Note: This was co-authored with the amazingly awesome terriblycontrite!

TRIGGER WARNING - This chapter does mention and describe suicide to a degree. You have been warned.

Chapter 22

Overcome

Spencer is so caught off guard by the kiss that he doesn't know what to say or do next, so he takes a chance, pressing himself forward into Hotch's arms. There is a moment of hesitation from Hotch, but then he is wrapping Spencer in a solid embrace, and Spencer can only hope they have done away with pretense and are going to deal with actual logistics now.

"I can wait." Spencer's voice is muffled from where its buried into his shoulder, but Hotch understands him.

"I loved Hayley." Hotch says, with apprehension.

"I loved Maeve." Spencer responds bluntly, turning his head to the side to be better heard.

"And now there's you." Hotch says softly, with sweet sincerity.

Spencer hums in response, clutching Hotch's t-shirt in his fist, and reveling in the safety of Hotch's arms.

"Promise me you will stop doubting my feelings for you?" Hotch asks, running a hand lightly up and down the younger agent's spine.

"Promise me you'll be honest and stop handling me." Spencer shoots back, bringing his head up to meet Hotch's eyes. He thinks Hotch will object to that, so he's surprised when he throws back his head and laughs.

"For a couple of profilers who should know better, we sure waste a lot of time misunderstanding each other." He acknowledges fondly.

Using a hand on the back of his neck, Hotch tucks Spencer's face back into his shoulder, resting his chin on top of his head. Hugging him tightly now, Hotch indulges in the citrus and coconut smell of his own shampoo in Spencer's hair, and for a time they both soak up all the comfort they can from each other.

After her phone call with Hotch, Penelope is entirely too subdued for Derek's liking. Her enthusiasm is usually infectious and the whole team counts on her to keep them going. To keep them smiling.

"Hey, baby girl, don't shut me out here." He taps her on the shoulder from behind. "Tell me what's going on in that beautiful big brain of yours?"

She heaves a shuddering breath, fingers pausing on the keyboard as she turns her face to him. Her eyes are shiny and Derek's heart sinks. They desperately need her on this case, but he hates the way it's wearing on her, tainting her typically cheery personality a little more with each failed lead in Salt Lake City, and the dead ends here at home.

"Well, our list just got a lot longer, sweet stuff, and no matter how much I enjoy working with you, I was digging a break from all this… darkness." She gives him a sad smile. "Sunshine and happiness are my fuel…guess I stumbled across the wrong line of work, huh?"

That gives Derek pause, because it's true that their line of work warrants some soul searching at times. Catching killers after families have been destroyed, experiencing the worst of what humanity has to offer, fighting battles that seem insurmountable…it all makes you wonder if you're really making a difference or just evening the odds a little. Ultimately though, it's what you sign on for when you join the FBI, so you celebrate the wins and try not to let the losses become nightmares.

"No, you didn't. You save lives here Penelope and we can't do it without you." Derek reminds her firmly. "And the darkness?" He gestures to her computer screen. "That isn't on you. It happens with or without you. But doing this job? That's fighting back. Every case, every day, you help push back the dark, girl. Not doing this job would just be turning a blind eye."

Penelope smiles up at him for real this time, reaching out to take his hand. "Wow, Derek Morgan." She grabs for a tissue with her free hand and uses it to dab at her eyes. "Thank you for that. You really are more than just a pretty face, aren't ya?" She gives him a wink.

"Back at ya, babe," Derek laughs, pulling his chair up to sit next to her. "So, where do we stand?"

Shuffling over to makes room for him in front of her computer screens, Penelope answers.

"Well, Hotch is concerned about the cartel angle, and so am I. Not just because they're savages, but also because they're very hard to hunt down online." Penelope begins, shaking her head. "I'm not entirely sure where to start but the major cartel in Utah is the Sinaloa. They aren't nice people, and it's hard to imagine that Professor Green was involved up to his neck in all that…he seemed so nice and helpful you know?"

Derek grimaces. "Dude played us, Garcia. I never trusted him." Taking in her guilty look, he amends. "Sorry, none of it is on you. I mean, none of us saw him being so involved."

"I know you didn't like him and I'm mad too, but to die like that…ugh! I just can't stand to picture it, Derek." Penelope shakes her head as if she can rid herself of the images that way.

"Don't think about it." Derek advises. "We should look into his friends and family though, see if anything or anyone stands out."

"Of course," Penelope agrees. "But before I dive down that dirty rabbit hole, I want to tell you what I found out about Lucas Olson."

"Fill me in, I'm curious." Derek admits, hoping for a revelation that will gain them some ground.

