I wanna ask you

Do you ever sit and wonder,
It's so strange
That we could be together for
So long, and never know, never care
What goes on in the other one's head?

Things I've felt but I've never said
You said things that I never said
So I'll say something that I should have said long ago:

You don't know me at all
(You don't know me)
You don't know me at all (at all)

-"You Don't Know Me (At All)" by Ben Folds and Regina Spektor


monday

Derek walked out of his last class with his half-zipped backpack dangling recklessly off his shoulder. Whatever he'd learned in class was already forgotten; he had practice in thirty minutes and he was more than ready. His first varsity game was on Friday and it was all he could think about.

He rounded the corner and nearly ran over two overeager freshmen. "Hey, Morgan!" they chorused.

"Hey," he said, slightly startled.

"Are you ready for the game on Friday?" the wide-shouldered blond asked.

"Sure hope so," he said. He shifted his backpack so he could zip it shut the rest of the way. "You two are junior varsity, right? You're Joseph Neal, and…"

"Arik Dallas," the dark-haired one said. "Yeah, and you're a legend on the JV team, dude. Last year you were second string JV and now you're a starter on varsity?"

Derek grinned. The flattery made his heart flap against his ribs. "Well, don't speak too soon, Coach Buford hasn't decided if he wants me to start yet," he said. "And besides, the growth spurt I had last summer sure helped."

A big hand clapped on his shoulder. "Don't sell yourself so short, Morgan. You put in a lot of hard work this summer and it shows."

He turned around to see two of his older varsity teammates standing behind him- Jordan Maclain, a movie star handsome senior, and Tanner Thornton, a heavily freckled junior with a gap between his front teeth. Suddenly he felt as starstruck as Dallas and Neal. "Oh, hey," he said, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Seriously, boys, take a page from Morgan's book," Maclain said. "He did everything right. That growth spurt helped, but nothing replaces dedication."

"Thanks," he stammered out.

Suddenly a blonde comet hurtled into him, clattering in her oxford heels. "Chocolate thunder!" Penelope said, throwing her arms around his waist. "I know you have practice tonight, but I just found out from a very reliable source- which is my own incredible hacking ability, thank you very much- that they're going to have corn nuggets in the dining hall tonight. I'll save you some in case you're running late!"

"Thanks, baby girl, you're an angel," he laughed.

"See you later! Have a good time at practice!" she said. "Bye, Derek's football friends!"

She skittered to rejoin JJ and Spencer at the end of the hallway; JJ offered a small wave, but Spencer stayed half hidden behind her. "Was that your girlfriend?" Maclain teased.

Derek's cheeks heated up. "No, no, just a friend," he said. "She's like that with everybody."

Neal dug around for a second in his backpack and feigned surprise. "Oh, I...forgot something," he said. He grinned at Dallas. "Let's go look for it."

"Yeah," Dallas said. "See you later."

The two of them scurried off after JJ and Penelope. Maclain checked his phone. "We'd better be going too," he said. "Practice is in twenty minutes, and you know how Coach gets."

He headed off down the hall and Derek started to follow him, but Thornton caught him by the arm. "Hey," he said sharply. "You've gotta be careful."

Derek frowned. "Why?"

Thornton glanced around, then tugged him aside. "You and me...we've got it harder around here," he said. He pointed to the emblem on his blazer, the gold embroidered St. Thaddeus emblem and Lincoln stitched in neat red script. "That Lincoln House girl...you've got to watch your reputation."

"What the hell does that mean?" Derek said, perplexed. "They're my friends."

"If you want to get anywhere, you've got to get as far as Lincoln House as possible," Thornton said. "You wanna know how I got where I am? Forgetting that that's where I belong. If I forget, then everybody else forgets."

"Why does it matter?" Derek said.

Thornton laughed. "Aw, kid," he said. "Your talent got you in the door, but you've got to stay aware of your surroundings if you want to stay." He tossed his arm over Derek's shoulder. "Stick with me. I got you."


One of Alex's hidden talents was walking while reading, but in retrospect, maybe she shouldn't try to do it with a 900 page hardback. It was a little too hard to balance with one hand. But she couldn't put it down, so she juggled it carefully as she walked.

She took the shortcut through the language arts hallway; the crowds of kids leaving their sixth period classes had dissipated and this was the fastest way to get to the library. Maybe there wouldn't be too much work to be done and she could finish her book during her shift.

She rounded the corner, the book slipping from her hand, and as she caught it she looked up to see a familiar little figure pressed up against the wall. Two older boys, taller and broader, dug through the contents of his ripped backpack. "Hey!" she shouted, and their heads jerked up like scolded dogs. They dropped the backpack and scattered like roaches, running the opposite way down the hall. "Hey, come back here!"

