Author's Notes: Okay! I see you're still with me so far. The end of this chapter will bring us back to present time. Now do you see why I split it into three chapters? Anachronism is fun, but I hope no one was confused by it. Thank you ever so much to those who have reviewed, favorited, and/or alerted. Feedback from readers is always an inspiration!

Lady Luck had never exactly been kind to any of them. She was cruel and petty, seeming to take immense pleasure in her own duplicitous nature. Derek tried to believe that there was some balance to it. After all, it was the hardships they'd endured that made them who they were today. He often thought of the train wreck that was his own youth. What sense did it make to deprive him of his father? Where was the fairness in leading an honorable man to be gunned down at the hands of common criminals, in front of his young son no less? To sacrifice that son's innocence to a monster and to give him his second taste of death when he was barely fifteen years old?

Spencer's life made about as much sense as his own. In fact, fate had possibly dealt him a worse hand. At least Derek had escaped eventually. Time may not have completely healed his wounds, but it had removed him from the source. Spencer's troubles had their own moving company. He thought of William Reid abandoning his own child to a mother who could barely take care of herself. It wasn't a childhood- It was a game of survival. He had survived the fear and loneliness that lurked behind closed doors and the unending torments that roamed the halls and grounds of his school. But he never really escaped. He was in college and still a child in an adult's world. His mother was still sick, his father still MIA. Then he was an adult, making the decision to have his mother committed and feeling the weight of that imagined betrayal every day. He was an adult being beaten and tortured and still working the case while his team could only look on in horror. He was an adult who, against all his instincts, allowed himself to believe that someone sane could actually love him, only to have a second father disappear without a trace. And above his head swung that damned Sword of Damocles. Derek didn't know if it would ever fall, but there was one thing he knew without a doubt: He would never be a William Reid.

Fate owed Spencer Reid something. No one could pay so much and get nothing in return. So it was with all this thought that Derek waited patiently for Spencer to finish the phone conversation. It was rare for him to get a call from Bennington. It was even rarer to get a call from a lucid Diana Reid, but this was the second such call this week. It had taken some coaxing and a bit of flat-out prodding to get to the bottom of the unusual calls, and Derek wondered how much Spencer really trusted him. As it turned out, his reluctance had nothing to do with mistrust. He was afraid to push the luck that he vehemently didn't believe in by telling anyone what was happening. It seemed so impossible that his old guilt could be relieved, his decision justified. For the first time in years, Diana Reid was consistently responding to medication. It was a new combination that Reid had approved them to try months ago, and they were just now giving him the full report. What he hadn't known until this week, what had him teetering so perilously on the edge of hope, was the news that Diana had not had a single episode in nearly three months. Derek had seen Spencer's wide-eyed disbelief and realized that for him, it was almost like having someone come back from the dead.

Diana Reid was lucid, yes, but she was also Diana Reid. She'd wanted to be released in that first month, but only many appeals to her logic and, ultimately, a compromise kept that rebellious spirit in check. She agreed that they would wait an additional two months, when they were closer to the three-month mark, to give the news to her son. She saw the logic in this, of course. The medication regimen could have become less effective with time; It had happened before. It seemed that was no longer a big concern, and she was getting frustrated with Spencer's reluctance to have her released so soon. So, she struck another compromise, this time with her son. Three months- Just another three months with little or, preferably, no episodes or complications and she would be a free woman. Miracle of miracles, she made it.

Derek wasn't there when Diana Reid waved goodbye to Bennington with a string of colorful archaic curses for the place that had been her home for the past nine years. He didn't understand half of what Spencer cheerily relayed but was pretty sure that Diana Reid would have found herself on the wrong side of a stoning back in the day. No one could blame her for the eagerness to start her new life. It had been so long since she'd had any real control over her life. Schizophrenia had been the jailor, the prison, and the chatty cellmate that kept her up nights. No one would say a word if she chose to express her distaste for the symbol of that imprisonment.

Though he had initially been afraid to hope for the best, Spencer kept himself busy making arrangements during the final three months of his mother's hospitalization. An apartment near UNLV was comparable in cost to Bennington, so it was no problem for Spencer to set Diana up there. She had protested at first but eventually gave in with the promise that she would pay back the money when she was able. Oddly enough, the deal breaker that Spencer proposed for Diana's release bothered him much more than it did her. He couldn't stay in Las Vegas, and visiting as often as he would need to wasn't possible with his unpredictable work schedule. There was simply no way that he was letting his mother out of Bennington without someone there to check in on her routinely. It needed to be someone she trusted, someone she knew. Someone nearby with a schedule that would allow for frequent visits. Unfortunately, the only person who fit the bill was the last person Spencer wanted to call.

