They did make it to DC before the cherry blossoms bloomed. Unfortunately, he was allergic.

Spencer sniffled, scrunching his nose as he kept working on his vocabulary worksheet. His mother had been wrong about his new school being a fresh start. McKinley Elementary was somehow even larger than his school back home in Las Vegas, and third grade was just as frustrating and boring here as it was before. He'd had high hopes when Diana took him along to enroll him- it was a big campus, and they seemed to have a nice library, and at first he harbored the hope that he'd find a friend or two.

Instead he slipped through the cracks. Once the initial novelty of a new student wore off, it was like nobody even noticed him. And none of his teachers seemed to acknowledge how bored he was, and how his schoolwork was too easy for him. At least his old teachers used to give him extra credit work to do, or more difficult books to read. Here he was lucky if they remembered his name correctly on the first try.

The bell rang and he jumped. "Make sure your parents sign your homework folders," the teacher called. Spencer bit his lip as he slid his workbooks into his backpack. He needed to practice his mother's signature more, make sure it was perfect. Just so nobody would ask questions.

He picked up his hoodie from his labeled hook at the back of the room. April was still cold and wet, and to be quite honest the hoodie wasn't enough to keep him warm, much less safe from the rain. But it was better than nothing. His small collection of shorts and tee shirts from Vegas were not well suited to this new climate, and he was already anxious about what winter was going to be like, if they were still there by then.

He tagged along at the end of the line as the rest of the third grade class filed out into the hallway, his hoodie still unzipped and his backpack hanging on one shoulder. Half the class was diverted towards the bus; the other half was sent to the playground for the aftercare program. He zipped up his hoodie as he trailed behind the rest of the aftercare kids, wincing at the sudden rush of cool damp air.

His mother had been so pleased about their new apartment and how close it was to his new elementary school. "I'll walk you to school in the mornings," she had promised. "And I'll come get you too! Every day. It'll be nice, won't it?"

And so she had blithely signed him up for aftercare ("just in case I'm running late, just in case") and didn't sign the form allowing him to take the bus, but she never came on time. In the mornings he usually walked himself to school, but he couldn't be dismissed from campus without an adult picking him up, and he couldn't take the bus without Diana signing the correct forms. Liability and all that. It made sense, he supposed, but it didn't make it any easier.

The other kids darted onto the playground, kicking up wet mulch as they ran to the coveted spots on the swings and the playscape and the merry-go-round. Spencer wandered over to the old monkey bars, a sad splintering structure with dark green paint chipping off the wood frame and rust darkening the metal. He set his backpack down on the ground and pulled out his latest book, then started the unsteady climb to the top with it tucked under one arm. It wasn't easy, and he was arguably the least athletic kid in his class, but he struggled to the top, settling himself with his short legs dangling over the side, and turned pages in search of his last stopping point.

He'd discovered quickly that the old monkey bars were the safest place to be on the playground. His new classmates played too rough; they were too loud and chaotic and it made him anxious. So far he hadn't made any new friends, and he wasn't particularly optimistic that that would change any time soon.

He balanced himself carefully, his narrow shoulders curving forward, and placed his book open on his knees. The McKinley library was large, yes, but the books were mostly donations and mostly in poor shape. There were plenty of Babysitters Club and Hardy Boys and Boxcar Children, but those didn't keep his attention. He'd dug out an old pulp paperback of Jules Verne's Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, the cover heavily creased with white lines and torn in the corner. It wasn't his favorite- he much preferred Wells over Verne- but it was still a good book, and the brittle yellow pages had that warm aged smell of old massmarket paper. He rested his chin in his hand and turned pages, and when he finished, he started it over again.

He didn't notice his mother approach until she was just below the structure. "How'd you get up there, Crash?" she asked, peering up at him with her hands in the pockets of her cardiagn. "And with a book in your hand, too? Oh my god, you'll be trying out for the soccer team next."

Spencer beamed. She was having a good day. "It's hard getting up here, but it's worth it," he said. He handed Diana the book and swung himself down carefully, wincing when he landed awkwardly in the damp mulch and sharp spiky pains ran up through his ankles. "How did your writing go today?"

"Wonderfully," she said. He picked up his backpack, and when she held out her hand he grabbed it eagerly. Her fingers were ice cold and he squeezed tight. "I might need to go to one of the libraries downtown this weekend. That'll be nice, right?"

"Uh-huh," he said.

She hadn't been this talkative in a while and he relished in it, picking up his pace to keep up with her long strides as they made the walk home. Taking her sabbatical from the university and focusing on her book did seem to make a difference in her. Maybe even the move helped- maybe the climate was better for her than the hot desert. He wasn't sure, but he knew that he'd do anything for her to be better.