For a split second she thought about running after them, but they weren't the priority. She knelt down beside Spencer, dropping the book on the floor and cupping his little face in her hands. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"They wanted my phone," he said. "Joke's on them, I don't have one." He offered her a little half smile, one corner of his mouth turning up more than the other and a dimple popping in his cheek. "It's okay. They didn't hurt me or anything."

Alex relaxed. "Good," she said. "It looks like they tore up your backpack pretty badly, though."

"Oh, no, it already looked like that," Spencer said. He scrambled to his feet and held out his hand to help her up. "Are you opening the library?"

"Uh-huh," she said. "Do you want to come with me?"

He nodded eagerly as he picked up her book and handed it to her. "I've got some homework I could get done," he said as they started walking down the hall. "It's not due till Friday, but I might as well get it done. Are you reading David Copperfield? That's one of my favorites."

"Mine too," she said. "Although I'm partial to Bleak House."

"That's one of the first books to mention spontaneous human combustion!" Spencer said. "Actually, though, most documented cases of potential spontaneous human combustion usually involve some kind of lighting source."

He continued to chatter brightly as they walked down the hall, but he slipped his small hand into hers. His fingers were ice cold and shaking. She squeezed gently, holding his hand tight, and let him talk, adding little interested noises to make sure he knew she was listening.

David was waiting at the locked library door, fiddling with his phone. "There you are, Miller," he said, exasperated. "You're late. And you haven't answered any of my texts."

"Chill, Rossi," Alex said, letting go of Spencer's hand to unlock the door. "I'm only...three minutes behind. Where's Blake?"

"He's got an interview for the hospital internship," Dave said. She opened the door and turned on the lights. "Finally, thank you." He zipped past her, striding over to his favorite seat at his favorite table, and dumped his bag on the chair before heading to the stacks.

"Where's he going in such a hurry?" Spencer asked.

"Probably true crime," Alex said. "And...ah, yes. There he goes. Right to the three hundreds." She walked behind the circulation desk, dropping her messenger bag on the floor, and dug around in her secret snack drawer. "Chocolate or not chocolate?"

He frowned. "What's not chocolate?" he asked. She held out a bag of Hershey kisses and a package of Twizzlers. "Oh! Non chocolate, please."

She handed them over, then hesitated. "Wait a second," she said, rummaging around in the drawers. "I know...that somewhere...it should still be good...aha!" She held out a tube of superglue. "Do you think this can help keep your sneakers together?"

"Maybe," he said, taking the tube and inspecting the label carefully.

"At least until you can get new ones," she said. "This can tide you over."

The corner of his mouth tugged down. "Yeah," he said, but he didn't sound very convinced. "I'm gonna go work on my homework. Thanks for the glue. And the candy."

"Any time," she said.

He wandered off towards the windowseat that was quickly becoming his favorite spot, his backpack awkwardly bundled up under his arm. Alex frowned. After a moment, she grabbed a small bag of pistachios. She would definitely text Hotch later, keep him up with this bullying incident, but right now this was more important.

Dave had set up camp- books stacked around him like a fortress, a yellow legal pad and a black felt tip pen at his elbow, his Macbook closed and waiting for him. A sophomore girl started to put her backpack down in the chair next to him. "This table is occupied," he said absently. "Sit somewhere else."

She made a face and moved to another table. Alex sat down in the seat across from him. "I said, occupied," he said. She nudged the pistachios towards him; he glanced up and accepted her offering. "Thanks."

She glanced around to see if anyone was listening, now that students were beginning to trickle in, and leaned forward, her arms folded on the table and her chin resting on her hands. "Psst," she said. "Uncle Moneybags."

"No," he said, opening his Macbook.

She flipped it closed. "I have a proposition for you," she said.

He scowled. "This better be good."

"We need to get the little one some new shoes," she whispered. "And a new backpack."

Dave's scowl deepened. "The little one?" he repeated. "Who are you…" His eyebrows lifted. "Oh, yeah. That little one. Yeah, his shoes are in bad shape. You need my credit card?"

Alex hesitated. "It's...a bit more than than that," she said. "He has nothing."

"What do you mean?"

"Hotch and Derek showed me his room," she said. "David, he doesn't have anything. His parents...whoever sent him to school didn't give him anything. No bedding other than a blanket, no coat, almost no clothes."

"Are you serious?" he said.

She nodded. "Hotch said that everything he brought with him was in that ripped up backpack, and it was mostly books," she said.

