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Chapter summary: Err... How about 'let's not kill her yet because she has to finish the story'?


Chapter nine: Goddess of the Moon.

She remembered seeing him for the very first time. Small hand sticking out from the purple patchwork blanket, small head with soft brown hair covered by green cap. She wasn't the first to hold him but she was never sore over that because that memory, that image she always carried close to her heart.

When she saw him for the very first time she was slowly waking up and he was in her mother's arms. Her mother was gone not too long after his birth, killed by drunk driver.

It was a terrifying feeling. Being a mother, being his mother.

He was perfect. Right from the moment she laid her eyes on him. He was perfect. She knew that he was perfect, that he was special long before others had seen it. She had the honor to be the first who had seen it.

Intellectually he grew faster than other kids and it was that what made him special to the others. His mind. She always loved that in him but it wasn't the only reason she loved him. He was her son, how could she not love him. He understood her in ways Will was never able to understand her.

When shadows lengthened and voices intensified she tried to cling feverishly to his constancy, to his presence and understanding that no matter what happened he was her son and that he will never leave.

That he would never leave like Will did.

She loved watching him when he slept because when he slept he looked like an angel, finally his own age, still a baby, always her baby, her little boy.

Spencer. Will father's name. Spencer Reid was a good man, down to earth with dry wit and big heart. He welcomed her with open arms even if his wife, Agnes, didn't. He never made her feel worse and he was the first man she saw crying. She remembered the moment, its startling clarity, the moment her mother passed her son into his grandfather's arms. It was then when she knew that she wanted her son to have the name of a man who wasn't afraid of shedding tears. Spencer. Occupational name of Middle English origins. Dispenser of provisions. Dispenser of medication, of food, of the time spend on reading, of hours of sleep.

Aaron. Another name after his grandfather. From Hebrew mountain of strength and he was strength, her strength, his own strength. He was her pillar, her constant and rock. With him there was hardly a time she felt lost because she knew that he would always find her.

William. After Will and still after Will's father and hers father (his second name). Protection. He protected her, he protected himself. There were times when he was so hell-bent in protecting her that he forgot that he had to take care of himself. In times like that she had to protect him from protecting her too much. Like when he started putting his brilliant mind on the scales against protecting her.

It hurt her to watch it. It hurt her to watch him sacrificing his future for her. That's why she wrote the letter to Tobias. No matter what she said he would not change his mind about not pursuing his further education under respected professors. She needed the counsel, she needed the tribe, she needed the village to convince him to go.

And he went, not without a fight. He called every other day, wrote every single day, came back home for weekends and stayed home for as long as possible electing to sleep on the train.

Somewhere between the day the tribe decided to send him away and the day he send her away he grew up. From scrawny, lanky boy with huge glasses hiding his beautiful brown eyes into still scrawny, still lanky young man.

There was the time when she hated him for sending her away. She hated him precisely for three hundred sixty-seven days, four hours and forty-two minutes. She hated being confined to a psychiatric hospital, she hated having to be allowed to call someone and just for three minutes, she hated that they seemed to think that they knew better what was the best for her.

It wasn't until she saw him after over a year of refusing to see him that she finally understood.

It was as hard on him as it was on her but he was still hell-bent on having her stay where she was. He said that she looked better, that she was healthier. It angered her that she spoke to her like to a small child until she realized that he wasn't only convincing her, he was also convincing himself.

At the hospital one day was like another so they merged one to another, days… weeks… months… years.

In the beginning he visited often. When he was still in California he visited on every weekend, later on when he moved across the country he visited every month. Then it became less. Two months, three months, four months, five months… Once a whole year had gone by without his visits and God she was so angry with him.

He wrote letters, he always wrote letters but letters weren't enough.

It had been over a year when he had those fascists drag her on a plane to protect her and it was also a while before it finally sunk.

He did what he did because it was what he had chosen, it was his path, what he wanted. He did it because he was Spencer Aaron William Reid. Because the names which she had given him shaped the man he was, he devoted himself to protecting others by supplying his knowledge and the strength he was.

It was few years back when she truly saw more of the Agent than of her son in him. His strength, his determination, the moment of dawning realization and later on anger, frustration… shame… vulnerability.