"It's not exactly good news, but it is interesting…in a sad, sordid, depraved way." Penelope informs him, with a look of distaste. "First of all, he is dead, as predicted. Not just dead, and this is where it gets interesting, but murdered at his cabin in Sandy, Utah which is a short hop, skip and jump from Salt Lake City."

Derek takes that in. "Murdered…" he repeats slowly. "How?"

"Bludgeoned to death, officially." Garcia provides, mouth twisting with the words. "Most likely with a shovel that was found at the scene. Trauma to his head is what killed him, but he suffered other injuries including defensive wounds, and they killed his dog too! It happened in 2013, so just last year, and the case is, as of yet, unsolved."

She frowns as she finishes, looking to Derek in a disturbed way.

"See? I'm getting desensitized! I said all that without crying, and without thinking about poor Lucas as a human being who was probably scared, in terrible pain, alone except for his dog who was probably already dead and- "

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up girl! Don't spiral now. Stay with me." Derek interrupts. He takes a slow deep breath, gesturing for her to join him. They breath in and out together a few times. Garcia looks pale and upset still, but she isn't about to hyperventilate.

"Better now?" He asks, searching her face for the answer. "This one is really getting to you, huh?" He questions sympathetically.

Nodding she gives herself a shake. "Yes…but I can do this! Helping people right?"

"Right." He confirms.

She holds his gaze for a moment as if assessing his sincerity before continuing.

"The locals who investigated at the time thought it might be drug related. Apparently Lucas Olson had quite the green thumb and he used it to grow a garden full of marijuana." Garcia shares, conspiratorially. "Not your average marijuana either. When police started asking around they learned he was underground famous for acquiring seeds and hybridizing rare strains of weed."

Garcia waits for a reaction from Derek before going on.

"Huh, could Olson be the cartel connection? He knew Amelia and it certainly seems she knew Green…could they all have been in business together? Maybe selling the pot?" Derek ponders, tilting his head to the side.

"I don't think so. There was nothing to suggest he was selling the pot to anyone, and here is why the thought of his murder makes me so sick! According to accounts collected by police Lucas Olson was clean, wholesome, and an all-round decent guy. He was officially employed as a wilderness guide with the National Parks, but he also served as a volunteer firefighter in Sandy for years. He has mad skills as a tracker and extensive knowledge of the terrain all over Utah. In addition to firefighting, he worked with police and various volunteer search and rescue groups to pull off some major heroic, lifesaving stuff, D." Penelope seems happier to share this part of the story, and with a few clicks of her mouse she brings up a picture of an idyllic looking family of four.

"This is the Braden family back in 2008. They got lost on a camping trip and were missing for 48 hours before it was reported by park rangers. It was Lucas Olson who found them, single handedly, before an official search could even be organized." She clicks the mouse again and brings up another news article with a photo. This time it's a middle-aged man, ruggedly handsome with a short, well-groomed beard, kind eyes, wiry build and close cropped dark blond hair. He's holding a grinning little girl in one arm, and a wrinkly, long eared puppy in the other.

"This is Lucas Olson, and the little girl he's holding is Olivia Welsh. Lucas joined a police search when she wandered off from her parent's campsite in the night. She was feared dead or kidnapped after 18 hours of searching, and that's when the police asked Olson for help. It took him only 6 hours to locate her where she had fallen down a steep riverbank, nearly impossible to traverse. She was wet, muddy and near death from hypothermia. The police credit him with saving her life, he got down the bank when no one else could and knew exactly what to do on the spot to warm her up. This was in 2010. The puppy is a purebred bloodhound, a gift from the Welsh family to show their gratitude, and the same dog murdered with him in 2013."

Derek nods, because that is awful, leaning in to study the photo looking for any sign that this Lucas guy is some sort of criminal mastermind in league with the likes of Amelia Porter, or the Sinaloa drug cartel. He appears to be nothing but a wholesome, down to earth, middle aged man beaming down at the little girl and puppy in his arms as if they are the only things that matter in the world; everybody's best friend including the resident psychopath.

"Why would Amelia let him live knowing as much as he did, only to kill him a few years later? He must have still been useful after he turned over the farm." Derek thinks out loud. "Maybe they had some sort of fight that changed things? Or he had had enough and threatened to go to the police? If he was an all-round good guy maybe his conscience was getting to him."

"I don't know…" Penelope's brow creases. "She's pretty stabby. Bludgeoning isn't her M.O as you folks would say."

Derek shrugs. "She clocked me with a gun and hit Spencer over the head with a rock. It's not such a stretch. I'd say she's flexible."

