Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.

"Never love anyone who treats you like you're ordinary." – Oscar Wilde

o o o o

12 January 2011

The clock on the Blu-ray player in the living room glowed one thirty in the morning as the door to the garage opened and slammed shut. Calliope lifted her hands slightly and covered the ears of the little girl finally asleep on her chest. She could hear a coat being shrugged out of and hung up in the coat closet. Shoes were kicked off and the door coat closet closed. Feet stomped across the floor and cabinets opened and closed in the kitchen. Water splashed into a cup, the excess dumped in the sink and the cup put into the drain board.

Calliope whispered softly into Emeline's hair, her hands still gently cupped around her ears. Perses lifted his head from the end of the couch, but didn't move. Gilmore Girls glowed on the television and the sound was so soft that Calliope only knew what was being said because she'd watched the entire series enough times to have all one hundred and fifty-three episodes memorized.

"… If he could get another job and he could save up some money and afford his own place and move out, then I wouldn't end up stabbing him in the neck with a grapefruit spoon."

The footsteps walked into the living room and Calliope spoke almost inaudibly, her voice serious.

"Spencer Reid, if you wake this child up, I will make you wish you were dead. This is the first time in three days she's slept. I haven't slept since eight Sunday morning. That was almost ninety hours ago. I'm a millimeter away from cracking. If you wake her up, I will stretch you out on a rack, disembowel you, quarter you, use thumbscrews and then, if you're not dead yet, I'll let you pick between the Iron Maiden or the Brazen Bull. Then, I'll leave you with the screaming child and I'll go to Williamsburg to sleep."

Spencer crouched next to the top of the couch and kissed Calliope lightly. "I missed you too, Sweetheart."

"Wait, one more," Calliope kissed him again, deeper this time, catching his lower lip between hers. Spencer kept kissing her, dropping silently out of his crouch to his knees and cradling her face in his hands, careful not to jostle Emeline. His headache was subsiding slightly and, right now, all he wanted to do was keep kissing her. Pulling back slightly, he lifted Emeline's limp body from Calliope. "No, no, no, don't wake her."

"Shhh," Spencer kissed her again, cradling Emeline and letting the little girls head lull against his shoulder as he ran his hand over her back soothingly. "Don't wake her up."

Pulling the satin pink comforter down and laying Emeline down in her bed, Spencer tucked the sheets and comforter up around her snuggly. Emeline shifted slightly, but stayed asleep, her thumb in her mouth and drool trickling down her chin. Spencer flipped on the nightlight and noiselessly closed the door behind him as he tiptoed out.

By the time he got back to the couch, Calliope had fallen asleep where he left her. Her arm was hanging off the couch and her blonde eyelashes light against her cheek, her chest raising and falling evenly.

"So much for having a little fun tonight," Spencer smiled and found himself yawning despite himself. He briefly thought about carrying her to their bed, but decided against it. Instead, he crawled over her and wedged himself between her and the back of the couch. He was settling half onto his side and half onto his back, Calliope languidly turned around into his chest. She sleepily pressed kisses to his neck and her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his cardigan and she dragged it away from him. Spencer stopped kissing her just long enough to pull her hoodie over her head.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

A small mass suddenly slamming onto of them jolted Spencer and Calliope out of sleep and they were instantly painfully wide awake.

"I'm hungry," Emeline whined, wiggling her arms around Spencer's neck

"Make her go back to sleep," Calliope whimpered into Spencer's chest, dragging the blanket over her head and stopping halfway. "Oh my god."

"No sudden moves," Spencer whispered, kissing her forehead and resting a hand on her lower back. "Eme, Princess, why don't you go wake up Perses and we'll all go and – " Spencer didn't even have to finish the sentence before Emeline was running off. "Pass me my shorts."

Giggling, Calliope bent over and found his boxers amidst the clothing on the floor as Spencer kissed her back. She passed him his shorts and he slipped them on. When he was covered, Calliope wrapped the blanket around herself and dashed into their bedroom. Spencer grabbed their clothing and chased after her.

Calliope was laughing when Spencer closed and locked the door behind him. Spencer shook his head, tossing the clothing onto the bed and wrapping his arms around her. Pushing up on her toes, she kissed him.

"Good thing she's only three," Spencer smiled. "That was almost bad."

"Thank God. When do you go in this morning?"

"Ten."

"What time is it?"

"Seven-thirty."

