#jareau!reader

Your breathing hitched, stumbling back into a firm chest. “Hey, sweetheart,” a male voice said, squeezing your waist in what you could only hope was reassurance. “Thanks for keeping my girl busy,” the voice continued, much more subdued than the man who now had a dumbfounded look plastered on his face. “Otherwise, she would’ve noticed just how late I am,” he said again. You tried to casually get a look at whoever had decided to come to your rescue, but you couldn’t do it without looking weird, settling for leaning into him.

Stiffening, something hard dug into the flesh of your back. Slowly, you moved a hand to meet the one on your waist, peeling the hand off and holding it instead. The creep wagged a finger at you, and your grip on your new stranger’s hand tightened. “She never mentioned having a boyfriend,” he accused, trying to get himself out of a now awkward situation.

You opened your mouth to snipe at him, but before you could get a word out, the situation took a serious turn. A man you’d only somewhat noticed in the background shoved the sleaze over the bar, sending glasses flying onto the floor. You jumped to avoid getting splashed, and the person behind you fully wrapped an arm around you. You twisted in his arms, listening to people who were now behind you, arresting the man who wanted to take you home tonight.

Your stomach twisted as they listed off his crimes, reciting the names of women you’d seen on TV. “Come on,” the stranger said, “Come outside with me.”

Following him while he practically dragged you from the bar, a woman with a tight, blonde ponytail held the front door open while the two of you rushed out. Once the cold nighttime air pricked your skin, you pulled your arm from whoever the hell had dragged you out of the bar. Breathing heavily, you looked around, looking at emergency vehicles blocking any and all traffic through the area, ready to confront the person in front of you when the vomit you’d been swallowing down came back with a vengeance. You stumbled to the side of the building, leaning over and letting your dinner come out.

Surprisingly, the stranger didn’t make a move to pull at you again; instead, his fingers deftly gathered your hair at the nape of your neck, holding it out of the way while you hurled onto the sidewalk.

When there was nothing left in your stomach, he released your hair, carefully herding you to a bench you could sit down on. Eventually, you looked up at him, inspecting him carefully while he crossed his arms in front of his chest, watching you nervously. His brown hair was cropped on the sides, a fuller, wavier length on the top, and he was tall, practically towering over you.

What gave him away was the jacket he wore, the letters FBI printed on it in bright yellow lettering. If you had anything else in your system, you were sure it would’ve come out at that moment. “Oh my god,” the blood drained from your face. “It was a gun in your pocket,” you said, horrified that for even a moment you’d thought otherwise.

He frowned in front of you, cocking his head to the side, “What else would it have been?” The question was innocent enough, lifting up the jacket to display a firearm.

You gaped at him, unsure how to appropriately answer his question before you were once again saved, this time by a brunette woman. She approached the two of you to ask if you needed anything. Reid. She called him Reid.

“Maybe a water bottle,” Reid suggested, crouching in front of you when the woman walked away. “What’s your name?” He asked, eyebrows raised inquisitively. He rested his hands on his knees, no longer reaching out to touch you.

Reasonably apprehensive, you gave him a look. “What’s yours?” Your question was easy enough. After all, this was a man who’d put his hands on you unprompted, you felt like you deserved at least a bit of an explanation.

He smiled at you, like you’d told him something amusing. It wasn’t demeaning either; it was a soft, genuine smile. “Dr. Spencer Reid,” he introduced himself, “You can just call me Spencer, if that’s easier for you.”

You nodded, telling him your name. “If you don’t mind me asking, Spencer, what the fuck just happened?”

Spencer’s smile broadened for just a moment before he remembered the gravity of the situation, explaining to you that tonight, you’d been approached by a man named Francis. Without going into too much detail, he told you his team had been searching for him for weeks, and they found him just in time tonight. “I’m sorry for grabbing you,” he apologized, and the sincerity of it made your chest ache.

Sniffling slightly, you tried to smile at him when the brunette woman came back, handing him a water bottle before turning away. “Thank you,” you said to Spencer, watching as he undid the seal of the water bottle and handed it to you.

He stared at you, brown eyes observing you just as you were observing him, “Are you cold?” His question was simple enough, not even waiting for an answer before shrugging his blue windbreaker off and draping it over your shoulders.

A question rested on the tip of your tongue, wondering what would’ve happened to you tonight had he not shown up, you almost asked, but another person jogged over to you, presumably another member of your team. “Pretty boy,” the man said, clearly greeting Spencer. “Grabbed this for your girl,” he said, handing over your purse while giving Spencer grief for referring to you as his girlfriend in the bar.

Spencer grabbed the purse while his teammate extended a hand to you, “Derek Morgan,” he introduced himself, nodding approvingly when you greeted him in kind. “How are you holding up?”

“Uh,” you hummed, looking back at Spencer, “This is probably the weirdest night of my life.”

Derek nodded, “Well, you’re in good hands here.” He looked back at the ambulance, “They’re gonna want to check you over before turning you loose, but they’ll let you know when they’re ready for you.”

Absentmindedly, you watched as an older man unceremoniously pushed Francis into the back of a cop car. Before he could slam the door, though, your assailant shouted a string of sexist epithets toward you, getting the last words in before being cut off by the door.

“Hey,” Spencer said, getting your attention while Derek walked away from you. “Don’t mind him,” he encouraged you, though it was hard not to internalize it. Part of you wondered if there was a part of you that screamed victim to him.

You smiled timidly, staying quiet while you continued to watch him. Derek was right about one thing: Spencer was pretty. Pretty in a way that only a man could be, it took you aback for a moment; it wasn’t an adjective you frequently attributed to guys. You accepted your purse from it when he handed it over, and he looked away respectfully while you dug through it, finding all of your things right where you’d left them.

When the paramedics waved you over, you pulled Spencer’s coat off your shoulders, your bare skin rippling with goosebumps as you held it out for him. He took it, giving you a thin-lipped smile before you turned away, passing Derek on your way to the ambulance.

Behind you, Derek walked back to Spencer, shrugging before asking: “Did you get her number?”

“What?” He asked incredulously. “That would’ve been professionally inappropriate. Not to mention morally,” he told Morgan as if the idea was entirely beyond him. He shook his head while pulling his jacket back on.

Derek shook his head, “Shame, seeing as how quickly you felt like you needed to protect her.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, shoving his hands inside his jacket pockets. His ears burned as he discovered a piece of paper in one of the pockets. Slowly, he pulled it out, looking at it with a piqued curiosity.

“What’s that?” Morgan asked, nodding at the paper pinched between his fingers. Silently, Spencer turned the paper around, showing Derek your business card, complete with your full name, two phone numbers, and an email. He practically jumped with joy, clapping his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “My man!”

*JJ’s POV*

I hadn’t even started dinner yet, but the questions already had. Henry stood in the doorway of Y/N’s room earlier, hugging his favorite throw blanket to his chest like a shield. 

“Why is she crying?” He whispered to Will. “Is she sick?” 