Penelope looks alarmed. "Not the same Agent Morgan! You and Spencer lived, and Lucas very much did not."

"Yeesh, ok not exactly the same PG. Relax." He holds up his hands in a placating fashion. "Come on though, they must have shared more than a love of quasi legal gardening for her to leave him alive. If we figure that out, maybe we can figure out what changed her mind."

Garcia huffs a breath and purses her lips, side eyeing Derek. "Here's an idea, Gloomy Gus, maybe she didn't kill him. He could have been a gardening mentor, and old friend of her parents who served as a father figure. Maybe, just maybe, she loved him, and he loved her and that's why he signed over the farm, and why she didn't want him dead."

Derek snorts, raising his eyebrows at Garcia, wondering if she's serious. He is not sold on the idea that someone like Amelia could love anyone. No, there had to be more to it than that, a tangible reward that made the risk of having Lucas out there worth it.

"Seriously, you can't rule it out." Garcia insists. "It's a game changer. Maybe it means she isn't a sociopath at all."

"Oh, I think she is!" Derek exclaims, eyebrows raised.

"Didn't her and Benton murder Miriam in a drug induced frenzy? Maybe she's an addict and it's the drugs that mess with her morals? Or maybe she simply appreciates good weed and this Lucas guy had it? God knows I would have liked to have met him in college." Garcia smirks suggestively, and Derek gives a weak half smile.

"Ok so say you're right and Amelia liked this guy, how did he end up dead and what does it have to do with her? The cartel? Green? Our case in general?" Derek questions, and Garcia knows he's begging for answers she doesn't have.

"Ok, ok…back to the salt mines. Lucas, Amelia, professor Green…they all share and shared a passion for plants, so let's start there." She says with grim determination, spinning her chair back to her computer and their never-ending search.

"So, the red line down the middle here, is the Jordan River trail," Spencer traces his finger along it to demonstrate. "Basically, it runs all the way from the Jordan River to Great Salt Lake. It's about 72 miles, paved and well used, of course. That's all common knowledge, but I've been mapping these trails, see?" Spencer checks to make sure Hotch is following. "Here, in green, I've marked the lesser traveled, but still mapped, trails through the woods. They are avidly used for horseback riding, and hikers seeking more of a challenge."

Spencer checks again to make sure Hotch is paying attention, since his response is underwhelming. Maybe, like himself, he's distracted by what happened between them and what it means for the future. It hasn't left Spencer's mind for even a second, but he still needs to impart what he's been working on; make Hotch see that it's imperative to finding Amelia.

"Ok, I'm with you so far." Hotch prompts, hand rubbing at the stubble on his chin, looking thoughtful. "I assume there's more, though?"

"Yes. See these areas?" Spencer points to the rather vast green and brown parts of the map. "There are still trails through these areas, but they aren't publicly owned or maintained per say. They are largely made and maintained by hunters, and farmers through their own properties; properties that run for hundreds of acres, connecting to parks, National Forests, and other state and federally owned land."

Hotch's brow is furrowed as he contemplates that. "Ok I guess I need some context here, Spencer. So, there are trails all over the place, what does that mean for us and our case?"

Spencer breathes in deliberately through his nose, controlling his frustration. "I'm getting to that, Hotch."

Probably equally frustrated but better at hiding it, Hotch gestures for him to continue.

"Right about here," Spencer taps his finger on a small circle he's drawn in the open space on the map, east of the red line marking the Jordan River trail. "Is the Appleby farm, which backs onto the highway here. Now, if you travel this way less than five miles, you will come to the property where Amelia grew up, which is now owned by George Porter, Amelia's cousin."

"He was interviewed after Miriam's murder correct?" Hotch cuts in, leaning in closer now, interest piqued. "How did he come to live in the Porters house?"

Spencer tries to ignore the close proximity and the clean smell of fresh air and citrus that he is finding intoxicating.

"Yes, he was not overly helpful." Spencer replies dismissively, trying to stay on task. "And I'm not sure how he got the house, probably inherited it? Be a question for Garcia. Do you think it matters?"

"Probably not, but I think we should speak to him."

"The locals already did. It's in the reports, I read them all. He let them search his house, there was no sign of her." Spencer provides. "I guess it couldn't hurt to interview him ourselves, assess firsthand whether he's lying…but that brings us back to the point I was trying to make, which is that the trails, official and unofficial, would allow Amelia to get around unimpeded, without being seen."

Now Hotch seems preoccupied, and Spencer wants his attention back on the map. Nudging him with his shoulder Spencer continues.