Despite the resentment he held for the man, Spencer swallowed his pride for the sake of his mother. William Reid agreed to play social worker, and Diana didn't argue. She knew how much it had cost her son. It was a debt she could never hope to repay.

When Derek picked Spencer up from the airport four days after Diana's release, he immediately noticed that there was something different about his lover. Though he was visibly tired from the long flight and from days of helping his mother get settled in, there was a lightness about him that hadn't been there before. It was late that night as Derek was falling asleep with Spencer's head pillowed comfortably on his chest that he learned the reason for that change. The weight that Spencer had carried around for nine long years had dissipated with five small words: "You did the right thing". He wondered then if Spencer had inherited more than just his intelligence from his mother but also that incredible insight.

"She said I did the right thing." Spencer's breath was warm against his skin. "I never told her how guilty I felt, how it nearly killed me- How it was still killing me. She said, 'You did the right thing.' And then she asked me why I was so surprised. She said that she knew how the guilt was killing me. That a mother always knows." The pure joy and relief in Spencer's laugh brought a smile to Derek's lips. "Then she hugged me and told me to let it go. Derek, I'm so happy to just let it go." Derek could feel the tears as they slipped from Spencer's face and onto his chest, but he said nothing. Instead, he let his actions speak as his arms held the slender body just a bit tighter than before. It was the best sleep either of them had in years.

Spencer continued to write to his mother every day. The letters weren't always as long or as detailed as they had been, but he always wrote something. It was a tradition that Diana enjoyed immensely, and she made sure to let him know that in each of her return letters. Her letters would arrive four a week, wax-sealed, black ink on a familiar cream parchment and never failed to brighten Spencer's day. In the coming weeks, they dwindled to two a week as life began to pick up again. Diana had classes to teach and was working on a book she had started writing before Spencer was born. Things were going well. Spencer was even growing closer to his father. He could never forgive the man for the damage that was done, but he respected the efforts that were being made now, or so he said. Derek knew that every phone call from William and every mention of him in Diana's letters was chipping away at the stone of resentment bit by bit.

The months flew by, faster than they could imagine, and it seemed another life for the sheer normalcy of it all. Six months and three loaded words spoken in a blissful haze threatened to stop the air in Derek's lungs. Spencer rested his head against a muscled thigh and, an eternity later, kissed his way back to the lips he had tasted 905 times. 906... 907... Spencer hadn't said it back, but Derek could wait. He knew he wasn't the only one counting.

Diana left UNLV after four months of teaching. According to her, she could make just as much money tutoring students who actually wanted to learn as she could "…attempting to teach Romantic Literature to a bunch of over-privileged, underbred idiots who think that Stephenie Meyer is the new Proust." It was only a part-time position. Besides, she missed Lydgate and Chaucer. A few weeks after that, the letters stopped. The calls from his father were the only thing stopping Spencer from boarding the next flight to Las Vegas.

It was been two weeks since the last letter from Diana, and Derek was trying desperately to occupy Spencer's mind with more pleasant thoughts. In a valiant effort to cheer up the increasingly despondent genius, he made a suggestion that he hoped he wouldn't regret. So there they sat on a sunny May morning waiting for the waitress to bring one large coffee to go along with the check. It was going to be a long afternoon- four and a half hours long, to be precise. A local community theater was featuring a noon showing of the director's cut of Return of the King, and 'luckily' they had the day off to see it.

Spencer had been getting increasingly excited the closer they got to Saturday, spouting off enough movie trivia that one would think he had lived on set for the 15 months, 3 weeks, and 4 days of production. Derek really wished he didn't know that, but it was worth every potentially brain tumor-inducing fact to see Spencer happy.

Though the line for the community theater wasn't enormous, there were still more people than Derek had anticipated. He looked around at the waiting movie-goers as Spencer bounced on his heels beside him.

"I'm just glad nobody's dressed like a hobbit."

Spencer turned a scolding glare on him, the effect of which was ruined instantly by the smile he so badly suppressed.

"Of course not. We only dress up for the big anniversaries. Remind me to show you my high elven robes later."

"Ooh… A little literary kink. I can go for that."

"Derek, you know that was a joke, right?"

"What? I thought you fanboys were all into role play."

A not-so-subtle cough from a patron behind them brought their attention back to the line, which had moved up a few places.

"Sorry," Spencer apologized as they moved ahead. He turned back to Derek.

"No more talk of perverting childhood hobbies."

"Childhood? Spencer, look around. Most of the guys who play those games have kids. Or at least they're old enough to. I doubt if most of them have ever-"

"Derek. Please stop," Spencer pleaded, a hand placed over his face in embarrassment.