Michael had asked if she was mad at them, if he did something wrong. Said she hadn’t even waved back when he passed her room earlier. 

They were confused, curious, and the longer we stayed silent, the more their little minds filled in the blanks with things worse than the truth… or, maybe, not worse. Because the truth was bad enough. Will and I shared a look across the kitchen island, and I gave a small nod. Now. Not later. 

We brought them into the living room, sat on the couch, and kept the lights low. Henry sat between us, squirming slightly. Michael leaned against my side, quiet and unusually still. I could hear Y/N’s music upstairs, a poor attempt to cover her quiet sobs. 

“Mommy?” Michael asked. “Did something happen?” 

I swallowed hard. “Yeah, sweetheart. Something did.” 

Will reached for Henry’s hand gently. “You know how Y/N’s been really tired lately?” 

They both nodded. Henry looked at me with wide eyes. “You said she was just run-down.” 

“I know.” I said, brushing a hand through his hair. “We thought that at first, but we took her to the doctor, and they ran some tests.” 

Michael’s voice was barely a whisper. “Is she going to die?” 

The question stabbed through my chest like a blade. My first instinct was to say no loudly, immediately, but I forced myself to breathe. 

“No, baby.” I said gently. “She’s not going to die. But she is sick. She has something called lymphoma. It’s a kind of cancer.” 

Henry blinked. “Like… the kind on TV?” 

“Yes,” Will said softly. “But not all cancers are the same. The doctors think they caught it early, which is good.” 

“But she’s gonna be okay, right?” Michael’s eyes filled with tears. 

“She’s going to get treatment.” I said carefully. “Medicine that’ll help her body fight the cancer. It’s not going to be easy. She might lose her hair. She might be tired a lot. But she’s strong, and we’re all going to be there for her.” 

“Does she know yet?” Henry asked. 

“She found out today.” Will told him. “That’s why she’s been crying. It’s a big thing to hear. Even for grownups.” 

Michael crawled into my lap and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I don’t want her to be sick.” 

“I know, baby.” I whispered, holding him close. “I don’t either. 

Henry looked up at Will. “Can we still hug her?” 

“Of course,” Will said, trying to smile. “When she feels up to it, she’s going to need all the love you can give her.” 

“I’ll draw her something.” Henry said. “Like a superhero! Once with cool powers that protect her.” 

I smiled through my tears and nodded. “I think she’d love that.” 

Michael tugged at my sleeve. “Can we pray for her tonight?” 

My throat tightened again. “Yeah, sweetheart. We can.” 

As we sat there, two parents trying to keep it together, two little boys trying to understand the magnitude of something much too big, I thought about how much we were all going to have to learn. How to be gentle with grief. How to be brave in the face of fear. How to move forward when everything inside wants to stop. But for now, we held each other… because that was all we could do. 

Hours later and the house was finally quiet. Y/N had cried herself to sleep again hours ago. I stayed up with her until her breathing evened out and her fingers relaxed from the tight grip they kept on mine. The boys were curled up together in Henry’s room; he insisted Michael sleep over with him ‘just in case he had bad dreams.’ Will was downstairs folding laundry like he needed to keep busy just to stay upright. And I was in our bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone that was filled with texts from the team I hadn’t answered yet. It buzzed in my palm. 

Penelope Garcia. 

I answered instantly. “Hey.” 

“JJ,” Garcia’s voice cracked. “Hotch and Reid told us. Please tell me my little sparkle is okay.” 

I closed my eyes, tears threatening all over again. “She’s… She’s hanging in there.” 

“I’ve been freaking out since Reid said ‘it’s serious’ and Hotch just got all command-voice on me and said you went home early.” She paused, and I could practically feel her anxiety vibrating through the line. “And then Hotch told us…” 

I swallowed hard. “Yeah…” 

“Oh, JJ…” Her voice cracked again. “Lymphoma? I-I looked it up right away, and I know there are types and stages and treatments, and I shouldn’t have gone down the research rabbit hole, but I did- and I just needed to know. I needed to know what your baby girl is facing. What you are.” 

I could barely keep my voice steady. “Stage II. B-cell. The doctors say it’s treatable, that we caught it at the right time, but it still feels like the world cracked open under our feet.” 

Garcia sniffled softly. “She’s only sixteen.” 

“I know…” My voice broke. “She’s so scared, Pen. She keeps trying to be brave, but I can see it all over her. She asked me if she was going to die… What do you say to your child when they ask you that?” 

“You say no.” She whispered fiercely. “You say absolutely not. You say ‘not on my watch.’” 

I nodded even though she couldn’t see it, tears slipping down my cheeks silently. 

“Will’s doing everything he can to stay strong, but I know he’s barely holding it together. The boys are confused… and Y/N’s barely come out of her room. I don’t even think she’s eaten today.” 

“I’ll come tomorrow.” She said. “Not first thing, let her rest, but I’ll bring her all her favorite things. That purple fuzzy blanket she loves, and those weird sour candies from the shop by my apartment. And those soft notebooks she likes sketching in. And you- You’re not even allowed to argue, you’re getting a self-care box, too.” 

I let out a broken laugh. “You’re too good to us.” 

“You’re family, JJ. All of you. That girl, she’s my sparkle princess, and I’ll be damned if she goes through this without glitter and love and every ounce of strength we can throw her way.” 

I wiped my face, feeling a little more grounded just hearing her voice. “Thank you.” 

“You tell her I love her, okay? That we all do. And if she wants me to show up in a tutu with a therapy pug, I will.” 

“She might take you up on that…” I whispered. “I’ll tell her.” 

“You need anything, you call me. Day or night. Even if it’s just to cry or scream or sit in silence. I’m here.” 

“I know.” My voice broke again, but this time it didn’t crush me. “Thank you, Penelope.” 

“Love you, JJ.” 

“Love you too.” 

I ended the call and sat in the dark a while longer, letting the comfort of her words linger like a soft blanket around my shoulders. We weren’t alone, and somehow, that made the storm feel a little less impossible.

*Penelope’s POV*

The moment I hung up with JJ, I stood up, marched straight into my kitchen, and started pacing. My heart was still racing. I could feel the helplessness creeping in like a slow fog, and I wasn’t about to let it settle. Not when one of my favorite people on this planet, and her baby girl, were in pain. I grabbed my phone and started a group call. One ring. Two. Three- 

“Garcia?” Emily’s voice popped up first. 

“Pen?” Came Derek. 

Rossi joined with a soft, “I’m here.” 

Then Reid. “Is everything okay?” 

Hotch. “What’s going on?” 

I didn’t wait for pleasantries. “Emergency sparkle squad meeting! We are all going to JJ’s house tomorrow. No ifs, ands, or buts! Her daughter needs up. They need us.” 

“Already planned on it.” Rossi said, his tone quiet but sure. “I’m making them trays of lasagna and chicken parm tonight. I’ll do more tomorrow. Comfort food helps.” 