Dave drummed his fingers on the lid of his laptop. "I'll see what I can do," he said. "Talk to Emily too. I have a feeling her credit limit might be even higher than mine."

Alex leaned back, relieved. "Thanks," she said. She picked up one of his books. "Truman Capote?"

"Research," he said.

Alex peeked through the stacks. "What case are you writing about now, Stephen King?" she asked. "And do your parents know about this?"

He blushed red and grabbed it back. "Shut up," he said. "And you know they don't. And if they ask you if I chose creative writing or logic for my elective-"

"Tell them you chose logic, I got it, I got it," she said. "Don't worry, Rossi, your secret is safe with me."


tuesday

His fingertips burned a little from the superglue and the canvas was stained with dark splotches, and there was a chance he might have glued his sock to his shoe, but at least it was holding together. He could probably get through gym class at least. Penelope and Hotch had theatre club later, maybe he could get one of them to snag him some gaff tape from backstage.

Spencer capped the tube and dropped it in his pocket before unlatching the bathroom stall door. It was quiet in the locker room, which meant the other ninth graders had left, which meant it was probably safe to emerge.

The rest of the ninth graders swarmed the bleachers, a sea of gray and navy uniformed teenagers, their conversations blurring and bouncing and echoing off the walls and polished floor. Spencer climbed unsteadily to the third row of the silver bleachers, sliding in beside Penelope. She'd swapped her light up sneakers for a more sensible pair, but still neon pink.

"Are you-" she started to say, but the gym teacher was already calling for their attention and the rush of conversation began to die down.

Spencer folded himself forward, arms crossed and resting on his knees, his heart rapidly sinking in his chest. A vast assortment of equipment and gymnastics mats were set up across the gym, preparing for a circuit of various fitness tests. This was not going to go well.

He knew his limitations. He wasn't a good runner, he wasn't strong and sturdy, he didn't have any muscles to speak of. Already he was four, five, six years younger than everyone else in the room, and he knew that even for ten- well, nine, if he wasn't lying to himself like he lied to everybody else- he was small for his age.

The last time he'd gone to a doctor he was eight. His father had gotten fed up about getting voicemails about the missed appointments his mother scheduled but never remembered. He'd taken a whole morning off from work, reminding him of it at every turn. They hadn't seemed too alarmed at his height, they promised he'd hit his growth spurts when he was old enough, but they'd warned his father that he was in the lower end of the percentile for his weight, that he needed him to keep an eye out for him. His father had taken the papers and pamphlets they'd given him and set them on the kitchen counter, and in short order they were buried with dirty dishes and past due bills, never to be touched again.

"Guys, this is gonna murder me," Penelope groaned as the coach blew the whistle for them to line up. "I wasn't built for this. I have a delicate constitution."

"This class is pass/fail based on participation," JJ reminded her. "Just do the bare minimum and get over it."

Spencer got up from the uncomfortable metal bleachers. "If this wasn't a required class I'd-"

He stumbled forward, falling down the steps with a loud metallic thump. For a second he just laid there on the cold slick floor, his breath catching in his chest with panic. At first he thought he'd just tripped, but-

"Very smooth, Spencer Weed," Neal snickered as he stepped over him.

"Nice shoes, by the way," Dallas added. "Dig them out of the garbage yourself?"

He kicked him lightly in the ribs on his way out. Spencer clenched his fists. He'd struck his chin on the way down and the pain spiked into his jaws, making his teeth ache, and his eyes were burning. But he wasn't going to cry. Not now. Not again. He'd promised.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" Penelope asked. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he said. "I tripped."

JJ sat down beside him and silently began to pluck at his shoelaces. They were knotted together, the worn-through strings connecting his shoes together. "They're bastards," she said. "What did you ever do to them?"

"Most bullies pick on other kids because of their own personal insecurities," Spencer said, but he didn't sound convincing even to himself.

"You should get back at them," Penelope suggested. "Give them a taste of their own medicine. Maybe it'll make them stop."

"That's a great idea, Penelope, but it's gym class. I don't think there's much I'd be capable of," he said dryly.

JJ tied his shoes into tightly double-knotted bows and helped him up. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked. "Your chin looks like it's going to bruise."

He touched his chin lightly; the skin felt hot and tender and she was probably right. "I'll be fine," he said. "We should go before the coach realizes we're behind."

He didn't think class could get much worse. And yet, somehow it did.

Neal and Dallas lined up behind them, watching him, whispering snide comments about him under their breath when the girls were distracted, making loud shrieks and whistles and claps so they could laugh when he jumped. He gritted his teeth and said nothing, but the temptation to take Penelope's advice grew stronger and stronger.

