(Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or it's characters)

Thank you all so much for your support on the first chapter! I was so happy with your response. I've been smiling for days. They really helped me through that bugger of an exam that lasted 15 hours and had me salivating over writing something... anything that didn't involve "I believe my photos portray the theme...blah blah blah..." or "these images symbolise death and... yadda yadda..." you get the gist.

And I was so happy to read all of your reviews (again, this was a nice break from my work, I also think I got caught using my phone to read reviews... it was worth it.) So thank you to E. J. Morgan, ahowell1993, Cherubim, lailyspenstar, fishtrek, Astrahan, Sherryola, Ash59, Ludub, poxyTraitors, Kav23, and Rookblonkorules for your reviews. Phew! I think that's the most reviews I've ever had on a first chapter.

Please keep reviewing. Like I said, this story is still going through my mind so I need motivation to keep writing it.

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On with the chapter that I've made you wait for!

Enjoy!

Previously:

"I think you should tell them that Spencer died."

"What!?" The Officer blanched in shock.

"Hear me out. Like you said, Spencer needs a new start, he can't do that if he thinks he left something behind and if Margo and Daniel try to track him constantly, then they'll be a problem to both him and the system."

Holly stared blankly at William.

"I have never done anything meaningful for my son. Please, let me do this."


Spencer trudged into the bullpen with a pair thick sunglasses pressed against his face. His teeth were clenched as he battled nausea building in his gut and he clutched his coffee tighter in his hand; the scars twirling across the pale skin turning a stark white.

"Rough night, Kiddo?" Rossi Chuckled, sipping his own coffee but appearing no different from the day before.

"Who thought it was a good idea to drink on a work night?" Spencer grumbled, attempting to take a sip of his cooling coffee while his grumbling insides protested against it.

"You're just like your dad," Rossi sniggered. "He could never take the hangover after our nights out."

"I bet there were plenty of those."

"That there were."

Rossi fondly watched the boy stagger to his desk. He shook his head a little, realising how much Spencer had changed from the trembling six-year-old he'd met in 1987. He remembered the phone call he had from Jason.


November 3rd, 1987

"Dave? Where are you?"

David Rossi frowned at his phone, and his arm slid off the woman he'd been schmoozing. He sighed and waited for his friend to inform him about their newest case.

"Are you drunk again?" Jason added in a defeated tone.

"Huh? I have barely said one word... actually I didn't say anything! and yet you accuse me of being drunk! If you must know I'm with Lucy," Rossi said incredulously, trying to keep his voice from slurring and revealing his tipsy state. He winked at the woman he was with who was growing less and less impressed with her date.

"Which one's that? I haven't heard of a Lucy; is she the new one?" Jason's voice sniggered.

"She's just a one-time thing-" Rossi felt something smack his arm and he turned to see Lucy- if that really was her name, he wasn't quite sure, she looked like a Chelsea... or maybe a Tanya- glaring at him. "What, bab-" this earned him a slap across the face. She stormed from the bar and Rossi sighed.

"Sounds like she really was a 'one-time thing'," Gideon laughed.

"Shut up. What do you want?"

"Kirwin's adoption went through."

"Huh? I thought they were just fostering," he rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully, "is he really... father material? I can see Angela being a mother; Christ, I swear that woman enjoys telling me off, but George is..."

"Stubborn? Grumpy?" Gideon finished with a grin.

"Yea...something like that, but don't tell him I told you or you can forget about me hooking you up with Amanda."

"I don't recall the conversation where I asked you to hook me up with anyone," Jason grumbled.

"Well, the fact is that I could and she's quite the lady so-"

"Dave, you're digressing from the topic. I called to talk about our friends, not your streams of..." Jason paused as he searched for the words.

"Girlfriends?"

"Prostitutes?" Jason added and Rossi scoffed in shock.

"Don't tell Amanda that, she definitely won't sli-"

"Dave. Can we get back to what I was saying?"

