Authors Note: This story takes place in the Criminal Minds universe with the occasional crossover into the Bones universe. As such, I only own my own original characters and everything else belongs to the writers and networks, blah, blah, blah.

Hope you enjoy.

P.S.: I am dyslexic. Any grammatical error is caused by such dyslexia, and after so many years of failing grammar, I could give less of a shit about how you feel about it or what I did wrong. If you want to correct my facts or translations, I welcome it. If something I wrote doesn't make sense, I welcome your opinion. Spelling and grammar errors? Not so much. If it bothers you, find something else to read.

Chapter 5: May 2006

"I survived by keeping my emotions in check – by maintaining my composure and tucking it all away. I managed to stay under the radar, skating through school without anyone truly remembering I was here. My teachers acknowledged my academic successes and my coaches depended upon my athletic abilities, but I wasn't important enough to make a recognizable social contribution. I was easily forgettable. That's what I counted on."

― Rebecca Donovan, Reason to Breathe

The date that Spence and Harley had planned to have ended up being pushed back by as case of Spencer's that came up at the last minute. It got pushed back so far that they ended up not being able to go before Harley's trip to New Orleans, and instead, they planned a trip for the team's holiday off work. Spencer's team had managed to wrangle two weeks off from work, and Harley had managed to convince Dr. Goodman to give her the time off on account of missing a good chunk of her Christmas vacation, and never being able take time off, because she usually went with Dr. Brennan on her working vacations.

They'd mapped out a two week coast to coast road trip that began in Vegas, so they could visit his mom before they made their way to San Diego to visit Harley's home town.

They wound up in the library at Bennington Sanitarium the day after they left Virginia, staring at Spencer's mother, Dr. Diana Reid, from the across the room at the doors. Spencer was wearing a black polo and a pair of khakis, an outfit that was slightly out of character for him back in the BAU, but just a little more dressed up then he tended to dress when he followed Harley out on their wild adventures. Harley, in turn, had on a white and blue modest sun dress and a pair of flats. She could have worn it to church, with how modest and entirely out of character it was. She almost never wore flat footed shoes and Spencer was surprised to find out she owned a pair of flat footed shoes that weren't boots or vans. Her hair which now just grazed her shoulders was loose, and wavy.

Harley held his hand as they stood there, waiting for him to make the first move. She'd only been introduced to Diana a year and a half ago, and it'd be odd if Harley went up to her before Spencer. They just didn't have that type of relationship.

"I heard a rumor you were here," one of the facilities doctors, Dr. Jensen, said, walking up to the couple from another room. She was in fact his mother's doctor. She was dressed in a grey pant suit, a pair of heels, and her Bennington ID was clipped to her lapel. "And I see you brought your girlfriend back. It's nice to see you again, Harley."

"How is she?" Spencer asked, not turning his eyes away from his mother. Harley smiled at her, from her spot on Spencer's other side.

"Schizophrenia is a life long illness," Dr. Jensen told them. "The meds stabilize the worst of her symptoms but she still has bad days. What makes her most happy are her journals and your daily letters. She is exceptionally proud of you, Spencer."

"She is?"

"Talks about you all the time. To anyone who will listen," Dr. Jensen told him. "Staff, other patients. Her journals are filled with the cases you right her about. Calls them your adventures."

"Mom's of the belief that you can find adventure all around you if you just look. It's what happens when you're a professor of fifteenth century literature," Spencer explained with a grin, turning to look at the woman.

"Well, she is going to be so excited that you were finally able to get here in person," the doctor told him with a grin.

"Maybe it's better if I just let her rest today," Spencer told her, although it seemed to be more to himself than anything. This inspired a frown form Harley. They had barely seen the woman when they had come to see her over New Year's, and, not that she was offended that their plans where probably going to keep them in Vegas until he saw his mother, they were here now. Why put it of anymore?

"Rest?"

