Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.
"When two people meet and fall in love, there's a sudden rush of magic. Magic is just naturally present then. We tend to feed on that gratuitous magic without striving to make any more. One day we wake up and find that the magic is gone. We hustle to get it back, but by then it's usually too late, we've used it up. What we have to do is work like hell at making additional magic right from the start. It's hard work, but if we can remember to do it, we greatly improve our chances of making love stay." — Tom Robbins
o o o o
26 January, 2011
Calliope lay back on the couch as the world exploded around her. Emeline and Jack were screaming and chasing each other with Perses barking at them, jumping back and forth. The alarm was shrieking all through the house, echoing at an ear splitting decibel.
Maybe if she lay very, very still, everything would stop. It was a good plan, but it didn't seem to be working that well for her so far. A loud crash came from the direction of Jack's bedroom, followed immediately by shouted claims that 'it' was not their fault, 'it' must have happened by magic.
"I should go check and see what that is," Calliope told herself, still not opening her eyes. With a groan, she rolled off the couch and pulled herself into an almost upright position. She reached over and picked up the mug of coffee, standing and following the noise to the bedrooms. Poking her head inside, Calliope sighed at the mess of toys that had fallen out of the plastic bin tower that had been knocked over. "Both of you. In the living room. Right now."
Jack dropped what he was holding and grabbed the Iron Man action figure off his bed. He looked extremely guilty as he took Emeline's hand and led her out of the bedroom and into the living room. The two sat down on the couch, Emeline clutching Minnie Mouse and not letting go of Jack's hand as Calliope popped Despicable Me into the Blu-ray player and turned the flat screen on.
"Neither one of you is allowed to move from that couch, got it? If a single butt gets off this couch, you're both toast." They both nodded, wide-eyed, and Calliope turned and strode purposefully towards the cellar door, stopping before she took a step down the stairs and turning around to look at them again. "Not one butt."
After a second set of nods, Calliope hurried down the stairs and reached the bottom with her hands on her hips. Lawrence Kyle, her friend from college and the engineer who'd designed and built the alarm system for her bungalow five years ago, was kneeling on the floor with wires and plugs spilling out of the metal box like stuffing from the Thanksgiving turkey.
"Lawrie, please, please, please, tell me the alarm is going to stop soon."
"Just a few minutes more and the alarm will be off, but I can't make any promises about when the gate will open again," Lawrie turned around and told her, his voice raised to be heard over the alarm. "Aren't you cold?"
Calliope looked down at her yellow sundress and shrugged, the thin straps moving on her shoulders. "No. I'm not. What happened with the alarm?" The shrieking stopped and the sudden silence almost hurt her ears after two hours of nonstop noise. Despicable Me was extremely loud without the piercing alarm blaring. Calliope sighed in relief. "Oh thank God. I'll be right back."
Running back upstairs, she turned the sound down, gave another warning not to leave the couch and returned to the basement. Perses followed her down the stairs and, when she got to the bottom, Lawrie had his entire head stuck in the box, disconnected wires protruding around his blond hair and Calliope was reminded of how she and Jill wrapped and knotted embroidery thread around tiny strands of their hair when they were teenagers, once nearly getting suspended from school for breaking dress code.
"If you get electrocuted, I'm sticking bolts in the side of your neck."
"Warn me if I start looking like I have jaundice."
"Don't worry, I have a jaundice alarm. Anytime I get within five feet of something with jaundice it sends out the Bat Signal and House comes limping up in a cap to cure them and cuss a lot," Calliope sat on a table, swinging her legs as she watched Lawrie. "So, what's the diagnosis, Dr. Grey?"
"First, Dr. Grey's a woman."
"I knew that."
"Second, you have fried wiring. I think the storm last week knocked the gate's lightning rod loose. The gate wasn't grounded properly. I see three – four – wires that need replacing," Lawrie pulled his head out and sat back on his heels. "You're lucky this wasn't grounded through the house. It'd be a lot harder to fix."
"Why's that?"
"If the lightning had struck the house or if the gate was grounded through the house, we'd have to check the wiring for the entire house. Which would, in layman's terms, totally suck. I think can fix this pretty easily. At worst, we'll have to dig up the wiring along the road and redo it. Which would be annoying, but a lot less invasive, done in an afternoon instead of a week and wouldn't require the destruction of your walls."
