Hi everyone! Wow, it's been a while. I never planned to go so long without updating, especially given how much of this little story I have planned out. Shortly after my last update, I had a health scare, very similar to what I talk about in this story and it frightened the hell out of me. After that and grieving the loss of one of my good friends who died the month prior, I found it really difficult to update this story given the topics. I just wanted to apologize and say that I am doing better now. I hope you'll all be able to pick the story back up and forgive me for my brief disappearance! I also wanted to thank everyone who reviewed and favorited while I was not updating, it really pushed me to pick the story back up and give you all a good chapter.

Enjoy!

Rossi assumed that the worst was over when he let his daughter go out god knows where with God knows who, but in fact, the worst had yet to come. Telling her to go enjoy her night was the easy part, he quickly realized. Now he had to sit at home and wait, something that Rossi was horribly inexperienced in. He couldn't help it really; he had been an impatient man all his life and probably in a few prior lives as well. Did I really say midnight? Rossi wondered, and shortly after began pacing around his living room.

He realized as well that he forgot to remind her to take her pepper spray. He also didn't ask her to turn her location on her phone. He should have asked more questions, gave more warnings. He kept repeating in his head that this was all normal, she was a grown woman after all, no longer a little girl. He thought it over and over like some kind of shitty mantra until he couldn't think at all. And although he knew it all to be true, he still found himself anxious. The well of his patience was small to begin with, and it seemed as though every drop had been used and left it dry. Before he knew it, he was getting up off the couch to retrieve his keys.

Rossi meant to knock quietly, in case Jack was taking a nap, but he had accumulated much more pent up energy in the drive over than he ever thought possible and ended up knocking quite harshly.

"Dave?"

"Is this a bad time?"

Hotch was surprised to see the other agent at his front door. He had received no text message, no call, nothing, and it was unlike Rossi to show up unexpected, which gave Hotch the impression that whatever was going on with the other agent, it was bad.

"Haley was just making Jack some late breakfast, come in."

"Aaron who…oh, David."

"Sorry for barging in like this, I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Rossi apologized, and he had meant it. He was sure that Aaron was looking forward to spending the weekend with his family, but he had no one else to talk to about what was going through his head.

Haley approached him wearing a warm smile and enveloped Rossi in a short hug.

"It's good to see you. Go sit with Aaron, I just put a pot of coffee on."

"Are you okay, Rossi?"

"No, I'm not okay Hotch my-"

"That case, Sarah Hicks…I'm sure-" Aaron interrupted.

"That's not why I'm here," Rossi responded, although he looked away from Aaron's eyes when he spoke. Aaron thought he was deflecting the conversation he was attempting to initiate, but in reality Rossi was just embarrassed to have shown up on his doorstep at all.

"Rossi," Hotch leaned in closer and lowered his voice, "you held the gash in her neck shut. You watched Sarah Hicks choke on her own blood. That, as well as the case focusing around losing her daughter…it's more than understandable if-"

"It's Alma," Rossi started to explain as he shook his head.

"What's wrong?" Haley interrupted as she made her way into the living room with the two steaming mugs, setting one on the table in front of Rossi and keeping the other for herself. Her demeanor had changed upon hearing those two words, and Rossi tried not to notice how quickly the color drained from Haley's cheeks.

"I just saw her the other day, she looked like she was doing really well. You told us they put her on a new kind of medication for the-"

"No, for God's sake, at least that's something I'd be prepared to handle," Rossi said, mumbling the very last part of his sentence with embarrassment. "I think…my daughter is on a date."

The sentence, although it held no humor itself, caused both Hotchner's to choke slightly on their fresh sips of coffee and sputter it as they tried, poorly, to hold in their bubbling laughter. Rossi, never the one to hold in his feelings, displayed his annoyance but crossing his arms and leaning back into the couch.

Alma had been waiting. She had always been horribly impatient, a trait that had no doubt rubbed off on her from her father. It hadn't been more than ten minutes, but already she was convinced she was stood up and that this was some kind of cruel joke. She had already sent him a text when she arrived and calling at this point would just scream desperate. With nothing else to do but wait, Alma leaned back against her car and stared at the afternoon sky. Spencer would either show up, or he wouldn't, she decided.

A few minutes later, Alma had grown bored of trying to make shapes out of the clouds. It was no fun to do it alone with no one there to theorize along with you. When she looked back towards the street, she saw a familiar body, looking slightly disheveled, approaching her. Alma expected to feel relief that she wasn't being stood up, but instead felt her nerves increase tenfold.

"H-hey, I'm sorry I was running a little late," Spencer said as he approached, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "How are you?"

"Overdressed apparently," Alma laughed, looking Spencer up and down, making him feel like he was something on display. His choice of clothing was simple: slacks and a button-up shirt. Oddly enough, she realized that he had a bundle of fabric tucked under his arm. He looked comfortable and relaxed, and then there was Alma standing there in a velvet dress that reached right above her knee. The sleeves, she hoped, made the dress look much more casual as they resembled more of a t-shirt style. At least I didn't wear heels, she thought. It hadn't occurred to Spencer that he should warn her of his plan, he thought it was…better, romantic even, for it to be a surprise.

"Not overdressed, you uhm look g-great."

Alma awkwardly adjusted the strap of her purse which was beginning to dig uncomfortably into her shoulder, using the action as a pathetic excuse to hide her reaction to the compliment.

"So," she started, "what exactly do you have planned for today, doctor?"

"Didn't I tell you not to call me that?"

"I don't recall, we don't all have an eidetic memory, you know."

"But you remember that, of course."