"Yeah, I'll… uh… I'll come back tomorrow," Spencer told her, wrapping an arm around Harley's waist and pulling her into him.

"But Dr.… She's—"

"Can you give this to her?" he asked handing her a book he's brought with him, before stuffing the hand not around Harley into his pocket. "It's Margery Kempe. Her favorite."

"It would be really good for her if you could just…"

"Please. Thank you so much. Thanks."

And then Spencer almost dragged Harley out of there, wanting to escape the facility he'd made the hard choice of locking his mom away in.

Out in the parking lot, next to the jeep Harley's parents had left for them in the airport parking lot when they'd arrived in Vegas, Harley stopped him before he could speed off. She put her hand over his on the steering wheel and squeezed. Spencer looked tense, with white knuckled fists wrapped around the steering wheel and a hard frown on her face.

"I'm sorry for delaying our trip," he whispered, barely moving a muscle.

"Pen, I swear, I don't care," Harley told him, moving so she was sitting on the console dividing their seats and leaned into him. "This is your mom we're talking about. She's more important than this trip. We'll stay as long as you need. It's not like there's no fun to be had in Vegas. You won't be hurting my feelings if we stay here, I swear."

_._._._._

That night, Spencer and Harley ended up at a restaurant in one of the casinos that a friend of Harley's mom ran security for. The Montecito Hotel and Casino was along the strip, and the same place Harley and Spencer stayed at every time they'd come to Vegas since Spencer had sold the house he grew up in. Ed Deline, the head of security at the casino was the former head of CIA Counter Intelligence, and the greatest security man Vegas had ever seen. His right hand man Danny McCoy in surveillance and security, was a former marine and a good friend of both Spencer and Harley. In fact, Danny was one of the only friends he'd had in high school. As a courtesy, and a precaution, they had never even attempted to gamble here.

The restaurant they went to had been recommended to them by their friends at the hotel, and they both had dressed up for it. Harley had chosen an outfit that was less reserved and modest than she'd dress anywhere on the east coast, and still less conservative than she'd dress anywhere outside of Vegas. Harley was by no means uncomfortable in her body, but she tended to wear more than she'd have felt comfortable in for the sake of others. But in Vegas? You could dress however you want and no one was going to feel uncomfortable by it. Vegas isn't modest or conservative. Vegas was the only place in the world like it: former mob lawyer as mayor; legal gambling; valets with master's degrees in engineering; bars that never close; world class food and entertainment; 24/7 action. The only two goals where to make a lot of money, and make it through the day without being buried alive in the desert. The dress code was loose.

And Harley is the type of girl who thrives in bikinis.

She had on a little black dress that hugged her a little tighter and dipped a little deeper than she would where to a place in DC with a silver and black blazer over top of it, and a pair of shinny Louboutins heels. They were an inch shorter than she'd usually go for, but it was probably better that way. Her hair was left loose, and her makeup had upped its game a little.

Spencer had on a black suit of his own, and he had his arm around Harley the entire time from when they left their room to when they sat down at their table.

"So, do you just want to stay in Vegas for the next two weeks, and spend some time with your mom?" Harley asked, putting her hand over his on the table. He knew what she was asking. The between the lines part of it. You can visit your mom, and I can make some money doing some work for Ed.

One of Harley's part time hobbies, outside of writing books, and going on ridiculous adventures, Harley liked helping out casinos with their security systems, and surveillance measures. While she was good at science, she was even better at code and encryption, and Spencer wouldn't be surprised if she was doing side work for the CIA. The last time someone had come to her work to do an evaluation for security clearance, they had passed over her in their interviews, and Spencer had gotten a call from one of the people she works with wanting to know why. Spencer didn't and still doesn't have an answer for that, and he has no plans to ask for one any time soon.