Their apartment complex wasn't the nicest, but it wasn't the worst. Diana walked him up the uneven wooden stairs and jiggled the key in the lock. There wasn't much to make the apartment seem homey or personal- mostly just stacks of books. The walls were beige and the carpet gray; it came pre-furnished with a few standard issue items. It was only a one bedroom, so the living room couch was Spencer's bed by default. He set his backpack down on the floor and sat down on the floor to take off his shoes.

"What should we do for dinner?" she asked. "Do you want order something? We haven't gotten pizza in a while."

They'd had pizza on Sunday night. "If you want to, Mom," he said.

"I think that'll be nice," Diana said, wandering towards the bedroom. "I'll call."

Spencer sat up slowly. There was a strange smell in the air, something heavy and metallic, and his stomach twisted. He crept towards the kitchen, then ran as he saw the smoke billowing from the pot on the stove. "Mom!" he called, stretching up on his toes to switch off the burner. "Mom, come here!"

He managed to shut it off, then moved the pot aside and threw the lid on top. It did nothing to alleviate the smell of smoke, but at least the odds of the kitchen catching completely on fire had dropped drastically. "Mommy, come here!" he shouted.

"What?" she shouted back.

"The stove...something was burning!" he said.

Diana looked into the kitchen and burst out laughing. "Dammit!" she said. "Oh, damn. I totally forgot, didn't I?"

She lifted the lid and Spencer winced. Luckily any flames had been extinguished, and Diana stood there laughing with the charred lid in her hand. "I was going to make dinner tonight, wasn't I?" she said. She tossed the lid in the sink. "Oh, well. I'll just order pizza. We haven't had pizza in a while."

They'd had pizza on Sunday night. Why didn't she remember that?

"Uh-huh," he said. The bottom of the pot was seared black on the outside, probably rendered unusable, and Diana ruffled his hair with her soot-covered hand.

"I think we made some good headway today," Hotch said as they walked down the hotel hallway. "Everybody, get some rest. We'll start fresh in the morning."

Alex exhaled deeply as she slid the hotel keycard in the lock. The jet had landed early in Montana early in the morning and the entire day had been nonstop movement. At this point she was so tired she wasn't even hungry.

JJ yawned behind her as they walked into the room and flipped on the lights. "Oh my god, I'm exhausted," she said. "Did Hotch say what time we needed to be back at the precinct in the morning?"

"Eight thirty, I think," Alex said. She slid off her jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. "It doesn't seem that early, but I have a feeling it'll sneak up on us."

JJ laughed. "I think you're right about that," she said. She rubbed her eyes, smearing some of her mascara. "Do you mind if I shower first? I feel disgusting."

"No, no, not at all," Alex said.

"Thanks, I appreciate it," JJ said, rummaging through her go bag for her clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.

Alex took off her shoes, leaving them beside the dresser, and dug out an elastic to tie her hair back in a slightly askew ponytail. She checked the time on her phone. It was early, but not too early. He wouldn't mind.

She sat down on the edge of the bed; James picked up on the third ring. "Hey, beautiful," he said, sounding a little sleepy, but still as crystal clear as if he was in the room with her. "How's it going?"

"Not bad," she said, smiling as she crossed her free arm over her stomach. "We're in the middle of nowhere in Montana."

"Ah, sounds spectacular," he said. "You doing okay? Getting enough sleep? It has to be late over there."

"Just a bit past eleven," she said. "What's it for you? Five?"

"A bit past five," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "I was already awake. They're keeping me busy, don't worry."

"We both do best when we're keeping busy," she said. It was an attempt at a joke, but there was a brief heavy pause before he changed the subject.

They talked back and forth for a while, their topics roaming freely. It was something she'd always appreciated, how she could talk to him about anything and everything and nothing ever felt forced, ever felt like an imposition. She suddenly missed him so much it hurt, the pain constricting in her lungs like a physical blow.

"I miss you," she said suddenly, in the middle of his story about the small town he was staying in.

James paused. "I miss you," he said. "I'll be home in a few weeks."

She dragged her fingertip along a taut stitched seam on the slick hotel quilt. "I can't wait," she said.

He cleared his throat. "I have to go pretty soon, but...there's been something that...well, I wanted your thoughts on it," he said. "Just...to make sure we're on the same page."

"Of course," she said. Something told her this was a serious question. She glanced towards the bathroom, then slipped out through the sliding glass doors to the small balcony. "What's on your mind?"

