Renaissance - the era of music that corresponds to the Renaissance period of other disciplines, it is categorized by similar developments in humanistic thought, emphasis on literature, and new methods of expression

How the choir found out it was my birthday, I have no idea. But they did, and they insisted on singing to me, leaving me standing in awkward silence and turning red in embarrassment while the group even broke into spontaneous and cohesive harmony.

Anne Marie burst out laughing even after it was all over at my embarrassment.

"Come on, was it really that bad?" she asked me.

"No," I was forced to answer. "I'm just not used to it."

Or rather, I corrected myself mentally, I wasn't used to it from people other than my BAU family. Last year, we had gotten together to celebrate my eighteenth birthday, and of course, Garcia had led them all in song. But there was still a difference between my small family and an entire chorus numbering forty people I had met less than a month ago.

"Got any fun plans?" Anne Marie asked as we walked out of the choir room. "I heard about an ice cream shop on Main Street that would be fun."

I smiled in apology. "I'm meeting a friend for a dinner and a concert tonight." I thought about it again. "But if you want to spread the word and we have enough drivers, get a group together and why don't we go this weekend?"

"That's sounds great. I'll ask Calleigh and Simon."

We parted ways as Anne Marie headed to her dorm and I made my way to my business class. When I was done with that, I returned to the fine arts building and ducked into a free practice room.

I had actually gotten in some practice time in the morning before choir, but I had time to fill before orchestra. Instead of taking out any of my flute pieces or concert music, I pulled out my notebook and began to improvise.

I had started some composing during the past year as part of my theory class in high school. I wouldn't ever be a composer, I didn't think, but it was like another way to work through my mental issues, like when I wrote in my journal.

I was in the middle of crafting a harmony for my melody when I heard a knock on the door. I turned around and saw Matthew Ellis standing outside.

I unlocked the door and let him in.

"What was that you were playing?" he asked in place of a standard greeting.

"Just a figment of my imagination," I explained sheepishly.

"May I?" he asked politely, gesturing me back to the piano bench.

I sat down and Matthew sat down on my left side. "Play it again."

I let my right hand carry the melody, self-consciously added the chords with my left. I wasn't very creative yet with my bass line or structure. Matthew listened for a moment and then started matching my melody an octave lower, but varied the rhythms ever so slightly, working his hand around my mine. His own left hand rumbled out chords, fleshing out the bass and making the cavern of the piano hum and ring.

With his encouraging smile, I kept playing, adapting his modifications into my own playing. I jumped up another octave to give him more room to manuever and soon we were taking turns with playing the melody and making variations.

Eventually, we reached a good cadence and brought our experimenting to an end.

"Thank you," I said, truly grateful for the ideas and camaraderie.

"Of course. I didn't know you were a composer."

I shook my head. "Not even close. I just like to play around."

"Still, you've got a good sense of line. It's just the harmonics that could develop more."

"Do you compose?" I asked.

"I'm studying church music," Matthew explained. "Being able to improvise is handy if a hymn needs to be stretched out or something like that."

"Then show me how it's done, Maestro," I teased, scooting further down the bench to give Matthew more room.

He smirked ever so slightly and took up my challenge. After seconds, I could easily acknowledge that Matthew was good. Damn good. If I wasn't watching him play, I would have sworn that he was reading sheet music and sheet music that he had played often. I watched in growing fascination and admiration as he played and played and played.

When he stopped, I couldn't think of anything to say at first. It was remarkable, but I didn't want to embarrass him.

"Clearly, I have much to learn still, Master," I said with a little bow in his direction.

I was rewarded with a bright smile. "Yes, Padawan, you still have much to learn."

I was still smiling when I got to my seat for orchestra and pulled out my flute. We were already working on pieces to perform at both the family weekend and homecoming concerts that would happen in the next month, including exerpts from Copland's Appalachian Spring, Vivaldi's Autumn (just for the strings of the orchestra), and a few other pieces that I had never heard of before.