"My hero. I'm buying you a superhero uniform for Christmas. Maybe a unitard and with a giant lightning bolt on the front and your ass in a different colour than your chest and legs to make sure everybody notices your junk. It'll have rocket boosters on the boots. But no caps, because caps are bad – they get sucked into jet thingies and snagged on missiles and if you get it twisted around your head you'd suffocate and then what would I do if this ever happens again and you were dead because of a cap?"
"I'm glad you thought this through, Callie. But what'll you do if this happens again and me and my Lockheed Electra disappeared while flying from New Guinea to Howland Island?"
"I don't have to worry about that, because you don't have a pilot's license," Calliope teased with a smile.
"Ha, you really have thought this through," Lawrie rolled his eyes and shook his head, turning back to the box and stared, deciding what to do next. "Okay. You go upstairs and let me finish this. Hopefully I can get it finished tonight."
"Thanks, Lawrie, you're the best. And I'm really, really sorry for making you climb over the fence to get in," Calliope grimaced. "And I'm really sorry that you fell into that mud puddle when you were climbing down the other side."
"Don't worry, Callie, it's all going on the list."
"And what list is that?" Calliope jumped off the table and brushed dust off the back of her dress.
"The list of all the things I'm going to tell me therapist, ya know… the one you'll be paying for.
"That's going to be a very long list," Calliope nodded gravely. "I suggest you start keeping track of this list. Lots of detail. Ya know, like a diary. Day-by-day entries. And you should make a backup copy incase something happens to the first one. You wouldn't want to forget any of the trauma I've inflicted. Who knows what damage I've wrought."
"Go up stairs, crazy pants."
"I'm not wearing pants," Calliope grinned, bending over and kissing his cheek. "And you're staying for dinner. You don't have a choice. Is Shawn home? We could get him to climb over the fence too and he could join us for dinner."
"Naw, Shawn's in California on business," Lawrie swiveled her around and pushed her towards the stairs. He was leaning towards the box of wires before jerking up and turned to see her going up the stairs. "Wait a second, you can't cook. I don't wanna die! Callie! You gave Brittnee food poisoning, like, sixty thousand times in college! Callie, you can't kill me! Think of Nathan! What will Nathan do if Papa never comes home? Callie!"
Calliope closed the door after Perses, briefly considering locking him in there, but decided against it. Gru was attempting to adopt Margo, Edith and Agnes when she checked on Jack and Emeline. "Go on, Pers."
Perses blinked at her, wagged his tail once and then trotted into the living room, jumping up and settling between Jack and Emeline. Calliope went into the kitchen, pulling pre-cooked chicken breast from the freezer, dumping it on a plate, and tossing it in the microwave. She rooted around in the pantry until she found the Spanish flavoured Rice-a-Roni box in the back. Grabbing it, she frowned when she felt a slip of paper tapped to the back. Calliope turned the box around and stared down at the Post-It written in Spencer's handwriting.
"The heat goes on five, not six. Don't take it off five, even if you think it's taking too long. Don't loose your temper with the rice and set the heat to nine, you'll just set it on fire again. It's rice. It'll be finished when it's finished. I love you. P.S. Don't forget to stir."
Calliope started laughing as she peeled the sticky note off the box and stuck it to the vent hood. How long ago had he stuck that note there for her, knowing she'd find it eventually? Probably the same night she'd set the last box of Rice-a-Roni alight and that was at least five months ago, if not longer.
"Spencer Reid, you are all kinds of wonderful," Calliope smiled at him smiling in a frame on the kitchen counter for a moment before focusing on the dinner at hand. The quesadillas were browner than they should have been and the rice was crunchy, but the sour cream was at the perfect chilled temperature, so she considered the meal a success as she helped Emeline into her booster seat and Jack waited while Lawrie washed his hands.
'That's Uncle Spencer's spot!" Jack protested when Lawrie sat down at the chair opposite Calliope's.
"Jack –" Calliope started to say that Lawrie could sit wherever he wanted, but Lawrie was already picking up his plate and moving to the spot next to Jack.
"Can't sit in Uncle Spencer's chair," Lawrie smiled and Jack nodded seriously. He had yet to warm to Lawrie and Calliope was beginning to doubt if he ever would. Dinner went smoothly, except for the crunching, and Lawrie helped Calliope wash the dishes and put them away before going back down into the basement. Calliope, Jack and Emeline played three games of Super Hero Chutes and Ladders and then Perses ended the fourth game early when he knocked the board over jumping up as the alarm sounded once.
"Callie, try the gate!" Lawrie's voice called up from the basement. Calliope stood and hurried into the kitchen to press the button that would open the gate, then looked at the security stream of the gate to see if it worked.
