Chapter Text
1989
In... Out... In... Out.
"Sorry, can you-"
He had to stop, his own voice was ringing in his ears, deafening him.
The young doctor across from him smiled; a genuine, understanding smile, none that was mocking him for his situation, none that was mocking him for his emotional reaction, none that was mocking him for being the naïve idiot who got himself a defect child.
The last type of smile, one he had so often received in the last half year, was the worst one because it didn't only mock him, but also the little boy he loved more than anything in the world.
"Should I repeat it?" The young doctor asked with her genuinely understanding smile.
Rossi had never met a female doctor in her early thirties who was already the head of an entire department of a renowned clinic. Especially smack in the middle of the nations capital.
But then again, he had also never met up with a pediatric psychiatrist before.
And none of the other doctors who he had seen in the past few months- mostly males, mostly in their 50s or 60s, mostly either pediatricians or psychiatrists- had ever listened when he had rattled off his well-practiced standard monologue.
He's seven, and he can solve math equations on college level, but he does not speak a single word. He doesn't make much eye contact and he mostly ignores the people around him, but he's also terrified of strangers. He doesn't react to his name, and when we touch him, he often becomes aggressive. He doesn't eat, sleep, play with toys. He can write with the vocabulary of a high school student, but he never writes anything that could tell us what is going on in his head. He often seems to be in pain, and he is scared of everything, but he cannot communicate either feeling. He often has those intense tantrums in which he cries uncontrollably and becomes violent. Sometimes, his eyes simply glaze over, and, even though he never responds, this is when he is truly unresponsive. Files from his earliest childhood confirm that he used to speak single words before he was about two-and-a-half years old, and those files also confirm that his strange behaviour did not start with the trauma that he experienced, even if that is what everyone keeps saying.
He had repeated these words about a dozen times before someone had finally listened.
But now that someone had listened, it was him who was unable to listen because his brain was simply working on godspeed, trying to take in all the information that the doctor had just presented to him and which, in all honesty, hadn't been all that new to him in the first place.
"Mmh?" The young doctor asked gently. "I know that it's a lot to take in. Should I repeat what I just said, so that you may have an easier time remembering it later on?"
He nodded and tried to swallow the lump in his throat, so that he could also confirm her question verbally, but he found that he was completely unable to rid himself of that heavy object that was blocking both his vocal cords and his respiratory tract.
The doctor smiled once more and gently nodded her head. "Okay. Listen..."
Rossi's head started spinning again- Listening was not as easy as she made it sound like when someone was telling you that this perfect little boy that you have taken into your home and into your house was not going to eventually outgrow all the difficulties that caused him so much pain every single day of his life.
Rossi didn't care that Spencer was picky when it came to food and that he always had to prepare separate meals just for the second grader- he just didn't want the already malnourished child to starve himself to death.
Rossi didn't care that Spencer wouldn't want to sleep at night, and definitely not alone in his own room- he just didn't want to lift the boy's head out of his breakfast every single morning because this tiny body had given up the fight and had sent the boy straight to sleep while eating.
Rossi didn't care that Spencer would throw tantrums and that, wherever they went, people would stare at them- he just didn't want those crocodile tears clinging to his baby's face when something had upset or hurt him so terribly without him having the ability to communicate it before it would end in crocodile-tear-tantrums.
Rossi didn't care that Spencer didn't play much with the toys that the foster father had bought for him; he loved watching the seven year old line them up, sort them into categories of size or colour or other categories which surely made sense to Spencer, but were beyond reason for anyone else.
Rossi didn't care that he always had to take Spencer with him to the office because the child was constantly showing physical symptoms of sickness before he had to go to school, or that the boy was constantly acting out when he was in his second grade class of his public elementary school- Rossi just didn't want the little genius to suffer through finger-paint sessions, dodge ball games, multiplication tables, alphabet songs and flower-picking-exercises for ten more years, when he was already able to draw the periodic table from memory, write down every short story by Edgar Allen Poe that has ever been published by memory, and define X in every single algebraic equation that they put in front of him.
Rossi didn't care about all those things that the rest of the world saw as problematic- if only Spencer would no longer suffer as much as he clearly suffered now.
Rossi had put so much hope into these endless conversations with doctors and specialists- only to be told that there was no way to ever make his baby stop suffering.
We can "manage" it, not "cure" it.
He'd better find a way to manage it quickly because he couldn't take only one more day of being just as unable to help his little boy as the whole rest of the world who had never even bothered listening.
"What can I do?" He heard himself interrupt the young doctor all of a sudden. "Sorry, but I don't need to know what autism looks like to the outside-world. It doesn't matter how I perceive it, or how the rest of the world perceives it. It's about Spencer. I need to know what I can do to make Spencer's inside-world less painful to him. So, please tell me, what can I do to help him?"
-
2013
It was hard to tell if he had made the biggest mistake of his entire life by finally having the conversation with Erin after nearly a year of dating her and never telling her a thing about his family life before.
But he had done it, and there was no turning back now.
And he also didn't want to turn back.
He hadn't told her all too much- just pretty much every detail from the moment that he had met Emily, Derek and Spencer up until, well, today.
Alright, that wasn't true. He had left out essential information about his three children that were not meant for anyone's ears unless his children specifically decided to share these information with someone else.
And yet, Rossi had finally provided Erin with so many information, details, intelligence, knowledge, stories, memories and insight about his family that there was no way that she had not gotten a very clear picture of what she was getting herself into with this Friday Night Family Dinner.
It was 5:57pm, and Rossi had just so managed to finish cooking dinner before the clock striked 6pm- it was absolutely necessary that dinner was on the table at 6pm on the dot.
Erin had offered to tell the two chess-playing brothers in the living room that dinner was ready, and she did so while Rossi grabbed the dishes that he had prepared with much love and care while having one of the most important conversations of his entire life.
Never before had he known how truly amazing it felt if someone was just listening.
He knew that Erin- with her three picture perfect children- could not relate to stories about frustrating adoption hearings, fifteen year olds who didn't want to move to another state, autism diagnoses or college applications for a nine year old.
The only thing she might have been able to relate to was impertinent teenage daughters, as she had two of those herself.
Although, their pubescent impertinence was surely not measuring up to Emily's when she had been nothing, but a hurt, unwanted child.
Erin might not have understood what it was like to have to justify yourself in a court of law of why you loved your oh so imperfect children, but she understood what it was like to love your children.