“I already told JJ I’d bring Y/N her favorite Chinese and a stack of books.” Reid added quickly. “Oncology studies show psychological well-being is crucial to treatment success.” 

“I was thinking I’d grab her some movies.” Emily chimed in. “Old-school stuff. The kind you watch in pajamas with too many blankets and a ridiculous amount of popcorn.” 

“I’m bringing extra blankets.” Derek said. “And one of those heating pad things. You know the one, baby girl, the pink one from that weird shop in Brooklyn.” 

“I knew you still had it!” I exclaimed. “Okay, good, I’m putting that in her comfort pile. I’m working on care packages now. Y/N gets her own, obviously, and JJ and Will get a combo one because they're that annoyingly adorable couple who probably still drink coffee from the same mug.” 

“They do.” Emily muttered. 

“They do.” Derek confirmed with a chuckle. 

“I’ll stop by after my morning briefing.” Hotch said. “I won’t stay long, just want to check in. Give them my support. And anything else JJ needs, time off, extended leave, it’s already cleared. Also, Jack made her a card.” 

“Sir,” I said, touched. “You’re the best of us.” 

“I’m doing what anyone would.” He said simply. 

I wiped my eyes and stared at the glitter pens scattered across my kitchen counter. My hands were already assembling a ‘Cozy Positivity’ box, lavender lotion, sleep masks, fuzzy socks, a framed picture of the team, that bottle of sparkling grape juice Y/N liked, and her favorite lip balm. 

“She asked JJ if she was going to die…” I said quickly. 

No one spoke for a long moment. The silence hit like a gut punch. 

“She’s not.” Rossi finally said, firmly. “She’s not.” 

“We’ve got her.” Emily added. 

“She’s strong.” Derek said. “She gets that from JJ.” 

And us.” I whispered. “She has all of us.” 

“Tomorrow.” Hotch said. “We show up.” 

“Yes, sir.” I replied, my chest tight but warm. “Sparkle squad, out.”  I ended the call and took a deep breath. Then I got back to work, pouring all my love, worry, and hope into ribbons and wrapping paper and everything I could think of to make this heavy, terrible thing feel even a little lighter. Because that girl, our girl, deserved to feel surrounded by love. And she would.

You took a step back, glaring at the door as it mocked you. Taking off your backpack, you practically threw it on the floor and started rifling through the pockets, gasping when you produced a paper clip. You bent it into a hook before working it into the lock on his front door, hoping he hadn’t done up the chain, so you could just get in. It took a while—you were out of practice—before you got the lock to click, turning the knob and banging your head on the door when the chain stopped it from opening.

In your periphery, you saw him, sitting on the floor by the door. Either he moved there when he heard you knocking, or he had sat down when he got home from grief therapy, meaning he hadn’t moved for five hours. “Hey,” you whispered, the change in volume feeling foreign for just a moment. “Can you get the chain? Because I promise you don’t want to watch me try to squeeze through the crack.”

Frankly, he looked pathetic. His clothes were rumpled, like he’d slept in them, and his sleeves were pushed up over his elbows, which wasn’t a good sign.

“Spence, I really need you to let me in,” you murmured, wiggling the door so the links clanged together. You wondered, if need be, if you could break the chain. You heard your heart beating in your ears, tapping the heel of your sneaker against the floor.

Eventually, he stood up, just enough to undo the hook, and you smiled at him. Trying to assess the damages, looking around his apartment for things that couldn’t be undone.

You took a deep breath, flexing your hands and shutting the door behind you. “Where is it, Spencer?” You watched him, inspected him really, the slept-in look of his clothes, the way he’d pulled at his tie, like he felt like he was choking.

He didn’t even need to respond; you recognized it in his eyes. The way he looked around his apartment, looking everywhere but in your eyes. He fidgeted anxiously, “Where’s what?”

It hurt that he wouldn’t be honest with you, but you knew why. This wasn’t new to you; the person was different, but the addiction was the same. “The drugs you were going to take,” you answered carefully.

You’d spoken softly, but he still flinched as surely as if you’d smacked him. “I didn’t…” his voice trailed off. You’d seen it often enough when you were in school, trying to understand the minds of others. There were classes you took, lectures you’d attended that told you all about substance abuse. Running from the station to Spencer’s apartment, you wanted so badly to be wrong, but seeing him now, there was nothing he could hide from you.

Before he could react, you grabbed both of his hands, scanning his arms for track marks. For better or for worse, there were no fresh wounds on his skin, but in the light, you could make out some silvery scars. Some were deeper, harsher scars from frequent use, but some were small, barely there scars that someone with an untrained eye would write off as normal.

You sighed, looking back up at Spencer when you released his arms; they swung down to his sides. “Who told you?”

Shaking your head, you gently herded him over to the couch, sitting him down on the supple leather while you crouched in front of him. He looked like a dejected puppy, pouting while you observed, “No one. I figured it out.” You looked around the apartment again, “Where are the drugs, Spence?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, his head falling back on the couch, and you considered checking the rest of his body, because you didn’t recognize the person in front of you right now.

Groaning, you patted him down, swatting at his hand when he tried to push you away. “Yes, it matters very much,” you patted at his pockets, falling back when he pushed too hard. “Jesus,” you yelped, grabbing the back of your head where you’d hit it on his coffee table. You glared at him, your patience wearing thin, but your look softened when you saw the regret in his expression.

He slid off the couch, reaching out for you, “Are you alright? I didn’t mean to-“ Spencer’s fingertips grazed your elbows, and you pretended not to see the hurt in his eyes when you pulled away from him. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice a rasp—both of you on the verge of tears.

Your shoulders slumped forward. “I’m not leaving until you tell me where they are,” you told him, your fear of him hurting himself combined with your anger forming a pit in your gut. “You’ll have to fucking knock me out in order to get me to leave you be,” you said, chest heaving.

As it turned out, he didn’t need to tell you where they were. Not with words, at least, because while you threatened him, his eyes gave him away. He stared at his jacket, hanging on the knob of his coat closet. He might’ve been taller, but you were quicker, jumping to your feet and digging the vials and syringe from the pocket. You gaped at them for a moment before putting them behind your back. You pushed yourself against the wall so he couldn’t get to them, but he was practically on top of you, trying to get the medicine. “I didn’t ask you to come here,” he snapped, taking up a tone of voice you’d never heard from him before.

You cocked your head, “Didn’t you?” Maybe not in so many words, but he’d called you, practically begging for a chance to see Emily again, while your boyfriend called for you from the other room. You’d never seen Spencer like this, so angry, so desperate. He was mad at your behavior, but you were mad at his. “If you wanted to be fucking babied, you should’ve called my sister,” you returned fire.

He stumbled backwards, but he remained silent. She would’ve come—if she’d answered the phone—and she’d spend hours consoling him before leaving, being none the wiser that he had everything in his apartment to send him to oblivion. “Shut up,” he said finally, his breathing quickening as if the walls were closing in on him.