The chin up bar loomed in the distance, the biggest obstacle yet. JJ was able to get to it easily, pulling herself up at least half a dozen times before dropping to the ground, but Penelope gazed up at it as if it was a mile high. "There's no way," she said.

"Yes, you can," JJ said. "Just do one, okay? I'll help you up."

He sensed a presence behind him, leaning over his shoulder. "Did you break your face when you fell, Spencer Weed?" Neal said. "Sure sounded like it did."

He whipped around. "Why can't you just leave me alone?" he demanded. "I didn't do anything to you."

Dallas smiled, sharp and wolfish. "Oh, you didn't need to do anything, Lincoln House," he said.

Spencer turned back around, the back of his neck prickling. He didn't know what to do. There wasn't anything he could do.

The sharp corner of the superglue tube jabbed into his thigh.

Well, maybe there was one thing he could do.

He fiddled with the cap until it unscrewed and fell to the bottom of his pocket. It wouldn't be too hard. And no lasting damage, either. Maybe just a little bit of short term unpleasantness.

Penelope dropped down from the bar. "My arms are going to fall off!" she moaned. "How many was that?"

"One and a half," JJ said. "Come on, Spence, your turn. Do you need a boost?"

"No, I think I got it," he said.

He climbed up on the block and looked up at the bar. Carefully he drew his hand out of his pocket, the tube of glue hidden in his palm, and reached up.

It was a little tough to concentrate on the bar while also keeping the glue from squeezing onto his own fingers, but he managed. It was more important to watch the glue, so he pulled himself up partway, watching it ooze across the bar.

He dropped back down, the tube spent, and he quickly shoved it back in his pocket. "Okay, that was...I think that was one," JJ said. "C'mon, let's go. That was the last one."

He hopped down from the box, grinning. "I did it," he whispered.

"A chin up?"

"No, I-" He glanced back at Neal, seconds away from grabbing the bar. "I got back at them. I think it'll be pretty good?"

Penelope's eyes went wide behind her neon lime glasses. "What did you do?" she whispered.

Neal screamed like a stuck pig. "Ow! Something burned me!" he shrieked.

JJ's jaw dropped. "What did you do?" she asked.

"Nothing that'll cause major damage," he said. "The glue won't completely get him stuck up there."

Neal struggled with the bar, still shrieking, making everyone stare. "What's going on?" the coach said.

Dallas pointed towards them. "Spencer Reid did something to him," he accused.

"Reid!" the coach bellowed. "Get over here!"

His heart dropped. "I didn't...it isn't anything…" He looked up at JJ. "Do you think I'll be in trouble?"

She squeezed his arm. "I don't know, but it'll be okay," she said. "We'll wait right here."

He walked over slowly. Neal had pried himself off the chin up bar and dropped down to the ground, holding out his hands for the gathered group of kids to stare at them. "Reid, what'd you do?" the coach demanded.

He drew the tube out of his pocket and held it out. "It...it was just a prank," he said, keenly aware of the rest of the ninth graders staring at him. "They've...they've been picking on me, they tied my shoes together and-"

"Detention," the coach said flatly. "This afternoon."

"But I-"

He stopped talking. There was no point. The coach was already writing him up, and Neal and Dallas were glaring at him, and he had the horrible, horrible feeling that his attempt at revenge only made things worse.


"Penelope, this is dumb," Hotch whispered.

"It's only dumb if you make it dumb," she whispered back. She closed her eyes, but she could hear him scooting closer.

"What does this have to do with theatre?" he asked.

"It improves your awareness and your focus so be quiet and let me focus," she hissed.

Admittedly, to someone unfamiliar with theatre, it was a little weird that everyone was lying on the floor on the darkened stage, listening to Harper Hillman talk them through breathing and centering. She'd done this kind of thing before with the community theater she did summer camps with back home, but most likely for Hotch this was...a little odd.

She exhaled slowly through her nose. It had been a long, stressful day, ever since the coach had written Spencer up. The three of them had agreed to not say anything to anybody else- Spencer was desperate to keep his detention a secret from the bigger kids. But it was killing her. The shoelaces thing was bad enough, but the way Spencer talked, those ninth grade football boys had to have spent the past week tormenting him already. But neither she nor JJ could get Spencer to talk. He wouldn't answer them when they tried to get him to open up, he kept rattling on about unrelated things.

"All right, you guys, that's it," Harper said, clapping her hands. "See you next week, we'll be back at our usual time. Oh, and don't forget, they'll be announcing the selection for the fall play soon, so keep your eyes out."

Penelope sat up. "I heard they want to do Noises Off," she said. "I would kill to play Belinda."