And that was good enough for Rossi.
He carried his dinner-prepared-with-love into the dining room where he had already set the table hours ago in nervous anticipation of how tonight would turn out.
Before he had had the conversation with Erin, he had expected the evening to be utterly uncomfortable.
Now, however, he was sure it would only be very uncomfortable for them all.
While Erin had spent her afternoon learning about the family- and she had been open and understanding for absolutely everything in the sweetest way!- the two brothers still had no clue that she knew anything about their family life at all.
And Rossi knew that he had maybe just made the biggest mistake of his life by telling Erin all of this about himself, his daughter, and his sons.
But there really was no turning back to a few hours ago when she had not known a thing, so all they could do now was, well, roll with it.
"Voilà, Tagliatelle with roasted tomatoes and red pepper sauce," the father announced as he placed the pan with the pasta dish in the middle of the table in between his partner and his two sons, right next to the bowl with the ungodly amount of grated parmesan.
"But don't worry, I'm about to grab the garlic bread from the oven," he announced cheerfully; crusty from the outside and soft as a cloud from the inside, his famous- well, in the BAU famous- garlic bread was still his most prized artwork, and probably the one thing in his life that he was proudest of.
Spencer's three PhDs were a close runner-up, but they couldn't compete with the feeling of pride that Rossi's buttery ciabatta with perfect nuances of garlic, olive oil, rosemary and sea salt brought onto him.
Bread over academics any day.
If Rossi enjoyed one thing, it was cooking for his family and friends.
And pasta. Rossi really enjoyed pasta.
Unfortunately, not everyone enjoyed his pasta- or his most prized artwork in form of white bread.
He tried his very hardest not to let his somber gaze glide over Spencer's depressing "dinner", consisting of a bowl of yoghurt with some of his favourite topics- namely blueberries, cinnamon, honey and peanutbutter.
He had prepared this breakfast-like-"dinner" himself and had brought it in a cooler lunch box from his home.
His strange eating habits had not become any better in the last few weeks, and had instead taken whole new turns- now, he wasn't even eating anything that he hadn't prepared with his own two hands anymore.
The good thing was that he was eating- more frequently and healthier than ever before- and that he had started actually making food himself instead of just eating whenever someone basically opened the wrapper for him and placed a protein bar, Uncrustable, or Pop-Tart right into his very hands.
The bad thing was that they sat together for dinner now, and while three people would- hopefully- enjoy Rossi's culinary arts, Spencer was telling himself that he was happy with what looked like a snack made for a pre-schooler.
Rossi knew that he wasn't supposed to comment on it or even offer Spencer something else for dinner- Emily had made more than clear that as long as none of them had obtained a dr.med., they should simply wait it out until Spencer's psychiatrist had a free appointment for him- but it was simply impossible to witness his child punishing himself with inadequate dinner options.
"Spence, are you sure you don't want a plate?" Rossi asked, trying not to sound too worried, and he already reached out for the extra plate that he had placed on the table for the unlikely case that Spencer would decide today that wheat is a silent killer didn't apply anymore.
But, of course, it wasn't that easy, and Spencer just shook his head, without even lifting his eyes from the dark oak table.
He had been awfully quiet all day, even in the office. It was painstakingly clear how much of a strain this whole dinner was already taking on him and it hadn't even really started yet.
Rossi's gaze met Derek's, and he could see that his older son was just as concerned about the stillness- both verbally and physically- that was radiating off from Spencer; he wasn't even fidgeting like he usually was, and was instead sitting on his hands to prevent himself from doing so.
Rossi felt a tight knot forming in his stomach, and he wanted to say something about it, wanted to let Spencer know that no one at the table- not even Erin who he didn't know all too well privately yet- cared about his stimming.
But he decided against it because he knew that it would only make the young genius so utterly uncomfortable that dinner would be done afterwards, and Rossi was not going to risk that his partner and his sons finally got to know each other outside of work if he could help it.
"Alright, I'll fetch the bread then," the father announced therefore, and he left the room to do so- but not without trying to eavesdrop as well as he could.
The thing was just that there was not much to eavesdrop about. No one said a word at first. Not one.
Rossi had spent all afternoon telling Erin all the things that he felt were necessary to let her know before their dinner, all the things that he had been so glad he had finally been able to share with someone who actually cared and didn't judge.
One of the things which was right now screaming at them as it was very clear in his entire bearing, was that Rossi's youngest was neurodivergent.
Now that Rossi had told his partner about Spencer's autism, now that he knew that she had not known about it at all, but had reacted in the most considerate way possible, Rossi regretted that he hadn't just told her before.
He could have avoided so many misunderstandings with her, could have explained himself so much better, could have simply had someone listening to him, had he not unconsciously stigmatised his own child in his head, and had made up unjustified worries about Erin's reaction to the simple truth that his son was not like most people.
It was stupid really, and he regretted it.
He wasn't only a bad boyfriend, he was also a terrible father.
Even if Erin didn't know either the experiences of raising an autistic child, nor the very specific terminology and the ability to spot every sensory-challenge upon entering a room that came with it, Rossi could tell that his girlfriend was trying her very hardest to understand what he had been telling her about.
She couldn't relate, but she wasn't trying to play their experiences down either, like everyone else always did.
Oh, your child doesn't eat? Well, mine doesn't like vegetables either. He only eats his potatoes and meat at dinner.
I see your son is throwing a tantrum. My daughter used to do that, too, whenever she didn't get what she wanted. Since we stopped acknowledging it, she stopped.
Many children have troubles making friends. Spencer is just shy.
Rossi hadn't had Spencer for more than three months before he had stopped replying to the questions of his co-workers of how it was going.
But Erin hadn't reacted like any of these people before, and, while Rossi tried his hardest not to eavesdrop too much- alright, in reality, he tried to eavesdrop as much as possible- he heard that Erin suddenly spoke up.
And what she said was just about perfect.
Rossi probably would have to marry her. Just for this.
He came back with the freshly baked garlic bread just when she started off the conversation in the most considerate way possible.
"Spencer, your father told me that you have three PhDs," she said in a kind tone that showed her admiration. "I actually didn't know that befors today."
There was just one thing that Rossi had apparently failed to mention- if you want to have a conversation with Dr. Reid, don't finish with a statement.
In situations like this- the slightly or very uncomfortable social ones- Spencer did not reply to statements, only questions, because he could never tell if a statement was just that, a statement that required no response, or if it was an invite for him to talk.