"Yeah, it gives me time to spend with my mom. And then if Garcia checks, I won't be caught in a lie," Spencer explained, rolling his hand over under hers and bringing her hand to his mouth to kiss the back of it. Harley, in turn, understood what he wasn't saying: This gives me time to relieve some of the guilt I have over not visiting as often as I should. Harley understood that guilt. She hadn't seen her family as often as she should in years. The only difference was he always knew where his mom was, and Harley rarely knew where her parents or brother would be. She only saw them at Thanksgiving and Christmas. But even that wasn't a definite.

"Alright then. I'll talk to Ed and Danny in the morning."

"Thank you. I just—"

"Pen, trust me when I say this. I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to stay. I'm fine with the idea of staying in Vegas for two weeks. We can road trip some other time. It's not like we can't find someone to feed the pets," Harley explained, giving him a grin to show she was okay with remaining in Vegas.

Spencer and Harley stuck to lighter conversation for the rest of dinner, and then went to a Latin dance club for some salsa to cool off to. They had fun and turned in around midnight so that Spencer could get up early to see his mother in the morning. Or at least, that had been the plan until they got into the elevator. Things got pretty steamy after that.

_._._._._

The next morning, as Spencer walked into Bennington Sanitarium alone, he got stopped by the desk worker. "Oh. Dr. Reid. Someone delivered this to the desk last night for you."

"What?" he asked, looking at the package she had just dug out from under a pile and was holding out in his direction, as he turned to walk her way. He took the packet, looked at it from all angles, and then opened it. Inside was a smaller packet with his name written on the front. He opened it, and emptied it into his hand. A skeleton key fell into his hand, and upon further inspection, he pulled out a note. The note was hand written in all caps.

SHE WILL DIE

UNLESS YOU SAVE

HER, DR. REID.

CALL GIDEON.

HE KNOWS.

He read it out loud to himself before rushing out of the building to the Jeep he and Harley were supposed to be sharing. Inside the car, he put everything back in the original package and pulled out his phone to call Harley, wanting to make sure she wasn't the "Her" the note was talking about.

Harley confirmed that she hadn't left the hotel and was in the security room, re-familiarizing herself with their systems. And she arranged for him to get the next flight out to DC with a promise to make sure he found the "bastardo" who'd now officially ruined her two week vacation. She told Spencer to leave the Jeep in short term parking with the key taped under the back fender, and that she'd arrange for someone to bring it back to the hotel.

Then he called Gideon to tell him about his package and his change of plans.

A real fun start to what was supposed to be two weeks alone with his favorite person.

He hadn't even started working the case and he already hated this unsub.

Great.

_._._._._

After flying into Dulles, he caught up with his team at the scene of Frank Gilles' murder. He could hear them talking as he walked in.

"The beds in the middle of the room." Hotch.

"Which isn't by chance." Morgan.

"And maybe the light from here casts a shadow and points to something." Hotch.

"Come on, are we in the middle of an Indiana Jones movie?" Elle.

"The hour be none?" Hotch.

"Well midnight is 00 hours in 24 hour time. Would that be none?" Morgan.

"Midnight wouldn't cast a shadow," Hotch informed Morgan, looking up at the other agent from his crouched position by the bed, with his back to the wall. Morgan was standing across from him, Elle almost at the head of the bed, and Gideon closest to the wall facing the window.

"Hour be none?" Morgan asked.

"Three PM, guys," Spencer informed them, walking all the way into the room. His voice was soft as he continued. "Garcia told me where to find you."

"Three PM?" Gideon asked from his spot furthest from the rest of the group.

"It's medieval. The days used to be broken into hourly intervals, the acoustical hours of the breviary. Prime, six AM. Terce, nine AM. Sext, twelve noon. None, three PM. And Vespers six PM," he explained, as Gideon came closer to his side. He left out that Seventh-Day Adventists used the name Vespers to name their Friday night worship services at their college campuses. Of course Vespers happen at eight PM Friday night, rather than six PM. A fact he'd learned from Harley.

"Reid, do not ever go away again," Elle told him, pointing a finger his way. Fat chance of that, he wanted his two weeks' vacation he was promised.