"I hate that little girl," Calliope moaned into his chest and Spencer started laughing. There was an insistent banging on the door, followed by the plaintive cry of a child in desperate need of attention. "I need sleep, Spencer. I need sleep."

"We did waste some time last night."

"That was not wasted time," Calliope shook her head.

"I thought you needed sleep," Spencer ran a hand over her hair.

"I needed that too."

"Go get dressed," Spencer kissed her. "I'll make coffee. Two bags, half a cup of water."

"Might I suggest pants?"

ooo ooo ooo ooo

15 January 2011

"January twenty-ninth?" Brenda asked, looking up from the calendar and papers spread out in front of her on the huge mahogany desk.

"Isn't that a bit soon, Mammy?"

"It's the engagement announcement party, it's supposed to be relatively soon, Callie," Brenda said exasperatedly, picking Emeline up and putting her down in her lap. "Spencer, what do you think?"

"Sounds alright to me," Spencer shrugged and Calliope sent him daggers.

"Mammy, that's only two weeks away. What about February twelfth? That's a month, it gives the guests plenty of notice."

"The DAR luncheon is being held on the twelfth," Brenda shook her head.

"What about the thirteenth?" Spencer ventured, but Brenda was already shaking her head.

"It's inappropriate to hold a party of this type on a Sunday, especially when guests will be coming from out of town."

"Yes, Spencer, we can't let them drive on an afternoon before a workday," Calliope rolled her eyes and Spencer bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

"Proper social guidelines must be upheld, Callie!" Brenda scowled.

"You're right, I'm sorry, Mammy."

"We'll have it the twenty-sixth," Brenda said definitively. "Come look at the invitations and pick a design."

Spencer sent Calliope a look that clearly asked her to shoot him. Calliope stood and squeezed his shoulder, bending down to whisper in his ear. "You picked me knowing exactly what you were walking in to."

"That's the worst part."

"Hey, now!" Calliope pulled him up and pushed him towards the wall table where the invitations were spread out. "You gave me the ring and a promise and there's no way I'm letting you out of this now. I suffer, you suffer."

"Please, let me leave."

"Not a chance. Oh my God, Mammy, why are these so depressing? It's an engagement party, not a funeral!" Calliope picked up one of the invitations and wrinkled her nose. "Black and white, black and white, brown and white, grey and white – oh! Here's a brown and beige! It must be on Valium. Don't worry, little card, we'll get you help."

"Calliope Kirsten, will you be serious?" Brenda asked, annoyed.

"I am being serious, Mammy. These cards are depressing. I need Zoloft just to look at them. Where's the colour? Where's the happiness? It's a celebration. It should be bright and cheerful."

"Every single one of these invitation options are absolutely beautiful," Brenda said, "satin and lace, little pearls. Look at this one."

"Yes, and we will use them when we announce the viewing party at which we plan to guillotine members of Congress," Calliope put the black and white invitation down. "Mammy, surely we can find something a little more, well, us than this."

"No," Brenda said firmly. "These are proper initiations for a semi-formal engagement party. You know that, Callie. You know what the proper procedure is. I taught you all of this. I have taught you what is required of this family and this wedding will adhere to those expectations.

"But it's just the engagement party. It's family and friends."

"These are the options," Brenda said, picking up another invitation, a cream coloured satin with black embossing. "Look at this one."

Calliope pretended to snore for a minute. Then, she took one of the blank white cards, an opaque slip of parchment and went to the armoire in the corner that still held fresh paints and other assorted art supplies. She pulled out tubes of bright orange and pink paint. With a sponge brush, she painted a pink section diagonally across the top, then an orange strip in the centre and a pink one below.

With a calligraphy pen, she carefully wrote a paragraph of text that looked like it was printed off a computer. Spencer watched, impressed and quickly read the inlay as Calliope pulled bright purple and crisp white paint tubes and a rigger paintbrush. She painted a simple dahlia in the top right corner and a few petals in the bottom left and the tossed the paints back in the armoire.

"What about this?" Calliope brought both sheets back and handed them to Brenda.

"That looks beautiful, Sweetheart," Spencer slipped an arm around her waist.

"Yes, it does. For a birthday party, not a wedding."

"Mammy! Come on!" Calliope nearly stamped her foot like a child, but caught herself just in time. "I need a break. I'm getting some coffee."