Luckily, before his silent blinking at Erin could get any more awkward, his older brother stepped in like he so often did.
"Yep, he's a real genius, aren't you, Pretty Boy?" Derek chuckled with the right amount of teasing and pride tinging his voice as he gently nudged Spencer's arm, hoping to elicit anything at all from his awfully quiet little brother.
And he did. Just not what he had planned to get out of Spencer.
"I don't think that's an appropriate dinner conversation," Spencer mumbled shyly and exclusively to Derek.
Derek's eyebrows shot up to his hairline- this was not exactly the reaction he had expected from Dr. Ramble.
"Why's that?" Derek prompted gently. "Why shouldn't it be appropriate dinner-conversation?"
"Because it's just me talking about me," Spencer explained matter of factly, and still only to his brother as he fully ignored his father's and boss's presence. "That's neither very interesting, nor very polite because we should get to know Dad's partner and not talk about ourselves."
God bless his sweet sweet soul.
Erin let out the softest, most polite and genuine chuckle, which immediately made all their heads turn to her.
"I would love to hear more about your education, Spencer," she said. "Your father hasn't gone into detail because-" She leaned a bit forward and pretended as if she was whispering to the young genius alone. "Among you and me, I don't think your Dad understood any of what you've studied."
Rossi could have protested. But then he would have needed to lie- because he really hadn't understood a single thing of what his son had graduated in- and he would have also missed out on the shy smirk that tugged on Spencer's lips.
Much to all their surprise, he joined in on the joke and leaned closer in to Erin, conspiringly whispering back. "He did not."
Rossi immediately caught Derek's brightly sparkling gaze that was at least as relieved as his own. That's a good start.
Erin's smile widened as she leaned back in her chair again, sitting up straightly, and she gently patted Rossi's hand, letting him now that I think we're good.
The father let out a metaphorical breath of relief, feeling a great heavy weight being lifted from his shoulders just as the great heavy tension in the room had suddenly dissolved into thin air.
He'd probably have to marry Erin just for this.
"Alright, dinner," he announced cheerfully and began filling three plates with his culinary artwork while his partner kept making him happier by the second.
"So, tell me, Spencer, what exactly did you graduate in?"
-
1999
"3 Hg(OH)2 2 H3PO4 → Hg3(PO4)2 6 H2O. 12 HClO4 P4O10 → 4 H3PO4 6 Cl2O7. 8 CO 17 H2 → C8H18 8 H2O.
10 KClO3 3 P4 → 3 P4O10 10 KCl. SnO2 2 H2 → Sn 2 H2O. 3 KOH H3PO4 → K3PO4 3 H2O..."
"What is he even saying?" Derek asked, mostly himself as he knew that his father wouldn't have any explanation for the endless amount of numbers and single letters that came out of Spencer's mouth either.
Derek sat in his office chair in the bull-pen, while his father leaned against his desk with his arms crossed over his chest, and both of them were watching Spencer who had already been spinning in an office chair at nauseating speed for the past fifteen minutes, his knees pulled up to his chest, and talking to himself since the original topic of conversation- the private lives of some of the other agents- had started to bore him.
Since Rossi had stopped working for the BAU to focus on his books and his youngest child two years prior, he and Spencer hadn't been to Quantico too often, but every now and then, they still visited Derek or Gideon at their work place, and every time that they did this, it would take exactly five seconds until Spencer had claimed a spinning office chair to confuse his vestibular system.
Not because he didn't have the chance to do so at home. They had four of these chairs at home, and he often used them to do exactly that- confuse his vestibular system.
Just that it didn't get confused and he could spend hours on end spinning in a chair, babbling to himself, without ever starting to feel dizzy.
"I have no clue," Rossi replied to Derek's inquiry about the meaning behind Spencer's comfusing words, and he gently shook his head to himself. "I don't even know the topic of his ramble."
"Chemistry," Spencer replied before he kept rattling off numbers and letters- apparently, he had been listening, after all, even though he himself had been talking at the same time.
Rossi would never again accept Spencer's excuse of I can't do multitasking whenever the father asked him to keep tidying up his mess while he rambled about one topic or the other.
Rossi had never understood Spencer's argumentation of why rambling had priority over putting away his million books to where he had pulled them out from his shelves, anyway.
Derek huffed out a soft laugh and shook his head gently at his brother. "I take it your paper's going well, Pretty Boy?"
"It's not a paper, it's a dissertation," Spencer gave back gravely without stopping the spinning that made his older brother and father dizzy from just watching him.
"A paper is what you and Em and Dad wrote to graduate college," Spencer elaborated flatly. "I only wrote these as a stepping stone myself, and only because it was required to continue my studies. But now I do actual scientific work."
"Ooh, sorry," Derek said in a teasing tone. "I didn't mean to offend your genius."
"You did not," Spencer said and came to a sudden stop, facing his brother.
Despite the fact that he apparently didn't feel dizzy, he looked that part; cross-eyed pupils unable of coming to a rest and focusing on anything at all.
"A paper for a BA isn't less than a dissertation, it's just different and usually doesn't include nearly as many hours in a lab as I've spent there," Spencer explained matter of factly and shrugged.
Rossi's eyes met Derek's, and both of them just couldn't hold back their amusement.
"Yes, Kid, a paper for a BA is less than a dissertation," Derek chuckled as he addressed his brother. "Please don't compare my pseudoscientific explanations on the psychology behind obsessive crimes that I've entirely based upon what someone else had said before me with the actual scientific research and examination that you've been conducting these past, what, three months?"
Spencer's face twisted into a painful grimace and he vehemently shook his head.
"What?" Derek asked in sudden concern. "Did I say something wrong? Isn't it three months yet? Only two?"
"No," Spencer brought out pitifully. "It's fourteen weeks, and please don't remind me how terribly slow I am."
"Slow?" Rossi laughed out loud, incredulously, before he could stop himself.
The scowl that Spencer sent his way just a second later was his own fault, and Rossi grimaced.
"Sorry, Kiddo, I didn't mean to say that you are slow," the father quickly explained. "I meant to point out that you're everything, but slow."
"No, I am slow!" Spencer objected somberly. "I'm already an entire week behind my original plan, and I don't think I'll be able to finish within the next six weeks."
