A/N: Hello my lovely readers! Thanks for continuing to read this next chapter. I really appreciate the encouraging reviews! You guys are wonderful! :)

*Random fun fact: Northside is an actual coffee shop/wine bar located in Arlington, Virginia. So if you guys are curious and want to get a good visual of the place you can look it up (they even have their own nifty site).

Disclaimer: I do not own Northside Social or the show Criminal Minds.

The late morning sun reflected against the deep red paint of the building, as Reid eyed the surrounding pale blue umbrellas that topped numerous tables.

Northside Social Coffee and Wine.

Not necessarily a huge fan of wine but a well-known fanatic of coffee, Reid took a tip from J.J. to check out the place before heading over to therapy. She raved how the coffee shop was a local favorite that she and Will discovered, serving great French press and breakfast sandwiches. The exhausted young genius yawned, rubbing his eyes.

It had been a long week, with the Atlanta case taking longer than expected. As soon as they arrived back at headquarters they were informed of yet another case that required urgent response, literally sending everyone back to the place for immediate briefing. "Why can't psychopaths ever take a break?" Morgan muttered, as everyone groaned in unison.

Reid entered the coffee shop, the sound of a chiming bell following. The wonderful smell of roasting coffee beans and freshly baked cookies wafted through the air, accompanying the quiet chatter of customers. It was a nice place, the inside resembling the charming atmosphere of a house similar to its red exterior. Towards the left stood a winding staircase that led up to the second floor wine-bar and lounge area – which J.J. insisted him to try despite his hesitance.

A cappuccino with extra espresso shots sounded great to him, as he eyed the menu behind the counter.

"Julianne!"

He immediately turned towards the voice. A familiar set of green eyes and dark hair hurried past him. "Thanks, Dylan," she smiled, reaching for the coffee cup from the barista.

"Dr. Remorin?"

Startled green irises met his brown ones.

"Spencer? What are you doing here?" she exclaimed, approaching him.

"I got a tip from a friend to check this place out," he gave her a nervous smile. "And you?"

She opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by someone clearing his or her throat. Reid turned, meeting the disapproving looks of the line of people filed behind him. He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks as he awkwardly looked away.

"I'll let you order," she smirked. "You can sit with me over there if you want to." She motioned towards a small table in a corner of the room.

After retrieving his order and taking a handful of Splenda packets, Reid joined Julianne at her table.

"I feel like I'm in high school all over again," he murmured. "You know, feeling relieved that you found a friend in the crowd so you don't have to sit alone."

She took a sip of her coffee. "I'm guessing that was a really awkward time for you, more so than most."

"Well…I was twelve."

"Ah, problems that come with being a genius…being cast out as different, strange," she mused. "If it's any assurance, you are always welcome to sit with me. We can be outcasts together."

Reid laughed, tearing open several Splenda packets. "And why are you considered an outcast?"

Julianne shrugged, breaking off a piece of her scone. She popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "I've never been the type to make a lot of friends…I've always been more to myself," she admitted honestly.

He nodded in understanding. Lifting the coffee cup to his lips, he tasted his coffee and made a face. "Needs more sugar," he muttered. "So, what are you doing here? I would assume that you would be in your office at this time."

She shifted in her seat, smoothing out the wrinkles on her gray dress. "I finished therapy sessions with a patient of mine last week. It leaves me with an empty time slot to relax and get coffee before seeing you." She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes shone as she glanced around. "I love this place. It's my go-to anytime I need to take a break from the office."

Reid examined the walls, eyeing the portraits painted by local artists. Photographs commemorating the coffee shop's humble beginnings were displayed, alongside framed newspaper articles and critic reviews.

"How was your week?" Julianne questioned.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Exhausting. I mean, every week is pretty tiring to begin with, but this past one was just strenuous. Right when we thought we could catch a break another case takes us back to the plane." He took another sip of coffee. "And yours?"

"Filled with paperwork," she sighed, "and I visited loved ones."

"How was that?"

"It was fine," she paused. "It had been awhile since I visited."

The noise level started to pick up, as more people began to flood in for the noontime rush. Julianne ran her fingers over the lid of her coffee cup, idly tracing lazy circles. She seemed to take an interest in a colorful painting of a hummingbird hanging next to a bookshelf.

"You seem bothered."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Generally, people are content after visits with loved ones, especially those they are close to. The way your voice changed held a token of warmth when mentioning them, but your actions reveal that there is distance despite your close relationship."