He took in the offended glares of the group ahead of them. Oops. He decided to shrug it off. Apologizing now would be like admitting that he was talking about them personally, which he wasn't. That group filed into the double doors, and Derek walked up to purchase two tickets. Tickets in hand, they entered the theater and were called to a stop at the ticket check.

"No outside food or drinks are allowed in the theater."

Spencer looked as if someone had told him to leave his baby in the car. Derek wasn't about to let some power-tripping usher ruin his Pretty Boy's day.

"Come on, man. We just dropped twenty bucks to see an eight year old movie, and you're telling me that we can't bring in a cup of coffee?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't make the rules."

"Hey! Can we move it along already?" Grumbles of annoyance came from behind.

Annoyed at the situation himself and not knowing what else to do, Derek pulled out his badge to flash his credentials. This only brought a smirk to the man's smug face.

"Unfortunately, twenty bucks and an FBI badge won't get you a cup of coffee these days."

Hoping to avoid an aggressively childish display, Spencer cleared his throat and pulled his own credentials.

"How about two FBI badges?" He asked, taking a sip of coffee out of pure defiance.

"I'm afraid not. Look, if you're not staying for the movie, please step aside for the other customers."

"Yeah. Today please."

They ignored the impatient protests.

"So, I can't have a cup of coffee in a theater, but I can have a gun?" Spencer asked, just a little louder than he normally would.

"G- Gun?" The man asked.

"Yeah. Did you think that they give us whistles?"

"Spencer, you brought your gun with you?"

"No. I left my gun at home because I knew that you'd have your gun. You did bring our gun didn't you?"

Derek almost burst out laughing when he noticed that Spencer was getting louder with each sentence.

"Yeah. Of course I brought my gun. You know I don't go anywhere without it."

"Gun?" There was a growing chorus of confused, half-panicked voices behind them.

"It's okay! Everyone calm down! There is NO gun!" The man projected over the lobby.

"Here," he snapped, ripping the tickets and shoving the stubs into Derek's hand. "Just go find a seat already."

Spencer tipped his cup in a mock toast.

"Thanks! Come on, Derek."

When they were safely out of earshot, Derek threw an arm around Spencer's shoulders and laughed.

"Pretty Boy, you are somethin' else."

"I know." Spencer beamed.

The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is (beep-beep beep-beep)

"Derek?"

"Must've forgot to put it on vibrate." Derek whispered back in the dark of the theater.

"Aren't you going to see who it is?"

"Nah. If it were important, you'd get a call too. Let's just finish the movie."

"Okay."

Spencer snuggled more comfortably against Derek's shoulder.

…An Elf will go underground when a dwarf dare not (beep-beep beep-beep buzz-buzzzz)

"Dammit!"

"Shhh."

"It's JJ," Spencer said, looking up from his phone as Derek did the same.

"Oh Hell no! I did not just sit here for three hours-"

"Shhh! Keep it down up th-"

Derek turned in his seat, and the anger on his face was enough to silence the man behind him. Spencer laid a hand on a tense arm.

"Derek, we have to go."

Derek let out a heavy sigh.

"I know… But it's still not fair."

As they were exiting the theater, Spencer playfully bumped his shoulder against Derek's.

"Cheer up. You'd think you actually wanted to see the movie."

"You can get emotionally invested in anything after three hours."

"No, it's more than that. I think you were enjoying the movie. Admit it."

After returning JJ's call, they walked back to the SUV hand in hand, but before either could get inside, Derek spoke:

"The Sundering Seas between them lay,

And yet at last they met once more,

And long ago, they passed away,

In the forest singing sorrowless."

"That's from the Ballad of Beren and Tinúviel. How… Derek?"

"I said I didn't care for the movies."

The ride to Spencer's apartment was quiet for all of two minutes.

"Closet geek."

"Hey, if it gets me into your robes, I'll even learn a few words in Quenya."

"Oh. I never took you for a traditionalist. I prefer Sindarin. It flows better."

"I'm never gonna hear the end of this, am I?"

"Um… no. I don't think you will."

Derek groaned at the confirmation.

"Derek… Thanks. I really needed a day like this."

Derek's hand found Spencer's and lifted it to his lips for a brief kiss.

"Anytime, Pretty Boy. Anytime."

When they reached the apartments, Spencer jumped out of the vehicle as soon as it rolled to a stop. Turning back with an undecipherable look, he said very softly and very clearly,

"I love you". Then he rushed off to grab the go-bag that sat packed and ready by his front door. Knowing that it could be several days before he was home again, he quickly ran down to check his mail and was glad that he'd made the effort. Seeing that cream-colored, wax-sealed envelope lightened his heart like nothing else.