After that, I had to hurry home to get ready for my birthday night with Reid. Both he and I had birthdays in the fall and we had decided to celebrate togther this year. When Reid had suggested the plans to me weeks ago, complete with tickets to the symphony that he had already bought, I was mostly certain that Reid was trying to cheer me up. Everyone on the team knew that my relationship with Hotch was, well, strained, to put it mildly. There was no way I would have a repeat party from last year.

At least I was certain that Reid wouldn't suffer too much. He liked classical music as I did.

In my apartment, I did a sweep to clean up from when I left in the morning and then hopped in the bathroom for a quick shower. While I was rinsing off, the shower curtain suddenly pulled back slightly, making me jump. I cursed under my breath and tried to calm down my racing heartbeat when I realized that Hannah had pawed the curtain open. In childish payback, I flicked some water in her meowing face.

"Damn cat is going to kill me," I muttered as Hannah stalked off. Probably, my cat was wondering at the change up in my behavior because normally I fed her as soon as I got home. Being a cat, the delay in her meal was cause enough to risk the shower.

Rather than keep tripping over as I continued to get ready, I came out to my kitchen in my robe and filled Hannah's bowls.

"Happy now?" I demanded as Hannah lapped at her food. I got no answer as Hannah continued to eat.

I sighed and returned to my room. Once dry, I put on a purple dress and bronze flats and laid out a jacket to put on later. I checked my purse to make sure I had my license, some cash, keys, and other essentials.

"Hold down the fort, Hannah," I called out, armed my alarm, and then locked my door.

The drive to Reid's apartment went quickly. Before I went to his door, I made sure my front passenger seat was adjusted for maximum leg room for Reid's natual height and the fact that he still had his crutches.

It was a couple of minutes to wait after I knocked on his door, but I remembered my days with crutches, so I knew to expect it.

"Hey, you look really nice," Reid said after he opened the door.

"Thanks," I answered. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, and I got the temporary handicapped parking pass for tonight too," Reid shared as he crutched out the door and locked it behind him. "That way you don't need to drop me off or have to walk with me too long."

I glanced at him sideways and tried to read between the lines. I sometimes felt like Reid still acted like he was the ostrasized geek, always expecting that no one would want to be seen in public with him. But then I also realized the obvious reason Reid wouldn't want me alone. Even he was concerned that Foyet might come after me again.

So I just accepted the parking pass and drove us into DC, following Reid's directions to a small Spanish restaurant where we shared a plate of paella. From there, we went Capital City Symphony for the National Symphony Orchestra's concert.

I insisted on buying programs for both of us since Reid had bought the tickets. I let him wander ahead to purchase them at the call desk. I started to walk away, but heard voices directly behind me.

"He can't be much of a date if she's buying the programs."

I paused for a fraction of a moment, but then decided to keep walking. I probably should have realized that most people would assume that Reid and I were on a date. Even with the age difference, the average person would subconsciously notice the easy and comfortable body langauge between us and assume we were dating.

I shared my observations with Reid when we got to our seats, enjoying the way he sputtered a bit and then launched into an exposition on other subconscious cues people observed and incorporated into their daily processing.

But once the music started, I was the expert. Reid was a genius, of course, but while he enjoyed classical music, I had studied it more extensively. I couldn't quote text books and articles verbatim like he could, but I could discuss the techniques and innocations of the concertos and symphonies, as well as the artistic notes.

And even thought I had my Musicianship class at 8 a.m. the next morning, I agreed with Reid suggested we hit a café for coffee before driving back home.

"You've never told me how you heard about Megan Reeves getting a job at Strader," I brought up after we had settled into comfy chairs with steaming cups and slices of cheesecake. "She told me once that she learned profiling from my dad, but that would have been before you joined the FBI. She also mentioned something about a friend of a friend."

"It's a bit of a long story," Reid warned me.

"Neither of us is drinking decaf," I riposted.

