FF.N's new complete/not complete system is spiffy! Did anyone else notice that stories that have the word 'one-shot' or 'oneshot' or 'completed' in the summary are automatically labeled 'Completed'? I went through changing almost half of mine over before I realized it, lol!

This starts out with a bit of Spencer torture, then I decided to go ahead and develop the plot a bit and have some actual character interaction, complete with dialogue! I couldn't help myself at the end. I just… had to. You'll see.

(I forgot this last time..)

A girl drives home in the rain.

I peer out the windshield, almost squinting into the darkness. It's wintertime, and so of course it's dark early. Cheerleading practice was held inside tonight, so it ran a bit late despite the thunderstorm. I'm driving incredibly slowly, letting a small part of my mind wander to the school day.

It has been raining all day. This morning, while sitting under the overhang over the west door with some of my friends, I witnessed another of Dylan and the other football players 'playtime' sessions with Spence. The poor kid was walking to school, sufficiently covered with a simple, black umbrella held perfectly parallel to his body, when the football players and two thugs decided to take it and beat him with it. Spence probably has some lovely, long bruises across his back and stomach.

I didn't stop them this time, I had no excuse.

I didn't see Spence until Biology. He gave me sort of a heartbroken look, and I couldn't even look in his direction all class period, preferring instead to take unusually meticulous notes, complete with almost perfectly reproduces diagrams of the cells up on the board. I was holding back tears.

A car honks behind me and I speed up a bit, to twenty five. It's still not fast enough, apparently, as I am promptly passed by a sporty red car. I half shrug and stare back out the windshield. Along the Vegas Valley Dr, it's fairly quiet, considering. As I virtually inch along, I notice something up ahead. Reflectors.

Who in their sane mind would be jogging in this weather? Then I realize the person isn't jogging. I slowly pull up beside them. It's a kid! Hardly older then… I gasp, slamming on the brakes. I press the power windows as the figure looks curiously to the side. The headlights illuminate a very dark bruise on his jaw, but the polo and slacks and overstuffed backpack is utterly unmistakable.

"SPENCER REID!" I cry. There is no way I can let him walk in this weather. A ride is the absolute least I can do."Get your skinny butt in this car this instant!" Startled, he squints through the rain, probably expecting to see his mother. His face registers shock and surprise. Slowly, as if the car itself were a large monster, he approaches and peeks in the window.

"I'm sorry, I don't want your car's interior to get ruined. I can walk, it's only six miles!"

I gave him an incredulous look. "Like Hell," I demand. "Get in." Hesitantly, he opens the door. He swings off his backpack and sets it at his feet, promptly buckling himself in. I shot a sideways glance at him as I resumed scooting along the road, this time pushing forty. "Where do you live?" I asked.

"Isle Royale Drive, in the subdivision east of Stallion Mountain Gold Club."

I knew the area, my father golfed there often. It was only abut ten miles out of my way (my own home being a mere two and a half miles away, in a subdivision off of Vegas Valley Drive), but I was resolved to take him home nonetheless.

"Alright." I said, nodding. Utter, depressing silence reigns for a few moments before I take a deep breath and speak again.

"How come you were walking?"

"I missed the bus." Spence replies simply.

"Why did you miss the bus?"

"I lost track of time."

I hesitate. "Why didn't you call home?"

"I did." He said.

"And your mother didn't come pick you up?"

"I told her that I was staying after to study and that I had a ride."

"Why?"

"So she wouldn't worry about me."

The plain and simple logic astounds me. He is being rational, not macho, and I am torn between amusement and horror as his predicament.

"How long have you been walking?" I ask, fearing the answer.

"An hour."

Poking along at about two miles an hour in a thunderstorm, does this kid have a death wish? Jokingly, I ask him so. He looks at me cryptically, and I pause. He doesn't, does he? The tension thickens considerably. I reach forward and poke at the radio's on button, turning the volume quickly to a non-startling volume.

I grin as I realize that I had caught 'One Week' by Bare Naked Ladies near the beginning.

"Do you know this song?" I ask over the music. Slowly, he nods. "Do you know the lyrics?" I ask. He shakes his head. I laugh and start singing along, stumbling over more than a few words, slightly more comfortable. I look over and notice that he has his brows furrowed, staring hard at the radio dial, his dripping hair still hanging in his face. For a full three minutes, during which I don't really realize that I've sped up a bit to the legal 55, I sing and hum along to the upbeat song. When it ends, I glance over to him. He has an adorably confused face on.

"What's the matter?" I ask.

"Well… I'm not sure I understand… The song." He admits. "One moment he is talking about how he knows the definite cycle through which he and his significant other argue and reconcile their differences, then he starts to go on about Aquaman, sushi, Leann Rimes, then something later about signing a waver about what I can only assume is an amusement park ride, and that's only the first verse!" He rattles on. I can't help it. I slow the car way down as I begin laughing. "What's wrong?" He asks me.

"Nothing…" I caught through my giggles, pulling over to collect myself. "It's just that… It's not necessarily supposed to make sense. It's fun, that's all that matters!"

"But… It has no point!" He argues.

"Don't you ever do anything fun?"

"I read." He almost pouts, nearly sending me into fits of… well, motherly cooing, I guess.

"No, I mean… something that has no point. Something that you will never, ever, ever in a million years use in real life."

"I… can do some sleight of hand tricks."

"Magic?" I ask, grinning.

"If that's what you want to call it." He replies. I nod.

"That's good, then. Keep practicing, maybe you'll become exceptional at something so utterly pointless." I laugh and resume driving. It's only about another half mile. He give me his exact address and I pull into the drive moments later. The modest (for a two-story mini-mansion in a rich neighborhood) house looms in front of me, somehow a pristine white even in the rain.

Spence sighs. The pounding rain, I know, will give him an excuse for being soaked to the bone from his earlier walk, but he seems reluctant to leave.

"Thanks." He says softly before opening the door and slipping out. I watch as he jumps up the steps, slipping and slamming his palm into the concrete halfway up the steps. I wince and resist the urge to rush out to help him, consoling myself that the worst he'd get would be a scraped knee and palm. He stands up and continues, opening the screen door, then the storm door. He turns and waves before shutting both. I back out and begin the drive home.