"I don't know what any of that means," Hotch said, pushing himself up. "Ugh, I think I dozed off a little bit."

"That happens to the best of us," Penelope said as she stood up, brushing off her shorts. "Are you going to try out for the fall play?"

He shot her a pained look, his arms resting on his bent knees. "Penelope. Look at me," he said. "Do I look like the kind of guy who would audition for a school play?"

"I don't know, you tell me, you're the one who joined theatre club!" she said.

"The answer is no, Penelope," he said. "Tech at the most. And only if-"

His eyes went wide and he scrambled to his feet. "You're staring at Haley again, aren't you?" she said. "Oh, yep, there she is."

"Shut up," he said, his cheeks going red. "It's not like I have any opportunity to spend time with her."

"Isn't she in your physics class?" she said.

"Yeah, but are you kidding me? She doesn't notice me," he said. "Besides, I'm focused on taking notes."

Penelope rolled her eyes. "Of course you are," she said. "And of course she doesn't notice you, she...oh. Oh. Hotch, she's walking over to you."

"Ha, ha, very funny," he said. "You don't have to joke, Penelope, she's-"

"Hey, guys," Haley said, and Hotch jumped. "How's it going?"

"Uh, not bad, I guess, I…" he stammered. He cleared his throat. "That, uh, focus thing was...something."

"Harper loves it, but it makes me fall asleep every time," Haley laughed. "Hey, do you know what happened in the ninth grade gym class today? One of the JV football boys had a nasty prank played on them. He had to go the infirmary and get his hands looked at, he missed practice."

Penelope swallowed hard. "I don't know if I would call it a nasty prank…"

"You're in that class, right?" Haley said. "Do you know what happened? I heard that that little kid did it, the one that skipped like...three grades."

"Four," Hotch said. "Spencer is-" He stopped. "Wait a minute. Spencer sent a kid to the infirmary?" He held his hand out at about waist-height. "Spencer who's that tall. That Spencer?"

"He's like...a little taller than that," Penelope mumbled.

"That's what I heard," Haley said. "What happened?"

They were both staring at her now. "They picked on him first," Penelope offered. "They tied his shoes together and he tripped. And then I...well, JJ and I suggested that he get back at them, and he had superglue in his pocket-"

"Superglue?" Hotch said. "Where'd he get that?"

"No clue," Penelope said. "But the bully wasn't even hurt badly, he didn't even get stuck for very long, which is the real tragedy about the whole situation. And then the coach gave Spencer detention."

"Is that where he is right now?" Hotch asked. Penelope nodded, and he sighed heavily. "Sorry, Haley, I...I've got to go. Spencer's one of the kids on my floor, and he's super young, I need to check on him."

"Yeah, sure," Haley said. "See you next week, Aaron."

She walked away and his mouth drooped. "Another successful conversation with the girl of my dreams," he said. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

He grabbed Penelope by the wrist and dragged her out of the theater. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything," she said. "Spencer didn't want us to tell, and- I'm sorry. They really were picking on him."

"You should have said something," he said tersely.

She followed him in shamed silence. Detention was held in one of the larger lecture halls; it was just a few minutes till five, and they waited in awkward, stiff silence.

"He didn't want us to say anything," Penelope said desperately. Hotch said nothing.

The door opened and students filed out, slow and scowling. Spencer was the last one out, his backpack on his shoulders. He took one look at the welcoming committee and he went pale. "Penelope, you promised," he said. She shrugged helplessly.

"I didn't say anything!" she said. "Things happened. I couldn't stop it."

She waited for Hotch to yell, or scold, or something, but instead he cupped Spencer's chin in his hand. "Where'd this come from?" he asked.

His jawline was swollen, marked in red and purple. "Nothing," he said, but he didn't pull away. "I fell."

"You fell because those idiots tied your shoes together," Penelope said.

"Is that true?" Hotch said. Spencer hesitated, then nodded. "You need to tell us when these things happen."

"It hasn't!" he said. "It's...it's not a big deal. They're just stupid bullies, it's fine, I can handle it-"

"You don't need to handle anything on your own," Hotch said. "There's no reason for you to feel like you have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Spencer's lower lip wobbled. "Can we just...can we talk about this tomorrow, please?" he said. "I'm hungry."

Hotch's eyes narrowed. "Tomorrow," he said. "Tomorrow we'll sit down and talk."