"Six weeks?" Derek nearly choked on the words and his eyes almost popped out of his head in his state of shocked disbelief. "Are you kidding me? You seriously write your entire dissertation in twenty weeks and you consider yourself slow? Some people need ten years, Spencer!"
Spencer shrugged and pouted. "I planned to need eighteen weeks, but I'll need at least twenty-one from what it looks right now."
He slumped his shoulders and sighed. "I needed only fifteen weeks to write my first dissertation, but this time I had to do all that lab-work, and that just didn't work out as I had planned. It's beyond frustrating."
The father and older son looked at one another again, laughing. Wow.
-
2013
"And as it turns out, all his worries were unjustified," Rossi concluded with a proud smile to his son over the dinner table. "Ten years later, and the world didn't stop spinning when you needed twenty weeks for your entire work."
"I needed twenty-two weeks and it was nearly fourteen years ago," Spencer corrected matter of factly, before he thought for a moment. "But I guess you're right... the world didn't stop spinning."
Rossi's smile grew a bit wider before he took another bite of his indeed delicious dinner. He had impressed himself once again.
But that wasn't the only impressive thing at the table.
"Ten years later, and the Kid has another PhD and three more BAs," Derek added to their original topic because he obviously had more admiration for his younger brother's academic genius than his father's culinary genius.
"Fourteen years, but yes," Spencer confirmed, blushing the slightest bit as he lazily stirred in his depressing and still mostly untouched yoghurt.
"You're not hungry, Pretty Boy?" Derek asked as offhandedly as he could after he, too, had noticed that his brother hadn't even really started to eat- which was far more concerning than the food itself.
"No, I'm just..." He trailed off and bit down on his bottom lip, frowning at the table as he was clearly thinking hardly about something. "I was just thinking about the fact that I haven't done anything very academical in more than four years. Not since I've finished the BA in philosophy."
"Well, you've been busy with the BAU," Rossi tried to reassure as lightly as possible. "And you've been guest lecturing a bit, and you wrote articles for all these science journals. That's impressive, too."
"But I haven't even done that since-" Spencer cut himself off and his gaze darkened even more, his frown now a deep scowl directed at the table.
Rossi's gaze met Derek's; both of them were immediately high alert.
Since was since Maeve's death, and that was definitely not a nice dinner conversation to have; especially not with Section Chief Erin Strauss listening to every word spoken.
Rossi felt his heart speed up at the thought that the dinner that had started out so well would now end prematurely, and they had still not gotten into the direction that Rossi had wanted it to go.
Because, all afternoon while Erin had been listening so patiently and with such an abundance of understanding, and all evening while she had tried to make friends with Spencer and had encouraged him to speak, even though he had initially been far from wanting to participate in human society on this evening, Rossi had had exactly one thought- How will I ask her to marry me?
Rossi had a history of marrying a bit too quickly and impulsively. What damage could one more marriage do?
A lot.
Which was why he needed to be smart about how to ask both Erin and, well, his children as well- he wouldn't ever marry a woman they didn't approve of.
And the evening had gone so so surprisingly well, it really was a shame that it was apparently about to end now.
But Rossi had not planned with how amazing his partner really was.
She placed a hand on his knee under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze before she addressed the suddenly too quiet Spencer again.
"I've heard about what happened earlier this year," she said gently, but Rossi's heart still stopped beating, and Derek's panicked gaze still shot up to their boss.
That was not appropriate-dinner conversation. However well-intended.
Spencer, too, looked up to the woman, but instead of shocked, he looked far more wary of what her next words could potentially be.
"And I wanted to express my deepest sympathy to you," she said kindly. "I was heartbroken when I heard about it, and I have wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss for months now, but it just never was the right time. I was truly glad to hear that you came back to work on Monday, and I wanted to let you know that, if there's anything you need, both in terms of work or privately, you just need to ask."
For a long moment, everyone was quiet.
The atmosphere was suffocating, and Erin's- perfect- words hung heavy in the air.
Her words had been perfect- just not in that moment.
Or ever when talking about Maeve.
Maeve was pretty much the only topic the entire family never brought up, even thought it was the one topic that had shaken all of their worlds, had pulled the ground from under their feet, and had confined them all in a tight chokehold for the past three months.
And Erin had just brought it up.
Rossi saw the small tears that suddenly started to form in his son's eyes, and he felt an overwhelming fear of what would happen next- everything was possible.
Everything from emotional breakdown, to meltdown, to shutdown, to Spencer-going-nonverbal, to anger and aggression, to yelling, screaming, shouting, to crying, sobbing, Spencer-bawling-his-eyes-out, and, finally, to their dinner ending prematurely and with no hope that Rossi would ever be able to see Erin again.
But none of that happened; none of those extreme reactions happened.
Instead, Spencer visibly gulped back his tears and turned his head the slightest bit, so that he looked straight at his father now.
"Can I please get up?" He croaked out quietly, clearly holding back his tears as well as he could, but his voice was strained from all the grief and pain suffocating him nonetheless.
Rossi nodded immediately. "Of course, of course," he merely exhaled as Spencer already got to his feet. "But Spence-"
Spencer just gave him a look that immediately shut the father up before he turned to his older brother with a grave expression. "Don't follow me."
-
2012
Spencer bit down on his bottom lip, his hand almost cramping around the phone that he was holding on so tightly as if he could by proxy hold onto her, hold her close, keep her safe.
That was all he wanted- keep her safe.
"Spence?" Her gentle voice asked on the other line. "Are you still there?"
He left out a shaky breath. "Y-Yeah."
He could hear the gentle smile tugging at her lips. "So, what did you want to tell me?"
"What did I want to tell you?" He echoed, the words not really reaching his consciousness mind yet.
"Yes," she chuckled softly, good-naturedly; she was never laughing at him, no matter how much of an idiot he made out of himself.
"You said I have to tell you something, and then you went quiet," she explained patiently.
"Uh, yeah, my- my brain does that sometimes, " he stammered out and mentally facepalmed himself for saying something so utterly stupid to her.
"Sorry, I don't understand," she admitted. "What does your brain do?"
He mentally facepalmed himself a second time before he had even spoken because he knew that, whatever would come out of his mouth now, would be utterly stupid once again.
"Make me start a sentence or a topic, and then pull the emergency brake and make me unable to continue."
Third mental facepalm.
"I'm sorry, I- I'm being weird again," he croaked out uncomfortably; he was sure that she'd never talk to him again after this stupid confession.