"Not all visits are pleasant," she shrugged, "and I was just reminded of something."

Reid stared at her, watching as her eyes reflected the familiar wretchedness he remembered so well from their first meeting. He felt his breath catch in his throat, guilt weighing him as he regret his prior comment. He began to miss the way her eyes shone when mentioning something that made her happy or when she was amused by something he said. Why did you have to say that? Why couldn't you just let it go?

He felt his phone begin to vibrate in his pocket. Glancing down, he slowly stood up. "Sorry, I have to take this call," he murmured. He carefully dodged the wave of customers flooding in, stepping outside.

"Yes, Garcia?"

"Hello, my sweet," Garcia greeted. Her normally chipper tone was tainted with weariness.

"I'm surprised you're awake," Reid remarked. "I assumed that you would still be asleep given how exhausting last week was."

"Don't remind me," Garcia groaned. "Hotch requested that I look into some murders in Florida over the past month. We may have another case on our hands if local p.d. calls us in." She yawned, exaggerating her intake of breath with a loud grumble.

"Oh!" she gasped with a sudden burst of energy. "My apologies, I almost forgot why I was calling you. Remember that research assignment you gave me last week?"

"Yeah. It's alright that you didn't look into it, we were really busy," he replied. He turned towards the window, glancing at Julianne through the cafe's glass. She continued sipping her coffee, deep in thought.

"Well, I finally had the time – and somewhat a bit of energy – to do some digging on your lady friend."

"She's my psychiatrist, Garcia," he corrected, feeling a slight blush warm his cheeks. He realized he probably said that louder than intended, as customers sitting underneath the blue umbrellas gave him strange looks. He felt an increase of heat as the pink increased to red.

"Anyway," she continued, a hint of a smile in her voice. She started to click away on her browser, reading, "Your doctor was born in McLean, Virginia. Her parents are Michael and Irene Remorin, the father an orthopedic surgeon and mother a former lawyer turned housewife, and she doesn't have any siblings."

Reid glanced through the window again, this time catching Julianne's eye. A blonde woman had taken his seat, conversing with her. She gave him a brief smile before nodding back towards her acquaintance.

"She's a smart cookie," Garcia noted, the sound of her mouse clicking vigorously. "Graduated from high school when she was 16, and three years later received a degree in psychology from Northwestern. She attended Washington University School of Medicine and finished when she was 24. She's had her practice up and running for the past four years."

Brow furrowed, Reid shook his head. "Okay. Um, any records involving…run-ins with the law?" he lowered his voice.

"Patience, young Padawan," Garcia chuckled. "I'm getting there. Just wanted to give you her basic info while we're at it." The sound of a keyboard quickly typing away and mouse clicks followed.

He started to pace, mind racing.

"Aside from the occasional speeding ticket here and there, none."

"And her parents?"

"Way ahead of you, boy wonder," Garcia smirked, "Zilch on her parentals. They're clean."

He ran a hand through his hair, perplexed. "Any involvement in a previous case? Search interviews and interrogations concerning her or her parents."

More clicking and typing occurred but with less enthusiasm.

"None. The Remorins are clear," Garcia sighed.

Reid froze. "No, no, no," he muttered. "Nothing at all? That can't be. There must be a connection somehow...any records of contact between Hotch and her parents?"

She immediately jumped onto the lead, taking a while longer than her previous searches. "Digging around, there isn't any paper trail left behind that indicates that they have ever crossed paths. Same goes for phone records."

There was a long pause.

"I'm sorry, Reid," Garcia whispered. "I tried. I'll keep looking into it, but I can't promise anything."

"Thanks," he replied, sullen. He hung up and blankly stared into space.

How can that be?

...

Garcia unhooked her Bluetooth and removed her glasses, rubbing her eyes. She sighed, shaking her head.

"I hate lying to him."

"You are withholding information in a situation in that it is necessary."

Hotch stood behind her, arms crossed and stern demeanor intact. Garcia swiveled her chair around.

"It doesn't make me feel any better," she whispered. She buried her face in her hands, overwhelmed with remorse.

"We just don't want him to be distracted from therapy. It is best for his treatment," Hotch reminded her. Garcia lifted her head.

"He needs honesty more than ever," she whispered, "especially in a time like this. You know how he is when he is lied to…walls fly up and mistrust develops. I just don't want to be on the receiving end of this."