"Fine," Rossi grunted, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out a 20 to pay the barmen. "Yea, so why are they adopting instead?"

"George changed his mind after a few days. Have you met Spencer yet?" Jason asked.

"No, I've been away, remember. What's he like? He isn't a brat is he?"

"I'm at their place now and no, he's not. You'd probably like him," Jason said. Rossi rolled his eyes and slid his note toward the barmen.

"I'm not sure I'm good with five-year-olds."

"Firstly, he's six not five. And secondly; he isn't a normal six-year-old," Gideon countered.

"Fine, I'll get a taxi and come over, but I'm not promising that I'll like him."

He did like him. Very much so. He was only a scrawny little six-year-old who consistently trembled, not that it was cold, and chewed his lip like a ravenous animal. Then their were the slight twitches of his fingers which would sporadically jerk whenever someone spoke, and his rapid blinking and anxious licking of his lips. Rossi liked the kid. He was clearly broken, but there was something likeable about him. Rossi found himself having a conversation with Spencer about chess moves and although the boy didn't speak much and the conversation was largely one sided (which suited the Italian since he liked talking) Rossi was impressed when he had referred to a famous chess move and recited the names of the players and the date of said match, going as far as to inform the Italian that it took place on a Thursday morning at nine minutes past ten.

"So?" Gideon asked as they left the house. He paused on the porch, waiting for Rossi to light up his cigarette.

"So what?"

"What do you think?" Jason elaborated, rolling his eyes at the pedantic Italian.

"He's a good kid." Rossi blew a cloud of smoke into the air and watched it disperse. "I think he'll fit in with us just fine."

"Us?" Jason laughed. "What, a 6-year-old, a 35-year-old, a 40-year-old-"

"Not for another ten days you son of a bitch," Rossi interjected with a smirk.

"Then Angie and George. Are they both 56 now?"

"I'm not sure and I'm not about to risk asking. And so what, we're what they call 'an unconventional family.'"

"Just about as unconventional as they come," chuckled Gideon in agreement.


"Hey, Reid! How's your dad?" Garcia asked from the other side of the bullpen, a smug smile on her face and a piece of paper hanging from her hand.

"Fine, I think. Why?" Reid swiveled around in his chair just as the tech analyst crashed into him.

"I just read his new article," she paused to catch her breath and flung the paper she was holding in his lap. "And it's A-mazing!" She gasped.

Spencer glanced down at the paper and laughed. The article was about cats loyalty, and it had an old picture of one of his mother's Maine Coons beside the article. Spencer remembered doing research to help his father. He traced the picture of the cat with his forefinger. Her name had been Figly; a name he had chosen for the scruffy brown cat.

"It's so interesting!" Garcia added, snatching it from him to read it.

"I'm glad you liked it. I helped Dad out on this one."

"Great minds think alike," she grinned. Her phone chimed and before Spencer knew it she was scampering back to her lair. He thought back to the image on the article.


July 18th, 1989

"Pick out one, honey," his mother's soft cooing voice floated to his ears as Spencer gasped at the wide expanse of cages.

"A-a cat?" He stammered.

"What else?" His father chuckled as he motioned to cage upon cage of cat.

"Really?" The seven-year-old whispered and he felt his father's soft hand on his shoulder.

"Well, we need a new one to keep the mice down," his father said and Spencer glanced up with a frown.

"But I like the mice."

"Well, I'd like a new one. How's that? You can pick out a new one for me," his mother put in and Spencer nodded eagerly and started hurrying along beside the cages, considering all his options.

"This one's nice. Oh, but this one looks sad! Look, Dad, he looks really sad. But cats can't really look sad, but they do have low pitched meows when they are and- wow! Look! Look, Mom! Look at his markings! Oh, but that one is really pretty. Look, she's got white socks!" The child babbled happily as he tried to poke his small fingers in between the bars. Angela and George Kirwin exchanged a smile and George wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders as he watched his son bounce from cage to cage.