But she chuckled softly and it sounded genuine.
"I know that," she confessed. "Sometimes I get really shy, too."
Well, if only he had merely been shy... but she didn't need to know that yet.
"But I've seen your brain, and I couldn't see an emergency break," she joked lightly. "So, why don't you tell me what you wanted to tell me?"
He drew in a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "O-Ok."
Not steady at all. Fantastic job, Kid.
He swallowed the heavy lump in his throat and tried to focus on forming words.
"I've told my father about you," he exhaled at last and nervously tapped his fingers against the phone. "I know we've said that I can't tell anyone about you, but- but I didn't say you're name or- or how I've met you, only- only that I'm tal-talking to a girl, and- and- He's an FBI-agent, like me, and- and he'd never do anything to put you in danger, so you- you don't have to worry, and- and I'm really sorry."
He felt as if he had just deflated like a balloon; no oxygen, no thoughts, no hope was left in him as he was sure that she would be properly upset with him now.
But then, she wasn't.
"Oh," she merely breathed out. "That- That must have been hard on you."
Hard on him?!
He was not the one who had to hide himself.
Physically at least.
He nearly choked on his next words. "I-It was," he admitted glumly. "B-But only because I wish I wouldn't have to keep all these things about you a secret to keep you safe. I- I wish we didn't have to keep you safe like this."
He could hear the softest sigh on the other line. "I know, Spence. And I'm sorry. I'll-"
"Don't be sorry," he interrupted her, although he knew that it wasn't polite to interrupt other people when they spoke. "You don't have to be sorry. If anyone has to be sorry it's me for telling my father anything in the first place."
She was quiet for a long moment, and Spencer had already assumed that she was actually angry with him now and had simply hung up on him.
Not that she had ever done that, but he had learned in his life that it was best to never expect anyone to put up with his nonsense; he had been disappointed and rejected too many times before to ever assume that anyone would actually have patience for him.
But she hadn't hung up on him. She had never done it.
"What did you tell your Dad?" She asked and she sounded as if she really wanted to know what he had said, not what he had said about her; she didn't care how Spencer would describe her, what impression she had left, she merley cared how he felt about her and about the whole situation.
She cared for him.
Spencer was taken by surprise at first, but her question had not thrown him too far off his game, so he managed to find his words relatively quickly again.
"I, uh, it was on Thursday," he began.
"On Thanksgiving?" She asked, almost in surprise. "Didn't you say that you would have this huge family dinner with all your co-workers and your father's partner and even her children?"
"Yes."
"So what?" She cracked a laugh, but sounded nervously all of a sudden. "Did you tell him in front of everyone?"
"Oh, no, no, no," he blurted out when he realised how she had understood his words. "I- I didn't attend Thanksgiving dinner."
"You didn't attend Thanksgiving dinner?" She asked in surprise, but her smile was evident in her tone. "Who misses Thanksgiving dinner? It's the best dinner in the whole year!"
"Mmh, I disagree," he said thoughtfully. "I- Once you'll meet me, you'll find out that I'm a bit picky when it comes to food. It's- It's ridiculous, really, but I- I would probably only have eaten maccaroni and cheese and bread rolls anyway."
She chuckled again, not judging in any way, just genuinely amused, maybe a bit in awe. "Why did you suggest to meet at a restaurant then? If you don't like most things?"
He shrugged, even though he knew that she couldn't see it on the other line. "I supposed that you might like meeting at a restaurant. Also, I've read online that it's the perfect place for a first date. And the restaurant I chose had cheese pizza on the menu, I made sure of that beforehand."
"That was probably a good decision," she said and didn't mean to tease him by it; she really thought it had been a good decision.
"So, you missed out on Thanksgiving dinner-"
"My brother actually made a plate for me with maccaroni and bread and brought it to me," Spencer interrupted, although he knew it was impolite to interrupt other people, simply because he thought it was even more impolite to leave out the part where he didn't miss out on Thanksgiving dinner and confuse her even more; honesty and full disclosure was usually the best way to communicate in his opinion.
At least when it came to certain topics. Other topics didn't need to be discussed.
At all.
"Oh, that's nice of him," she acknowledged.
"Yes, he's a good brother," Spencer confirmed and bobbed his head, which she- for obvious reasons- didn't see. "You'd like him a lot. You will like him a lot. And he'll like you, too. And my sister and father, too. They'll all like you, and you-"
He cut himself off and bit his tongue. "I'm rambling again," he sighed at last. "I'm sorry."
"No need to be sorry," she immediately said. "I- I like it when you start rambling."
He was too stunned to speak for a second.
"Really?" He blurted out at last.
"Yes," she chuckled.
"Well, you'd be the first person to ever think so then," he pointed out, not meaning to ask for compassion or pity.
It was simply a fact that, usually, people did not like it when he started rambling; even his family and closest friends were sometimes annoyed and told him to stop talking.
"Well, I think it's really cute," she said in the sweetest way possible.
Cute? Had he really just been called cute? But in a romantic way? Was there something like this? Cute in a romatic way?
Whatever it was, it was not the You're my teeny tiny baby brother and you're the cutest thing on planet earth-way that he was used to when he was called cute.
Despite the fact that he definitely wasn't teeny tiny anymore, Emily.
She'd probably never acknowledge that.
"I also think it's really cute when you talk about your family," she interrupted his train of thoughts. "So please, tell me, what did you tell your father?"
"Uhm, just that I..." Spencer needed a moment to think.
He was definitely not yet ready to broach the topic of I said you were my girlfriend, but then I kinda took it back, and said that I didn't know if you were my girlfriend, and, oh, I also told my Dad that you said that you love me, but that I'm not sure if I love you, too, because I have the impeccable ability to be completely unable to identify my own emotions.
Yes, he should not say that. Definitely not.
"I told him that we have a lot in common, and that you like literature and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but that our views on poetry differ quite a bit."
Better.
"What did he say?" She asked, and he could see the wide smile on her face despite the fact that he had never seen her face before.
He asked me if I loved you, and I said that I don't know.
Yeah, he really couldn't say that.
"I think he's happy for me."
Not a lie, not the truth. He'd survive telling her this half-life.
"Mmh," she hummed. "You're close to him, aren't you?"
"Yes." No lie at all.
"Well, I guess it makes sense," she thought out loud. "You said that you're the youngest child. I guess the youngest child is usually close to their parents."
"I don't have parents, I only have a father."