Blinking rapidly, you looked at him, keeping the drugs out of reach, but you weren’t sure he even wanted a fix anymore. “You like the dreams, don’t you?” You prodded, though you knew you were pushing your way into places you didn’t need to be. “Opioids like this usually give people dreams in high enough doses. Do you cut it with something? You can’t rationalize what’s happening, so you need to-“

“I hate you!” He yelled. Raising his voice to a volume you’d never heard from him, so much anger seeped from him that you thought you could see it.

“Fine!” You screamed back, taking a small pleasure in the way he backed off from you. “That’s fucking fine! I’d rather have you hate me than have to go to your fucking funeral!” Your skin burned with rage, “I’ve been to enough! I’m so fucking tired of people dying, and I don’t want to go to another fucking funeral! Least of all yours.” You couldn’t stop yourself now; red-hot tears streamed down your face while you tore yourself open in front of him. “You had two vials and only one fucking needle! Do you know how stupid that is? I know you know how stupid that is. You can’t die, Spencer,” you yelled again, your voice rasping. “Please, you can’t die too.”

Through the water in your eyes, you saw him nodding. “Okay,” he whispered like he had nothing left to give. “I didn’t think… I didn’t know…” he tried to explain himself, but he was uncharacteristically at a loss for words. So, instead of speaking, he surprised you, waiting until you’d secured the drugs away from him to pull your body flush to his.

You froze for a moment, breathing deep before realizing that the trembling was coming from him, and you reciprocated his embrace, holding him tightly to you while the rest of your tears fell from your eyes. “Please don’t die,” you whispered, knowing you’d greeted grief like an old friend, pulling it over your shoulders like a cloak—the way you had since your sister died. Losing Spencer would be a different kind of loss, just the thought of it made you nauseous.

“I won’t,” he answered. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice muffled as he buried his face in your neck. “I wasn’t thinking about you,” he said it like it meant something to him. As if you were the only person who could’ve set him straight, you were the only person who could right the sinking ship.

With the way he was shaking against you, you could tell he was still craving. It pained you to pull away from him, he was leaning on you heavily, like the promise of a high had given him energy. Now that you’d taken that away from him, he was experiencing a different kind of crash. “Hey,” you cooed, “Let’s go to bed, huh?”

He groaned, “The sun’s still out.” As much as he tried to protest, he allowed you to steer him to bed, pushing open the door to reveal his disaster of a bedroom. It was in a state you were sure his apartment had never been in. You’d clean it up once you got him to sleep, hoping a clean space would help his foggy head.

“We’ll get you comfy clothes,” you encouraged him, rifling through his drawers and tossing a clean t-shirt on the bed. You didn’t even hesitate before starting to take his clothes off. Tossing his tie into a pile of clothes that you’d sort out for him before working at the buttons of his shirt, you only stopped when he reached a hand up, finally staring you in the eyes, and took your hand. It was like he was trying to tell you something, but by then, your head was such a mess that you couldn’t decode it.

He could change on his own, that much you understood. The issue wasn’t whether or not he could clothe himself; it was whether or not you trusted him to be alone, but you’d never be able to build trust with him if you never gave him the chance.

You nodded, holding yourself back from pressing a kiss to his hairline before telling him, “I’ll be right back.”

Leaving the door open just a crack, you wandered into the kitchen, flicking on the electric kettle before searching his cabinets for two clean mugs. You looked over your shoulder at the door, silent on the other side, and you wondered just how much leeway you could give him, deciding you’d give him a few minutes before barging in on him. You weren’t sure you seeing him naked was something your friendship could ever recover from.

Quickly, you checked your phone while you waited for the water to boil, looking at texts from your boyfriend and taking a deep breath. They were innocent enough, asking you how your sister was doing. After all, that’s where you told him you were going. You turned your phone over, screen down on the countertop while you poured the water over the tea bags—lavender, Spencer’s favorite.

Your head snapped up at the slightest movement behind you, looking around to see that Spencer had opened the door back up. He now donned the t-shirt you’d picked for him and a pair of pajama pants. You smiled as he walked back to his bed, practically falling into it.

Picking up the two mugs, you carried them over to Spencer’s room, placing them on his bedside table while you climbed into his bed. “Here,” you murmured, sitting up at the head of the bed, having him rest his head in your lap. “You can sleep, Spence,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair while his eyes fluttered with exhaustion.

“How long can you stay?” He asked, his voice timid when he spoke. It felt like he was a kid, asking if his friend could come over to play.

Humming, you pushed any thoughts of your boyfriend from your mind, fully focused on the boy in front of you. The one who so desperately needed you. “As long as you need me,” you assured him, already planning on staying the night. You’d stay for a week if you really thought it would help.

He looked troubled, his hand resting under his head, resting on your thigh. “Where does Garrett think you are?” He asked, biting out your boyfriend’s name like he hated him—someone he’d never actually met.

Your ministrations in his hair faltered, “Here. With you,” you lied through your teeth. You’d done it enough recently that it started to feel natural. Promising your boyfriend that there was nothing going on with Spencer. You wondered how much further you could go with it before there was nowhere else to turn.

“You’re a bad liar,” he mumbled, half asleep, and he squeezed your thigh.

You didn’t respond; you couldn’t tell him anything that would explain what was happening. Instead, you just waited, continuing to play with his hair, digging yourself into a deeper and deeper hole while his breathing evened out. His nostrils whistled, and you were alone again, maybe not physically, but with him asleep, all you had were your thoughts for company.

Frantically, Spencer unraveled the comforter that your toddler had cocooned herself in, dropping it unceremoniously on the bed before inspecting her. Once she was able, she reached her little arms out for you, hoping to cling to her mom. “Careful,” Spencer warned as he handed her over, making sure her legs stopped kicking to protect the baby growing in your belly.

His mouth snapped shut when you glared at him to let him know you detested the implication that you couldn’t take care of your daughter because you were pregnant. It wasn’t anything new, really. Spencer had always been protective of you; it’d just multiplied exponentially once you had kids. You swayed gently, singing to her softly while she muffled her cries in the fabric of your shirt.

Her sobs eventually ebbed, but she didn’t answer when you and Spencer asked her if she was feeling alright. Sometimes she’d cry when she was sick, but that still didn’t explain that the cries you’d heard were filled with fear. A twinge in your back caused you to pass her back to her father, her tiny arms wrapped around his neck, and he held her tightly. Spencer pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, “Oh, my Mila girl. What’s wrong, lovey?”

She sniffled miserably, her reddened eyes looking around her room for a while before you patted her back. “Maybe it’s the room,” you whispered, nodding toward the door and leading Spencer out into the hall.

“Here we go,” Spencer murmured, setting her down on your bed where she immediately bounced to her feet.