Spencer dug his fingers into his backpack straps and strode down the hall, Hotch at his side, still silent. Penelope trailed behind them, the conversation effectively ended, but she didn't feel quite right about it. It was as if they were putting together a puzzle, and everyone had their own piece, but nobody was talking about how the pieces actually fit together.


wednesday

Spencer dragged himself out of homeroom, hugging his books to his chest. The bruise on his chin still hurt, a slight tender soreness that kept him mindful, but that was fine. It was better than the weight of knowing that Hotch was mad at him.

Dinner had been miserable the night before, quiet and uncomfortable, and he hadn't been able to eat anything. Hotch was angry, he could tell. And he could tell that Penelope and JJ were upset, and that was his fault too. Derek didn't seem to understand, and neither did Alex or Emily. At least Alex seemed to realize something was wrong, asking him quietly if he was feeling all right and offering to get more water or something different to eat. He had told her he was fine, and that he didn't need anything, but she brought him ice wrapped up in a sandwich bag and told him to place it on his jaw, and he almost lost his resolve to not cry right then and there. If she'd hugged him, he probably would have given in.

Hotch didn't speak to him at dinner. He hadn't stuck around to see if he was going to get the cold shoulder at breakfast too; he'd gotten up early and gone straight to homeroom instead, trying to read at his desk but completely unable to focus on the words.

He was supposed to talk to Hotch later, but he didn't want to. Not when he wasn't sure what Hotch would do. Getting yelled at by the coach in front of the entire ninth grade was safer than Hotch being angry with him.

Maybe he'd made a mistake trusting him.

He was almost to his first period class, one of the last stragglers, but a big hand with a bandaged palm grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back.


"Aaron, a word?"

Hotch straightened, dropping his books on his desk and straightening his blazer. "Yes, sir?" he said.

Gideon waved him over to his desk. "I wanted to talk about the essay you wrote," he said.

He resisted the urge to fiddle with his sleeve cuffs. "Was there something wrong with it?" he asked. "I researched-"

"No, no, you did very well," Gideon said. He handed him the paper with a bold 97 in red at the top. "You raised some excellent points and argued for them very well."

"Thank you," he said. "I...I'm really enjoying your psychology class, sir. I'm learning a lot."

Gideon tilted his head. "I know you're only a junior, but have you been considering any particular fields after graduation?" he asked.

"Law school," he said promptly. "That's the end goal.

"Law school, law school," Gideon echoed, half to himself. "I could see that. You'd do well." He checked his watch. "Didn't realize how late it was. Go on, take your seat, I should probably teach something."

Hotch went back to his desk, holding his essay carefully, the unaccustomed praise burning warm and pleasant in his chest. When he started at St. Thaddeus in the ninth grade, he had a reputation for two things- never doing his assignments, and losing his temper and getting detention. He'd worked hard to get where he was, all on his own, and it was a relief to hear validation.

Gideon started class, but for a moment Hotch's mind wandered. He needed to talk to Spencer. Last night would have been a bad time- he was too angry to speak calmly. Angry that Spencer was being bullied, angry that Spencer felt he couldn't talk to anyone about it, angry that Spencer got detention and his tormentors didn't get anything.

He had hoped to say something to him at breakfast, but Derek said he'd left early. Maybe he could talk to him at lunch, or maybe take him to the Honeybean after school, let him get a coffee and a snack. That would cheer him up. Maybe he could talk to Alex, see if she could be there too. She was really good with the kid, he might be more likely to open up if she was there.

"Aaron?"

He sat up, ashamed of daydreaming. "Yes, sir?" he said.

"Can you run down to the supply closet and grab some more of these things?" Gideon said, shaking his whiteboard marker. "Damn thing's dried up."

"Yes, sir," he said.

Gideon tossed him his keyring. "Small blue one," he said. "Do you know where the closet is?"

"Yes, sir," he said. "I'll be right back."


His blazer was ripped. They'd ripped it right down the back, clawing the fabric apart, rending it unrepairable. And he couldn't afford a new one.

"So you like superglue, huh?" Dallas said. He dangled a full tube of it in front of Spencer's face. "You're not the only one who can get your hands on it." He glanced over at Neal, who rolled his eyes. "Pun unintended."

The bigger kid keeping Spencer pinned in place grunted. "When you guys said you wanted to get revenge, I figured you'd like...give him a swirly instead."

"Yeah, and that he'd be an actual ninth grader," the other kid added. "You didn't tell us he was a baby."

"He's a dick," Neal said. "You know he never shuts up in classes? He never fucking shuts up, just blurts out all the answers."

"I'll be quiet," Spencer said. "I won't say anything. I promise. I promise, I won't."

Dallas grinned. "I think I know what we need to glue first," he said. Spencer pressed his lips together. "Open up, Spencer Weed."