"Medieval, that's why the language changed," Gideon surmised. "Doth."

"Everything this guy does is a clue," Hotch added.

"But guys, it's four thirty-five. What do we do, leave the blade in until three PM tomorrow?" Morgan asked, using his hands to indicate towards the body. Spencer definitely did not have time for that.

"Not if we can block that window up," he theorized, before turning to Gina, one of the crime scene techs, who was crouched down next to Morgan at the body's feet. "Do you have any spotlights in your car?"

"Sure."

"Thanks, Gina," Elle told the woman as she walked away.

When they got the window blocked so that it wasn't letting light in, and Spencer positioned himself in front of the window with the spot light, he began talking again. "The sun is right here, at five PM. Morgan follow the shadow as I move the light higher."

Morgan moved the lamp, suit case, and the short table in front of the wall. "Okay and do what?"

"Tap," Hotch instructed him. Morgan began to tap at the wall as Spencer moved the light, his taping following the shadow of the sword downward."

"It's hollow," Morgan told them when he hit a spot that sounded different than the rest of the wall.

"Definitely an Indiana Jones Movie," Elle chimed in. "It feels like the wall paper's been replaced," Morgan added.

"Tear it up," Hotch instructed. Morgan pulled out his pocket knife, flipped it open, and began to cut open the wall. He ripped a piece or wall paneling away to reveal a wooden book

"It's a box," Morgan informed them.

"Take it out."

"Wait, wait. Are we sure that's safe," Spencer asked, because of course he's the youngest here and he really has things he'd still like to do in life. Like that two week vacation he's supposed to be on with Harley right now.

"Why? You think it's a bomb? You think he'd be playing this game with us just to blow us up?" Hotch asked, sounding irritated. No, but there are other things you can store in a box that are dangerous. Spencer should know, he got trapped in a lab on Christmas because of bone partials carrying valley fever. He had a right to panic a little. Or Y-pestis, or any number other biological contaminant that comes in powder form. Even anthrax. Why was he the only one concerned about this?

"He'd have already done that as long as we've been standing here," Morgan explained, having turned to face Spencer. Then he turned around to pull the box out from its cavern in the wall. He put it on the table he'd moved earlier and tried, with no success, to open it. "It's locked. Do you want me to break it?"

"No, we should process it first," Hotch told him, sounding a little sad.

"The youngest holds the key," Gideon recited from the note he'd gotten along with the baseball card and the decapitated head. Everyone turned to look at Spencer. He fiddled, trying to locate the key on his person before pulling it out of his shirt pocket, and walking over to the box. He stuck the key in, turned it, hearing a click, and then cautiously opened the lid. Music spilled out. "Schubert. The Trout Quintet."

"Five people fishing," Hotch spoke as Spencer pulled out a note from within the box.

"Never would it be night, but always would it be clear day to any man's sight," he read, his forehead frowned.

"Wow, that was worth it," Elle spoke sarcastically.

"The lid," Gideon told them as Spencer flipped the note over to find… nothing. "The tab right under the lock."

Morgan reached down and pulled it open. It revealed a chunk of hair and a DVD.

"Oh, god," Elle spoke for the group. The DVD read "Thy Quest". Morgan pulled it out. "Do you have that evidence bag?"

"Here you go," one of the techs told her, handing her a bag she promptly put the hair in.

"Thy Quest," Morgan read from the front of the DVD.

_._._._._

After the team watched the DVD detailing the rules and more clues to their "quest", they sifted through the clues they had. And after receiving a package brought to the BAU by Mrs. Haley Hotchner, they stared at the piece of paper with numbers on it that she'd brought to them. They had to find out the exact book they related to decipher their message. JJ came back with the DNA hit on the hair; it belonged to a Rebecca Bryant who had been missing out of Boston for two years. Then Gideon had JJ go to a press conference with the sketch of the man Haley had helped the sketch artist with. Then Hotch sent Elle home with Agent Anderson when he found her asleep on the couch.

