Spencer Reid is eight years old when his father leaves his mother. He stands in the doorway, spouting fact after fact in an attempt to convince his father that staying is in all of their best interests.

It doesn't work.

His father leaves, and, for a brief period of time, his mother moves on. She smiles at Spencer, trying to put on a positive front, to convince both of them that she's not broken and that he's not alone. For a brief period of time, it works.

Spencer Reid is ten years old when his mother gets remarried. He's met Mr. Lewis once before. He's nice, even if he's a little bit weird. Then again, Spencer and his mom are weird too. Maybe weird is what his mother needs.

The wedding is nice. From everything that Spencer has read, it's very low budget, with just a Justice of the Peace. It's not like it's hard to find one of those in Vegas. There's a small party at their house with a handful of his mom's colleagues and Mr. Lewis's friends afterward. Spencer watches his mom cut the Walmart cake with a smile. Maybe, things are finally looking up.

As his mom feeds Mr. Lewis, a small girl with wild brown hair catches his eye. She's sitting in the corner watching the couple with skepticism. A frown mars her smooth face. Pushing out of the doorway, Spencer wanders over to her-partly because she's the only other child at the wedding and partly because he already knows who she is: Darcy Lewis, his new stepsister.

Spencer sits on the couch next to her, careful to avoid ruffling her skirts. Most girls he knows don't like ruffled skirts. At least, the ones in books don't. The ones he goes to school with coo at him, thinking that he's cute because he's so much younger than them. Or they pick on him. That's if they pay attention to him at all.

"I'm Spencer," Spencer says.

Darcy stares at him through slitted eyes. She's only five, but she's intimidating. For a moment, Spencer wonders if she can read his thoughts. He quickly shakes off the idea. That's impossible. Based off of the recent report he read on Mutants, she displays no signs of evolutionary jumps. She is simply normal.

A normal, pouting, intimidating five-year-old girl.

"I know," says Darcy, frowning.

"You're name's Darcy." Spencer has no idea why he says this. It's obvious. She knows that he's Spencer and he knows that she's Darcy. They're siblings now.

"I know."

"Like Fitzwilliam Darcy."

Darcy's frown deepens. "Who?"

Glad to have something to explain to his new stepsister, Spencer jumps over the back of the couch and grabs his mother's copy of Pride and Prejudice off of the nearest shelf. Tumbling back over the couch, Spencer drops the book into Darcy's hands. She stares down at it in wonder.

"Can you read?" Spencer asks, realizing that someone as young and normal as Darcy may not be able to read at the same level as him.

"Of course I can read." Darcy opens the book, peering at the first page as if it is written another language. "I read Amelia Bedelia every night."

"This is a little bit harder than that."

"I know."

Spencer shifts uncomfortably. He ruffles Darcy's dress, but she doesn't say anything about it. Maybe, she doesn't mind as much as the girls he reads about. "Do you want me to read it to you?"

Hesitantly, Darcy hands the book back to him, watching him for a reaction. Spencer doesn't give her one. He's been reading about microexpressions recently, and he's trying to control his own-so that no one around him ever knows what he's thinking. He's pretty good at it too.

Spencer cracks open the spine, smiling at the sound the pages make as he flips through them. He's never read Pride and Prejudice, only had it read to him, so he doesn't know every word by heart yet.

He takes a deep breath, and begins, "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife." He continues to read, ignoring as Darcy snuggles into his side and closes her eyes. She doesn't fall asleep, she just listens with her eyes shut tightly, ignoring the party around them.

When the reception is finished and the night has ended, his mother peels them apart and Mr. Lewis carries a sleeping Darcy to her bedroom. Spencer tucks the worn copy of Pride and Prejudice under his arm and promises himself that he will read the rest to Darcy.

He does.

He reads the entire book to Darcy. By the time that he comes to the last page, he doesn't want the book to end. He wants more-he wants to make up more-but he's never had much of an imagination. His mind is made for memorizing facts and regurgitating them. It's Darcy who has the imagination. She's the one who forces him to play Jane and Lizzie for the next three weeks. Although, forces may be the wrong word.

They have only been living under the same roof for a month, and Spencer already knows that he would do anything for her. All she has to do is ask.

Slowly, the Lewis's and the Reids become a family. They eat family dinners and go on a road trip in the summer of 1995. They celebrate Christmas and Rosh Hashanah together. They talk about their days at school and watch Saturday morning cartoons. For one magnificent year, everything is ordinary. Normal. Almost picture perfect.

Spencer should have realized that it was too good to last.

