"What a strange thing a man is; and what a stranger thing a woman." ~Lord Byron.


Flo was propped up in the hospital bed, something Spencer didn't want to have to witness again. Her face spelled out pain until her eyes met his. Reid witnessed her bright smile, something weak compared to normal, but something proving strength beyond supernatural considering her conditions. Would she be better if she hadn't been shot in the river? Would the bacteria cease to exist in her wound? Spencer didn't focus on that because it wasn't reality.

It had happened and whatever happened next would happen. There was nothing in his power that he could do to save Florence. "Spencer," she mustered, eyes twinkling. The simple glimmer of the organ made his heartstrings pull in several directions. This was most likely one of their last conversations.

"Flo," Reid cursed the cracks in his voice. He ventured into the room and sat down in the uncomfortable red chair. Carter had several IV drips attached to her arm, tubes up her nose, a heart monitor beating somewhat steady, but not steady enough to maintain a flicker of hope. Spencer was starting to reluctantly agree with her about death.

"Who's the lamb?" Florence questioned. A gossamer sheen of tears formed in her eyes.

Spencer racked his brain. Sepsis did cause patients to become mentally unwell. "I don't know what you mean by that," Reid answered, taking her hand to hold. Chills ran up his arm making his hair stand parallel to the walls. She even felt dead.

"Alex said he killed the lamb, who died?" she urged, squeezing his hand at a terrifying pressure.

His stomach twisted. This wasn't a mental instability, but his answer would probably send her on one. Flo deserved to know what happened. She deserved to know the lamb really was unadulterated and pure, however, Spencer knew she didn't want to face it. He was never one to believe in the supernatural, but maybe Flo was hanging onto the cables of life long enough to know Holly was okay. Spencer knew it was greedy, but if that were the case, he'd never let Florence know. "I'll let you think about it," Carter sighed.

Spencer took a deep breath in the oxygen deprived room. "I love you, Flo," he refused to blink.

Florence smiled, once again showing teeth, "I love you too, Spencer, too much," she heaved another cough through her throat. Her hand began to shake in Spencer's clutches, trembling with each shallow breath she took. "But, I'm taking the secret to the grave, you don't have to," she rasped between wheezing breaths. Gasping, she spoke another forced line that was sincere honesty on her part, "That's why you need to move on."

Reid knew he had to take it to the grave as well. No one would understand it, their superior complex. Spencer knew that he'd never find anyone else like Florence Adrian. He knew that no one else on the planet could accept him in the same manner she did. Something in that statement gave him comfort; he knew that he'd never have to worry about Florence being replaced. "You're going to be alright," Spencer reassured her, "You're going to be alright and I'm always going to love you."

"You can cry, I hate when Hotch and Emily come in here and hold back tears, I know I'm going to die," Flo rotated her stiff neck to reveal salty tracks running down her jaw line. Spencer blinked and his own rain littered his cheeks simultaneously.

"Why'd you run away?" Reid sought the pressing question originating from his misguided intentions.

Flo sighed, turning her head back to look at the ceiling. "You wouldn't understand," Carter grimaced.

"You looked me in the face and you lied to me, tell me how I don't understand that?" Reid queried in a tone that shocked himself. He knew all of the stress wasn't good for Flo, but if she was really going to die, she needed to know. "What happened to not giving up Flo?" Spencer raised his voice the slightest octave.

Coughing with tears forming puddles on the sides of the pillow, Reid hated himself for asking her those questions so soon. She was going to die now because of his misuse of words. As the fit receded, she managed, "Because I couldn't serve my purpose when Holly, Eliza, Victor, you, the team, and Harrison were on the hit list. I needed to remove myself and hide Holly."

Reid gave her a long, hard, look. She promised him not to be noble. Flo promised him she wouldn't give up. And if this wasn't the ultimate betrayal, the stab in the back, the last minute change in alliance, there was no other. Still, the love for the near death girl raged on. Love was when you could still stand to be there and suffer. Love was the most illogical, abstract thing that would never be defined. Death didn't make Spencer love Florence more, but made him notice to hidden notes of intensity they had, but was never revealed under normal circumstances. Love would be the death of who Spencer was for certain. "I'm sorry, I'm going to pay for hurting you soon," Florence sobbed.

"I didn't mean it like that," Spencer rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb, "You're not going to pay for something I was rude enough to bring up."

Flo shook her head and iterated clearly, "Who died?"


His legs dangled off of the side of the ledge. Silence couldn't drive away the visions from his head like he had hoped. Spencer cursed the interrupting noises from the epicenter of Istanbul. He was jealous of each person; they weren't losing someone like he was.