Why exactly did he have to say that now? Had it really been necessary to contradict her? You're an idiot, Spencer.
"Oh, right, I- I'm sorry," she stammered out, suddenly sounding very insecure. "I didn't mean to..."
"You didn't," he said and meant it. "I'm sorry for reacting this way, I- I know you were hypothetically speaking, and I- I made it all about myself again, and-"
"Well, I had been asking about you," she interrupted him now, although she probably, too, knew that it was impolite to interrupt other people; she was usually very polite, after all.
"I asked if you were close to your Dad, so, I guess I shouldn't have said that with the... you know."
He nodded, even though she obviously wouldn't be able to see it; he had a feeling that she'd still know.
"Yeah, I am close to my father," he said. "What about you? Are you close to your...?"
"Parents," she filled in for him. "And yes. Especially my Mom. She- I learned a lot from her."
Spencer had the feeling that there was something- or even multiple things- that she was not telling him, but he knew that it wasn't his place to ask too many questions now.
"I learned a lot from my Dad, too," he therefore said, just to make conversation and not let it become any more awkward than it already was. "I said he's FBI, so... Yeah."
"So he convinced you to go to the FBI?"
"Funnily enough, he didn't," Spencer chuckled rather uncomfortably; he knew he had to tread carefully from here to not disclose too much about himself that he would much prefer to reserve for the moment that he would melt down right in front of her eyes in a restaurant or a cafe or the Mall.
Because that would surely be the best moment to let her know that he was on the spectrum.
Until then, she clearly didn't have to know.
"He didn't?" She asked in surprise.
"Mmh-mmh," he hummed. "He probably thought I was better suited for academia. Collect PhDs until I'm old and grey and never really do anything with them."
"Why did you go to the FBI nonetheless?" She asked, and it elicited a chuckle from Spencer.
" 'Cause I don't do what he says, I do what he does. He spends his days putting his life on the line for other people, total strangers. My brother and sister do the same. How could I just sit in a lab all day and- no offence, I think what you do is amazing- do nothing at all? I'm not a geneticist like you, my work wouldn't have saved anyone, had I stayed in chemistry or engineering or math."
Maeve hummed. "So your Dad's your role model?"
"One of them, yeah."
-
2013
"I said don't follow me," Spencer grumbled under his breath as he heard the footsteps approaching him from behind.
He had sat down on the two steps connecting the back porch and the lawn with one another, and he was letting out his anger and frustration on the grass as he was one by one pulling out the blades and ripped them into teeny tiny pieces.
Give him a day and his father wouldn't have to mow the lawn anymore.
"I know you said that you didn't want to be followed, but I feel like I need to apologise."
Spencer's head whipped around, his eyes wide, as he heard not the voice of his brother or his father, but of Erin Strauss.
He would probably never get used to the sight of Erin Strauss standing on the back porch of the house in which he had lived in for the better part of the last fifteen years of his life.
His home.
Just that it wasn't his home now anymore because he had screwed up so badly that his father didn't want to have him anymore, and he needed to live with his brother now because he was incapable and not trustworthy enough to live alone.
And Erin Strauss was living in his home instead.
Spencer hadn't had the courage to go up the stairs yet, but he knew that if he'd look into his brother's old room, he'd find that his father had started to clean out the room and had begun to move the few belongings of Derek that had still been in the room into Spencer's equally empty room because soon enough, Erin Strauss' son would have his bedroom in there.
Because Spencer's father had really gone and gotten himself a partner who had children who were actually supposed to live with their parents because they were teenagers, and not thirty-something year old screw-ups like him.
And this partner was Erin Strauss.
Of all the eight billion people in the whole wide world, Spencer's father had gone and had fallen in love with the BAU's Section Chief Erin Strauss.
Could his life get any worse?
Oh, yes, right, it probably could. Since October 28, 1981, his life had constantly found ways to get worse and worse and worse each single day.
Erin Strauss was merely a minor inconvenience, hardly a notable crack in the 7th century oil painting that was his life.
7th century because the first oil paintings could actually be dated back to 7th century Buddhist murals in Afghanistan, although most people, shockingly, believed that Flemish artist Jan van Eyck created the first oil paintings in 15th century Europe.
People. Silly little creatures with no respect for getting their facts straight.
That was, however, exactly how Spencer's life felt- like a forgotten and overlooked artwork that never got the credit it deserved.
Which was also the reason why, once again, his clear wishes of Don't follow me had been forgotten and overlooked.
He was almost sure that this time he had actually said these words out loud and had not just thought them in his head.
So what exactly was Erin Strauss doing behind him on the back porch of his home now? Had she not already done enough tonight?
"I wanted to apologise to you, Spencer," she said politely, and she sounded genuinely sorry.
She took a few steps closer to him despite the fact that he had not asked her to do so, and he, quite frankly, didn't want to have her even one bit closer to his own person.
But again, he was the forgotten, overlooked artwork, and no one cared for what he wanted.
She pointed one finger on the steps next to Spencer, and he was relatively sure that she was asking him if she could sit down with him, but since she had not actually asked, Spencer didn't see a need to actually tell her to fuck off.
Unfortunately, this plan backfired because Erin sat down next to him nonetheless.
No one ever cared for what Spencer wanted.
She placed her hands in her lap and Spencer could see that she was fidgeting with the thin gold bracelet that his father had gotten her for valentine's day.
Because his father had had a girlfriend on valentine's day.
In stark contrast to him.
He quickly averted his gaze from the vicious golden jewelry and scowled at the small heap of torn apart blades of grass that seemed to grow by the minute.
"I didn't mean to upset you," she continued kindly, even though all he had done so far was ignoring her presence as well as he could. "I know this is a hard time for you, and the last thing I wanted to do was make it even harder for you."
She watched him closely and apparently waited for a response, but even if Spencer would have wanted to reply- which he didn't want- he would not have been able to look at her or bring even one single word past his lips.
"When I was a bit younger than you, I had a friend, a very close one. We grew up together, and she- she took her own life."
Ouch.
There were exactly two options- one way or the other, she had heard about Spencer's attempt and that was why she had told him this now; or- she had not heard about Spencer's attempt and that was why she had told him this now.
Either way, he would have preferred not to know about it.
He was still preoccupied with the thoughts of cutting his own chest open to see if his shattered heart could he mended, and if not, just hope that he'd die of the wounds he had inflicted upon himself; he didn't need the suicidal ideation of a total stranger freely floating around in his head until the very day that his eidetic memory would finally succumb to the sweet kiss of death together with the rest of his wretched person.