He tried to squirm, tried to get away, tried to kick the older boy holding him in place. But it was useless. Dallas unscrewed the top.

The door to the supply closet swung open.


Hotch stared into the supply closet, his brain unable to register what he was seeing. There were four boys in there, all startled, and then he noticed the fifth boy on the floor.

It clicked slowly. The older boy holding Spencer's arms behind his back. The terror in his big hazel eyes. The uncapped glue.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he bellowed. He reached for Spencer; the older kid let go of him and Hotch grabbed him by the arm, pulling him tight against his side. "He is ten fucking years old!"

The two younger boys backed away, pale in the dim light. "Dude, we...we didn't mean to…" one of them stammered.

"No, it looks like you fucking meant to!" Hotch shouted.

The lights flipped on. "What is going on here?" the teacher snapped.

"Mr. Gideon sent me down here," Hotch said, holding up the keyring. "I found these...these idiots torturing Spencer."

The teacher glanced around, taking in the scene. "Is he all right?" she asked at last.

"I'm not hurt," Spencer said in a small, shaking voice. He pointed to the bruise on his chin. "This is from yesterday."

"Which they did to him too," Hotch added.

The teacher scanned them. "You four," she said. "Come with me. Mr. Hotchner, can you bring him down to the office when he's had a moment to calm down?"

"Yes," he said. "Absolutely."

He half dragged Spencer back out into the relative safety of the hallway, holding tight to his narrow shoulder. The four older boys walked out with their heads hanging, following the teacher down the hall.

Hotch watched them go, and the second they were gone he knelt down, gripping Spencer's upper arms. "Okay, kiddo, talk to me," he said. "Did they hurt you? Are you okay?"

Spencer stared down the hall as if he was still watching them go, his folded fingers pressed against his lower lip. "They ripped it," he said in a small voice.

"Ripped what?" Hotch asked. He smoothed Spencer's hair out of his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"They ripped my blazer," Spencer said. "They ripped it, and it can't be fixed, and I don't know how I'm gonna get a new one."

"We'll get you a new one," Hotch promised. He moved his hands so he was holding him at his waist, his thumbs pressing to his hollow ribs. "Can you hear me? We'll get you a new one, it doesn't matter."

"But they ripped it," he whispered, dazed.

"Spencer," Hotch said firmly. "Things can be replaced. We can't replace you. Do you understand me?" He gave him a little shake. "Do you understand that you're more important than things?"

Spencer turned back towards him and blinked slowly. "Are you mad at me?" he asked sadly.

"No," Hotch said firmly. "Not at all. Not even in the slightest." He pulled Spencer into a tight hug, and after a moment he felt him sag against him, small and limp against his shoulder. "I'm not mad." He pressed his hand to the back of his head. "We'll stay here until you're ready, okay?"

Spencer nodded. He was quiet and still for a long time, his arms wound around Hotch's neck. After a while he pulled back, his eyes dry but red-rimmed, as if he desperately wanted to cry but didn't dare to. "I'm ready," he said, his voice surprisingly steady. "Let's go."


JJ pressed the phone closer to her ear. "Are you serious?" she said.

"Yes!" Penelope said, a little too loud and piercing. "That's why Hotch and Spencer weren't at lunch. They made both of them write a bunch of witness statements."

"What's going to happen?" she asked, glancing back at the field. They hadn't started yet, she still had a little time.

"Not sure yet," Penelope said. "All four of them are in trouble. Like big trouble."

"Is Spencer okay?" JJ asked.

"A little shaken up, I think, but he's not talking about it," Penelope said. "You know how he is. He's talking about everything else under the sun. Alex is beside herself. She gave away her library shift for this afternoon, she and James took him for coffee."

"Well, I hope this means everything is over now," JJ said.

"Jareau!" the team captain called. "Get over here, we're starting."

"Sorry, Pen, I gotta go," she said. "See you later, bye."

She ended the call and dropped her phone in her pocket. It was their first scrimmage, and she was trying to ignore the nervousness threatening to make her nauseous. It was a real kind of game, and there were real people watching in the bleachers.

Not her friends, though. She wasn't ready for that. She hadn't even told them they could come.

The coach and the captain rounded them up for a pep talk and a run through of things to remember before sending them out to the field. Positions were called out, but JJ found herself left behind. "Everybody else, take a seat, you'll be sent in to substitute," the coach said.

So JJ took a seat.

And she sat.

And she sat.

And she sat.

And by the time the scrimmage ended, she never got up.

Frustration boiled under her skin. She didn't force herself to try out for this stupid team to sit on the bench. She didn't sweat to death during practice four times a week to sit on the bench. She didn't do this to do nothing.