You pouted at her, sitting down on the mattress while trying to discern what had woken her up at three in the morning. “What’s wrong, baby?” She hadn’t felt warm while you held her, but maybe her tummy was upset. The problem was that Mila was too little to rationalize her feelings, but too big to have everything fixed with cuddles. She needed an explanation that would make sense to her two-year-old brain.

“Mama?” She asked, her voice was unsure, which broke your heart. She’d stopped calling you ‘mama’ a few months ago, switching to the more mature ‘mommy.’ Far be it from you to complain about hearing her tiny voice call you mama again.

Nodding, you tipped your head to the side, “Mama’s here, honey.” You didn’t reach out to her, instead waiting for her to come to you for comfort.

Spencer watched patiently, struggling with the fact that you couldn’t seem to help her. Mila stuck out her bottom lip and sad tears lined her eyes again, “Mama,” she said again, this time toddling over to you, nearly collapsing in relief when she finally got to you.

You looked at your husband with wide eyes, “Were you scared? Did you see something bad while you were sleeping?”

Slowly, Mila nodded against your chest, “I missed mama.” Her voice was tired and frightened, but she was confident in what she was saying. “A bad guy got her,” she explained further, fumbling over her words a little—saying godder instead of got her.

“Oh, honey,” you cooed, pressing a small kiss to her forehead, “Mama’s right here. I’m okay. I’m not going anywhere.” You hugged her tightly, tears pricking your own eyes while you looked up at the ceiling light.

Telling you he’d be right back; Spencer slid off of the bed and retreated back into the hallway. “Henry telled mama got hurt,” Mila told you.

You frowned, recognizing that letting your daughter go to your sister’s house for a while had meant she was spending time with her cousins. Henry was about twelve years older than Mila, and he could understand bad things better than she could. Even so, he shouldn’t have been telling her that. “Mama’s not hurt. I promise,” you consoled her, wiping away tiny tears as they trailed down her cherub cheeks.

“Henry telled the lizard monster got mama,” she explained, and very quickly, everything started to make sense.

JJ and Will usually referred to UnSubs and criminals as monsters in their house. It’d been an issue for them years ago, when Henry protested trick or treating because of the monsters, but they’d continued using the phrase. Until now, you’d never really needed to address it with your own kid. Both you and Spencer had left the BAU, and any discussion of the past that needed to happen was done behind closed doors. You nodded to your daughter, deciding to morph the topic to your advantage, “Did you know mommy and daddy are monster fighters?”

Her little eyes went wide in amazement, “Wow.” She bounced up to her feet, a shy smile starting to form on her face when Spencer came back into the room. “Daddy!” She said excitedly, “You’re a monster fighter!”

Confusion flashed on his face before he saw you nodding rapidly behind her, trying to tell him to go along with it. “Yeah, princess,” he assured her, looking relieved when she dropped down to her butt, smiling at both of you.

“So, even when the monsters come, you always have mommy and daddy to keep you safe,” you told her, letting her know it was okay if she needed to come to you after another bad dream.

She nodded in understanding, “And baby brother.” She said, tugging at your heartstrings when she came back to you, curling up next to you.

Spencer hummed, rubbing her back gently as he handed her the stuffed animal he’d retrieved from her room. “That’s right, lovey. We’ll protect you both.”

Clearly satisfied with your answers, she closed her eyes, holding the plushie tightly as she drifted back to sleep. You smiled in relief when Spencer handed you a glass of water. “What was it?”

Your smile shifted at the memory of years past, “I think Henry was telling stories while she was over there today. Stories about Everett Lynch,” you elaborated. It was the only thing that made sense to you; the lizard monster that had frightened your daughter to tears had to have been the Chameleon.

Setting your cup down on your nightstand, you turned back to your husband, “What are the tears for, baby?”

Sniffling, you shrugged helplessly. You couldn’t quite wrap your head around it. Your daughter’s nightmares were now filled with the same monster who still haunted yours. While hers was green and scaly and yours was a very real person, it was terrifying, nonetheless. “She’s just so little,” you said, tears welling in your eyes. “She shouldn’t be so scared of this,” you told him. “Her dreams should be filled with good things. Cotton candy. Bunny rabbits.”

Spencer chuckled at your examples before reaching out for you, “Come here, sweet girl.” He helped you get around your daughter, not wanting to disturb her now peaceful sleep. “She’s right, you know?” He whispered to you, wrapping his arms around you, resting one hand protectively on your bump while the two of you watched over Mila. “We’ll keep them safe.”

“And I think we need to get our thoughts out now before it turns into a bigger issue. Internalizing emotions like you’re suggesting isn’t healthy,” Spencer challenged, following you as you walked to the front door, setting your bag on the console before searching around for the right pair of shoes. “And now you’re just walking out,” he griped, gesturing over to the shoe rack.

Your head snapped up at that remark, “Hey, I am not just ‘walking out.’” Your gaze narrowed at him as you nearly stumbled over your own feet.

The knot between his brows loosened at your expression, and for a moment, you weren’t in the midst of a disagreement. For a moment, the two of you were two kids who had been walked out on. “No,” Spencer said, his voice softer than it had just been, “You’re right. That was a poor choice of words and I’m sorry.”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you paused your efforts to leave the apartment and took a deep breath. “I made a split-second decision, and it ended up saving a little girl’s life. I don’t regret it, but I do regret the way it scared you.”

Spencer kept a firm distance from you, even if you reached out an arm, you wouldn’t be able to touch him. “You should have listened to Hotch; there’s no reason that you should’ve done… that.”

“You weren’t there, Spencer! If you had seen the way he was holding that gun to her temple… if you had heard the way she was crying out for her mom, then maybe you’d understand why I took her place,” you told him, shifting uncomfortably on your feet.

Spencer groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, “There had to have been another option, Y/N.”

Maybe there was, but part of your FBI training had been on making snap decisions, and this was just another example. “So, you think I should’ve let him keep that gun to the little girl’s head?”

“No,” Spencer answered, dragging out his vowel. “I just would have rather not seen a gun to my girlfriend’s head instead.”

You halted, eyes widening in alarm as you shifted to a newfound frustration, “Right,” you sniped, “That’s rich, coming from you.”

His eyes flashed with recognition, and you knew that he was well aware of what you were referring to. Last month when he had his face off with Cat Adams, leading to her pointing a gun at his head while he proceeded to egg her on. You’d given him a mouthful the next day, and you weren’t afraid to do it again, “That was a completely different set of circumstances.”

Cocking your head to the side, your nostrils flared, “Was it?” You ask sardonically, “A serial killer pointing a loaded gun to your head sounds pretty fucking similar to me!”

“At least I stayed to talk to you about it instead of running away,” he snapped, both of you escalating in the ways you knew how. You raised your voice while he resorted to the cutting edge in his voice.

You held your hands out to your sides helplessly, “Do I need to put in for a transfer or something? Is this that big of an issue to you?” You could barely stomach the idea of leaving the BAU, but at this point, losing Spencer would be worse than joining a new department.

“No,” he answered instantly, “The problem here is that you don’t think before you act.”