Calliope left, heading towards the kitchen and nearly running into one of the guests in her haste. Spencer watched as she apologized, skirted around them, shaking her head at their request for a picture, and slipped into the kitchen.

"Brenda, you know I respect you and the fact that you're her mother and you just want the best for her," Spencer started and Brenda listened warily, "but these invitations, they're not her. She's not black emboss on beige parchment."

"It's cream."

"Okay. Cream. Regardless, it's not Calliope. She's bright colours and flowers and –"

"That is not appropriate for a Sellers wedding. There is a certain social protocol that we are expected to uphold and we will uphold. Callie is a Sellers and she has responsibilities that she cannot shirk."

"What responsibilities has she shirked?" Spencer asked. "She does everything she's supposed to and more. Doesn't she deserve to have the wedding that she wants? Colourful invitations aren't shirking responsibilities. Colourful invitations aren't scandalous. They're just colourful invitations."

"Spencer, you cannot possibly understand. You weren't raised in this life. She was born into this family whether or not she wanted it and being born into this family comes with certain obligations. We are expected to be certain places, act a certain way, and be certain people. She has the obligation to have a wedding that fits the social standards into which she has been born. Invitations like that may not be scandalous in the world you were born into, but, in this world, those invitations are outrageous. Like it or not, this," Brenda gestured at the invitations on the table, "is the wedding to which she is obligated."

"It's her wedding," Spencer argued, something he never would have done a year ago. "It's not the guest's wedding. What does it matter if they don't like the invitations? It matters if she likes the invitations. She doesn't like these, they aren't her. She's the one who should love them. Who cares what other people think?"

"You don't understand, Spencer."

"No, I don't. I don't understand living your life to please someone else. I'm getting a headache. Excuse me, I'm going to get some aspirin."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

17 January 2011

Reid looked up as someone walked into the bullpen through the glass doors. The man, dressed in a crisp set of jeans and a brown leather jacket, was obviously not a BAU employee, a fact verified by the visitor badge pinned to his polo shirt. The bristly brown hair did not look familiar and Reid found himself staring, trying to figure out who the man could possibly be. He wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Well, hello gorgeous," Prentiss whispered.

"Down, girl," Reid muttered. "Remember Eli?"

Ignoring him, Prentiss stood. "Hi! You look a little lost."

"Ha! That'd be because I am," he smiled and Reid rolled his eyes, vaguely listening as Prentiss introduced herself. "It's nice to meet you. I'm James. James Murdoch."

"Good to meet you, James. Are you new to the BAU?" Prentiss smiled and Reid coughed meaningfully as she flirted with the movie star next door.

"Uh, no. I'm not. I'm looking for my brother-in-law. The woman at the front desk gave me his office number and directions, but I think I got turned around."

"Well, what office are you looking for?"

"Uh," James paused and glanced at the paper in his hand. "Two eighteen."

"Ha!" Prentiss laughed out loud and Reid couldn't help his own bark of laughter. James looked confused. "I'm sorry, she must have given you the wrong office number. Two eighteen can't be who you're looking for."

James frowned. "You sure? Oh. Okay. Well, maybe you can tell me where Derek Morgan's office is than."

Reid nearly dropped his mug and blatantly stared at the man like he'd grown seven heads. He could feel the headache creeping up his neck to the base of his skull. "Morgan? Derek Morgan?"

"Morgan… Morgan's not married," Prentiss shook her head in confusion, unable to come up with anything else to say. Reid opened his mouth, more because he was stunned than because he had anything to say.

"James!" Morgan's voice called out, startled, as he walked from Hotch's office. His face displayed how stunned he was, but a happy smile split his face quickly, and he nearly jumped over the railing to get down to the bullpen faster. "C'mere, kid!"

The brother's hugged, smiling and talking quickly, looking like a clothing ad rather than two men in a FBI building. Reid and Prentiss stared as Morgan led James away towards his office.

"Wh… when – when did Morgan get… married?" Prentiss turned to Reid, searching for an explanation, but Reid's expression was just as blank as hers was.

"Jeeze. Why do I have to be attracted to my friend's relatives? Seriously? Two in a row? Man."

"Literally. And if Calliope finds out, you are in so much trouble," Reid shook his head.

"Shut up, Reid. I'd never cheat on Eli. A girl needs to flirt sometimes, though. God. I can't believe I didn't know Morgan was married. How did none of us know? I have to call García. She can find the dirt."

"The dirt on what?" Seaver walked up, thumbing through a newspaper, and Reid felt his headache build.

