You're 18 when you graduate high school… as the class valedictorian, no less.

The awards ceremony had been a stuffy but bittersweet affair. The reception now is no different, save for the addition of hugs and watery smiles and the sound of many good-luck-with-everything's or I'll-miss-you-keep-in-touch's filling the air.

Everyone had come to the ceremony (despite your protests that they needn't feel obligated to): aside from your dad and Julia, even all the members from the BAU had come to witness your rite of passage into adulthood.

The auditorium that is currently housing you all is packed to its capacity, and you're milling about the large crowd, accepting handshakes and exchanging congratulatory remarks with your classmates.

You spy Aunt Pen and Uncle Derek over at the refreshments table stacking their plates high with cheese and crackers, while Uncle Aaron, Aunt Beth, Aunt Alex, and Uncle Dave (now retired) seem engrossed in conversation. You also see your dad and Julia chatting amiably with other parents.

There's one more person missing from your quick headcount, though. You look around for Uncle Spencer, wondering where he went off to. It takes you a good quarter of an hour, but you eventually find him outside in the cool night air, leaning against the building's brick wall with arms crossed and a faraway look. You make your way over.

"Hey you," you greet as you near him.

Your words seem to pull him out of his thoughts and he looks at you, momentarily startled, but recovers quickly. "Henry! Congratulations," he smiles, "You are most definitely going to blow Yale away next year."

You grin. "Thanks, Uncle Spencer. I sort of did learn from the best, after all," you say, knowing full well that your proficiency at academics is due largely in part to your godfather's enthusiastic tutorage over the years.

"Nah, that was all you," He tilts his head a little, as if contemplating something. After a momentary pause, he continues, "I don't know if your dad has ever mentioned it, but JJ was valedictorian for her graduating class as well."

You nod, feeling a swell of pride spring from within you.

"You really were great up there, Henry. You know… you have way with words, a real aptitude for public speaking," he muses, "and while I know talents are largely honed in development and that genetics can only minimally account for them… that skill—it's something you share with your mother."

You notice that the faraway look in his eye has returned and you know better than to interject, and so, you simply wait for him to continue.

He looks you dead in the eye and says, "You are every bit JJ's son, Henry. And that's a compliment—of the very highest order."

You nod again, suddenly overwhelmed. After 13 years, you know full well how little (if ever) your godfather voluntarily talks about your mother: while the rest of the BAU speak openly and freely about her, you've always noticed that your godfather often avoids the topic altogether. As a consequence, this—this simple statement—means more to you than all the congratulations you've received tonight.

And so, instead of replying, you open your arms and hug your godfather.

You feel his arms wrap around you in reciprocation. When you step back moments later, he says, "I've actually been thinking… if you'd like, you can drop the 'uncle' part—I know I'm your godfather and all, but we're both adults now, and I would be honoured to see you as my equal."

Letting out a small chuckle, you decide to try it out on your tongue: "Are you sure, Spencer?"

He pauses mid-nod, and furrows his brow. "Yes," he starts slowly, "but could you… could you call me Spence instead? Just Spence."

You nod, unsure of why, but acquiescing to the request.

Uncle Spencer—wait, no, Spence—simply winks at you and declares:

"It'll be a Jareau thing."