"Look! Look at her, Mom! She's beautiful!" The seven-year-old finally gasped after getting to the third row of cages and picking out the scruffiest cat he could see.

"She's a bit... Uh... scrappy, dear," Angela muttered.

"No. She's perfect."


Spencer was packing his stuff into his messenger bag when JJ swung around his desk with a file.

"You're leaving?" She asked.

"Yea, Oh, have we got a case?" He glanced at the file which she held close to her chest.

"Yes, but it's okay. Where are you going? Hotch knows right?"

"He knows, he gave me a few days... its Uh... it's my Mom's anniversary," he mumbled and JJ's smile dropped a little. "It's been two years, or it will be tomorrow so Dad and I are just going to spend some time at her grave and go to her favourite places," he shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal but JJ knew it was. He had been close to his mother and he'd been broken after she died from cancer two years before.

"Oh, Spence, I forgot. Of course, you won't be here," she tapped him on the shoulder and they exchanged a small smile. "You and I will be going out for a coffee when we're back."

"And me," Garcia put in, grinning eagerly. Then she saw the files in JJ's hand and she groaned. "Case?" JJ nodded and she whined again.

"I'll see you soon, Spence," JJ said as she leaned in for a hug.

"Hey, if she gets one, I get one too," Garcia squealed and she pulled Reid into an embrace. "Where are you going?" She asked looking from his bag to his face. Spencer glanced at JJ and she nodded.

"I'll explain. See you, Spence."

"Au Revoir, mon petite chaufleur," Garcia blew him a kiss as he staggered away wondering why on Earth she had described him as a 'little cauliflower.'


"Okay, what've we got?" Rossi said as he sat down and rubbed his hands together.

"This one's...interesting," JJ said and she flicked on the TV.

"Two murders in the last 2 weeks and an attempted murder. Alison Gilbert, Zachery Ilford were found within 3 miles of each other and Peter Harding was found 5 miles from the first dump site. He had a range of injuries, most notable was a knife wound to his chest, but he survived and is currently being treated at a local hospital"

"Is there anything else connecting these cases?" Morgan asked. Garcia stepped in this time.

"All three had similar wounds, lacerations to their backs, stab wounds...um" she swallowed thickly. "Sexual assault."

"And they weren't simply victims of opportunity," JJ pointed out. Hotch looked down at his file and scowled.

"They were all taken from different states," he murmured.

"So they're targets?" Rossi added.

"Looks like it," Morgan muttered.

"That might make this easier." Garcia handed out several more files. "These are on our victims," she said. Hotch flicked through them and nodded.

"Wheels up in 10. I want to go through the victims on the jet."


Spencer parked his car in his father's driveway and sighed. This was not a good time of year.

He got out of his car and brushed himself down before taking careful steps towards his childhood home. Spencer pushed the door open and stepped inside gingerly.

"Dad?" He called. He knew his father was home. Mr. Kirwin no longer had a reason to leave. He would have been a recluse if his wife hadn't dragged him out several days a week, mainly to take her to bingo which he ended up joining in on. Now that she was gone he only left to get his mail and when Spencer was on a case, he'd get his own groceries, but only the absolute essentials. Spencer tried to teach him about delivery but his father was one of those anti-technology people and used an outdated computer rather than the tablet his son had bought him that Christmas.

Spencer stepped cautiously through the quiet house as he passed the walls filled with picture frames. He smiled when he saw images of himself filling almost every space or surface. There were some of his parents but his face was in the majority of them. He walked past his old bedroom, the door closed and came up to his father's study where light leaked out through the crack.

He listened by the door and heard soft music playing; his mother's favourite record. He pushed open the door gently and peeked inside.

George Kirwin was sat in his office chair, a bottle of scotch open on his desk and a finished one in his wastepaper basket. A large shot sat between his calloused fingers as he stared down at his desk where a picture of his wife lay. He swigged the rest of the glass and wrapped his hands around the bottle, bringing it to his lips.