"Nothing," she called back.
"Okay. Okay, try now."
"Okay… Nope, still nothing."
"Alright, and now?"
"I don't – oh, yes, I think – ha! It's moving! Lawrie, you're a genius!" Calliope squealed happily and watched the gate swing open. She closed the gate, turning around and waiting for Lawrie to emerge from the basement. Emeline toddled into the kitchen and raised her hands to be picked up. Calliope kissed her head as Emeline rested her head on Calliope's shoulder. "Sleepy, Baby?"
"I miss Poppy," Emeline mumbled.
"I know, Princess. He's been gone a long time, hasn't he? Hopefully Poppy'll be home soon. Why don't we go to bed for now, okay?" Emeline nodded against her shoulder and Calliope called to Jack that it was bedtime. Within an hour, Emeline and Jack were both tucked into their own beds, Lawrie had reassembled the wire box and Calliope was making coffee.
"Thanks," Lawrie took the mug Calliope offered and sat down at the bar. The two chatted and drank their coffee, not looking at the time. They talked about jobs and life, children and partners, the way friends who've gone too long without see each other do. Before they realized, it was past midnight and the gate was opening and a red sedan drove through to the driveway.
"He didn't tell me he was on his way home," Calliope smiled widely, happy to see the familiar car coming towards the home. "You get to meet Spencer."
Calliope was practically bursting when the garage door opened and the car pulled in. She stood by the garage, unable to stand still, as Spencer closed the car door and beeped the lock, walked towards the garage door and through it. Calliope didn't give him a moment to prepare himself before she jumped on him. He laughed and caught her haphazardly, wrapping an arm around her waist as she hooked her ankles behind his back. Calliope kissed him and plastic crinkled against her back.
"What are you holding?" Calliope twisted to see and saw the plastic-wrapped daisies in his hand. "You stopped to get flowers? Dr. Reid, I think you're getting soft."
"I missed you. And I wasn't sure if you were still mad at me for the invitations."
"Oh, I'm still mad at you, String Bean. But I missed you too."
"I can deal with that," Spencer gave her another kiss and Calliope unlatched her ankles, putting her feet back down on the ground.
"Good, because I wasn't really giving you a choice," Calliope grinned and took the flowers Spencer offered her. "C'mon, I want you to meet Lawrie. He's a superhero."
"Does he have a cape?" Spencer asked, following her to the kitchen.
"Capes are bad, Spencer, you know that. Capes kill."
"Of course."
"Lawrie, this is my fiancé, Spencer," Calliope made the introductions as Lawrie stood and stretched out his hand. "Spencer, this is my friend from Washington and Lee, Lawrie Kyle."
"You designed the gate," Spencer said automatically as they shook hands.
"And he fixed it tonight. Otherwise, you'd be calling me from stuck outside on the road," Calliope pulled a vase from the cabinet and filled it with water.
"Nice to meet you," Lawrie smiled and Spencer returned the greeting. Lawrie stayed a little longer and, by the time he left, Calliope was half asleep. Spencer closed and locked the door behind Lawrie, tugging Calliope up off the couch and leading her to bed.
"So, how much trouble am I still in?" Spencer stretched out next to her and hit the alarm clock to set it.
"Mammy's on a warpath," Calliope yawned. "I think she's going to kill you. Painfully. And then she might let the buzzards eat your innards."
"That's attractive, thanks for the visual."
"No problem. C'mere," Calliope leaned towards him for a kiss. "I know you were only gone two days, but it felt like longer. Probably because Mammy was on my ass like syrup on pancakes."
"Some people don't put syrup on pancakes. That's a terrible analogy."
"Well, those people are idiots."
ooo ooo ooo ooo
28 January, 2011
Reid closed the file and tapped it on the desk to make sure all the pages were aligned properly. He'd been working on the cold case files Hotch had given him all morning and, not only was he bored out of his mind, he was appalled at the sloppy police work riddling the files.
"No wonder these cases are cold," Reid grumbled to Prentiss. "Dora would have done a better job on these cases. At least she has Map and Backpack to help her."
"Emeline's still in her Dora phase?" Prentiss smiled over her own stack of cold cases.
"If I hear 'Swiper, no swiping!' one more time I'll probably pull out my hair," Reid nodded. "Are your cases as sloppy as mine? Wanna trade?"
"Mine are just as bad as yours," Prentiss shook her head. "We'd just be trading rotten apples for rotten oranges. So, unless your allergic to your apples or you're afraid you're at risk for scurvy, it doesn't really matter."