He was silent for a moment. She crossed her free arm tighter over her stomach; the late May breeze was a lot colder than she expected. "I wanted to ask you this, just to make sure," he said softly. "Have you...have you thought at all about if...you'd like to try for another baby?"

Ice cold terror crashed over her like a wave. She pressed her hand to her mouth.

They had always planned on having more children. When Ethan's first birthday passed they started talking about trying for another baby, keeping their children close in age. But before he was two, everying shifted, and their lives focused on keeping their son alive.

She'd read it in a book before- two is the beginning of the end.

"Alex?"

Pregnancy had been tough, but she'd loved it- her growing belly, the baby kicking against her ribs, the naive contentment when she thought about what it would be like to have her healthy baby placed in her arms.

"Alex?"

They'd missed so many signs, so many little moments, until he had his first seizure. And then the symptoms had piled up, threatening to topple over and crush them, and there was never a name for it. Not one name, at least. Over and over again they were given a diagnosis, a treatment plan, a path forward, and over and over again it was taken away. Repeat, repeat, repeat, until there was no path forward left, no labels left to be placed.

"Alex, love, are you still there?"

"I can't," she whispered. "I...I can't go through with it again."

"Okay," he said immediately. "Okay, I…" He sighed, heavy and crackling around the edges, and she could hear the burden lifting from him. "That's what I thought too. I just...needed to hear you say it."

She nodded even though he couldn't see her. A stray tear escaped and she dashed it away quickly. They weren't able to confirm a genetic component, but all signs pointed to it, and she couldn't bear to bring another child into the world knowing she would have to say goodbye so soon.

"I love you," she said fiercely.

"I love you too," he said. "Hey, I...I can probably leave at least a week early. I could be back by the second week of June. Would you-"

"Yes," she said. "I'd love that."

"Okay," he said. "I'll work that out. I've got to go, but...I love you, Alex. I'll be home soon. Stay safe."

"You too," she said. "Bye."

He said his goodbyes and she ended the call. Her hands were shaking, but she wasn't sure if it was just the late spring chill in the air. The expanse of night sky seemed too bright, pinpointed with stars that stayed invisible in the city, and the wind bit at her exposed skin. She closed her eyes and breathed through it. It stung, but the cold kept her grounded, kept her mind from wandering too far.

After a while she went back inside, her phone clutched in her cold stiff grip, and closed the door behind her. JJ sat cross-legged on the bed, her freshly washed hair damp around her shoulders. She held her phone up so she could see the screen, and Alex could hear a childish voice squeaking.

"You went to the park?" JJ was saying. "Oh, that's so cool. Did you have a good time? Were you good for Daddy?" She paused. "Will, was he dressed warmly enough? He's been going through this phase where he won't wear his coat…"

Alex could hear Will answer in his slow syrupy drawl. JJ leaned away from the phone. "I'm so sorry, I'll be off in a second," she whispered.

"Don't worry about it," Alex said. She dug through her suitcase for her things as JJ turned back to her husband and son.

"Yes, baby, Mama will be home soon," JJ said. "I promise, Henry. Do you want me to read you a bedtime story? It's so late, you need to go to bed."

Alex went into the bathroom and closed the door before setting her things down in methodical order. With the fan on, she couldn't hear the conversation anymore, and there was no one to see another stubborn tear drip off her cheek. This time she didn't bother trying to wipe it away.

It didn't take very long to clean out his desk. His classmates had a full school year's worth of junk- homework and sticker backings and forgotten snack wrappers and crayons with the paper half ripped off. He'd only been here for two months, and all he had was a couple of secondhand folders and some broken pencils. So he sat quietly while everyone else shrieked and threw things at each other, picking at the nametag attached to his desktop with contact paper, his name written Spencer Reed in that ubiquitous tall teacher handwriting.

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do over the summer. His mother had been swallowed up by her research. She rarely emerged from the bedroom now; the apartment's single bed was covered in stacks of books and ripped pages from yellow legal pads. For hours she sat there chainsmoking, tapping her pencil rhythmically against the paper, mumbling under her breath as she read her work aloud and tried out different word choices. Usually he left her alone. She took her writing seriously. She didn't like distractions. He understood that.

His teacher tapped his shoulder and he jumped. "Go get in line," she said. "Do you have all your things?"

He nodded, picking up his backpack. Most of the other kids had been given plastic garbage bags to carry their possessions home, but now that he'd returned all his books to the school library he had plenty of room.

Outside it was hot and humid, moisture pricking at his skin. Vegas was hotter, much hotter, but he still hadn't adjusted to the dampness that seemed to perpetually hang in the air. He hesitated as he approached the playground. All of his books had been returned, and now he wasn't sure what to do without something to read.