"I marked in black all the places we know she has been, and the notes you couldn't read are dates and approximate times she appeared. It's conceivable that she could get to any of these places, Green's, the hospital to leave my gun, the Farland residence, using only the trails."

"Ok…but you are talking about trails that aren't even mapped, Spencer. I fail to see how this is going to help us find her. Add to our profile maybe, but actually locate her? How?" Hotch gives voice to his confusion, and further aggravates Spencer.

"Just listen, Hotch!" Spencer pleads. "Yes, she is using unmapped trails, but I believe the Jordan River trail is the key to finding her. Travel would be faster on a paved trail, it's well used so she could blend in, and then disappear off onto the lesser used trails when it suits her. From there she can make her way up into the woods, or the mountains, and with her skills survive indefinitely. Just look at the places I've marked, the Jordan River trail is central to all of them!"

Hotch seems to contemplate that, glancing from Spencer to the map and back again. Taking a deep breath, he tries to reason.

"The locals have been searching the woods for weeks now, Spencer. They have trackers, helicopters, dogs, and they've turned up nothing."

"No, of course not!" Spencer cries, wondering why Hotch is doubting him. "She is skilled, and she knows the terrain better than any of them I would bet. We will never catch her chasing her through the woods! She's too smart for that, she will always see us coming. Don't you get it, Hotch? She isn't running from us; she has a plan, and she is calling the shots! We are just playing our parts."

Hotch schools his expression carefully but Spencer can see that he has touched a nerve. Shifting his weight, Hotch moves back a step regarding Spencer carefully.

"What do you suggest we do then?" Hotch asks, and it's a genuine question that warrants an answer.

"I think we post locals in plain clothes all along the Jordan River Trail. They need to blend expertly, or she will pick them out right away, and they need to know that she has likely changed her appearance. This is our chance, and we can't blow it, Hotch." Spencer says, knowing that it's a long shot. Any action they take at this point will be a long shot though.

"I have no authority to order the locals to do anything, Spencer." Hotch replies, carefully considering the situation and the options. "This is personal for them, they lost one of their own…I don't think this is enough to compel them to pull men away from their search to patrol this trail looking for a needle in a haystack."

"What they are doing is pointless!" Spencer shouts impassioned if not enraged. "Tell them that! She is watching them comb the woods and laughing. See if that changes their minds and 'compels' them to lend us their resources!"

Spencer turns to the desk, the feeling of helplessness growing rather than being alleviated by sharing with Hotch. He feels Hotch place a soothing hand on his back, and he wants to shrug it off almost as much as he wants him to keep it there. The pain, the frustration, and the work he has poured into a deeper understanding of the woman who almost killed him only to be second guessed feels like a crushing weight. Despair, he names it…but then Hotch's arms are around him, his breath on hot on his neck, and he's whispering, placating maybe, but there is no way Spencer is going to pull away.

"You're ok, everything is going to be ok. I'll call the locals in the morning, convince them to help us. Whatever you need, Spencer. I'm here for whatever you need."

Hotch may only be indulging, but his voice is a lifeline and Spencer grabs it, leaning back into his solid chest.

"Let's go to bed. You need to sleep. I need to sleep."

Spencer shakes his head desperately. "I can't Hotch. I just…I can't. There's too much to do."

He feels rather than sees the other man nod. "I think I can help. If you really don't think you can sleep that is."

Spencer shivers but he isn't cold. "Not tired." He insists. "We need to map locations she is likely to show up next using the information we have so…gah! Get ahead of her- "Spencer gasps as Hotch's lips close around his earlobe, lightly sucking, licking…

"Tomorrow," Hotch concedes. "Right now, bend over."

It's abrupt, it's an order and it's in direct contrast to the soft tone Hotch was just using. Spencer is confused.

"What are you doing?"

Hotch chuckles lightly, sidling up closer behind Spencer so that he can feel the outline of hard muscles, and hot breath back on his neck. Hotch's hands are at Spencer waist, fingers digging into his hips, urging him toward the desk in front of them where the map lays.

"Giving you what you want." Hotch's voice is rough, not unkind but not inviting questions either.

Spencer gives a short nervous laugh. "I-I- what? Oh!"

Hotch puts a hand between his shoulder blades and gives him a not so gentle forward nudge. Spencer's hands shoot out to stop himself from face planting on top of his map.

"What the heck, Hotch!" Spencer squawks, less dignified than he would have liked. "Oh!"