"Dad," Spencer sighed and he staggered forward and attempted to take the bottle from his father.

"Ger'off," Kirwin grumbled, yanking the bottle away and taking a swig. He glared at his son, hatred suddenly filling his mind and his fist curled up over the image of his late wife.

"C'mon Dad. You did this last year. I know it's hard to-"

"You know do you!?" Kirwin snapped standing up and pointing an accusing finger at his son. "You wouldn't understand if it smacked you in the face!"

"She was my Mom," Spencer mumbled softly.

"Your 'Mom'," Kirwin scoffed air-quoting the word. Spencer looked up at his father with tears eyes. "She wasn't your real 'Mom.'"

Spencer turned away, holding back a sob; he couldn't breathe.

"This isn't you, Dad. I know you don't mean it," Spencer whispered.

"She had to go and leave me with you!" He laughed bitterly before taking another large gulp. "She was my-my everything!" He gasped. "You-you were just a...a fluke!" He spat.

"I'm glad she isn't here to see you like this," Spencer yelled suddenly and he instantly regretted it. Kirwin slammed the bottle onto his desk and stared at his son.

"Get out," he growled.

"Dad-"

"Get out... you-you bastard!" Kirwin lifted the bottle and Spencer ducked as it sailed over his head. It made contact with the wall and shards of glass rained over the worn carpet. "Out!" Kirwin bellowed and Spencer didn't wait for another command as he darted out and stumbled towards the front door. He ignored the picture frames this time and sprinted out of the house.

He staggered to his car and jumped in. Fumbling with his keys momentarily before he managed to jam them in the ignition. He looked back but didn't see his father so he pulled out and hit his foot hard on the accelerator.

"Stupid, stupid," Spencer growled to himself. He turned up the Beethoven tape he had in his battered tape player and batted his tears away as he drove blindly down the drive.

The blast of a car horn jolted him back to reality and he swerved back into his lane and let out an animal howl filled with grief. He took a left and decided where he had to go. There was only one person he wanted.

He tore across the roads, his teeth gritted angrily and he yanked the wheel and pulled up a deserted road that led into a gated park. He slowed down and forced himself to breathe.

Spencer glanced at the gravestones and heaved a sigh of relief. He parked and stepped out of his car, shaking out his trembling fingers. He reached the back door and grabbed the bunch of white lilies from his back seat which he'd planned on laying out with his father.

He smoothed his hair and straightened his tie, checking his cheeks and eyes for moisture before he carefully picked his way through the graves, heading for one at the back.

His pace slowed when he could read his mother's name. The flowers he'd left two weeks before had died, but a new bunch was laid there. They looked to be around three or four days old from what he could tell. He stopped in front of the stone and bent down to arrange his flowers with his father's bunch and he moved the ones that died.

"Hey, Mom," he whispered as he fiddled with the flowers, making sure they were perfect. He started to babble about his last case and explained his night out with his friends and how Dave had gotten him to drink his best whiskey. He chuckled at that and knew his mother would be rolling her eyes at his 'uncle's' antics. Spencer's voice tapered off and he stared blankly at her gravestone.

"I-I wish you were still here," he whimpered pressing his hand to his Mom's name: 'Angela Kirwin.'

He sat beside her grave and wiped his eyes. "I was thinking of going for a fourth doctorate," he mumbled, as he would when his mother was alive. "Maybe something like...I dunno, geology?" He chuckled lightly to himself. "You always hated when I brought rocks into the house."

Loss wasn't new, Spencer knew he'd felt it too many times before, although it got vaguer the deeper he delved into his past. He touched his mother's gravestone as he searched the depths of his mind. The name 'Reid' floated into his consciousness. What did it mean?

He understood his mind was protecting him from that part of his life but when he could recall his entire life except for those first 16 months, it terrified him, especially since something happened during that time.

Remember, he chided. Who were they!? A family...There was Mommy. And Daddy... who else... a sister... a-a brother? He shook his head. It was futile. They'd been dead for 23 years.