Removing a yellow rose from the newly purchased bundle, he ripped off the petals and watched the river take them away. Just twelve hours ago he had done the same thing with a different color flora. This time though, instead of speculating Florence was suffering, he knew she was. The certain heaviness in his heart was becoming quite irksome. He'd been toting around the barbell in his chest for days now, and relief denied any hints to its whereabouts.

The team had arrived with Holly and Reid couldn't stand to face them any longer. It only took five minutes before he found himself back at the flower market, purchasing things to destroy. He didn't hate his team, he didn't hate Holly or Flo, and he simply couldn't bare himself, much less other people. Spencer now knew why Carter fled; it was easier than taking the beast and confronting it head on.

A woman had sat next to him in his time of thought. She wore a plain button up shirt with her snowflake-resembling blonde hair retained by a navy bandana. Her lips were painting red, much like Flo's. Clearing her throat, the girl coughed silently, "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting you," she spoke in a light accent.

"Well, obviously not enough to not do it," Spencer harshly replied. He hoped his callous nature would send her away.

Not ever. The girl chuckled like it was a joke. Spencer frowned; he really didn't want to talk to anyone at the moment, or ever. Blondie took her tattooed arm and tucked a strand of hair in the correct position awkwardly. "A dark part of me wants to destroy something beautiful," she quoted prophetically.

Spencer noticed the line from the book Flo insisted upon him reading. Chuck Palahniuk said that. "Does that apply to you?" the girl raised her eyebrows.

"No, I guess I want to remember something beautiful," he sighed.

"Oh, I just saw you out here this morning with the black haired woman, and I was curious, I guess I can be on my way now," the girl stood up, her long legs comparing to that of Spencer's. She was only about 5'7 though once he got a better look. Curiosity teemed at his insides as she came and was about to leave like she had no impact.

In fact, this girl made him think. She spoke like she knew she was right and knew what was wrong. Call it confidence or supernatural knowing, but Spencer only believed the first part. "My name's Spencer," he tried to get the intriguing young woman to stay. Why would a young woman be in Istanbul if she wasn't running away?

"Anouk," she grinned, "You actually want to talk to me now?"

Spencer rolled his eyes, becoming annoyed by the banter she was trying to conduct, "If you want to."

Anouk plopped down at a comfortable distance and took a flower like she was a friend rather than a stranger. "What are you trying to remember?" her voice mimicked that of Turkish dialect. She wasn't native and she wasn't foreign at the same time.

"Let's talk about you instead."

"Alright," Anouk sarcastically contorted. Beheading the rose, she tossed the yellow petals of sunshine into the cold river.

Spencer eyed the tattoo on her forearm, wondering if it was real, and what the symbol meant. "That a tattoo?" he posed, trying to get his thoughts out of the four walls of his head.

"A temporary one," Anouk answered, scattering more of the petals. Anouk took her precious time with the process, almost in the sense of savoring the moment, "I'm twenty five, I was born somewhere in Norrland, Sweden, and when I was five my parents died. I was adopted by an American family and separated from my brother who was adopted by a different family," she divulged in Spencer.

"So you're trying to find him?" Reid interrupted.

Anouk grasped another flower and ripped the petals viciously. "No, he joined the American Army, got himself killed in Ankara," she bitterly recollected, "The day I turned eighteen I applied for visa, and I've been here since."

Reid bowed his head in reverence. Anouk knew exactly what he was coming from. There was something that made him want to tell her, a compelling force, but she had enough to deal with probably. Reliving a death daily for six years wasn't healthy in the slightest. "And you? Why are you here?" her dialect reaching tones that cut through him like razors, "I swear, this country is a curse."

"So why do you stay?" Spencer recoiled. He wasn't growing fond of the brash mannerisms of Anouk. She was unpredictably blissful, a trait he despised, and a trait he was jealous of.

Even though she had seen the evils of the world and was bitter, she could still reserve happiness. "The same reason you do," Anouk breathily chuckled. Tossing the stem in the clarity of the blue strait, she sighed, "We don't have a home anymore."

"You don't know me," Spencer defended himself, plucking solitary petals from the flower. Tension was a brick wall between the butting heads of the parties. Animosity raged whole heartedly in Spencer's shattered organ.

Anouk rolled her eyes, fiddling in her bag for something. With a condescending scorn her lips formed words Spencer took a liking to, "Why don't you tell me then? I only know your actions, Spencer."

Reverse psychology was Spencer's worst foe. He knew he'd never be able to sleep if he didn't take up for himself; it was a flaw he loathed with all of his heart. "I'm with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, previously called the Behavioral Sciences Unit, founded in…"

"Summarize, I know you can articulate better than that," Anouk began jotting down something in a notebook. Spencer studied what she was writing, and the perceptive girl caught it, "It's just my address, Secret Agent Spencer," she hummed, "Tell me why you came and why you're still here," Anouk demanded. Reid found himself naturally focusing on her breathtakingly lilac hued irises.