He glanced over at the nicer part of the playground. Maybe, since it was the last day of school and all, he would try to play.

He slipped past a couple of fourth graders and set his backpack down by the big fancy metal playscape, then started pulling himself up on the monkey bars. It was a lot higher than the old wooden one he usually claimed and his muscles ached as he climbed.

"Hey! We were playing on that!"

He looked down, his arms straining with effort. A couple of fifth graders glared up at him, arms crossed. "I got here first," he said, perplexed.

"We claimed it! We always claim it!" one of them argued.

Something hot burned in his chest and he pulled himself the rest of the way up, wrapping his arms around the pole. "Why can't I be up here too?" he asked. "I'm not hurting anything. There's plenty of room."

The biggest kid grabbed him by the ankle and yanked.

Spencer fell hard, tumbling down into the splintery mulch, the back of his head striking the ground and the breath in his lungs escaping in a startled, half-strangled shriek. The red frame of the playscape blurred above him.

One of the kids leaned over him. "Yeah, he's not bleeding," he reported, and he stepped over him.

Spencer started to cry. He rolled over clumsily onto his stomach and pushed himself to sit up, tears rolling down his cheeks. "You can't do that!" he sobbed, but they ignored him. He looked around. No one had noticed. Not even the supervising teachers.

He forced himself to stand, grabbing onto the base of the monkey bars to pull himself up, and picked up his backpack. He couldn't be here anymore. And what were they going to do if he left? Put him in detention? It was the last day of school, they couldn't do anything about it.

He pulled his backpack clumsily onto his shoulders as he marched out of the playground and down the sidewalk. Tears still rolled down his cheek and dripped off his chin and his nose was starting to run, he sniffled hard and wiped his face on his shirt sleeve. Resolutely he tugged down on the straps of his backpack, pulling hard enough to hurt, and kept his eyes down as he walked.

He passed by the nicer neighborhoods, the local park he still hadn't visited, the shabby shopping plaza with the thrift store and a Walmart. His apartment complex was directly off a main road, right by a busy intersection, but he pushed the big silver button at the crosswalk and waited for the sign to cross.

The apartment door had been left unlocked. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, closing his eyes, allowing the tears to well up in his eyes again. The back of his head throbbed painfully, and so did his shoulders and upper back where he'd hit the ground. At least he didn't need to go back to that stupid school for the next ten weeks.

He dropped his backpack. "Mom, I'm home," he called. The door to the apartment's only bedroom was closed, but as he got closer he could hear the steady mumble of her talking to herself as she worked through whatever today's problem with her book had surfaced. "Mom, I-"

"Not now!" she called.

He pressed himself against the doorframe, his little body pushed against the cheap hollow door and the doorknob jabbing into his cheek. "Today was the last day of school-"

"Stop bothering me! Don't you understand that I'm working?"

"I know, but I-"

"Leave me alone!"

He jiggled the handle. She'd locked the door again. "But Mom, I-"

"I told you, leave me alone, William!"

He stumbled back as if he'd been slapped.

"Why don't you fucking understand that I have work to do! Go see if Spencer needs you or something."

He stood there for a moment, stunned into silence. Suddenly he was too aware of his surroundings- the tag of his shirt itching the back of his neck, the goosebumps rising on his skin, the smell of stale cigarette smoke and mildew, the dust motes hanging in the air. The air was too loud in his ears, rushing like waves on a shore.

Slowly, dreamily, he shuffled away from the door and towards the living room. He sank down on the couch, his little body aching like he'd aged a hundred years in the past few minutes. Usually he was a stickler for taking his shoes off when he got home, but it was the last thought on his mind. Instead he laid himself down, curling up into a little ball on his makeshift bed. He pulled the sheet over his head, the afternoon light filtering soft through the well-washed fabric, and he stared blankly in the abyss, his thoughts so tangled and garbled that he couldn't think of anything at all.

Author's Notes:

MY HEART.

they're so sad. why did I decide to do this? why didn't I just start with them meeting? why are they both so heartbroken?

oh lord.

also I love James Blake with my whole heart. he would NEVER want Alex to go through a pregnancy if it wasn't something she wanted- and he pretty much already knew her answer, he just wanted to hear her say it so he could know for sure.

also Spencer needs a hug. he needs somebody to swoop him up and give him a good cuddle.

I hope you liked this! there's more coming next Monday! I'm also participating in Whumptober, and I've gotten a few Spencer Blake prompts already, which is pretty exciting!

Let me know what you think of this chapter! I'd love to know your thoughts.