He called the same day he left. A friend of his made him the godfather of her son, blue eyed bundle with soft blonde hair, the boy was born on the same day he put to rest the shadows that haunted him for years. Henry, the home ruler.

Henry, skilled kidnapper that wrapped not only his parents but also godparents around his pinky. Devoted, sweet little boy with still blonde curls and still baby blue eyes that filled with wonder, one that clung to Spencer's leg in one of the photographs he sent in his letters. The boy with huge smile like in the other photograph where prime role played mushy pees he smeared over himself and over his equally terrified and equally gleeful godfather.

Henry dominated his letters for a very long time, he still did. She liked to think that she got better account of godfather-godson bonding time than his parents did. She had many photos of the boy because he was important to Spencer.

After Spencer she didn't want to have other kids. Not because she almost died from fright during her pregnancy although it played a part but because she had a baby and he was perfect no matter what Will said Spencer was enough and more than enough.

Regardless what she thought about having other kids than him there was in her the mother that wanted her son to be happy and the mother that longed for receiving a photograph of a baby that was completely, utterly his.

She wished upon falling stars that one day he would find the perfect woman who would understand and love the man he was and who would give him a perfect child on his own, her grandchild.

It was a dream, a longing and long time ago she placed that thought on her wishful thinking list, along with leaving the hospital, never succumbing to her sickness in the first place.

Tobias and Janine with their unable to sit straight for longer than two minutes twins, Chip and Dale came around to visit her at the hospital always when they were in Vegas. They always brought the boys because they always had something for Aunt Di (like the braver of the pair, Chip called her when he was two years old). Seeing them made her sad at times because the older they grew the longer she was at the hospital. God bless Janine for her heart and understanding, for the sacrifice of her own motherhood for as long as she required help.

When Tobias and Janine with the boys came they brought Janine's cookies and Jane always knew how to cram as much sugar as humanly possible into a cookie. They brought flowers, white orchids like usual. The boys brought pictures and a comics book made for her of their own, slightly poor but very artistic penmanship.

She greeted them and listened to breathless, interjected account of fifth grade material that the twins were giving, constantly interrupting one another in their joyfulness. It made her happy and it made her sad because at eleven Spencer was smart but shy and nervous boy that hardly ventured in such breathless account of making a rocket out of a film roll that killed the gold fish in the aquarium by accident.

Tobias's phone rang suddenly and he picked it up. He listened for a moment before he yelped, "When? How? Spencer? Our Spencer?"

For a moment she almost died from fright until it sunk that Tobias was grinning like an idiot. Tobias was a rational man, good man and he wasn't a monster. He wouldn't be joyous over Spencer getting hurt.

Tobias let go off the phone for a moment as he said, "Spencer became a father. Girl named Cynthia."

"When?" Janine asked in excitement.

"Today and about three years ago," Tobias answered quickly. "I mean she is about three and half but he just learned today. Maine and Hawaii are already preparing to leave, I don't know about Tim and Tina…"

It was like being hit by lightning-bolt. Her long time deeply buried dream came true. Her baby boy became a father and she had a granddaughter, Cynthia.

Cynthia. Kynthia, the other name of Artemis, goddess of moon, also known under the name Diana.

"If you are thinking that I'm going to stay here…" she told them.

"It will be a flight Diana," Janine said calmly. "You are terrified of flying."

"I don't care," she huffed. "I want to see my son and my granddaughter as soon as possible. Drug me if you have to but I'm going with you."

And surprisingly they let her go. Her doctors didn't even bat an eyelid about releasing her into Tobias's and Janine's care. They instructed all of them about sedating her for the duration of the flight so she wouldn't spend few hours at worrying herself sick that they were going to crash.

The sedation allowed her to sleep the whole flight and she woke up only when the plane had landed. Janine had given her pills and strong tea to clear her head from sleep while Tobias wandered away in search of rental cars.

She took in the surroundings.

Different from Vegas and slightly quirky.

The street where Spencer's house was. Quiet neighborhood and according to Janine close to Georgetown University. Terrace-houses, not too big, not too small, each different from the other.