"It's not right for him to know this way," he replied coldly. "If he wants to know then it ought to be directly from her."

She turned back to her screen, the red 'Sealed Files' notification encompassing the browser. She turned it off and nodded.

"I know," she murmured. "Not like this."

...

"I'm fine, really," Reid insisted. The weak smile, however, said otherwise.

"You know, as a profiler I would think that you would do a better job than that," Julianne teased. She reached over to the coffee table and retrieved a folder next to an arrangement of small porcelain figures.

"Better job at what?"

"Lying."

"I'm not."

"Mm-hmm," she smiled. "You've been acting strangely ever since that phone call."

Reid shrugged, absently tugging at a loose string on his cardigan. "It was about a case. Leads have hit a dead end."

Her face fell, as she bit her lip. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's nothing…it happens."

Silence followed as Julianne straightened in her seat. "So, how about let's start at the beginning, with your childhood?"

Reid adjusted as well, eyes leveling with hers. There is so much more to you than I could ever know.

He smiled slightly. But I'm still not one to give up so easily.

"My childhood was…well, unconventional, to say the least," he started. "Rather than playing outside with the other kids, my playmates were books. My mother introduced them to me as early as I could remember, always reading Chaucer, Kempe, and her other favorites."

He hesitated for a moment. "I would have to take care of her most of the time…she's a paranoid schizophrenic. But when my father left us, that 'most of the time' became always."

"And how was that like for you?" Julianne softly asked.

"Terrifying," he admitted. "Parents are supposed to be the ones caring for their kids, not the other way around. It was tiring, too, watching her to make sure she took the right amount of medication and calming her from her delusions."

A fleeting image of his mother holding her bottle of pills crossed his mind.

"Mom, please, don't do this," he cried.

"There isn't another way, Spencer," Diana breathed heavily. "It's time to end this."

She twisted the cap of the bottle, raising it to her mouth.

"No!" he screamed. He launched himself at her, knocking the bottle out of her hand. Diana threw him aside, head knocking into a table. A vase shattered, glass shards scattering across the floor. Ignoring the pain, he fervently scrambled through the glass after the rolling bottle and threw it far out of her reach.

He watched as she curled into a ball on the floor, hugging her knees and sobbing.

"I'm so sorry, Mom," he whispered, tears filling his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Reid drew a deep breath, blinking back tears.

"She had her bad days, and she had her worse days. To be honest, there were rarely any good ones…and there were only so many days I could take."

He lowered his head, the familiar shame returning. "I sent her away to a mental facility. She was far unable to take care of herself and I couldn't stand seeing her like that anymore."

He rubbed his eyes, reasons far from his previous fatigue.

"It was selfish of me. I convinced myself that my reason for sending her away was entirely about her inability to self-care, but I was just too exhausted from always having to be the one to give her that care…" his breathing deepened. "I wasn't just tired of seeing her live like that but I felt the same way about myself."

He realized that this confession was far beyond what he ever honestly admitted to the team, and he felt a weight lift as a result. Over all these years, such feelings of selfishness over his mother ruminated in his mind but were clumsily pushed to the furthest recesses of his psyche.

"I'm sorry, Spencer," Julianne whispered.

He stared emptily at the coffee table. She leaned forward.

"You did what you had to do," she murmured. "It wasn't selfish of you. You're feeling guilty because you realized that she wasn't getting any better despite your best efforts, and you knew that there was only so much care you could give her. She needed full-time, professional treatment…something that you couldn't offer."

Her words reached out to him, soothing him where the shame embedded in his scars seethed pain. His eyes meet hers as he grimaced.

"It's still hard for me to see her," he admitted, "which is why I don't visit often. I blame it on not having enough time, although that's not the real reason. I try to compensate by writing her letters every day…but sometimes it doesn't feel like it's enough."

"If it doesn't feel like it's enough…why don't you do more about it?"

He looked at her, confused. "What do you mean?"

"How about, rather than writing to her all the time, you give her a call every once in awhile? It may not be a visit, but at least she gets to hear your voice."

He paused. Strangely enough, it never really dawned on him before. Why don't I ever call her? Maybe it was out fear of some sorts, not just the blame placed on what he had to do. And he knew it was time to properly face it.

"Little steps, Spencer," Julianne smiled. "These little steps are what it takes to heal."

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