Hotch rocks his hips forward, grinding against Spencer creating an arousing friction that has them both gasping. The length of their bodies connect as Hotch leans deliberately over Spencer, biting at his neck, with a guttural moan, claiming with his teeth, then his hands, grabbing Spencer's hips, fingers digging into flesh, hard enough to bruise. Spencer feels his boss' growing erection against the base of his tailbone, his own cock taking notice, heat rising from low in his belly, all the way to his now flushing cheeks. He sucks in a sharp breath just as the biting stops and soft lips graze the nape of his neck lovingly; their every inhale and exhale are in tune, no words needed as they fit naturally together.

"I thought-" Spencer moans, as one large sure hand snakes around to stroke the bulge in his pants with gentle, even pressure. "Mmmmn…I thought you needed time…ah!" The hand is pulled away but only long enough to slip into his waistband.

"Well," Hotch purrs, directly into his ear, "it's been about twenty minutes." Moving his free hand up under Spencer's t shirt, he walks his fingertips across Spencer's stomach, all the way up to toy with his aroused nipples, his touch mercifully light and promising.

"God!" Spencer coughs, tingling in response to the stimulation. "Are you sure, Hotch?"

"Are you?" Hotch returns, pointedly, pausing for an answer. Permission to proceed.

"Yes!" Spencer gasps, and Hotch starts to tug his pants down over his hips, underwear going along with them. All this time showering with boxers on, only to be so very thrilled to have them removed, Spencer thinks.

"Look at me, Spencer." Hotch orders, and Spencer twists over his shoulder to accept the older man's mouth, pressing greedily into his, hungry, and faintly wild. Nothing like the sweet first kiss they shared, that was hesitant, a question really; no, this is savage, wanton and obviously meant as a precursor to more. It's everything Spencer imagined it could be.

Pulling back, Hotch cups Spencer's chin, staring down at him with a look that is equal parts primal need and adoration. Spencer feels the thrill of it go straight to his groin, where he is now fully hard and aching for more. With a wicked grin Hotch suddenly spins him to face forward again, forcing him all the way down onto his elbows on the desktop.

Shoving Spencer's shirt up his back and gripping it to anchor him, Hotch works his way from Spencer's neck, down his spine, kissing all the way to the cleft of his buttocks and back up. Spencer moans obscenely as his dick grows impossibly harder, wiping out all coherent thought. Bringing both arms around to Spencer's front now, Hotch holds him fast as he nibbles at his ear before speaking again.

"What do you want, Spencer?" He growls, flattening his hands on the desk, either side of Spencer's, covering him possessively. "Say it. What do you want?"

"Ah!" Spencer's squeals, because Hotch's own very hard dick, is now pressed against his naked ass, and it sends an unprecedented thrill through his entire body. Hotch is still clothed, but Spencer knows intuitively that will change as soon as he says yes.

"I want this! I mean you… please Hotch…keep going." Spencer's begs shamelessly.

That's all the permission required and Hotch's weight disappears. Spencer nearly panics, but there's shuffling behind him, then strong arms are guiding him to stand and turn around.

Completely naked, Hotch bends to remove Spencer's pants and underwear from around his ankles, asking without words for Spencer to lift his feet one by one. As Hotch reaches for the hem of his shirt, Spencer's eyes rove up and down the man's flawless physique, including his impressive fully erect cock, poised and ready. Suitably distracted he gives no thought to his own nudity as he places a tentative hand on Hotchs hip, sliding it slowly around to grip one firm buttock, tugging the man closer.

Taking hold of Spencer's face, Hotch kisses with a new found intensity, trapping their erections between them, as he grinds his hips again, forcing them together in a deliciously painful move. His lips are firm, willing Spencer's mouth to open and allow his tongue in to touch, taste, and experience his partner. Spencer leans in with a desperate cry, realizing he would be ecstatic to be melded to this man forever, his pillar of strength in the face of uncertainty.

Jerking away suddenly, Hotch looks him directly in the eyes. "Say yes, Spencer. Say yes and I will give you everything I have. Everything I am." Hotch steals another kiss, chewing at Spencer's lower lip as he breaks it off. "Say yes, and it will be just us, nothing else will exist."

"God, yes!" Spencer shouts the invitation, giving himself up entirely, as Hotch wraps a hand firmly around his leaking member, other arm tightening around Spencer's waist, boosting him onto the desk. Spencer doesn't even wince at the tearing sound that must be his map. Circling his legs around Hotchs waist, he thrusts upwards unabashedly into Hotchs grip, groaning as Hotch laughs, keeping his strokes slow but steady.

"I want to fuck you, are you ready for that? To have me inside you?" Hotch whispers, licking and biting at Spencer's exposed throat. "Spencer?"