Darcy waits for him every day after school. The elementary school is released half an hour before the high school, and Darcy doesn't want to walk home by herself. At least, that's what she tells Spencer. He knows that she could do it. She's tough and smart, even if she's a bit jumpy. But she waits for him, and that makes him feel good-it makes him feel special in a different way-not because of his memory but because she cares enough to wait.

They're walking home from school together one day when a group of neighborhood kids-Peter, and Justin, and Ken-step into their path. Spencer freezes. He's used to Peter picking on him, but not around Darcy. He usually leaves Darcy out of it, which Spencer knows is because she reminds him of his own sister, who ran away from home three years ago.

Peter usually leaves Darcy out of it, but he doesn't this time.

"If it isn't the freak," Peter spits on Spencer, who schools his expression. Peter wants a reaction, and Spencer refuses to give him one.

But Darcy does. "What did you call my brother?"

"Stepbrother," Spencer mutters under his breath because he's used to correcting Darcy on the subject. She makes the mistake of calling him her brother a lot.

"He's a freak." Peter stares down at Darcy, who is tiny even though she just turned six. "You should be happy that your dad is divorcing his freak mom. You're better off without him."

Normally, Spencer wouldn't listen to a word that Peter says, but his dad is a lawyer and he handled Spencer's parents' divorce. "What?" Spencer asks because he wants toknow.

"Yeah. He finally got some sense knocked into him. Looks like they're gonna leave your ass, just like your loser father."

"That's not true!"

It's Darcy who throws the first punch, and Spencer should have seen it coming. Her fists hit Peter's chest and he reacts instantly, pushing her to the ground. Spencer reacts without thinking and throws himself inbetween Darcy and Peter and his goons. They're saved minutes later by the janitor but Spencer's lip is bleeding and his cheek is cut open.

Mr. Lewis stares at him with disappointment. "What happened?" he asks after Spencer has been patched up by the nurse.

"Nothing."

Mr. Lewis turns to Darcy. "Darcy…why did Spencer start a fight with those boys?"

That's all that Spencer need to hear to know that Peter was telling the truth. Mr. Lewis wants to believe Peter over Spencer, he trusts Peter's dad over Spencer's mom. They're getting a divorce. He doesn't know when, but he knows that it's incoming. It's inevitable. It's only a matter of time.

"He was helping me."

That night, Darcy sneaks into his room and lies down beside him. "Was Peter right?" she whispers in the dark.

Spencer can't bring himself to tell her the truth-to break her heart the way his heart is broken. "Of course not. Peter's a philistine. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

Darcy smiles. "Good. I never want to lose you."

"Neither do I."

Spencer is four days away from turning twelve when his mom and Mr. Lewis get divorced. The papers are signed and they sit their respective children down to explain to them that they just "don't love each other anymore." It's a load of crap, in Spencer's opinion. His mom might not love Mr. Lewis anymore, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't love Darcy-that he doesn't love his stepsister.

"Besides," says his mom, "you'll start taking college classes soon. Won't that be fun?"

Not as fun as living with Darcy, Spencer thinks. It won't be as fun as listening to her rant about her friends and teachers or explaining to her how the world works. It won't be as fun as watching her break into a fit of giggles, knowing that he brought that smile to her face. It won't be fun. Period.

But he doesn't say any of this-because his mom doesn't need his negativity. She needs him to support her, even if it means losing his favorite family member. Even if that means losing his best friend.

Spencer gulps. "Yeah. Sure. Sounds fun."

It doesn't.

Darcy sneaks into his room that night. She crawls under the covers beside him, not caring about his personal space or the fact that he doesn't like other people touching him. Then again, those rules have never applied to Darcy.

"I don't want to go," Darcy whispers in the dark, holding his hand in a death-grip. Her eyes glisten in the moonlight, damp with tears that she's trying so hard to hold back. "You said that Peter was wrong."

"I know." Spencer squeezes her hand, wrapping his available arm around her and holding her as tightly as he can. He doesn't want to lose her. "I know, Darcy."

"Tell me a story."

Spencer stares down at her with shock. He has never been much of a storyteller. He's not creative or imaginative. But Darcy asks him for a story, so he tells her one.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."

She cries herself to sleep in her arms that night, and Spencer wants nothing more than to make it stop-than to make her smile again-but he can't. So, he tells her a story. He tells her what he has come to consider their story: Pride and Prejudice. For just a moment, he almost sees her smile.

Spencer Reid turns twelve the day that Mr. Lewis and Darcy leave. His mom doesn't even notice.