"Morgan's married," Reid said curtly as Prentiss started dialing her phone.

"What?" Seaver fumbled the newspaper as her head jerked up in surprise. Reid shrugged.

"Hey, P.G. Can you look up a man named James Murdoch for me?" Prentiss asked. "What? No. He's not part of a case. I'm just curious. Oh, come on. When did rules ever stop you? You tried to get Prince Williams' number from the CIA computer. Rules didn't stop you from looking Callie up when – That's not fair! Why is that 'different'? Why does Reid get special treatment?"

"I didn't ask her to look Calliope or the Sellers up! If fact, I told her not to. That was all García," Reid looked at Prentiss indignantly.

"That was to protect a family member?" Prentiss repeated García's defensive reasoning. "Well this guy just walked in saying he's Morgan's brother-in-law. Doesn't that constitute 'protec…' Wait a second… You knew! Oh my god! You knew, didn't you?"

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"How was work, honey?" Calliope asked as Spencer hung his coat in the closet and kicked off his shoes. "Wow, I just had a June Cleaver moment. That was scary."

Spencer just laughed and kissed her cheek. "It was interesting. Found out a secret."

"Was it a good secret? Can you tell me? I love secrets."

"Morgan's married. Or, at least, he was. His brother-in-law came into work today, James Murdoch." Spencer leaned against the counter and grabbed broccoli from the bowl as Calliope threw the Steam Fresh bag in the trash.

"I know."

"You know?"

"Of course I know," Calliope bent over the oven and checked the frozen meatloaf. "Does that look done to you? I can't tell."

Spencer didn't move. "I've known Morgan for seven years and I didn't know. How the heck did you know?"

"String Bean, I'm me. I had him background checked. I think this is done. It looks done. Maybe I should stick a fork in it and make sure."

"You had Morgan background checked?" Spencer handed her a fork.

"I had all of you background checked," Calliope stabbed the meatloaf with the fork and it only went down half way. "You are not done, Mr. Loaf. The box said forty-five minutes. It's been forty-five minutes, why isn't it done?"

"You had us background checked?"

"I have everyone background checked. Spencer, when I first met you, I didn't know who you were. You could have been anyone. Do you know how many people tried to get close to me to get things? A lot. A few succeeded too."

"So," Spencer looked down at the ground, thinking hard. "The entire time we were getting to know each other, you already knew everything I was telling you."

"Spencer," Calliope looked up and tossed the fork and pot holder onto the counter. Closing the oven, she walked the few steps over to his and stepped into his arms. "No. I didn't. The lawyers checked you out and told me if you were safe or not. I didn't want to know about you. Spencer, look at me. You believe me, don't you?"

Spencer looked down and studied her. "Yes, I believe you."

"They didn't tell me anything about you," Calliope insisted.

"I believe you," Spencer repeated and then smiled at her. "You probably would have run away if you knew."

"Who would have run away from that face?" Calliope reached up and squeezed his cheeks.

"Why didn't he tell me?" Spencer leaned his forehead against hers. "He's like my brother. I feel like I don't even know him. He has this whole other life I didn't even know about."

"I don't know. I didn't know it was a secret. I just figured he didn't like to talk about it," Calliope shrugged. "Spencer, don't do this to yourself. You know you're Derek's family."

"What's her name?"

"I don't know." Calliope pulled away and peeked in the oven again. "I didn't ask. Derek will tell us when he's ready. Does this look good to you?"

"Calliope, you're one of the nosiest people I know. How are you not the tiniest bit curious about this?"

"I'm too exhausted," Calliope stabbed the meatloaf again. "I had a round with Mammy about wedding dresses. Is this oven hot enough? Maybe the oven's broken. It shouldn't be taking this long. Spencer, look at this."

"What about wedding dresses?" Spencer looked at the meatloaf. "Stop opening the oven every five second. The heat drops when you open the oven."

"I drew the sketch for my dress and Mammy doesn't think it's appropriate. Spencer, is meatloaf supposed to do that?"

A/N:

Callie vs Mammy, Round 1,023,483,483.

I'm so tired, I don't aoufipabwef;anwefuaehiwfaijow;sndv. That was intelligible, eh? I made poutine for lunch today and it was fabulous. Yum. I'm gonna head to bed because I can't think of anything else to say. Yay.

Thanks so much for reading and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!

Love, Thalia