You held up your hand, “I think before everything I do, and I’m sorry that my synapses don’t fire a million times a minute, and I can’t calculate the probability of every outcome beforehand, but I did the best I fucking could with the time I was given.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows curiously, “The best you could? A Glock to your temple was the best you could do?”

“Fuck you! Why don’t you have any trust in my abilities in the field? Why do you all of a sudden do you think I can’t do my job?” You demanded, chest rising and falling with anger as you glared across the room at him.

Spencer flinched at the accusation, the idea that he was just as bad as all of the people who assumed you only got your job because of your sister—the kind of people Spencer used to defend you from. “I didn’t… you’re perfectly capable—”

“But not good enough for the BAU? Not good enough to be a profiler, surely,” You interrupted him. “You know what I think, Spencer? I think you’re scared. I think seeing a gun to my head frightened you, and you’re taking it out on me because I’m the only vessel that you can snipe at and know they won’t leave you entirely.”

His posture changed then, leaning against the back of the couch as he absorbed your words, “You’re an incredible profiler, honey. The team is lucky to have you, you know that.”

Your shoulders slumped forward in response, “Then why the hostility? Why did you snap at me in front of everyone as soon as you found out the gun wasn’t loaded?” You took your bottom lip between your teeth as you studied his facial expressions for an answer. When you offered to take the little girl’s place, you were under the impression that the gun was loaded, and when the rest of the team caught up with you, they were under the same guise.

It wasn’t revealed that the chamber was empty until JJ made the shot that took out the UnSub, and Spencer had been all over you with worry one moment and wanted nothing to do with you the next.

“Did you feel like your worry wasn’t warranted?” You asked when he remained silent, “Like it was a waste of emotion when I wasn’t in any real danger?”

Spencer shook his head, crossing his arms in front of his chest self-consciously as you forced him to look at his behavior objectively, “You were always in danger, Y/N. The way he was watching you, the grip that he had on you…”

The UnSub gripped your hip so fiercely that he had almost taken you down with him when he was shot, and you wouldn’t be surprised to find bruises marring your skin when you changed out of your work clothes. “I saved that little girl, Spence. That’s the deal, right? ‘I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter.’” You quoted your oath to him, the same one he had taken, “At that moment, it was my duty to save that little girl. She went home to her parents today because of me.”

“You’re right,” he said, any evidence of malice washed from his tone. “You were incredible. You were fearless, and it scared the shit out of me,” he told you. “I—” he faltered, “I’m sorry,” he said, approaching you the way you would a wounded animal.

You shook your head when he held out his hands for you, leaving your arms stiffly at your sides and shaking your head, “No, Spence.”

Despite your protests, he pulled you into an embrace anyway; your body was resistant to him, the way his warm arms wrapped around you and pulled you flush against his body. “Please don’t go,” he whispered. “Be mad at me, make me sleep on the couch, but please don’t leave,” he murmured.

Your cheek was pressed against his chest, the wool lapel of his suit jacket scratching against your skin as tears flooded your field of vision. As much as you wanted to resist, this was Spencer. Instinctively, you nuzzled your face into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist and taking a shuddering breath.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want to lose you,” he told you.

Fear of loss. Spencer had been terrified to see a gun to your head, but the thought of having to watch you leave the apartment you shared in order to get away from him was petrifying. “I have to call my sister,” you told him, your voice muffled by his jacket.

One hand was on your waist, the other on the back of your head, fingers threaded into your hair, “Why?”

“To let her know I’m not coming,” you muttered. “She’ll worry, and it seems I’ve caused enough of that today,” you told him, appreciating the heat that emanated from Spencer as he looped his arms around you, holding you tightly as if that’s all he’d ever needed.

You knew she hated leaving things unfinished. The both of you could feel the rift between you growing as if the earth was physically shifting beneath your feet. “It would just be for a second,” she urged.

Swallowing thickly, you shook your head, “It’s fifteen years of dirty laundry, Jayg. It’s going to take more than a second to air it out.” You frowned into your newly emptied glass before hauling yourself over to the bar, grateful that she didn’t follow, “Can you make me one of the pink glittery drinks?”

Penelope, the honorary bartender for the evening, nodded reassuringly, taking an already-made beverage from the counter and sliding it over to you, “You look like you could use it,” she observed.

You sighed in concurrence, “You have no idea,” you mumbled as you brought the glass to your lips. The drink itself was a bit of an abomination, so strong that it burnt your nostrils as it went down, “God, that’s strong.”

The technical analyst just laughed, making her way back to the dance floor to meet up with Luke and Matt. Your gaze flickered over other members of the team until you were met with familiar brown eyes.

There had been a ball of dread forming in your stomach ever since you returned from Los Angeles. From where you were standing now, the cut on your boyfriend’s hand that you had preoccupied yourself with seemed inconsequential. You watched him now, in real-time as he glanced between you and your sister, picking up on the tension as you avoided her.

Someone was bound to snap.

Walking away from the bar, you went out into the hallway, finding the nearest door and practically throwing yourself outside. Pulling your hair off the back of your neck with your free hand, you sat down on a moss-covered bench in the courtyard and waited for the cold night air to cool you off.

As expected, you heard the door behind you click. You couldn’t be bothered to look at who it was, if it was important to them, they’d come to you. Sure enough, you remained focused on your drink as Spencer took a seat on the bench next to you, “Aren’t you cold?”

“Alcohol,” you mumbled, “Keeps me warm.”

Not exactly the answer he was going for, but he took it at face value. He was probably more comfortable in his suit than you were in your dress. “Are you feeling alright?”

You thought about lying to him. Telling him that you were just tired, it had been a long week of watching your sister and boyfriend being held hostage in a pawn shop and hunting Everett Lynch on top of your normal caseload, but the thought of holding up that lie just made you feel worse. Taking a large sip of your drink, you took a deep breath before speaking, “Garcia recovered the audio from the CCTV footage inside of the pawn shop. Emily asked me to review the tapes and let her know if I thought there was anything pertinent that should be added to the case files.”

He didn’t respond for a while, knowing exactly what you were getting at but not sure how to further the conversation, “And did you?”

You lifted your glass again, “There wasn’t anything in the tapes that was necessary for the case. I buried the audio files and transcripts and sealed the file.”

“Thank you,” he said, relief evident in his tone.

You, however, frowned at his response, “’Thank you’?” You repeated, an accusation in your voice, “I was scared shitless while the two of you were in there, and all the while my sister was confessing her love for you.”

Spencer was quiet again, rendered speechless by your words. Your description was accurate, if not blunt.

You sniffled, setting your glass down and wrapping your arms around yourself, “I have never felt more humiliated, and no one else can ever know why.” You traced the cobblestones on the ground with your eyes as thoughts continued racing through your head. “God, is this why she pushed us together?”