All Spencer can manage is another groan, reveling in the overwhelming pleasure, embarrassingly close to climaxing into Hotchs hand.

"Spencer?" The voice is insistent now, not as throaty, worried not excited. "Spencer are you ok?"

Of course he's ok…

Gasping, Spencer jolts upright, fighting to get control of his pounding heart, wincing as his healing wounds protest the sudden move. His shirt is drenched in sweat, and his pants are sticky and clinging to him too. For a panicked second he thinks he wet the bed, but then images from his dream flood his conscious mind and he realizes it's worse than that…and Hotch is sitting right beside him.

Fort Smith is cold and cloudy, as Kate and JJ exit their motel in the early morning. They landed late the night before, but still in time for a few blessed hours of sleep. The drive to the August residence is short and JJ is apprehensive about the conversation they need to have. Being a mother herself, she has no desire to make Charlotte August relive the worst time in her life and says a silent prayer they get something to make it all worth it.

Pulling her FBI parka tighter around her, JJ searches the pockets for the too-thin-for- this weather, standard issue gloves as they step out of their borrowed SUV and survey the snow at their feet.

"Beautiful isn't it?" She comments wryly to Kate, as they turn to the cozy, yellow sided bungalow where they were told Mrs. August is waiting and willing to speak with them. The place is picture perfect with its dusting of snow, freshly shoveled walkways, and smoke curling from the chimney, looking for all the world like a place where a family could be happy. There is no hint on the outside of the grief that probably lingers inside, and JJ has to force her thoughts away from what it must be like to survive a loss as total as your only child's suicide.

"Sure is," Kate replies with a shiver. "Snow has a way of covering up all the bad stuff."

JJ shoots her a look, but there's no time to elaborate because a tall, attractive, blonde haired woman is calling out to them from the car port attached to the side of the bungalow. Under the shelter of its roof alongside the neat stack of firewood sits a snowmobile and a dirt bike, partially covered with a tarp. JJ wonders if they once belonged to Ryan because they look like they've sat untouched for years.

"Ladies," the woman greets, ushering them toward a side door. "Come on in this way. It will save us the cold draft in the living room. I've been waiting. Tea is on, I hope tea is ok?"

"Tea is more than we expected, thank you." JJ tells her as they step inside, noting the resemblance between Ryan's photo's and his mother standing in front of them. Same honey coloured hair, large expressive eyes, and lean, graceful frame. "I'm FBI Special Agent Jareau, and this is Special Agent Callahan. We both work in the Behavioral analysis unit."

They are quickly whisked into a quaintly decorated living room, complete with wood burning fireplace, by the pleasant woman who hasn't introduced herself but is obviously Charlotte August. She tells them to sit while she gets the tea and JJ takes the opportunity to study the family photos on the walls and mantel. There are plenty of Ryan growing up, but the pictures stop at what appears to be early adolescence. There are pictures of Charlotte herself, Charlotte and her parents, Charlotte and baby Ryan but none of Charlotte and her husband. It's as if the memories have been carefully crafted in favour of a more uplifting past, with the heartbreak of loss removed. Maybe she is just shaking off the cold, but JJ shivers and feels an actual twist in her gut as she imagines what it would be like to have the family you created crumble and disappear.

"Don't think too much about it." Kate advises from a nearby armchair, where she has taken her coat off and made herself comfortable.

"About what?" JJ replies.

"The loss, the grief." Kate replies. "Imagining it was you, wondering what you would do if it happened to you. You can't prepare. You can't safeguard against it. Its better not to think about it."

JJ's brow furrows at that, but before she can comment, Charlotte August breezes back into the room carrying a tray with a teapot and cups. JJ takes a seat beside Kate in a second armchair, and Charlotte takes her place across from them setting the tray on the coffee table between them.

"I was glad to hear that you wanted to talk to me." Charlotte starts, with a smile. "After so many years, the FBI interested in my boy? There has to be something to that."

JJ gives a wary smile, glancing at Kate, then accepting the cup of tea. There is nothing they can do to help her son now. They both know it's too late for that.

"First you have our sympathies, ma'am." JJ promises sincerely. "We know that it can't be easy to talk about, and it is not our intention to open old wounds."

"With all due respect, agent, the wounds will never be old for me." Charlotte clears her throat. "Not for me." She repeats.

"Of course. What we do hope, is to make some sense of what happened." Kate jumps in. "We are looking for the woman your son was allegedly dating right before his death."

Charlotte, meets Kate's gaze, appearing to consider that.