"Great work, girls," the coach said. "Now, I've got some notes-"

JJ didn't listen. Her blood roared in her ears and she gritted her teeth. As soon as they were sent back to the locker room, she stepped up to the coach. "Hi," she said. "I have a question."

"Sure," the coach said absently, still busy with paperwork.

"Why didn't I get to play?" she asked.

The coach glanced up. "I didn't need any subs," she said.

"So why didn't I get picked for first string?"

The coach sighed heavily and set down the paperwork. "You're...not quite ready," she said. "You've got talent, or else you wouldn't have made the team. But you're not ready for a game. Soon, though."

"I can do it," she said, squeezing her hands into tight fists, her knuckles going white. "I can. If you just give me a chance-"

"It's the beginning of the season," the coach laughed, and the laugh made her angrier. "Don't stress about it, there's going to be plenty of games and scrimmages coming up. You'll get to play, Jenny, don't worry."

"That's not my name!" she screamed, her fingernails digging into her palm. "You can't call me that!"

The coach's pleasant expression faded. "That's enough," she said. "You're benched for the next match. You behave like that again, you'll be benched longer. Maybe even taken off the team. I don't tolerate temper tantrums."

"Yes, ma'am," she said through her teeth, and she turned and stalked away. The anger began to cool in the back of her neck, but she didn't mind. It was worth it. The coach should have let her play. She shouldn't have left her on the bench.

And no one was allowed to call her Jenny. Only one person was ever permitted to call her that, and she wasn't there anymore.


Emily propped her phone up against her pillow and watched time tick down. She was tired, tired enough to fall asleep, but she needed to stay up just a little bit longer.

Alex closed the door behind her as she walked in, dressed in her pajamas and her long hair brushed smooth down her back. "Hey," she said. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, why?" Emily said.

"You're usually asleep by now," Alex said as she sat down on her bed. "It's almost midnight and you're usually out like a light by ten-thirty."

"Don't tell anybody that, you'll ruin my reputation," Emily teased, but Alex didn't laugh. She sat up, setting her phone in the middle of the pillow. "I should ask you the same question. You doing okay? I know this whole Spencer thing has you-"

Alex sighed. "That poor baby," she said. "I can't believe he was trying to handle all of this on his own. That's too much pressure for one little kid to bear."

"He seemed okay at dinner," Emily offered.

"Better, at least," Alex said. "He was so quiet this afternoon, it wasn't like him." She tilted her head. "Do you know who was acting weird at dinner today, though? JJ."

"Okay, good, it's not just me," Emily said, pulling her comforter up and bundling it around her arms. "She was acting really fucking weird. She was super late, ate a bowl of mashed potatoes and two bowls of ice cream, and stormed out."

"Maybe she just had a rough time at practice," Alex offered. She ran her fingers through her long hair. "I think it's just been a really rough week. But tomorrow night we'll go to Derek's football game, and then maybe we can do something nice on the weekend to make up for how shitty everything else has been."

"Yeah, maybe," Emily said. She feigned a yawn. "You good to turn lights out? I'm really looking forward to French class tomorrow. We have a test on colors."

Alex laughed. "Bonne nuit, Emily," she said, switching off her lamp.

Emily slid back under the covers, pulling them up to her shoulders, and picked up her phone. She fiddled around, swapping from app to app to app, waiting for the time to roll over. By the time midnight hit she could hear Alex's deep steady breathing, already deep asleep.

She opened her chat app and scrolled around for the correct name. The last time she'd seen him had been a Friday morning; every Friday morning she sent him a message. It was early in the morning his time, just barely seven.

She typed out her message, updating him about what was happening, how things were going. He hadn't messaged her back yet, not in weeks, but she had to try anyways.

Emily sent the message, paused, and then typed out a second message, breaking own of her own private rules.

I miss you, Matthew, she wrote, and after a pause she deleted it. Instead she closed the app, checked to make sure her alarm was set, and tried to make herself go to sleep.


Author's Notes:

SO FUN STORY

I started working on this chapter yesterday and it was NOT WORKING, which is why I wasn't able to update yesterday. I ended up scrapping what I wrote and started again! I think it ended up turning out pretty well, though, it's a pretty long chapter but it's also pretty substantial.

Part of this was inspired by MGG's tweet about how Spencer once superglued a bully's chin to a pull-up bar when he was nine. So...I decided to make that happen.

Thanks to ItsEmilyFreakingPrentiss, xGoldentigerlilyx, It's Morley to You, CriminalMindsGoneWrong, Cat, and a guest for reviewing! I appreciate y'all so much!

Come visit on tumblr if you'd like to chat!