The door behind you clicked again and you stiffened, closing your eyes when you heard JJ coming out into the courtyard, “Ducky, we need to talk.”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you snapped at her, standing up and glaring at her. Your childhood nickname rang through your ears. A term of endearment given to you by your oldest sister now grated on your heart, shredding through each chamber. “I do not need to do anything,” you told her, narrowing your gaze.

Tears pricked your eyes, Please, JJ, just give me time to think. I just need a minute. Not everything has to be solved right away.

You were too proud to say the words aloud, but you thought it. You wanted to beg her for time. You wanted to plead with your sister for just a little bit of time to think things through.

She held her hands up in surrender, “I needed to tell Pinkner something that would satisfy him. You know the profile; you know what would’ve happened if I didn’t.”

Yes, and the image of both of them being held at gunpoint would haunt you for years to come, but that still didn’t justify any of it, not to you. Finishing off your drink, you set the crystal glass on the cobblestone bench and faced your sister, “Jennifer,” you said sharply, “Truth or dare?”

Her blue eyes widened as she looked between you and Spencer, who was wisely keeping his mouth shut, “Truth,” she answered, her voice so quiet you could barely hear it.

“Did you mean it?” You asked, the first of your tears finally flooding over your lash line.

You gripped the fabric of your dress in your hands as you waited for her answer, “Yes,” she told you.

Covering your face with your hands, you sighed deeply into them, “Fuck,” you cried. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you echoed. None of this made sense to you, JJ was married. JJ and Will were the kind of couple that you could look at and you would know that they belonged together, but now she was saying she had been in love with Spencer this whole time.

White hot tears stung the cold skin on your cheeks as you looked back up at your sister, waiting for her to say something else. “We went on an almost date years ago and nothing else ever came of it. Life just went on moving and we…” Her voice trailed off, either unable to finish her thought or unwilling to share.

“You’re married, JJ,” you said desperately, looking at her and wondering if she had told Will where she was going. “Does Will know? Did you tell him you’ve been stringing him along? Thirteen years in and two kids later?”

She faltered for a moment, and you knew you had hit your mark – it made you sick to your stomach. “No, I love him. I love my boys, you know that.”

You nodded numbly, “Yeah, I do, but I can’t keep going if you’re always going to be longing for what might’ve been.”

“You’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re talking about,” she accused, tapping her right foot anxiously.

JJ might’ve grown up in Roslyn’s shadow, but you grew up in hers. Captain of the varsity soccer team, full-ride athletic scholarship at Pitt, and grad school at Georgetown. All leading up to her joining the bureau at twenty-three. You followed her, believing anywhere was better than Pennsylvania, and this is what it had gotten you. It was exhausting, being the one pushing the boulder up the hill, your hands were scraped, and she couldn’t see it.

Deftly, you wiped at the tears beneath your eyes, “I know exactly what I’m saying. Please, can you try and just look at this from my point of view? My big sister, who I’ve looked up to for my whole life, confessed her feelings for my boyfriend. My boyfriend who she set me up with.” Realization dawned on you, turning to face Spencer, “You were in love with her, and… I’m…” your voice trailed off.

Matching your train of thought, Spencer shook his head, reaching a hand out for yours, but you pulled away from him, “No, honey, please. It’s not like that.”

“You couldn’t have her, and I’m just the next best thing,” you told him miserably. “She met Will and got pregnant and got married and you were so in love with her that you took the off-brand version just to have something.”

Spencer shushed you, watching as tears fell from your cheeks, “I’m with you because I love you, not because of anything else.”

Your chest ached, it felt like someone had thrust their hand in the cavity and was squeezing as tightly as they could. You wanted to believe him. You so, so badly wanted to believe him. “Tell me,” you prompted, “tell me I’m not your second choice.”

“You are not my second choice,” he told you, and you watched. You watched for his tells, any sign at all that he was lying.

You shook your head at him, “Why did you lie to me? About the football game,” you asked him, a semi-permanent frown staying on your face.

He furrowed his brows and stood up in front of you, rubbing your arms up and down to keep you warm, “I didn’t lie to you.”

“You didn’t tell me. Neither of you did. That’s lying by omission, and you both know it,” you said, stepping away from him hesitantly. You didn’t know what to trust; you didn’t know what was real.

Spencer looked back at your sister, but she looked frozen, “It wasn’t a date,” he said simply. “I… I intended for it to be a date, but JJ invited Penelope and that was the end of it. I took it as her not being interested and that’s the truth. Nothing else ever happened between the two of us.”

You watched your sister, her mouth opening and closing as she scrounged for the right thing to say. “I said what I had to in order to survive,” she defended.

Sucking on your back molars, you shrugged helplessly in response, “I know,” you admitted. “I know that you probably planned on taking your truth to the grave with you, but… it’s out, Jayg.”

“I can explain everything to you,” she offered, “Please let me explain, Ducky.”

The desperation in her voice chiseled at your resolve, but it wasn’t enough. “I don’t have it in me,” you admitted. “I’m fresh out of fight and I just wanna go home,” you told her, looking at Spencer who nodded, heading back inside to gather your things.

You sat back down on the bench, propping your chin up on your hand.

“I couldn’t think of anything else to say,” she tried again, her voice gruff from holding back tears.

Shaking your head, you closed your eyes and breathed in the cold winter air, “I don’t really care, JJ. You said it, I heard it, and now you have to deal with it.”

She cleared her throat, “I would deal with it now, but you’re being petulant.”

Looking up at her, you frowned, “I told you inside that I didn’t want to talk about this here. You came outside. You sought me out to talk. Now you’re mad that I’m not being nice about it?” Something new bubbled in your stomach, the pit that had been forming there quickly evolved into anger.

“I was trying to save lives,” she tried again, insisting she was right.

You could live with her being right on that front. She was saving lives, and she needed a truth potent enough to sway the UnSub, but in all of her explanations, she never once apologized about this curveball. “I live with Spencer. I… when I give gifts, they’re signed from the both of us,” you told her. “Sometimes when we can’t sleep at night, we come up with baby names, and you’re in love with him. I asked for time, and you couldn’t give it to me. So, this is what you get.”

With Spencer reappearing at the door, you made your way out of the courtyard, he draped your coat over your shoulders, and you wrapped the wool around yourself as you made your way out. “I told Rossi and Krystall that you were tired, but I think they might have taken it as you had too much to drink,” he explained, opening the passenger side door for the car for you to get in.

A small smile tugged at your throat, “I don’t really care.” Maybe if you had gotten that drunk, your chest wouldn’t hurt so much.

The rest of the ride home was silent, small flurries started floating from the sky, and you watched the way they danced in the streetlights. Once you were home, you got ready for bed, grabbing a pillow off of your bed, and turning to the door, “Where are you going?” Spencer asked, returning from brushing his teeth.

“I’m gonna sleep on the couch,” you told him softly, looking at the pillow that you were clutching in your arms.

He faltered for a moment, obviously taken aback by your decision, “Can we talk tomorrow?”