She had never been here before, the only time she was close to where Spencer lived he never took her home, he said that he didn't want to confuse her and that his place was too small for her to spend the night. Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn't.

It was night, close to ten o'clock. The house by which Tobias stopped the car was washed in the light that came from within and through open windows she could hear the sound of laughter and joy.

"The rest aside of Dave's and Sheba's twins with their girls are already there it would seem," Tobias said when he turned off the ignition.

Then the laughter and joy wasn't coming from within, she was no longer a bystander but a participant.

They let her to be the first to greet Spencer, grinning Spencer who probably a moment before had laughed from a joke which Dave said because Dave never met a joke he didn't like. On his shoulders was sitting the boy with blue eyes and blonde hair whom she recognized as his godson and seated in his arms was the girl.

Long, slightly curly brown hair and the same big brown eyes as Spencer's. It was her. It was Cynthia.

It took her one look, one glance to know how she knew nearly thirty … had so many years had passed… thirty years ago that she was special, that she was perfect and she was special and she was perfect because she was Spencer's daughter.

Upon seeing her Cynthia's face brightened and she extended her arms… to her, not to Janine who was still standing in the hall but to her. To her grandmother.

Grandmother. Her hidden deepest desire and the wildest dream. She was a grandmother.

And somehow in next moment the girl was in her arms, wrapping her arms around her neck and kissing her cheek.

There was silence and there were tears. Then there was another kiss pressed to her cheek, the other one. More voices of children, polite but filled with joy. More faces and more names.

Jack, Zack, Rory, Molly… kids whose along with Henry Spencer was baby-sitting for the weekend. Bright, smiling faces, polite greetings.

She fell into it. Sitting on the floor of the living-room like a kid herself, not like an adult and a woman of not prime youth. Watching them drawing pictures while the others were talking. Eyes travelling between Cynthia and Henry to the others.

Taking it in, breathing it in.

Like she took it, breathed it now.

Spencer's house despite its size from outside on the inside wasn't as big as it looked, spacious yes, but not big and sleeping space was short. She heard that Spencer's neighbor gave over for the family to use two bedrooms, the living-room and the kitchen (to Sheba's delight but Sheba actually never met a kitchen she didn't like).

Sheba and Dave along with Spartin and Mina went over to that house for the night, so did Tim and Tina. Tobias and Janine had stayed with the twins and took two couches in Spencer's living-room.

Spencer after quick discussion, during which he was the losing side, with the oldest of the baby-sat bunch, Molly, had left his study and quite comfortable futon at her disposal. It was very thoughtful of the girl to offer the place in which she was staying to her and to chose the floor in Spencer's bedroom where Spencer rounded up the rest of the kids for the night.

Except Diana wasn't tired at all. She slept through the flight so after the girl's yawns became a bit too wide Diana quickly herded her back to the room the girl not so long ago conceded to her and wrapped a blanket around her.

From the armchair she could observe all occupants of the bed. By the wall, the oldest boy if she remembered correctly, Zack, then blonde-haired girl named Rory, sandwiched between Zack and the other boy, Jack. Henry, Spencer's godson was sleeping with his head pressed slightly to Cynthia's back.

But Cynthia herself was a sight she drunk from. Sleeping on her stomach, left knee slightly curled so she wasn't fully on her stomach, left arm hanging from the foot of the bed, her fingers wrapped tightly around Spencer's left forefinger because Spencer himself slept on the floor, with his left hand stretched to Cynthia and left knee propped up.

And she knew, instinctually like mother's always do, that Spencer will protect his baby girl as fiercely if not more as he once and still protected her.

She knew what he didn't know, not yet, because she knew that he was still too shocked, too surprised and too much thrown off the loop of reason and logic to rationalize the situation. She knew that he will continue being who he was and doing what he did because he chased monsters and now he had someone on his own to protect from them, his daughter.

But Spencer was a smart boy and eventually when the chaos will turn into the order he will figure it out on his own. He didn't need her to tell him that.

If only she could see them more often to continue drinking in the sight of her baby boy with his baby girl. Perhaps…

She was derailed from her train of thoughts by a soft gasp coming from the bed.

She reacted on instinct like mother's always do and she was kneeling by the right side of the bed, petting reddish blonde hair and making shushing noises within seconds.