February 4th, 1983

Holly sat outside at the end of the childrens ward. Most of the children were asleep, each had their own teddy bear. The child she was watching had nothing to cling to. She'd seen the pictures. The remains of the crib. The once soft teddy bear frazzled and burnt, his face partially missing and his button eyes melted. They'd taken it away as evidence, but either way, the boy would never cuddle it again.

Unlike all the other children the one she was watching was not asleep. He was sat up in his crib, his bandaged fingers touching the cannula in his nose curiously. She sighed at the sight of him. His hands and arms had been creamed and heavily bandaged as had his right leg. All of which gained severe burns which would scar. She shook her head; 16-month-olds should still be suckling milk bottles before bed, or pressing sloppy kisses on their parent's cheeks; they should have smooth subtle skin and not charred fingers and scorched legs.

The boy also noticed he had no teddy bear and that he couldn't move much. She watched as fat tears scaled his eyes and ran down the side of his face. Holly bit her lip and looked down at the floor. Trying to ignore the baby.

The agency is coming tomorrow, she thought. They'll transfer him; he'll get a new teddy bear.

"Mummy!" Spencer wailed. Holly grimaced at the sound but continued on her paperwork. "Mummy!" The baby cried. "Ma'go! Dan'al!"

She bit her lip hard as the small child let out a heartbreaking sob. It's better this way, she told herself.

"Daddeeee!" The voice yelled desperately and Holly could hear his breath quicken in terror.

She couldn't take it and she tore from the darkened room. The boy heard her footsteps and his cries subdued to whimpers. Holly ran down the stairs, fumbling in her pocket for a note. She pulled out a $20 note as she got into the gift shop. She pulled down the first teddy bear she could find. It was a dark brown and had glossy, soft fur. She paid for it and scampered back upstairs to the childrens ward where Spencer was crying again. A nurse was at his bedside shushing him as a doctor measured out an injection. Spencer, who was calling out for his mother, caught sight of the needle and wailed louder. Holly froze when she heard the screams of a boy in great fear. She bolted towards the bed and held up a hand to the doctor.

"It's okay, it'll help him sleep," the doctor whispered.

"Hold on," Holly said and she leaned down and handed Spencer the teddy bear. "There you go, sweetie, now you're not alone," she cooed palming his cheek. The boy sniffled and looked up at Holly. He took the teddy bear gently from her hands and looked at his eyes. This one's eyes hadn't melted.

With the small boy distracted the doctor pushed the injection into his IV and put it back on the metal tray and out of view.

"Mummy?" Spencer asked softly. His eyelids started drooping as the drugs took effect and he tightened his hold on his new bear.

"She's-" Holly paused. She wasn't totally against Williams plan, but she didn't entirely agree with it. "She's gone, baby. Up to heaven," Holly whispered as Spencer's eyes dropped further.

"Wid daddy...an-an Ma'go... Dan-" Spencer whispered, his tongue growing thick in his mouth.

"Yes, baby. They're all together now. Up in the sky."

"Wanna go," the boy whimpered, reaching his thickly bandaged arms into the air. "Wanna go too!" He pleaded, looking at Holly with desperate eyes.

"We found you a new family, sweetheart," Holly assured him, stroking his cheek where tears were collecting.

"No!" The child suddenly screamed. "I want mummy!" He cried.

Holly continued to rub his back. How could she tell the 16-month-old boy that his mother tried to kill him? All Spencer seemed to remember was how she'd read to him and kiss him lightly on the forehead, sending a happy buzzy feeling through him; he'd never know that the same hands that had gently stroked his chestnut curls also uncapped a tank of gasoline and sloshed the contents over her baby's carpet in the hopes that he'd burn to death.

He can't know, Holly thought as she watched the baby cry softly as he slowly succumbed to the sedative. She hated to even think it but maybe William Reid was right.


Spencer pushed his door shut and hung his coat on the hanger, slinging his bag on the floor beside him. He bent down and started the arduous job of untying his laces. His floorboards creaked slightly as he knelt down to remove his shoes.