You frowned, letting your eyes lift to his, when it was dark, his eyes took on a certain kind of melancholia. It hurt to look at tonight. “Sure,” you offered weakly, turning around and heading for the couch.

“Are we gonna be okay?” He asked, fear creeping into his voice. Fear of losing you.

Glancing back at him as you lobbed the pillow on the couch, you gave him a gentle smile, “Yeah, Spence, we’ll figure it out. Just not tonight, okay?”

The house was decorated in a hybrid celebration of Spencer’s birthday and Halloween. Décor for the latter had started going up in September, but the fake spider that Spencer put in the guest bathroom still made your heart race. Balloons fluttered in the air while you strode past them, “Hey, there’s the lady of the house,” your head snapped up.

“Hi Dave,” you greeted Rossi with a hug, “How are you enjoying the party?”

He lifted his glass of punch up, “Other than the fact that I’m not sure how you got the punch to turn green, it’s a beautiful party. You’ve outdone yourself.”

Thanking him, you promised to come back and chat once you found Spencer, who was still missing. As for the punch, you were under strict orders not to tell anyone how the punch had turned green, but you knew that Spencer had used spinach as a natural food dye. Personally, you were avoiding the liquid like the plague.

Finally checking outside, the only thing you found was Matt’s older four chasing each other with glow sticks while their father watched on. Kristy was inside with Rosemary, who wasn’t quite old enough to chase her older siblings yet. You smiled at the thought that maybe next year she’d be able to join the big kids.

Henry and Michael were on the playset, the older of the two trying to impress his younger brother by crossing the monkey bars. You waved at Michael on the swing before closing the door behind you, turning around to continue your search in the house, jumping when you found someone behind you. “Oh,” you hung your head in shock, “You scared me.”

Your sister smiled at you, “Sorry, I saw you looked like you were searching for something, I wanted to see if you needed anything.”

JJ made your chest ache. Every time she offered to do something for you or surprised you with a gift, she continued to get into your good graces, but it just reminded you of your broken bond. Shaking your head, you looked around the living room, “I’m just looking for Spencer.”

Recognition flickered in her eyes, “He went upstairs with Amelia about ten minutes ago. I didn’t see him come down.”

You sighed in relief once you knew where your husband and baby were, “Thank you.” Making your way to the stairs, you turned and spoke up again, “And J, take some leftovers home! I really don’t need all of it.”

Hopefully, you could convince everyone to take at least something home. Throwing parties was a curse, there was always too much food. You made your way upstairs, checking the master bedroom before peeking your head into the nursery, finally finding Spencer.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Mila propped up in front of him, still learning how to stand unassisted. You leaned against the door frame, watching Spencer adjust her Halloween costume as she stared at him in wonder.

It was a tradition in your family for your mom to make the costume for Halloween, at least the first one, and Spencer was more than willing to adopt any tradition available to him, especially if it involved Halloween. You gave your mom free rein of the costume idea, so you shouldn’t have been surprised when she showed up before the party today with a baby duck costume in tow.

She was blowing raspberries at him while he brushed some feathers out of her face, “We’ll have to trim some of those, honey,” he spoke to her gently. He had refrained from putting the hood over her head, either because he didn’t want to ruin the tiny ponytail she had sticking up from her head or because he didn’t want her to get too warm, but she seemed more than content to be dressed in the bright yellow outfit.

You were thankful that she’d be comfortable in the costume because the rest of the week would be jam-packed. Tomorrow night was the FBI trunk or treat, then a Halloween party at Rossi’s, then actual Halloween, and then a Dia De Los Muertos party at Penelope’s to round off the week.

Honestly, you weren’t sure who was going to be more exhausted by the end of the week, you or Mila.

Eventually, you caught the gaze of your eight-month-old, who reached out and made grabby hands at you, exposing your location to Spencer, who turned his head to look at you, “Hey,” he said, still holding her upright even though his eyes weren’t on her.

“Hi,” you greeted back, unable to take your eyes off of the baby. More specifically, you were unable to take your eyes off of her costume.

You took a seat on the floor across from Spencer, who helped Mila off of her feet so that she could crawl to you, “Go see mama,” he urged her gently, watching as her tiny arms and legs carried her across the floor.

Once she reached you, she pushed herself up on your leg until you scooped her up, settling her in your lap and raising your eyebrows at him, “You know there’s a party going on downstairs.”

“I had noticed that, yes,” he answered, neatly folding the hood of Amelia’s costume and setting it in a pile.

Adjusting the bow on top of her head, you craned your head down and kissed the side of her head—she gurgled in response. “Did you know that they’re all here for you?”

Spencer smiled slightly, “I knew that too.”

Mila continued to babble while you looked at your husband curiously, “And yet,” you started, “You’re up here, putting her Halloween costume on while you should be at your birthday party.”

“I just wanted to see her in it,” he confessed, eyes flickering down at his daughter in her baby duck costume.

You had to admit, she was heart-achingly cute in the handmade costume. You were so happy when your mom brought up making the costume, not wanting to ask right out for it.

From the day she was born, Amelia was surrounded by family, you and Spencer made sure of it. She was cuddled up in the hospital with a blanket that Penelope crocheted. Even her nickname—Mila—had been granted to her by Derek’s daughter, who couldn’t quite swing the three-syllable name at the time.

There was a pit in your chest that was brought upon you by the symbolism of the costume, you often wondered what life would be like if your eldest sister was still around. You wondered what she’d think of your baby’s middle name—Rose—and if she’d think it was cool. “Hey, Spence?” You whispered, carefully standing up with Amelia in tow.

“Yes, my love?” He responded, following your lead and getting up off the floor, taking the baby from you, and changing her into pajamas.

You hummed behind him, taking the discarded costume and folding it up, placing it on top of the dresser until you needed it tomorrow. “Happy birthday,” you told him for the nth time today.

He smiled at you, resting Mila on his hip before he turned back to you, “Thank you.” Spencer leaned over and kissed you, the action receiving a coo from your daughter.

Laughing softly, you cupped her head tenderly, “It was a pretty good year, huh?”

Spencer pulled you into his side, you being held in one arm, and Mila in the other. “Yeah,” he murmured, “This one was definitely a favorite.”

Becoming a parent with Spencer was a dream come true, there was nothing you could think of that would top this year. Tilting your head back, you looked up at him, “So, what are you going to wish for this year?”

His gaze flittered down to the baby on his hip.

You shook your head immediately, “Pick something else,” you said, giggling at his silent suggestion. To you, it felt much too soon to think about another baby, and you knew Spencer was mostly joking. The two of you had previously decided on waiting.

Spencer sighed in response, looking between you and Mila, “More of this,” he answered, “The three of us, together.”

Raising your eyebrows, “Avoiding a party together.”

“As a family should,” he affirmed, beaming at you.

You were smiling so much that your cheeks ached, and you nodded your head in the direction of the door, “C’mon, there’s a cake downstairs with your name on it. Literally.”