He showed the envelope to a still grinning Derek once he'd climbed back into the SUV and buckled up.

"What?" Spencer asked, wondering at the delirious expression on his face.

"Nothing. Just something someone told me."

The case took them to Houston, where a series of home invasion rapes had escalated to murder. It took them five days to find the Unsub only because the last victim had survived. The robberies were well-planned and the crime scenes meticulously cleaned, but even the most organized killer can make mistakes. He knew that Cherilyn Gardner lived alone. He didn't know that she had been a victim before or how hard she would fight to not be a victim again.

For so long it seemed to Derek that friends, family, and the simple joys were brief intermissions in the long and twisted nightmare that they called life. But that wasn't life. It was a job- an important and fulfilling job, but still only a job. Work was the interruption. Life was a phone call to his mother and sisters 'just because'. Life was a group of friends sitting around a dinner table talking and laughing like they haven't seen each other for years. Life was Spencer. Spencer burying his head beneath the covers, refusing to wake up. Spencer walking Clooney for the first time and looking like he

was the one being walked. Spencer breathless and undone and so fucking perfect, clinging to him like a lifeline, like the world was dissolving and they were the only thing left that was real.

He looked across the jet and caught Spencer's gaze. He smiled that secret smile that was only for him, always for him. Derek smiled back, watching Spencer remove a letter from his messenger bag- Diana's letter. He liked to read and answer them on the way home. It was cleansing, he said, to look forward to something good after all the bad. Derek closed his eyes and let his mind wander as the music playing over his headphones started to play. He didn't make it past the first verse of the song. A nudge to his shoulder prompted him to open his eyes and look up to see a grim-faced Rossi. He cut the music and removed the headphones.

"Hey. Somethin' up?"

Rossi didn't answer. He merely nodded toward the other side of the jet. Hotch stood still as a stone sentinel next to a kneeling JJ. He was clearly concerned, and he spoke quietly as JJ tried to coax a piece of paper from Spencer's hands. The young man's eyes were wide and unseeing, unable to blink back the steady stream of tears.

"Reid?" No response. He moved toward the man slowly, cautiously, panic flooding his veins like poison. "Reid?" He turned to his teammates for an explanation, but they were just as clueless as he was. "Spencer." He took JJ's place and tried to establish eye contact. What he saw in those haunted depths doubled his panic. His eyes were wide-open and unfocused, the pupils almost twice their normal size. His breaths were coming in short, shaky pants, and the letter he clutched shook in his trembling hands.

"Spencer," he spoke softly, knowing that he was unlikely to receive an answer. "I need you to give me the letter, alright?" He grasped the corners of the parchment and managed to pull it free after a few short tugs.

"What's it about?" Emily asked, but Derek was too occupied with re-reading the four lines of script. When he had read it a second time, he passed the letter to Hotch and sank into the seat next to Spencer's. He brought his arms around the unresisting body and drew it close to his own while the same words played over and over in both of their heads:

"With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,

And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow;

And this was all the Harvest that I reaped-

'I came like Water, and like Wind I go.'"

Hotch made the necessary calls to Las Vegas when they got back to Quantico. It wasn't a conversation for the jet. Not when Spencer was finally asleep, exhausted and cried-out in his lover's arms. This wasn't the way Derek had wanted to confirm their team's suspicions about them, but none of that mattered now. What mattered now was the empty shell that had hung like forgotten laundry for eight days in a Las Vegas apartment. What mattered were the broken promises of a man who had kept the one promise he should never have made. What mattered was Spencer's voice, angry and pitiless, forbidding William Reid from attending the funeral- lifeless and dull as he begged Derek to stay behind.

So Derek stayed. With every reserve of strength within him, he forced himself to watch Spencer board that plane alone. There was nothing else he could do, nothing except wait. And here he was, still waiting. Spencer had been home for two weeks now, but Derek wondered if he would ever truly be back.

The state of Spencer's apartment was understandable given the circumstances. Derek had done what he could in the short time he'd allotted himself before Spencer woke up. That the troubled man had tolerated another person's presence for an entire afternoon was a minor miracle. He had hope, of course. It was usually a mistake to bet against Spencer Reid. That didn't stop the worry, though. He wondered if Spencer was sleeping, whether he was eating. Was he allowing himself to mourn? Would he ever call? Derek really wished he would just call.

As if in answer to that silent prayer, the ringing of the phone broke Derek from his silent musings. Standing out in stark contrast against the sickly green backlighting was a phone number Derek had hoped to never see, and he was reminded of why his faith was so shaky. Taking a calming breath, he picked up the call, a voice coming over the line before he could even speak.

"Agent Morgan…"

TBC…

Comments and constructive criticisms are most welcome.