The boy, Jack, however didn't calm down and continue to sleep but sat up and stared at her with his big, brown eyes, breathing fast and held his arms to her.

She extended hers and slowly picked him up.

"Did you have a bad dream?" she asked gently.

Jack nodded quickly and whispered, "George hurt mum again and he hurt dad too. I called but no one heard me."

"It's okay," she said. "George can't hurt you here."

"I know," Jack said quietly. "Dad said that he can't hurt us anymore but I'm still scared. Uncle Spencer is great but I wish that dad was here. He tells me about mum after I have a bad dream. Is it bad to wish that someone hurt George before he hurt mum?"

Hurt in his words had a deeper meaning, terrifying meaning for a child, death. Death of a parent, and a mother on that.

Where was Cynthia's mother? She didn't ask for that too enchanted by her mere presence but she had to ask about her later. Later because Cynthia was sleeping and she was safe and Spencer was by her side but Jack's father wasn't.

"Do you want to call your dad?" she asked.

Jack nodded quickly.

"Do you know his number?" she asked.

"Uncle Spencer has it in his telephone," Jack said pensively.

Has it in his telephone which meant that devilish inventions called cell phones she despised but Spencer relayed on them like on a crutch because he had two of them.

"Do you know where he had it last time?" she asked.

She saw one on the bedside table nearby and reached for it.

The man couldn't be under Jack's Dad of that she was sure.

"What's your surname Jack?" she asked.

"Hotchner," Jack answered.

Somehow she managed to enter the register of numbers and names and scrolled down to Hanson, past Herbert, Hopkins and stopped on Hotch. She scrolled down and saw Gastin.

"Hotch," she said as she looked up at the boy.

"Uncle Derek calls dad like that during picnics," Jack said pensively.

It could be the man or it could be not, either way for the call they needed to go somewhere where it wouldn't interrupt other kids sleeping.

"We will call your dad in a moment but first we need to leave the room so we won't wake the others and somewhere that's comfortable," she told Jack.

"Uncle Spencer has a swing on the porch, it's very comfortable," Jack said.

Somehow they managed to get downstairs and went to the back of the house through the dinning-room. Quickly she spotted the blanket hanging on the swing and after she sat down on the swing she bundled it around Jack so the boy wouldn't catch a cold.

Then once again she checked the register, saw that it was still on Hotch and pressed green button before she brought the phone to her ear.

There were three rings she waited through before she heard more yawned than spoken, "Hotchner."

"Mr Hotchner, it's Diana Reid, Spencer's mother," she said quickly. "Jack wants to talk with you," she gave the boy the phone.

She hugged the boy a bit tighter and wrapped her cardigan around his back and waited patiently until his breath deepened and the phone fell from his fingers into his lap.

She picked it up because his father might be worried that something happened to the boy.

"Jack?" Mr Hotchner asked sleepily.

"He is sleeping," she said softly. "I will be insensitive Mr Hotchner but can I ask what happened to his mother?"

"She was murdered," the answer was soft.

"Did you got him?" she asked.

"I did," was even softer than before, "but I was too late. I saved Jack…"

"That's what matters," she said softly. "To both of you. Don't worry Mr Hotchner, where he is tonight he is safe and protected and I happen to know a house full of overprotective mothers and avenging fathers that would explain to any man who would come within a frying pan's throw distance to a child entrusted into our care that he is not welcomed," she assured him.

"Frying pan's distance?" Mr Hotchner asked curiously.

"Mothers in our family are fiercely overprotective," she explained.

"It seems to be a trait," Mr Hotchner admitted.

"It is," she nodded. "He just doesn't know it yet."

"R… Spencer?" Mr Hotchner asked. "And his daughter?"

"So you know about her?" she asked.

"He called me about the leave," he said.

"He will come back, for her," she said. "He just doesn't know it yet. But he will come back, Mr Hotchner. Mother always knows."


Like it? Hate it? Let me know.

Next chapter: Reid vs the rest of the family, quick handbook on how to lose one's mind in a span of few hours. Most probably also Garcia but I wouldn't put any of my body parts on that account, I know where is she but the timeline requires small tweaking.