Sometime, In Another Life

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Chapter Three:

"Alright, so there were twelve of you in this team," Morgan begins, "All certified geniuses."

"Yes," Spencer confirms, "With differing fields of expertise."

Spencer, for instance, was the engineer. He had become Hephaestus, creating and improving gimmicks that had saved their lives in the field.

Megan had been their plant. She'd slipped her way through the Titans' ranks, had tricked and manipulated her unwitting targets into handing over everything she wanted, and thus, she had become Aphrodite; the seductress, the temptress, the women hapless men fell hopelessly in love with.

Years ago, Spencer hadn't missed the irony, and as he explains it to Morgan, his colleague doesn't miss it, either.

"And it's just coincidence that they were married?"

"We didn't choose our names," Spencer answers, "We earned them."

"Is there an Ares?"

Spencer grits his teeth, unable to bear the similarities. "Bizarre, isn't it?"

"Life mimics art," Morgan answers sagely. "I'm sorry."

Spencer shrugs. "It happened after I broke off the engagement. His name is wade Callum. He has a PhD in Military History, and he served four years in the US army. He'd be 29 now. God, I hated him."

"I'm sorry," Morgan repeats, and Spencer shrugs again.

"It's in the past."

Morgan eyes him, skeptical and concerned. "Is it?"

"Are you profiling me?" Spencer parries.

"I am," Morgan replies, shameless.

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Yes, it's in the past. We've been separated for four years."

Morgan doesn't pursue the matter, and Spencer is grateful. Instead, he asks about the others. Spencer offers what information he can, but he knows as well as Morgan that Megan, who is up to date with her current colleagues, would be a far better source. The thing is, Derek doesn't trust Megan, and if Spencer's being honest with himself, he's not sure he does either. It took her two months to inform him of Covington's escape, after all, and moreover, a lot can change in four years.

Spencer can't get the thought out of his mind that, perhaps if Megan had the decency to warn them, Lexi would still be alive. He remembers her face the day they met with crystal clarity; golden blonde curls, bright blue eyes, a buoyant, carefree smile. In the job, she'd become a shadow of her former self, and Spencer hates the thought that it's taken her life like it took the vitality that once defined her.

"You alright?" Morgan asks.

Spencer rubs his face, weary. "Yeah. I just… I thought it was over, you know?"

"I'm sorry," Morgan replies, and Spencer knows it's for lack of anything else to say.

"Yeah," Spencer agrees, "Me too."

He pours himself a mug of coffee, props himself against the counter, and contemplates the swill he holds in his hands. Aside from he and Morgan, the break room is empty. It's no surprise, of course. It is almost six in the evening, after all.

"I'm sorry, but I have to ask: the CIA? Really?"

"Only for the employee benefits, I assure you," Spencer answers, tone droll.

"Must have been some benefits."

Spencer nods. In all actuality, the CIA was willing to pay for his mother's healthcare for the duration he worked with them, and that was something Spencer couldn't refuse. At that point in time, he'd been 18, up to his armpits in student loans and medical bills, and Spencer's teaching and tutoring gigs could only get him so far.

Thus, he'd taken the job, and six years later, he still isn't sure if it is the best or worst decision he's ever made.

"Do you miss it?"

"No." Spencer's tone is adamant. "That job… it destroys lives."

The team leader, Owen, had been happily married when the team was formed. He was divorced less than two years later, and Spencer's half convinced he intentionally walked into the path of that bullet.

He's never told anyone his assumptions though, and neither does he ever intend to. He'll take that secret - and the others - to his grave.

"Some might say the same thing about the BAU," Morgan hedges.

"Yeah," Spencer concedes. He turns, deposits his coffee on the counter, and proceeds to liberally drown it in sugar. As he does, Hotch ducks his head into the room with word that the other CIA agents have arrived. Spencer grimaces. "Wonderful."

Morgan claps him on the shoulder, a sympathetic smile on his face. "Better face the music, kid."

Spencer nods again, already ready for this case to be over. Nevertheless, he picks up his coffee mug, offers Morgan a mock salute with the drink, and smiles grimly. "In that case, let's go. I hate to keep Dionysus waiting."

After Zeus, Poseidon, and Hera, Dionysus was the oldest of their team. He'd be in his late 30's these days, with a dependence on alcohol he hides behind a stash of Cadbury easter eggs, an acerbic wit, and an emotional distance from those whom he surrounds himself by.

Essentially, he's not changed in the slightest.

"Would you look at what the cat dragged in! Hephaestus, as I fucking live and breathe."

"Good to see you too, you old bastard," Spencer answers, though the affection in his tone belies his insult. They hug briefly, Spencer claps him on the shoulder, and observes, "The alcohol's killing you, Jim."

"And I can't wait until it finishes the job," he answers frankly, "This fucking case. Goddamn."

Spencer nods his agreement, and turns to the man beside his old friend. Wade hasn't changed much in the last four years, but there is a weariness in his expression that contradicts the arrogant smirk that tuggs at his lips.

"Callum," Spencer greets.

"Reid."

Next to them, Dionysus snorts, takes a swig from his omnipresent flask, and glances around the bullpen. Spencer doubts it's the first time.

"Nice digs you've got here, Hep."

"It works well for us."

"Pray it works well for us, too," Callum mutters. He flops a stack of paperwork onto the round table, rubs at weary eyes, and queries, "Where's Meg?"

As Spencer begins to rifle through the boxes they've brought with them, he shrugs. "I'm not her keeper."

"I'm here." She rushes into the room like a whirling dervish, drops another stack of files onto the table, and flops gracelessly into a chair across from Spencer.

Behind her, the BAU trickles in, one by one. As they do, Spencer produces a very familiar binder from the stacks, curls a hand around the spine, and sighs to himself. At this point in time, as his past and present collides in the most unfortunate of circumstances, the BAU conference room is the last place he wants to be.