"I don't know anything about her," she says after a moment, setting her cup down as she does. JJ hasn't missed how shaky her hand is. "I didn't then, and I don't now. I'm not sure what I can offer."

"Did anyone else meet this woman? Ryan's friends? A teacher at school maybe? His Dad?" JJ asks, leaning forward to offer a hand for comfort. Charlotte hesitates before taking it.

"Do you see his Dad here?" She asks snidely. "I can't speak for him, he left years ago. But he and Ryan weren't close…at the end. I cannot imagine why he would know something I don't."

JJ and Kate exchange a glance, both wondering if the father is worth a conversation.

"Did Ryan talk about her?" Kate asks softly, pressing on.

"Yes, some." Charlotte sniffs, taking her hand back to fold with the other in her lap. "He was so different during that time, that I asked him outright about it. He said he met a girl and he actually smiled. Lit up. He told me she was older, and he thought I wouldn't approve. It had been so long since I saw him happy though…older seemed a small enough concern in the face of that."

Kate nods knowingly, pulling the picture of Amelia from her pocket. "Mrs. August, do you recognize this woman?"

Taking it, Charlotte stares down at it thoughtfully. "Call me Charlotte please. Seriously. August…well I hate that name now. I only keep it because it was Ryan's too." She takes a shuddering breath, keeping her poise by force. "I have never seen her. She's beautiful, a bit exotic. I would remember, I think. Most people around here I've known all my life, new people stand out."

"We have reason to believe that this is the woman your son was dating. Are you certain you never ran into her around town?" Kate prods gently, digging for anything useful. She hands over the photo of Amelia at the track meet. "This is the same woman at your sons track meet in 2006."

Charlotte takes that photo too, looking uncertain now, studying it intently as if she could will herself to have met her.

"I was there." She shares, worry creasing her brow. "How could I not remember her? I don't though. I'm sorry, I just don't."

Charlotte hands the pictures back and begins to spin the wedding ring that is still on her left hand, making JJ wonder if she has truly given up on her marriage.

"Is there anything else you could share with us about that time?" Kate tries again. "No detail is too small. Something Ryan said, a name he used, anything at all."

There is a long pause during which JJ and Kate remain hopeful. What they really need is something to confirm Amelia's connection to Ryan; a connection that is seeming more tenuous by the moment.

"There is Mr. Atkinson, the English teacher at the high school. Ryan liked him, and he always encouraged Ryan's writing. He may have talked to him." Charlotte offers doubtfully. "I don't know that they discussed his personal life, though. The gym teacher was kind to him, but if he confided anything in him it was never shared with me."

JJ and Kate stay quiet sensing that the woman has something else she wants to reveal, but she's wrestling with herself. Whatever it is, they want to know.

"There are his journals." Charlotte offers at last, clearly uncertain, casting a wary glance at the door as if someone is likely to burst through it. "You'll think I'm awful because I didn't give them to the police, but this is small community…I just couldn't hand over Ryan's private thoughts. They aren't fodder for the rumour mill."

JJ is taken aback, eyebrows shooting up. Kate keeps her features neutral.

"Have you read them?" Kate asks gently, no evident judgement in her voice.

"Some, not nearly all." Charlotte reaches for some tissues on an end table. "It was…awful…to read how deeply troubled he was. To know he didn't think he could tell me...I failed him. If only…" She trails off, wiping at her face angrily. "Anyway, I don't know what you'll get out of it, but you can take them. Let me get them."

JJ looks to Kate while they are alone, disbelieving that the journals have been kept secret. Kate simply shrugs.

"At least we can read them now."

Charlotte returns with three leather bound journals that look well worn, as if someone spent hours writing in them, and even more hours turning the pages and rereading what they wrote.

"Please, understand that I couldn't hand these over to just anyone." Charlotte holds the books to her chest lovingly, stroking their bindings. Maybe she once stroked her son's hair like that, JJ thinks; before he grew up and turned into someone she didn't know. "They're all that he left, and I wanted to know…" she stops, biting her lip, trying not to be overwhelmed by emotion.

"Anyway, there are some poems that I think could be about her. Or maybe not. I don't know." She stares at the journals with reverence. "They're beautiful. The poems. He was talented, I think. Can I have them back? When you're done?" She turns an expectant gaze on them.

"You can, of course, but we would like to take them with us, for now." JJ tells her, curious about what the books might tell them. Eager to comb through them, but mindful of the attachment this mother has to them.

"Charlotte," Kate edges forward in her chair. "You told the police that you knew Ryan had suicidal thoughts. Was he seeing a psychiatrist?"