Spencer didn't even want to think about someone else's suicide.
Strauss, however, told him this story as firmly as someone potentially could tell this story.
She probably didn't know.
It could stay this way in Spencer's opinion.
"It's not the same, but I-"
"I never even got to meet her before," Spencer croaked out all of a sudden, his voice strained from unshed tears. "You grew up with your friend. I never had the chance to even get to know her. It's not the same."
"No," Strauss confirmed calmly. "I made a lifetime of memories with my friend, and you will ask yourself for the rest of your life what could have been if she hadn't been taken too early from you."
"Maeve."
"Sorry?"
Spencer turned his head the slightest bit, so that he could blink up at the Section Chief. "Her name was Maeve."
The softest, saddest smile tugged at the older woman's lips.
"Maeve must have been a wonderful young woman for you to have fallen for her."
Spencer's brows drew closer together again and he looked back to his pile of shredded grass.
"I know that you are trying to be nice and you want me to like you because you're dating my father, but you don't really know me. And I mean that in the most respectful way."
She was quiet for the shortest moment, but then she nodded her head.
"You're right," she confirmed calmly, not hurt in the slightest. "Until today, I didn't even know that you had three PhDs or that you have started college when you were only nine. I didn't know that you've taught yourself Spanish when you were just a kid, or that you took Drama classes in high school. Until today, I didn't know that you- or anyone else ever before you, really- wrote an entire dissertation in fifteen weeks. I didn't know that you wouldn't let your father come near you in the very beginning, or how close you actually are with your brother and sister. I also didn't know that Emily didn't want to go to college at first, but wrote a fantastic essay then, which opened a million opportunities for her, or that Derek had a football scholarship for UChicago. I didn't know that you would spent months and months waiting for him to finally come home again, and I didn't know that he would rather throw himself in front of a bus than have any harm come to you or your sister."
While she had been talking, Spencer's gaze had found hers again, and his eyes had grown wider and wider with every word that had come out of her mouth.
"My father told you quite a bit," Spencer exhaled when she was finally done.
"Not until today," Strauss replied calmly. "He always insisted that those were personal information about your life that I have no right to know."
Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat. "Why did he change his mind?"
Strauss shrugged softly. "I don't know," she said genuinely. "You will have to ask him."
He had a bad feeling of why his father had changed his mind.
The man had a history of making impulsive decisions in terms of romantically-tying-himself-to-another-person, after all.
Spencer nodded to himself and he looked back to his grass; his fingers itched for him to rip some more blades of grass into teeny tiny pieces, but he didn't want to do that in front of Strauss.
"Did he- Did he only tell you the good things?" Spencer forced out at last. "A-All you just said are good things. But- But my siblings and I weren't good children... I'm still not a good son. Why did my Dad leave out all the bad parts?"
He turned just enough to be able to peek at the Section Chief from under his lashes, and she saw the soft compassion on her face.
"I don't think your father left out much," she said in earnest. "But he did not say with one single word that you and your siblings haven't been good children. All I heard from his stories was that he got to raise three brilliant, caring, selfless human beings who have been wronged by the whole wide world."
"So he- he didn't tell you..." Spencer swallowed painfully and tried to utilise all his profiling skills to see on Strauss' face if his father had told her about it.
"Didn't tell me what?" She asked.
Spencer's eyes narrowed the slightest bit on her and he just studied her for a moment.
"Nevermind," he muttered at last and shook his head, turning away from her again.
"Nevermind?" She prompted gently.
"Mmh, nevermind," Spencer confirmed, reaching out to let his fingertips graze over the blades of grass that hadn't been sacrificed yet. "In consideration of what I've learned about you today, and in consideration of my cracked psyche, I think it's best if I don't go into more detail."
She didn't need to know about his attempt.
"My father said we've been wronged?" He asked before she could say anything else, pulling out a single blade of grass. "Em, Derek and me?"
"Yes," Strauss confirmed softly. "He told me that all the people in his life tried to tell him that he was making a mistake by taking you and your siblings in his home and life. And he told me that from the moment that he had met you, he had been fighting for you three, but that no one ever listened."
"But that means that Dad has been wronged, not we," Spencer stated gravely, pulling out another blade of grass before he added more quietly "And they might have been right... With me at least. All I've ever caused my father is pain."
"I wish you could see that you couldn't be any more wrong," Strauss said in the most gentle way and without any condescension or pity in her voice.
Spencer blinked up at her from under his lashes, but he didn't say a word, just utilised all the profiling skills that he had acquired in the past ten years in order to see if she was being honest or not.
He found that she very much was.
"I don't need a Mom," he heard himself croak out through the lump in his throat before he had had the chance to even think about how awkward his words were and that he should probably reconsider them.
"I'm not a child, and I don't need a mother," he continued because not even Strauss' pulled up eyebrows could stop him now. "I haven't had one of those in twenty-five years, and since even before that, my experiences with mothers where rather poor, and I found that I don't need a mother. I have my Dad and my siblings, and that's enough. I don't want or need a mother. You don't need to be nice to me to make my father happy, and you don't need to pity me. I'm not a child, and I don't need a mother."
The atmosphere was heavier than lead, and it was nearly impossible to breathe in it.
"I- I didn't..." Strauss began at last, but her voice trailed off and her eyes narrowed the slightest bit on the younger man. "You get that feeling a lot, don't you?"
Spencer, too, narrowed his eyes on her. "What feeling?"
"That people are only ever nice to you because they pity you or want something out of it."
Spencer turned away from her and was quiet for a long while, just thinking.
"If you want to marry my Dad, I'm okay with it," he stated gravely at last and looked up to look straight into her surprised eyes. "But I don't need a mother."
-
"Uh-oh," JJ groaned lowly towards the hallway, and it made Spencer whip around in his office chair to see what was happening behind him that made JJ groan like this.
He found Erin Strauss and Alex Blake standing opposite from one another, having a conversation that didn't exactly meet the criteria for amiable.
It wasn't a mystery in the BAU that these two had a history, but Alex had never talked to the team about it, and Spencer also didn't have further insight on how Strauss was feeling about the linguistic expert.
Even though he had started to talk to her now.
Not much. But still.
"I think Blake could take her. What do you think?" JJ joked, but the joke clearly went straight over Spencer's head.