Reid sighed and opened the next file. This file was easily the thickest of all the files Hotch had given him. His eyes fell on the photograph paper clipped to the left side of the file over the offenders' criminal record. Nick Farese looked like bad business. Sometimes, Reid saw photographs of criminals and they didn't look like criminals and,sometimes, like now, it was more apparent than gravity.
Nick Farese definitely looked like he could have done whatever it was that he had done. His curly black hair was greasy and fell on either side of his forehead, pushed away from his eyes for the mugshot. His eyes were dark and angry and there was a raw scrap on his jaw, like he'd been pushed against a brick wall just prior to the photo being taken.
Reid lifted the picture and began reading the his record. Born the twenty-eighty of January 1979 in Chicago, Illinois. Six feet, two inches, 186 pounds. Last known resident was his parents house in Riverside, Illinois nine years ago.
His previous record was long and broken, the same words over and over again. Suspected mafia connections, but nothing proven. Reported domestic violence, victim Samantha Shane Murdoch, 17, charges dropped. Reported domestic violence, victim Samantha Shane Murdoch, 17, charges dropped. Reported domestic violence, victim Samantha Shane Murdoch, 18, charges dropped and on and on and on. Tried and convicted of the rape and battery of Samantha Shane Murdoch, 19. Tried and found innocent of the attempted murder of Samantha Shane Murdoch, 19.
Sentenced to 14 years, parole available after seven, but he was paroled after two. Reid stopped there and stared. Paroled after two with a record like that? It was negligent. He couldn't be reformed after two years - and he obviously wasn't or Reid wouldn't be looking at his file right now.
Reid lowered his eyes down the page. Wanted for the 2001 murders of Keira Leigh Young, 20, and Elaine Madison Morgan, newborn, and the attempted murder of Samantha Murdoch Morgan, 21.
Reid stopped reading. He flipped pages on the other side of the folder until he found want he wanted. Tugging the page from the folder, he found it halfway down.
Spouse: Derek Terrell Morgan, 25.
He flipped through more pages, copies of handwritten notes, a transcript of the trial in 2000, the findings of the rape kit and it's photographs, photographs of a murdered 20-year-old, photographs of Samantha in a hospital bed looking nothing like the photograph in Derek's office.
Then his fingers touched what he wanted: a birth certificate for Elaine Morgan... and a death certificate timestamped an hour and a half after birth. Father: Derek Terrell Morgan.
Reid read the entire file three time, put everything back where it was supposed to and sat staring at the papers without seeing them, trying to process everything he'd just read. So much was beginning to make sense
"I'm here if you ever need to talk."
"No offense, Morgan, but you aren't exactly well versed in commitment or being a dad."
"No, I'm… I'm not a dad. And, no, I don't have a girlfriend. But I know a helluva lot about losing people you love. You know, you're living a dream for someone in our job. Just because you've found it doesn't mean we're all that lucky."
"Morgan… I didn't…"
"It's cool, Kid. Forget it. Go home. Kiss your girlfriend."
"Morgan, wait. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."
"I know. We're cool, Reid. Don't worry about it. Go home. Cal's waiting for you."
Reid could hear the conversation in his head, he could hear the sadness in Morgan's voice and felt the regret for his words again. Everything he'd ever assumed and knew about his brother was wrong.
"Where the hell did you get that, Reid!?" Morgan's furious voice jolted Reid from his thoughts and he nearly fell out of his chair as he turned to see Morgan and his brother-in-law, James.
"It was in the cold case files Hotch gave me to profile," he offered in weak explanation. A single look at the other man's eyes and Reid wished he could unread everything he'd just read.
"Give me that," Morgan grabbed the file from him, closing it and practically put his feet through the stairs as he stormed up to Hotch's office, leaving everyone staring after him. James picked up the paper and attempted an apologetic explanation before giving up and following after Morgan.
"Brenda's going to be disappointed, because Derek's going to kill me before she can," Reid whispered and Prentiss just nodded silently.
A/N:
Life never slows down, goodness gracious. Sorry for the long wait, but I got distracted by another story that popped into my brain and won't stfu. Plus the whole working, getting ready for school, life in general thing made it difficult to find time to sit down and write. Especially when Callie wouldn't cooperate with me. I think she was jealous of my new friend.
I'm in school now and still working so I'm going to be crazy busy. Hopefully Derek starts talking next and I can find the time to write for him. For now, I have to get ready for work. Love yall!
Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!
Love, Thalia