Spencer fought to keep himself from rolling his eyes at that. 36 hours of no sleep and she was falling asleep at work? He and Harley had once gone 72 hours while working to figure out a cheating ring at a hotel in Vegas.

Spencer worked on trying to figure out what book the code went to, and where he'd heard the line before.

When he figured out that the book had to be published in 1963, he went to Penelope Garcia's lair. She was working on finding their actual hacker.

"This guy is infuriatingly good. He rooted his IP through major corporations, crisscrossed it through countries, bounced it off satellites—"

"I though you already found the hacker?"

"No, I only found what he wanted me to find. The apartment where Gilles was dead. Reid, a hacker capable of getting into my systems is going to have amazingly sophisticated equipment. Did Gilles' apartment have that?"

"He didn't have a couch."

"Exactly," Garcia told him, typing away. "Gilles was a smoke screen I should have seen through. But, now I have this glorious program I wrote, tracking the hacker though his other identity. Sir Kneighf."

Spencer bet Harley could have done it faster, but he wasn't going to tell Garcia that. He got in close to her computer screen. "K.N.E.I.G.H.F. It's an odd spelling."

"Do you need something?"

"Yeah," Spencer stated, moving out of the hackers personal space. "Is there a database that lists all the books published in a given year?"

"Individual publishers have lists, but I don't think there's anything like a master one. Plus it would depend upon the year because the farther back you go, the less likely there'll be any database at all," Garcia told him.

"1963."

"Yeah, okay. That would be an example of extremely less likely." He really wished Harley, or even Angela were here. At least they'd have been somewhat kinder about that delivery.

"Could you do me a favor and type something into a search engine for me?" Spencer asked before reciting the quote.

"Kay, that's from a poem. The Parliament of—"

"FOWELS! Yeah, yeah, yeah. Chaucer. My… My mom used to read me that. It's widely considered at the first valentines' poem," Spencer exclaimed. Starting to pace around the small room.

"Your mom read you valentines' poems? Hello therapy."

Then Spencer started thinking about their case, and the clues. Chaucer. Parliament of Fowels. 283 pages long. Published in 1963. A butterfly indigenous to Great Brittan that had been sent to JJ. Something born. Something from Great Brittan. Medieval. Chaucer was Middle English. Fowels. "There was a contemporary British author, Fowels. John Fowels. Will you type it into a search engine?"

"UH… He wrote the Maggots. The French Lieutenant's Woman."

"Anything in 1963, published in Great Brittan?"

"The Collector."

"Collector. Baseball cards, skeleton keys, music boxes. These are things that are collected."

Garcia had a cover of the book pop up on the screen. The cover had the butterfly that was sent to JJ, a strand of hair, and a skeleton key on it. "Reid."

It was a good thing Spencer knew someone who liked owning first addition copies, who read books by Fowels. It was time he made a call, and got someone to go over to Harley's apartment to see if she had the book. In the meantime, he'd check with the libraries.

_._._._._

He had Mrs. Velez, Harley's next door neighbor who was doggy-sitting BC while Spencer and Harley where away, go into Harley's apartment to look through her personal library, and she got back to him telling him that Harley owned the exact copy of the book they were looking for. He then read her the code and had Mrs. Velez read back the corresponding word to decrypt the puzzle, and Garcia writing them down on a white board behind him. He was sad to find out that Elle had been shot, but he had work to do. After reading her the code, and getting the words back, he stared at the message that was left.

THE PATH TO THE END

BEGAN AT HIS START

TO FIND HER FIRST CALM

HER LONG BROKEN HEART

SHE SITS IN A WINDOW

WITH SECRETS FROM HER KNIGHT

IS IT ADVENTURE THAT KEEPS

HIM OUT OF HER SIGHT

Penelope Garcia read it aloud. "Is it another puzzle?"