Charlotte shakes her head. "He was admitted to hospital a few times, but there just aren't enough services here. They said he wasn't a danger to himself. That he hadn't made a real plan to die." She pauses, struggling with her guilt. "I believed them, believed him. He didn't want a therapist when I brought it up."

"This is hard to talk about and I apologize for asking, but Ryan cut his wrists, correct? Here in the house?" Kate pursues as delicately as possible.

They are asking because the M.E and police reports were somewhat vague, but as Charlotte recoils as if the question physically wounded her, JJ worries she wont answer.

It takes a long time, but she eventually nods.

"Yes, he was here alone." She stammers, regret hanging heavily in the air. "We were away for the weekend, visiting my husband's sister. She had just had a baby. I found him in the bathtub when we came home." She shudders, understandably. "And in case you're curious I wake up every morning thinking about how different things would be if I had just stayed. Or if we had never come here for that matter. We came because they were so desperate for nurses, I thought I could do some good and instead I lost everything…"

JJ nods, wishing they didn't have to torment this woman, but it definitely meant Amelia could have been here. What teenage boy wouldn't have his girlfriend over while his parents were away?

"There was no investigation, you know." Charlotte continues, exchanging regret for rage. "It was just suicide. Ryan died, and people could-can- barely face me. The funeral home asked if we would rather bury him 'quietly'." Bitterness veritably drips from her words. "Just a couple weeks before, when the Curtis boy and his friends were killed in that awful snowmobile accident, the whole town mourned. They rallied, even though everyone knew those boys were trouble and probably drunk." Glancing up she seems to realize how she sounds. "Sorry, that's awful…but its not right that I'm expected to forget my son just because he made a bad choice! Or that Jenny Curtis gets to celebrate her son's life, while I'm supposed to let Ryan just fade away…"

That is the end of Charlotte's stoicism and she covers her face, giving in to tears and old, barely contained grief. JJ gets up to move to the couch beside her, to comfort her, only to have the journals roughly thrust into her hands.

"I'm giving these to you because Ryan was so much more than his suicide. Ryan had so much potential, and maybe it was me that let him down, or the system, or whatever…anyway hopefully you can use them, and if not, you can get to know him. He wasn't bad. He was wonderful."

JJ's eyes are wet now, and Kate turns her face away. It feels wrong to leave now, but they can't stay either. This isn't their tragedy, just one they dredged up.

Offering this woman she just met the most comforting hug she can, JJ stands to put her coat on, but Charlotte grabs her wrist.

"I'm a nurse. I've always worked in long term care, but I'm not ignorant." Her eyes are haunted. "The doctor told me that both arteries in Ryan's arm were severed. Do you know what kind of determination that would take? He cut from his wrist to his elbow so deep that there was no real hope of survival. Did you know that's almost unheard of, to be able to do that sort of damage to yourself? That's how badly he wanted to leave this world. To leave me. It was no accident, not just a cry for help."

JJ gulps, not because she isn't used to hearing vile, disturbing, details all the time, but because a mother shouldn't have to know that about her son…or to find him in a bathtub overflowing with blood. Grasping the hand holding her wrist, JJ says, "Thank you, Charlotte. I am so sorry we couldn't help Ryan, but you have helped us so much."

As JJ and Kate reach the door, they think that Charlotte August is out of disturbing revelations. But standing, in the kitchen arms crossed, she waits until the door is open letting in the freezing cold to call to them.

"The Curtis boy, the one that died? He bullied Ryan. Since grade school, he couldn't leave him alone. But they made bumper stickers for him. Now, I'd never say they deserved to die, but they weren't good kids either. Everyday I work at being something other than bitter, angry and mean, but I'm telling you now they weren't heroes, and Ryan was so much more than a terrible ending." She heaves a huge, broken sigh, eyes on the floor in front of her collecting herself. "Anyway, it's hard. I won't keep you, and I hope the journals help you."

JJ and Kate get in the car, the words 'it was no accident' resonating as they drive away.

Notes:

What a chapter, am I right? I think it was worth the wait, even if I do say so myself. Lots of new information and some leads to follow up on and that scene! You know the one! *fans self* Hot, am I right? Okay, so they didn't do the deed and it may have been a dream, but cut us some slack, Spencer should probably still be in the hospital, the logistics demanded it be a dream.

As always, there is more to come so please let us know what you think! Though it may not seem like it with the length of time between updates, we plan these chapters way in advance, it just takes us a while to get it on paper, we have not and will not ever abandon this story!

Don't forget to hit that follow/fav button so that you can be notified when we update next!

~CC~