By now, some of you may have noticed that I desperately lack what other people might call a "life". But since this is a forum for fanfictions, I suppose I'm not the only one.

Anyway, thanks so much to lolyncut, Sue1313, Harrypotter-PercyJackson, CherryCherryB and luvnumb3rs for reviewing! I have indeed decided to write another chapter for this story (even though I wanted to make it a one-shot, but I sort of forgot to put that in the synopsis), especially because I simply love Diana Reid. I wrote this some time ago and decided it was too crappy to upload it, and now I read it again and actually liked it. I hope you do, too. I know this is too short. But enjoy anyways :)

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Bennington Sanatorium. How ironical. A large, Victorian mansion in a huge, sunny garden full of park benches, graveled paths and weeping willows. If his doctor could see him now! Spencer knew that he had been a little unfair to the physician that had supervised his MRI. But oh well, yes, he had some sort of phobia of doctors telling him the kind of news that one had told him. Who could blame him?

Relax, dude. You're here for your mom and nothing else.

As if having to visit your own mother in a mental institution makes the situation any better.

Spencer took a deep breath and rang the bell next to the impressive gate. A few moments later, he was standing in the clean entrance hall of Bennington. Nurses, doctors and even some patients greeted him with smiles and little waves.

"Hey Dr. Reid, I heard you were coming today!"

"Good to see you around, you're mom is already waiting!"

"Nice to have you here!"

…Excuse me? It was rather scary how every single person here seemed to know him. Also, why would it be good to have anyone in here, apart from business reasons?
One of the doctors - Dr. Norman, he remembered - approached him.

"Ah, Dr. Reid. Diana is waiting for you in the library."

The doctor started to walk down a hallway, obviously expecting Spencer - who, of course, knew the way - to follow him. Inside his team, Spencer sometimes couldn't help but brag about his eidetic memory, much to the annoyance of his colleague Derek Morgan, but right now, the way he knew the Bennington Sanatorium by heart gave him a nasty home-from-home feeling.

"Here we are," the doctor announced when they were standing in front of the library door. "Diana really loves your visits - I wish you could come around a little more often."

"Doctor, you know that I live in Virginia, right? And I do write her letters every day." Spencer knew he didn't visit his mom often enough. It was not his favorite subject of conversation.

"Yes, of course. Shame, really. We haven't seen you here in ages. You must be… how old now?"

"Thirty-one, doctor."

Yes, I know I am exactly the right age for the outbreak of schizophrenia. Thanks, doctor, but believe it or not, I am in fact fully aware of this. You don't have to give me that look.

"Anyway, I'll better go in now," Spencer said quickly, opened the door and entered the large, bright and friendly room. The sunlight fell through the windows, and dust from the long rows of bookshelves danced in the streaks of brightness. As usual, his mom was sitting in one of the big armchairs by one of the windows. She didn't notice him until he was standing next to her. Then she turned her head and gave him a stern look.

"This time, you actually look like you could use a cup of coffee," was the first thing she said. Spencer smiled weakly.

"Hey, mom."

"Hello, Spencer."

He sat down on another armchair vis-à-vis his mother. "How are you?"

Diana gave a cynical little smile. "Oh, you know. They don't actually allow you to be unhappy here."

"Ah," was Spencer's rather uncreative answer.

"So… should I ask you what you are doing here when I know that you don't have any vacation time this week, or do you want me to continue the small talk under the assumption that you are sooner or later going to tell me about it?"

"Small talk?", Spencer suggested without any real hope.

"Right. The latter was in fact not an option." She smiled, taking the edge off her harsh words.

"Would you believe me if I said that we don't have a case at the moment?"

"Not really, no. But whatever the reason, I can't say I'm unhappy that you aren't spending all of your time with those fascists."

"They're not fascists just because they work for the government, mom," Spencer sighed.

"I bet none of them read proper literature," she complained.

"Anyway, the thing is, I rarely use my vacations… so Agent Hotchner, my supervisor, allowed me to take these four days off. To visit you. Because the - the case the team is working on isn't particularly difficult and he decided they won't really miss me for a few days."

"Spencer, you know you're a terrible liar, don't you?"

"Yes."

But Spencer had decided that he wouldn't tell his mom about his headaches. Somehow, he had known it all along. He just didn't want her to worry. It was his fault that she spent her life imprisoned in this ridiculously beautiful, inviting institution; he had sent her away. He didn't even visit her, and even though he knew that he simply didn't have the time, it was unforgivable.

It seemed like the only thing he did to acknowledge her existence was thinking about the genes she might or might not have passed onto him. Yes, he wrote her letters every day, but they were filled with the gruesome stories about his job, and to her they had to seem more like crime novels than personal letters.

"So… do you want to go downstairs and play Scrabble?"

"So you're not going to tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, mom."

"Oh, don't lie to your mother, Spencer.

"Scrabble, mom?"

"If you say so. But let's stay here, I love the atmosphere of all the books around me - and I know you do, too."

Spencer smiled. Sometimes he didn't care that his mother was the only person who really knew him. She was his best friend.
And of course, taking care of your best friend always sounded less embarrassing than taking care of your mother. Spencer shook his head slightly to get rid of these unwelcome thoughts and stood up to get the Scrabble box from a small shelf filled with several popular board games.

He and his mom played quietly, and if they talked, the conversations were trivial. It wasn't awkward, though, and although Spencer couldn't really get into the game, his thoughts running wildly, but of course still producing ridiculously good word combinations, he enjoyed being with her.

He silently wished they had had more of these moments when he was younger.