Reid shrugged and tucked his hair behind his ears. "Well, even in the academic community, child prodigy mathematicians get attention."

"You had three doctorates by the time you my age," I cut in, reminding him that I was well aware of his academic achievements.

"I got the last one when I was twenty-two," Reid corrected me with a smile. "You've got time."

"Very funny."

"Well, I read a paper on the Eppes Convergence, by Charles Eppes." From there, he started to talk about theorums and equations. I knew most people would cut Reid off or tune him out, but I tried to follow. Tried, being the operative word. Thank God Reid picked up on it.

"Um, anyway," he interrupted himself. "Charlie and I started corresponding. Then he told me how his brother was an FBI agent and that Charlie had started to help him work on cases. Sometimes, he would need to…talk about certain aspects of the cases with someone who understood the math and also understood the job."

There was a lot that I could read into Reid's hesitation. As someone who also found it necessary to talk with an outsider, but an outsider with perspective, I could relate. Someone like that was invaluable.

"Megan was on Charlie's brother's team," Reid finally told. "Even after she left the team, Charlie heard about her job at Strader. Since it's so close to me, Charlie mentioned it to me and then I thought of you."

I sat for a moment and really thought about what Reid was telling me. It didn't matter how much I often felt like he was more of a brother to me than any of the four half-brothers. And it didn't matter how often I was reminded that he worried about me and tried to look after me like I was his sister. Anytime one of those moments happened again, I felt a warm rush and deep gratitude.

"Thank you," I said simply.

"You're welcome," he said just as simply. "But I should probably let you drive me home so that you can get to bed."

I agreed with him, but I also remembered a promise from earlier. "My apartment's on the way if you want to come up and pick out some CDs."

The other day, a number of professors had apparently cleaned out their personal musical libraries and set up boxes of CDs or cassette tapes that were either duplicates, old, or just not wanted anymore. I had picked up a variety, scoring big on the cassette tapes since no one else was going for them. But old-fashioned that Reid could a lot of the time, I had offered him free range to choose.

I had parked on the street in front of my building and almost retracted my offer. Despite the fact that Reid had been walking around with crutches for a couple of months now, I still sometimes forgot that he was still injured and my building had no elevator.

"I'll be fine," Reid assured me, reading my mind as always. "My physical therapist recommends increasing my daily movement."

"If you're sure," I cautioned him.

"Don't worry about me, please."

So I kept my mouth shut and matched Reid's pace step by step. I was so busy watching his progress that when we reached my floor, Reid looked down the hall first. I wasn't even aware that something was wrong until Reid dropped his left crutch and swept his arm in front of me. At the same time he was shoving me behind him, his other hand dropped the second crutch and went for his gun.

I froze. Just absolutely froze in my spot shielded by Reid's body from whatever he had seen. Gone was the geeky erudite that I knew and loved; Reid was suddenly a man I didn't recognize. His arm was still keeping me behind him and the gun was steady in the grasp of his other hand.

But Reid had to shift his stance to keep his weight off his bad knee and I finally saw what had frightened him. A large cardboard box was sitting outside my apartment door.

"Have you expecting any packages?" Reid asked me tersely.

"No," I answered quietly.

From there, we were stuck. Reid wouldn't let me out from behind him, but he also couldn't walk while still holding his gun. Stalemate.

"Give me the gun," I told Reid. I started to bend down to pick up his crutches for him.

Reid grabbed me. "Are you crazy?"

"Give me the gun," I repeated. "You can't cover me, but I can cover you."

"What if it's a bomb?" he demanded.

"Bombs aren't in his M.O." I reminded him. Of course, we were both thinking that Foyet had left the package. But I was confident that he wouldn't use a bomb. Foyet liked his violence up close and personal.

Finally, Reid released me. I situated the crutches under each of his arms and accepted his revolver. I was more accustomed to a Glock, but I was still steady. Reid raised his eyebrows at my familiarity, but chose to save his comments for later.