"Mm, their body language hardly seems adversarial," he profiled. "Blake's making direct eye contact, and the tilt of her head suggests she's willingly engaged in conversation."
He got out of his office chair just when JJ rolled he'd eyes the slightest bit at her best friend's lack of humour.
"Didn't Strauss throw her under the bus back in the day?" JJ asked as her gaze followed Spencer while he started rummaging though his messenger back.
"It was on the Amerithrax case about ten years ago," he provided as both their eyes found Penelope who carried a very big flower bouquet through the bull-pen.
Neither of them was too surprised to see Penelope do so- it was exactly the kind of thing they expected Penelope to do on a random Monday morning.
"Evidently they apprehended the wrong suspect and she let Blake take the fall," Spencer continued therefore completely unbothered.
"Well, I heard they even demoted her a couple grades," JJ added just when Penelope and the huge bouquet of white Trumpet Lillies came to a halt in front of them.
"Guess what just came to the reception desk for an Agent Jennifer Jareau," the Technical Analyst announced cheerfully as she placed the bouquet right in front of JJ on Spencer's desk.
While Spencer smiled at his friend full of adoration and genuine happiness for her, JJ frowned at the flowers and scoffed.
"From who?" She asked, genuinely confused.
"They must be from Will. Or someone's got some 'splainin' to do," Penelope joked dramatically, and she pointed eagerly at the small card that was attached to the bouquet. "Open it. Open it. Open it."
JJ did as she was told, but she was rather reluctant. "Just... Will's not really a flower bouquet type guy," she pointed out before she took the tiny card that had her name written on the envelope, and she pulled the message from the inside.
Her face fell when she read the single word written in bold letters on the card that had been addressed to her personally.
"Zugzwang," she merely exhaled.
Spencer's smile faltered at once and was replaced by a sudden expression of shock as his gaze wandered from JJ to the small paper in her hands.
"What?" He breathed out and already reached for the paper. "Let me see that."
"That's the same thing Diane Turner said to you. Before she killed Maeve," JJ thought out loud as Spencer's eyes were fixed on the one word and the wheels in his head started to turn with ungodly speed.
Penelope watched him with fear written all over her face. "But Diane's dead. So who sent it?" She asked nervously.
"No idea," Spencer mumbled thoughtfully, and he could sense the panic rise in his chest.
Not now. Please. Not now.
Why could this all just not end finally? Why did every day just have to be one single reminder of what had happened to Maeve? Wasn't it enough at one point? Enough mourning? Enough grief? Enough pain?
"Wait... Didn't you say the voice on the other end of the payphone was computer generated?" JJ thought out loud, and it pulled Spencer out of his thoughts about Maeve, and brought him back into reality, right to the little card that he was holding onto in this very moment.
"That means it could be from anybody. That means that it maybe doesn't have anything to do with Maeve," Penelope hectically voiced exactly what Spencer was thinking.
"Whoever it was... They knew you would be at that phone booth," JJ concluded the train of thought. "Which means they were stalking you."
Spencer's first impulse was to wipe the flower bouquet from his desk and start screaming.
But at the second thought, he realised that this would not take them anywhere.
And he had a far more interesting thought in his head anyway.
"Or us," he let out, looking from JJ to Penelope. "What if this is the Replicator?"
Penelope's mouth fell opened, and JJ's eyes grew wide in panic.
"W-What?" Penelope stammered out at last. "Y-You think that this is-" She cut herself off and pointed at the bouquet that was still on the table because Spencer had not wiped it down in a rush of anger.
"We need to tell the team," JJ stated; she usually had the ability to keep a cool head, even in stressful situations like this.
That was something she did not exactly share with her two best friends who were pretty close to panicking in this very second.
She placed a gentle hand on Spencer's arm, trying to offer as much reassurance and she could, but it did little to steady his suddenly very quick breathing.
Not now. Please. Not now.
-
Rossi had a terrible feeling.
And it had nothing to do with the fact that the whole BAU was obviously one big stalking victim, or with the fact that the recent events had just brought up so many memories of the terrible loss that his son had gone through, or the fact that Rossi had just so been able to stop said son from spiralling into a world class panic attack in the middle of the bull-pen.
It had more to do with the fact that- now that all BAU members had regained full control over their own amygdala again and were no longer in fight or flight-mode- the team had gathered in the conference room with their little to no evidence, while Rossi had been informed by Hotch that Erin, too, had been informed by Hotch, and that she was apparently getting involved.
The last thing that Rossi needed was yet another loved one in this kind of danger that was just so unpredictable and so so endless.
He wasn't in the least sad about the fact that Erin didn't work in the field with them.
Usually.
"I just came from the Director's office," Section Chief Erin Strauss informed as she entered the conference room where all the team members were already gathered around the round table; each of their eyes were scanning her intently.
Rossi's eyes were surely the most intent ones.
And the most scared ones.
"He doesn't like the idea that his agents are being taunted and he wants me to keep him personally in the loop," she continued, and proficiently ignored that none of the team members seemed too happy about the fact that she was apparently going to join them in the field.
Just that they all had different reasons for it.
Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner didn't want Section Chief Erin Strauss to join them on this case because he didn't like to share the responsibility much with anyone who wasn't strictly speaking a part of his BAU-family.
Dr. Alex Blake didn't want Section Chief Erin Strauss to joing them on this case because of their past issues.
SSA Jennifer Jareau didn't want Section Chief Erin Strauss to join them on this case because she simply didn't like the woman.
Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia didn't want Section Chief Erin Strauss to join them on this case because she didn't like the tension that would usually hang heavy in the air- or on the phone lines connecting her to the other team members- on such occasions.
SSA Derek Morgan and Dr. Spencer Reid didn't want Section Chief Erin Strauss to join them on this case because- although they had recently started to get amiable with her- they didn't like the idea of having their evil-step-mommy breathing down their necks at all times.
SSA David Rossi didn't want to have the woman that he loved to join them on this case because he couldn't deal with the knowledge that she would be in danger.
Or the knowledge that he would be right with her, would be seeing her, but would still be helpless, would still be powerless, would still be unable to protect her from all the evil in the world that he had to see with his own eyes.
"Catch me up, please," Erin told Penelope.
Because God had clearly not heard Rossi's prayers in all those nights in the past year when he had begged the heavenly father to not let yet another loved one get herself into a dangerous position.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil...