convert in our satanic cult, and then all eyes are on us.

"I'm Kairah," my mirror image gives a small smile. "My drug was cocaine," she says with a confidence I've never heard before. "With me today is my twin sister, Kairhyn."

I smile at everyone, but I see that guy, Spencer, staring at me with an indescribable look in his eyes. He smiles back nervously and runs a hand through his long, curly hair. He actually is a little cute.

"We're going to do something a little different tonight," John says. "Instead of our members telling their story, I would like for our family members to tell the story from their point of view. Who would like to begin?"

There is a long, almost uncomfortable silence in the room.

"I will," I say quietly.

Every eye stares at me. Maybe this was a bad idea.

"Kairah started using our senior year of high school," I begin slowly. "We went to a party and there were all kinds of drugs and alcohol there. I was on the cheerleading squad, and we had random drug tests at school for athletes, so I stayed as far away from it all as I could. Despite our many similarities," I pause and smile at my sister, "Kairah hates any kind of sport, cheerleading especially. Her boyfriend at the time convinced her to have a couple drinks. A couple turned into too many to count. I tried to take her home," I have to pause to gather my wits.

My throat feels like it's closing and I can feel the tears gathering in my eyes.

"I told her that I hated her, that I couldn't stand being related to her and that I never wanted to speak to her again. She tried to reason with me, but I was far too drunk, and I slapped her in the face in front of everyone that was there," Kairah finishes for me.

"I went home after that, told our parents that she was staying the night with some friends. Soon after I left, her boyfriend convinced her to do a line. He told her that it wouldn't hurt her and no one would have to know. She almost didn't graduate high school. She was addicted for 5 years before I convinced her to get help."

"And how did you do that?" John asks.

"Um," the words get lost. "She missed the funeral for our parents and brother," I finally choke out. "I began taking care of our niece. I told her how hard it was to do it all by myself and how hard it was to stand alone at the funeral. A week later she went to rehab. She's been out for a while now, and has been clean for almost a year."

"I'm very sorry for your loss," John says. "May I ask how your parents and brother passed?"

"My brother was living in Montana at the time. His girlfriend left him after our niece was born and severed all of her parental rights. My parents went out to help him move back. They were killed on the interstate when a truck slammed into them. The driver had been using LSD. Emma is the only one that survived."

"Forgive me, Kairah," John says. "But that story sounds very different from the one you first told us."

"I was ashamed," she nodded. "I didn't want to admit, even to myself, that an addict killed my family, or that any of it was true, actually."

"I understand," John nods.

The rest of the members of the group assist their family members in telling their stories. Most of them started using because they were running away from themselves, at least that's what they say. It feels like years have gone by when we finally get to the last member to tell their story: Spencer.

"Spencer, would you like to share your story today?" John asks. "You never have shared with us before."

"Well," he pauses. "Did you know that 40 to 60 percent of drug users relapse, and of that 40 to 60 percent, 50 percent are those who attended NA meetings regularly and shared their story weekly. The constant repitition of their story triggers remorse for their actions, but for many it can restore the cravings that they thought they had overcome. 35 percent of these individuals relapse after only a year of being clean. There is a good chance that some of these individuals were psychopaths. German psychologist Alfred Adler theorized that..."

He hasn't taken a breath since he started talking.

"What are you, an encyclopedia?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

He immediately stops and looks at me sheepishly, his teeth resting on his pouty lower lip.

"No," he says finally. "I have a Bachelor's in psychology," he stutters. "And sociology. As well as Doctorate's in mathematics, engineering, and chemistry."

"How old are you?" I blurt out again, unable to contain my disbelief.

"32," he says shyly.

"What, did you graduate high school when you were 12?" I scoff.

"Actually, yes," he nods.

The whole room stays quiet as he and I stare at each other.

"How about we take a short break for refreshments?" John finally breaks the silence.

Spencer immediately gets up and leaves the room.

"Kairhyn," Kairah smacks my arm. "That was so mean."

"I didn't mean to," I explain. "It kind of just came out."

"That whole conversation just happened before you could stop it?" she raises an eyebrow.

"Yes," I roll my eyes. "Well, not entirely, I guess."

"When he comes back in here, you apologize," she whispers as people move around us to get drinks.

A mere minute passes by and she smacks me again.

"What did I do now?" I wince.

"He's back," she points to the refreshments where he's getting a bottled water.

"Kairah," I whine. "Later, okay?"

"No, now," she shakes her head. "He's standing over there by himself."

I sigh and prepare to rid myself of all of my dignity.

"Hi," I say coming up behind him.

"Hi," he says, clearly startled by my presence.

"Um, earlier," I stutter, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. Sometimes my mouth opens and words come out before they've received the approval of my brain and..."

"That's actually impossible," he comments.

"I just mean..." I say, flustered.

"I know," he actually smiles. "It's okay. I'm kind of used to it."

"So, what, do you have an IQ of like 1 billion or something? I smile back.

"187," he says quickly.

"Wow," I blink a few times. "So how could someone as intelligent as you are get addicted to Dilauded?"

"Well," he begins, but hesitates.

"I'm sorry," I shake my head. "That was rude. Anyone can get addicted, and your story is your business."

"You're kind of right," he shrugs. "It was stupid."

"It looks like they're almost ready to start, so I guess we should, uh," I gesture towards the rest of the group.

"Yeah," he nods. "It was nice talking to you."

He extends his hand and I take it. I expect his grip to be overly firm like every other man's, they always overcompensate, but instead he's gentle. His long fingers extend well past my wrist, but before I can relish his touch for too long, he retracts his hand and joins the group again.

"What was that?" Kairah whispers to me when I sit down beside her again.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I whisper back, but when I look up, my eyes meet his.

"He's kinda cute," she comments as he smiles awkwardly at me.

The meeting finally ends and we all get up to leave. Before my eyes can find his again, he's gone.

"You should come back next week," Kairah comments as we walk to the car. "Ya know, so you can stare each other down again."

"Whatever," I roll my eyes and pull out of the parking lot.

That night, my dreams consist of him. No matter how hard I try, I can't make it stop. As soon as I close my eyes, I see his hazel ones staring back at me, his pouty lower lip, chapped from his nervous habit of licking and biting his lip, his long fingers on my hips. I decide that if I see him again, maybe that will make these dreams, which get more detailed as the week goes on, go away.

I go with Kairah to the next meeting and make sure we get there early so that I have plenty of time to look at him and maybe talk to him before the meeting starts. But five minutes into the meeting, he's still not here. I know that he's not coming.

"I bet he didn't come back because of how mean and rough you were last week," Kairah whispers.

"That's not true!" I whisper back roughly.

As hard as I have tried to hide my thoughts and dreams, there is no fooling my sister.

"Maybe he's just running really, really late?" She offers.

It is for this reason that I find myself casting wistful glances to the doorway every few moments as the meeting continues. If anyone has been speaking to me, I wouldn't know; Spencer consumes my thoughts.

The following week, I go to the meeting again. I need to see him. I linger outside for a few minutes before the meeting, hoping that I can catch him outside. I go inside with no luck. Just as I did last week, my eyes shift towards the door every few seconds. He doesn't show.

"You really did scare him off," Kairah whispers as Isobel talks about her struggle with her husband painting the house.

"Maybe he's just busy," I scoff, silently peeved that she noticed my wistful glances.

Wistful glances? Am I writing a ridiculous Nicholas Sparks novel now? But unfortunately, that's exactly what they were: wistful glances. I tried to focus on the trials and tribulations that the members confess to the group, but I can't help but wonder what happened to make a genius start using drugs. Maybe he's a psychopath? He mentioned something about psychopaths when he was dodging the questioning from John. Or maybe it's the fact that his brain is too large for his skull so it causes some horrible pain that he's trying to escape. That has to be it. Definitely.

Finally, the meeting ends and Kairah and I head to the diner that we have begun to frequent after the meetings the past few weeks. The coffee is awful and the burgers are worse, but the pie is to die for. We take our usual seat, and since the food is subpar and hardly anyone comes to this place, the waitress puts in the order for our usual. In a shorter time than it should take for our food to cook, our dinners are sitting in front of us.

"So, you think you're gonna keep dreaming about him?" Kairah asks as she takes a bite out of her charred chicken strips.

"Dreaming about who?" I feign innocence.

"Mr. Mysterious," she bats her eyelashes.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I roll my eyes.

"Oh come on," she says, "he's cute."

"You do not think he's cute."

"I do," she insists. "He has really nice eyes, and that pouty lip thing is totally bad boy-esque, and the hair..."

"What about his hair?" I interrupt.

"It's so Heath Ledger."

"Then why don't you date him?" I blurt.

"Not my type," she brushes it off.