I led the way, the comforting sound of Reid's crutched steps behind me. Even still, my heart was pounding in my ears. The last time I had been this afraid, I was bleeding out on the carpet next to Hotch. But at least I had my proof that the defense and gun training I had been doing at Quantico for the last several months was paying off. Despite my pulse racing, I was steady.

I paused at Michael's door and knocked quietly. It was late, so I wasn't surprised that it took a few minutes for him to open up.

"Rachel?" He hadn't bothered to put a shirt on over his flannel bottoms and was still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Did you see who delivered that package today?" Reid questioned him sharply.

"It came around seven o'clock," Michael answered, growing tense at Reid's tone and the gun in my hand.

"Any strange smells or sounds?"

"No, what's this about?"

For all Michael had had a crappy childhood and moved out on his own as soon as he hit eighteen, the paranoia that was normal for me now wasn't the same for him. Packages were delivered to people all the time, why would he be concerned that a package was delivered to my apartment?

And suddenly, I had to know what was inside. In a bizarre twist of memory, I remembered when my father had received a severed head when we had gone to his cabin for a vacation. But a head seemed too obvious for Foyet.

I handed the gun back to Reid who accepted it automatically. I pulled the keys out of my purse and cut the tape, finding something large and dark, wrapped in plastic. I tore the plastic open too and then burst out laughing.

Flowers. It was a bouquet of flipping flowers.

Michael swore as only his co-workers could have taught him, and even Reid let out a muttered curse. I sat back and kept laughing, barely keeping it below the level of hysteria.

"Who the hell would send me flowers?" I demanded breathlessly. "Where's the damn card?"

I fished it out and abruptly stopped laughing after I had read it.

Happy birthday, Rae. Love always.

There was exactly one person who called me Rae and who wouldn't bother signing his name—my father.

Now I was swearing.

"Purple hyacinth," Reid said, because of course Reid would be able to indentify the flower. "In the language of flowers, purple hyacinths mean 'I'm sorry.'"

"So, in addition to sending flowers as an apology, there are flowers that actually mean an apology?" Michael asked in disbelief.

"How the hell did he find me?" I muttered.

We brought the flowers into my apartment and then didn't know what to do next. I gave serious consideration to turning the "sorry" flowers into pot pourri. Somehow, the fact that I finally had proof that my father was alive was negated by the fact that he had just sent me flowers. I hadn't seen him in over two years, I still had no idea where he was, but hey, now I had flowers. Fan-effing-tastic.

Reid insisted on sleeping on my couch and Michael refused to leave and so shared the bed with me. As I lay awake that night, I tried to come to grips with my feelings.

I did feel relief knowing, finally, that Dad was out there and alive. There was the hurt in message, because I still couldn't understand how he could have left me if he loved me, meaning confusion was also running high. And also anger that he had just sent flowers to apologize, thinking it would be enough, rather than coming to see me in person.

Just when I thought I had enough problems on my plate with being shut out by Hotch, starting college, worry for Reid's recovery, and the ever-present, hovering axe that was the Boston Reaper, now I had this too.

I spent the rest of the night trying to decide if I wanted the flowers to mean Dad was going to come back into my life. By morning, I still didn't have an answer.

Notes:

This chapter was a last minute addition to my storyline. The flowers at the end were meant for the last chapter and the piano scene with Matthew was meant for the next one, but then I realized that I skipped over Rachel's birthday and thought she deserved to have a little bit of fun going out. Chapter title was chosen due to the theme of "rebirth" present in the Renaissance era, both for Rachel's birthday and also her new life at college.

How did Gideon know where Rachel is living now? Eh, I'm not really sure. You go ahead and make up whatever you want, I won't mind.

Nine reviews so far, I have high hopes of making it to 75 by the time this movement is over. The response I continue to receive for this undertaking is astounding and gratifying as always, my sincerest thanks.

Cantoris