"It's a riddle," Spencer informed her, staring at the words. "Began at his start… The youngest holds the key… Sits in a window… Secrets… Adventure… Secrets from her knight… Sits in a window…"

He looked over the message he'd gotten, reading it back to himself.

"Never would it be night, but always would it be clear day… It's never night in Vegas," He said coming to a conclusion. He grabbed the phone. He should call the FBI field office closest to Las Vegas… but… He ended up dialing another, far more familiar number.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Spencer Reid with the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico. Your boss knows me. Can you tell him I need my mother picked up and bought to Virginia in protective custody as soon as possible? We're searching for an Unsub who shot one of our agents today, and I… I think he might know my mother and I believe she may be in danger."

"Spencer…" Harley's voice came over the line.

"She's a patient at Bennington Sanitarium so you might have to call your detective friend to help you get her out of there, but I need her brought to Quantico immediately," Spencer said over the phone, knowing full well that Garcia could hear him. "Do I need to call the FBI field office closest to Las Vegas and ask them to do this?"

"No," Ed's gruff voice came over the line. "I'll send Harley and Danny with her on our jet. You're lucky it was already going to be headed your way kid."

"Thank you, sir," Spencer told him before ending the call.

"Who did you just call?" Garcia asked.

"A friend."

_._._._._

"That's why you're so skinny, you know," his mother's voice came from behind him, five hours after he'd made the call. He turned to look at her from where he was standing at the kitchenette in the break room. She had on a dark maxi dress, a knit cardigan and a large straw purse over her shoulder. Harley and Danny came in behind her. His mother's hair was short and blonde with darker roots. Just like it always is. Her eyes had bags under them and her skin was wrinkled with age. "Too much coffee."

"Thanks a lot guys. I've got her," he told Harley and Danny, walking closer. Danny was dressed in his usual suit and tie with too expensive shoes. And Harley… well Harley was dressed in her element with leather skinny jeans, a sparkly gold peplum top that dipped low in the front, a leather jacket, and a sky high pair of platform heels. It probably wasn't appropriate for being in an FBI building, but it had been for being behind the monitors at a casino. Her dark hair was loose but straight. And she looked… Well, he needed her out of the room to think straight.

Harley gave him a smile, and a hug before she and Danny left for the bullpen, probably to entertain themselves at his desk, and correspond with the casino through their cellphones.

"You know I'm terrified of flying," his mother told him as he got closer.

"I know mom, I'm sorry," he told her in a soft voice.

"Then why did you have that goon and your girlfriend arrest me?"

He grinned. "Mom, Danny's not a goon, and you were not arrested. I don't think either of them can arrest people. I'm trying to protect you."

"By forcing me to do the one thing that frightens me more than anything else?"

"I need to show you something," he told her, leading her away. "Follow me."

He lead her into their conference room and showing her in.

"This is where you work?" She asked, looking around.

"This is where we meet. Uh… my desk, you see, is right out there in the bullpen area. Danny and Harley were sitting at it," he told her, his hands clasped in front of him as she walked further into the room.

"The table's round," she observed.

"Yeah, just like I wrote you in my letters."

"Yes, just like you wrote in your letters," his mother told him with a grin. "Dr. Jensen gave me the book you brought. Margery Kempe."

"She's your favorite."

"That particular book is one of her minor works," his mother told him, walking up to the board and snatching the key off.

"Mom, no," Spencer told her running over. "Don't take… Don't… You can't take things off the board. That key is evidence… Mom, the unsub that we're looking for… the bad guy, knows things about my colleges personal lives, things that only you would know. DO you right about them in your journals?"

"My journals are NONE OF THE GOVERNMENTS BUSINESS!"

"I'm not the government," he told her barely over a whisper.

"Well this certainly looks like a government office!"

"Mother, do you right about my colleges personal lives?" he asked softly.

"Why did you bring me here, Spencer?"

"I need to ask you some questions about a man I think you might know. A bad man. He's killed some people and he's holding a girl hostage."