When he stood he put the lock on his door.

He removed his holster and gun and left it on his counter where he'd left a book that morning.

Spencer pulled a glass out of his cupboard and lent over the sink to fill it with water. He sighed before pressing the cold rim of the glass to his lips. His floorboard crept behind him and the glass froze on his lips. His eyes went to his belt but the gun was gone.

There was another creak, this time closer and Spencer lowered his glass shakily to the sink.

"I-I don't have anything worth stealing," he whispered.

"Spencer?"

Spencer's eyes snapped wide open as the cold voice that reached his ears. He grabbed his glass again and threw himself around but it was too late.

Something hard smacked into the side of his skull and he collapsed onto his front. The corners of his vision blurred dangerously and he swallowed hard to keep his lunch in his stomach. Warm blood trickled down his face and into his eyes so that when he looked up helplessly at his attacker his world was tinted by a sickly shade of red.

"I've been waiting a long time for this, boy," the voice hissed. Spencer recognised the voice and his blood ran cold. No... no god no no!

Spencer fought harder to get up but the attacker placed a foot into the small of his back and held him in place on the oak floor. He lifted the chair leg again and Spencer squeaked in terror, squirming desperately until another whack connected with his head. Spencer's face slammed into the floor and everything darkened at the edges. He lay motionless on his dark oak wooden floorboards.

"I said I'd be back," the voice hissed. He yanked a clump of Spencer's hair and the boy whined as his head was lifted off the floor and then slammed back into it. This time the stars exploded across his vision and the darkness swallowed him whole.

His past was coming back and it had teeth; ready to bite.


March 12th, 1983

Holly walked up to the house and looked around. It was pleasant. The small boy crept behind her and did the same, but he was less satisfied. She took his bandaged hand and smiled.

"This will be your new home, Okay?" Holly said and she pressed the doorbell. Spencer looked up at her and his thumb fell from his mouth.

"Mummy and Daddy?" He whispered and Holly shook her head.

"These people will be mummy and daddy now."

"No!"

"Spencer, don't shout like that. You have to be a good boy." Holly straightened and looked at the young woman in the doorway. She held her hand out and introduced herself and then the foster child she was handing over.

"What on earth happened to his hands?" She said with disgust.

"The fire I discussed with you," Holly said under her breath.

"Will it scar?"

"I assume so, Miss," Holly replied in confusion. The woman sighed and stared at the child as if he were a scrappy, homeless puppy.

"I have a few papers for you to sign if-"

"My husband's in his study. He will sign them," the woman said simply. Holly looked around awkwardly, nodded and stepped inside. Spencer hurried after her but the woman grabbed him.

"I'll watch him," she put in as Holly disappeared into a room. The woman shut the front door and glared at Spencer.

"They didn't specify that we'd get a cripple," she huffed. Spencer backed away from her, his eyes flitting around for Holly.

"Are you listening to me?" She snapped. Spencer nodded quickly but continued to cower. The woman sighed heavily and bent down to his level. She didn't try to touch him.

"Now, listen to me. This is your home now," she grunted reluctantly.

"Want mummy, daddy," Spencer blubbed but the lady shook her head.

"You call me Mummy now and you call Martin, Daddy, is that clear?"

Spencer didn't move.

"Your room is upstairs. You will stay in there unless we tell you otherwise. She paused momentarily. "Do. You. Understand?" She said loudly as if the child were stupid.

A normal 18-month-old would probably stare back at the woman with no idea what she was on about, but Spencer had a good idea of what she was saying. He nodded slowly.

"Good," The woman stood back up. Thank god they were only fostering, she thought.


So there's another chapter! Yay!

Things are starting to be explained... everything will be out in the open soon.

But, oh no! Spencer's in trouble! (Don't worry, it all links together.)

Please review! Tell me your thoughts or your ideas on what's going on.

Thank you for reading and I'll see you in the next chapter.