"It's a selective memory," she joked. Spencer smiled back at her.

"Follow me, we'll have to walk if that's okay, but it's not far."

Yeah, Alma thought, really glad I didn't wear heels.

"After you, doc."

A short walk later, Spencer and Alma reached the park. Any other day they might have walked the paths and watched parents play with their children. They would have held their coffee cups close and watched those we were more athletically inclined to run the trails as they walked on the edges. Maybe, even, they would sit on the small stone steps and read together. That day, however, was different. A large make-shift stage had been set up in one of the empty field spots and it was nearly completely surrounded by people sitting on lawn chairs and blankets.

"What is all this?" Alma asked. By her tone, Spencer worried that she was unhappy with his choice in plans. He thought, incredibly, that he had never struggled to read a person as much as he did Alma. He used to think he was good at his job, but every time he saw her he wondered how much he didn't truly understand about people.

"It's uhm…Shakespeare in the park," Spencer answered, glancing down at her nervously due to the height difference between them. "This is the first year they've done it at this park. I'm sure the New York shows are much more impressive. They have food trucks set up on the other side there, and the local schools play music during intermissions. I'm sorry, if you want to do something else we can-"

Quickly, Alma had reached out to grab his hand. "I love it," Alma said, and Spencer felt the warmth in her tone. "I was homeschooled for a few years when I was younger. My dad...he used to read me Shakespeare. He did different voices for all the characters and everything."

Suddenly, as if it was on fire, she released Spencer's hand from her grip. Alma hadn't realized she was still holding it and hoped she hadn't overstepped with the shy man in front of her. Spencer stood there awkwardly, holding the rolled-up blanket under his arm and much too afraid to make eye contact with the woman next to him. Instead of looking at her, he forced his eyes to scan the crowd, trying to find an empty spot where they might fit.

"We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep," She said wistfully, interrupting the silence and smiling in the direction of the stage.

"The Tempest," Spencer mumbled, the corners of his mouth turning up. He was impressed that Alma really did know Shakespeare. If he would have asked her to quote anything to prove it, he would have expected her to name something from one of his more mainstream plays. It would be easy to speak of what's in a name, or of the (failed) philosophies of Horatio, but she went and exceeded his expectations instead with The Tempest.

"You thought I wouldn't like this," Alma said. It was an observation not a question.

Spencer nodded, "Most people I know find Shakespeare…a bit dull."

"Are you insinuating that I'm most people?" Alma asked and feigned a little stab to the heart, causing Spencer to laugh at her dramatics.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, the change in her voice catching Spencer off guard, "over there!"

She was pointing to a small spot towards the very back of the crowd next to a large willow tree. Most people wanted to be both close to the stage and in the sun, Spencer assumed. Alma, however, didn't seem to mind, because she had already started walking towards the tree, leaving Spencer to catch up.

They had arrived during the first act of King Lear. Alma had read the play many times, as well as having it read to her when she was younger. Because they were seated away from the majority of the crowd, Alma thought they could speak quietly to each other throughout the play without bothering anyone.

They spread out the blanket, and it was much larger than Alma thought it would be. Her choice of attire proved a little difficult to sit comfortably in, so Alma opted to lay on her stomach, propped up by her elbows. Spencer sat to her right side, sitting cross-legged.

"Have you seen this before?" Alma asked.

Spencer shook his head but still faced towards the stage. "I've read it. I'm not much of a play kind of person, usually."

"If you don't like plays then why did you plan this?"

"I never said I didn't like plays; I've just never been. I guess I never had anyone to go to stuff like this with…Like I said, most people in my life would find this dull."

"So, if you don't go to plays, what do you do with your friends?"

"They're not friends really, I mean they are it's just…I spend a lot of time with my coworkers." Spencer explained, "we're a team and friends and...it's more like a family, I guess."

It was then that Alma noticed the way he held his fingers, tightly gripping each other and turning the skin around his hand an angry pink. Spencer thought his nerves would just calm if he could focus on the actors in the distance in front of them, but every time Alma spoke up it reminded Spencer of who he was with and he became overwhelmed by nerves all over again.

"You know," Alma started, "for someone who is obviously very caught up in their work you never did tell me what it is that you do."

Spencer turned his head to answer her, but his breath caught in his throat. Alma had turned to face towards him on her side with her elbow propping her up and her hand holding her head. Turning positions caused her dress to move up slightly, exposing the deep olive skin on her thigh.

"I'm i-in the uhm…FBI. I'm an FBI agent." It was a miracle at all that he got the words out, if Spencer had stared any longer he would have probably forgotten his own name. But this, he was hoping, would be the one thing about him that impressed her.

"Oh, say no more," Alma said with a snort. "I come from an FBI household, those stories I…well I like hearing the good parts, but I'm afraid I don't quite have the stomach for that line of work."

At first, Spencer thought he was screwed. However, Spencer's next thought was one of surprising relief. Whenever he met people, not that Spencer met many he was interested in the way he was with Alma, they asked questions almost solely about his job. It was rare for Spencer to speak of much else. They never asked what he liked, or what his life was like before he joined the FBI. People just wanted to hear gory stories or tales of heroics that end with them catching the bad guy. Spencer found himself relieved, for the first time, to not have to speak of himself only in that context.

"Did that count as a question?" Spencer asked, thinking of the little game they had played the last time they saw each other.

"Technically, I didn't phrase it as a question but…yes I guess I'll give you this one."

"Oh, how generous."

"You're welcome" Alma giggled, and Spencer struggled to describe the sound again. "So, go on then, ask away."