"You think I know someone like that?" his mother asked, looking sad.

"Will you just watch the tape and see if he sounds familiar?"

She nodded, and he pulled out a chair for her to sit in. He pressed play on the video and as it played he watched a look of recognition cross her face.

"You do know him?"

"I'm sure it's… Randal Garner," she answered

"Randal Garner?"

"He was with me at the hospital. He's a very emotionally disturbed man," she told him.

"Reid," Garcia called, quickly moving into the room. "I got to the end of the IP string. Sir Kneighf? The Fisher King? His name is Randal Garner. He's Rebecca Bryant's biological father."

Now they have to call Hotch.

"I can't believe she's real," his mother told the a few moments after they alerted Hotch, although she was almost talking more to herself than to them.

"What do you mean?" Garcia asked.

"Whenever he talked about Rebecca, he never said she was his daughter. He said all his children died in the fire," she explained to the pair. "He spoke of a Rebecca, more in the abstract. I really thought she was a metaphor, not a human being. An ideal.

"A grail," Spencer added. "He thinks he's the Fisher King."

"Who does?" Morgan asked, walking into the conference room with JJ trailing behind him with a stack of folders.

"Randal Garner. Our unsub," Spencer informed him.

"He believes your all modern day knights of the round table," Diana added.

At Morgan's questioning look and pointed finger, Spencer made introductions. "Derek Morgan, this is my mother, Diana Reid."

"That's your mother?" Morgan asked, his hand still not yet down by his side. "Ma'am it's a pleasure to meet you."

"So where are we on finding this son of a bitch, and who wants to tell me who those people are who are sitting at Reid's desk?" Hotch asked, walking into the room.

"I rechecked all the clues, and there's nothing that points to an address," Spencer informed him as they all began sitting down. He hoped they could distract Hotch long enough not to ask the second part of his question.

"The adoption records for Rebecca list an address at the fire, so I made a call to Nevada, and it's vacant. No one ever rebuilt," JJ told Hotch, who had remained standing.

"Nevada? So we don't even know what state he's in?" Hotch asked, although the way he said it almost made it a statement.

"I'll search tax record. See if he owns any property," Garcia told him

"Excuse me," Diana spoke up from her seat by the white board.

"Mom, do you want to wait out—"

"Just before Spencer's friends got me from the hospital, a man delivered this to me. It's a photo of a house with an address on the back," she informed them, showing them the back of the picture first.

"Shiloh, Virginia?" Morgan read. "That's only ten miles from here."

They took off for the house the picture showed almost immediately. Hotch stopped Spencer before he could leave. "Who are the two people at your desk?"

"Danny McCoy and Dr. Harley Isley. They're friends of mine. They brought my mom here from Las Vegas when we made the connection to her," Spencer told Hotch. "It was faster than sending agents to go get her and they have access to a private plane, so it was more time efficient."

Hotch gave him a look like he wanted more, but ultimately they didn't have the time for it. So he let Spencer pass, and the two made their way to the SUVs while Harley and Danny sat with his mother, listening to her give a lecture like she was speaking in front of a class of students rather than a small room with only two other people.

_._._._._

Randal Garner blew himself up in the end, but they managed to rescue Rebecca. And Spencer went with Harley, Danny, and his mother back to Vegas on an early morning flight, after he visited Elle at the hospital, to finish his two week vacation. He and Harley stayed in Vegas for those two weeks and enjoyed themselves amongst their friends. He spent more time with his mom, and a lot of time having fun with Harley on and off the stip.

It was by no means the perfect vacation, like the one that had been planned, but they both enjoyed it. And in the end, that was all that mattered really.

Plus he got to catch up with Danny and Mary, his only friends in High School.

So really, who cared if it wasn't as planned? It wasn't perfect. But it was better.

"It has been said that time heals all wounds. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens, but it is never gone."

-Rose Kennedy

(The quote Spencer quoted at the end of the episode)