"You just gave me every reason why I should date him."

"Any guy that my sister is into is not my type."

"That is not true," I counter.

"Name one!' Her mouth falls open.

"Matthew Williams, Jackson Hall, Christopher Woods..."

"Okay, okay, point taken," she folds her arms.

"I win," I smile and throw my undercooked french fry at her.

That night, and every other night, I dream of meeting Spencer again. I've barely spoken to him, yet my dreams could make Christian Gray blush. I'm almost ashamed of myself. Almost.

For the duration of the next week, I try not to let my thoughts of Spencer interfere with my daily tasks, especially taking care of Emma, but no matter how hard I try, I find myself dreaming of him while she sits at the table fingerpainting. As a matter of fact, I'm completely oblivious when she gets up and starts running her hands up and down the walls. Blue, red, and purple hand prints are the new wallpaper in the kitchen.

Finally, it's time for the next meeting. I go with Kairah and we arrive right before the meeting is supposed to start. We slide into our seats right as John begins his welcoming speech. The first thing that I noticed when I walked in is that Spencer is not here. I kind of gave up hope that he would come back. It's been weeks since he's come to a meeting, so I doubt that he's coming back. His absence this week solidifies that belief for me, so for the first time since family night, I actually listen as John recounts his journey. He is just about to ask which member would like to begin sharing when the door swings open. I turn my head and come eye to hazel eye.

"Spencer, good to see you," John smiles. "I was worried we'd lost you."

"No," he stumbles as he sits down. "I've been working. Sorry I'm late, I got held up at work again."

"Not a problem," John smiles again, "just glad to have you back."

The meeting goes on like usual, everyone expresses their thoughts and feelings, Kairah shares that she's had a hard week filled with plenty of urges. I feel bad that I haven't even noticed that she's been struggling, I've been too preoccupied with the man that I catch stating at me every time I look up.

"Spencer," John says as if reading my thoughts. "I know how you feel about sharing, but could you tell us how long you've been clean at least?"

"Um," he hesitates. "Almost 7 years."

"Wow," John says quietly while nodding his head. "Everyone, let's give it up for Spencer."

Everyone begins clapping and it occurs to me yet again that I feel like I'm in a cult meeting.

"So what brings you back, Spencer?" John asks.

"I uh," Spencer pauses, "I've had some urges lately."

"What do you think the cause of these urges are?" John asks.

"Did you know that 30% of all the addicts that relapse do so because they are trying to help someone else recover? Aristotle said, 'Friendship is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.' When a person is..."

"Is that why you've had the urges?" I interrupt. "Because you've been trying to help a friend recover?"

"No," he shakes his head simply.

The rest of us sit there quietly trying to understand what just happened. After a few moments, John calls the meeting to a close.

"I'm starving!" Kairah whines as she grabs her coat.

"Ready for some burnt chicken?" I laugh as I sling my purse over my shoulder.

"You should invite him," she says and I follow her gaze to Spencer.

"He probably has plans or has to work and he probably wouldn't want the crappy food," I say too quickly.

"He just got off work, the pie is worth it, and you will have no idea if he has plans if you don't get your butt over there and ask him before he leaves, which he is about to do."

I sigh and she shoves me in his direction. I catch my footing and walk over to him casually.

"Hi," I say stupidly.

Stupidly because I haven't seen him in weeks, and every time I speak to him I'm either insulting him or interrupting him.

"Hi," he says back sounding surprised.

"Are you hungry?" I ask suddenly.

What a way to begin asking someone to come have dinner with you.

"Kind of," he shrugs.

He seems unphased by my idiocy, but he doesn't say anything else.

"Would you like to come with me and my sister to this diner that we go to after the meetings? I mean, the food totally sucks, but they have this really great apple pie that has a ton of cinnamon on top and whipped cream and the apples aren't too soggy but they aren't too crispy," all of the words seem to blurt out at once like they're competing to see which one can make me sound like the biggest loser.

"Um," he pauses for what seems like an eternity. "Yeah, okay, I haven't eaten dinner yet."

I think he is legitimately oblivious to my rambling and to the fact that I'm not actually interested in whether or not he has eaten. I mean, I don't want him to go hungry, but this particular occasion isn't actually about the food.

"Okay, great," I manage to squeak. "It's just across the street, so Kairah and I usually walk."

"I'll just follow," he nods, grabbing his messenger bag and following me as I walk back over to Kairah, a nervous and fake smile plastered on my face.