Reid hadn't noticed the shooting, or the policemen coming and going again (though quite unwillingly).

His entire attention was directed at the small woman that stood crouched over the heavy handkerchief he had brought her. It was made of silk, and had been an heirloom of their family for three hundred-fifty-eight years. It had been passed on to every female relative till 1911 when the bank in Switzerland, where the fabric had been stored, was robbed. The kerchief had disappeared then, and Diane herself had only known it from stories. Until now. Her fingers were stroking the fine embroidery over and over again, looking for a proof that what she saw was the same she had heard before. That the cloth the young man that claimed to be her son was more than just a mere cloth.

Reid had proved it for himself. A chemistry student who he knew from a case long ago had made a c14-analysis, and an art teacher from the same university had confirmed that the fabric was made in the 17th century. Besides, the description of the handkerchief was the only bedtime story he had ever heard. It was the right fabric. But would that be enough to prove he was Diane's son? That he loved her, in his own craven way?

He swallowed heavily. "I let some experts examine it, m… They all say that it is our…"

"Of course it is ours!" With as much dignity as possible when your eyeliner is smeared all around your face, Diane Reid straightened up. Her eyes flashed, but it was only a bit of madness in them. Most of the light seemed to come from a deep peace of mind, a peace he had not seen in her for many years. "This fabric tells us the story of the fall of Troy and the tale of Siegfried the Dragonslayer, as if they had happened at the same time. It was made in 1653 in Lyon by Francois Arnaud and since then it has been our property. It is mine as it would have been my mother's if her aunt wouldn't have let it be stolen, and it was her mother's before. I have looked for it my whole life long, as my mother has looked for it because this is our holy grail and nothing and nobody can take it away from us, even if it takes our lives…we will protect it as we would protect our children…" she broke off, gasping.

Reid grabbed her arm to prevent her from breaking down. He tried not to think about what he had heard. The cloth was as important to her as he was. Worse still: It had always been. He didn't know if this was a sign of paranoid schizophrenia in his family through the years or simply of social inability. But basically, he should not be surprised. He always had had to care for himself, so why not also for a piece of silk? This thing had the same value as a little sister would have, he had to keep that in mind…it had, basically the same value as Henry…

A dry laughter escaped his throat, born from the sobs he choked down. Diane stared at him, severly and shocked. "You're laughing?" "Yeah, it's just because…" Tears of disappointment and exhaustion rolled down his cheeks now. Again, Reid caught himself wishing to run away, getting back to his team. This wasn't his world. He wanted to make Henry giggle and JJ smile, he wanted Garcia to make him laugh, he wanted Morgan to tell him that everything would somehow make sense. Even if he knew that often enough Morgan didn't believe what he was saying himself. Spencer Reid wanted to go home.

"Spencer?" He looked up. She had used his name! Did she know him? The tears left for a smile to come. So it would be a goodbye in peace. Diane had her holy handkerchief, he had his team – and some problems with Hotch if he wouldn't be at work soon.

"It's just – I'm happy the two of you are together now! I mean the handkerchief and you…you as a literature teacher, that's the best end a journey can have. You even could write a book about it!" He took a few steps back, taking in his mother for what he thought the last time. "I've got to go back, mother…we're on a case right now and…"

"Spencer!" Diane broke the invisible boundary she normally built up for her own security and wrapped her arms around her son. Reid froze. He couldn't remember her hugging him ever before. But did that really matter?

Diane Reid smiled as she felt her son hugging her back. She had not been that clear for a long time. "You're too skinny, boy", she said, only half to prevent her from crying. Spencer laughed. "I'm fine, mother." With fresh tears rolling down his face, he savored the feeling of holding his mother and, for once, being held himself. After a while – too short for Reid – Diane let go of him and looked straightly into his eyes. He saw it clearly now – the madness had gone. The pride and love that filled them now, however, was as heavy to bear as the madness had been, and overwhelmed, he looked down.

"Spencer, look at me when I'm talking to you!" Her voice became soft now, gentle, and warmer than ever. "This journey has not found its end only because you're a man. Thanks to you I can write my part of the story now, but that's only a chapter. One day you will have a wife, and then I will give the fabric to her so she can give it to her daughter. And I will tell my granddaughter the story before she goes to sleep…" Diane's smile filled the whole room and Spencer couldn't help but smile back. Yes. He didn't know exactly how to find someone who would marry him, but…yes. That was how it was meant to be. "I will tell her she hast to know the story by heart when she's three years old", he promised, and Diane laughed. "I hope so, son. It would be a pity if your brains went lost - and you know that a genius won't be discovered if he or she doesn't learn and work very hard. But you do work hard – and you have to go now to work even harder, don't you?" She went into the kitchen to hide her disappointment, but it clearly rang in her voice.

"I'm…I'm afraid yes, but…wait, I'll check it out…" Quickly Reid took out his mobile. Someone had called him seven point two minutes ago, he had heard it vibrating, but he hadn't dared to pick up then. It had been Emily, and there also was something in his voicemail. Had they found something?

"Hey, Reid, it's Emily. I…actually I really have no idea why they want me to tell you, but…we're in Fayetteville right now, or we're on our way, Morgan and me and the others, we have to check our cases for…parallels. Concerning you, greetings from Hotch, you're on holidays for three days. Seems like Strauss has a problem with our working hours…just…just don't worry, okay? Keep relaxing for me, pretty boy and…see you then!"

Eyebrows raised, Reid put his mobile back into his jacket. Emily's voice had been very calm, but something just seemed to be wrong. Why were they together now? And why wasn't he supposed to be with them?

No, he silently told himself. It was enough. Enough suspicion about the people he loved. He belonged to the team, his abduction had proved it…for another moment he was caught by the gruesome memory, but he stopped it. He even had suspected his mother not to love him…it was enough!

He would use the chance he had got. He would use his experience and his knowledge, as Morgan had told him – in one of those moments when neither of them had believed in Morgan's words. "Use your experience. To become a better agent…a better person."

Yes, he would. "Mother, I'm on holidays! Worked too much…I'd really like to stay a little longer. Mother? Mother?"

As she entered the jet, JJ's mobile rang. She picked up without checking the display. "Agent Jareau?"

"JJ…" Reid's voice broke off, choked by tears. JJ froze right before the door. "Spencer, what's wrong?" Morgan who walked behind her gently shoved her into the jet, closed the door and sat her down on the next sofa. Anxiously the team hovered around her.

"Spencer, please tell me what's wrong! How are you?"

"JJ I think I…I think I just…oh my god, JJ I just killed my mum!"