Archive of Our Own ^beta

Reid's just weird.

That's what Morgan's been saying to himself. Reid's weird, he is acting weird because he is weird.  After all, it would not be Reid without his quirks and charms. So, yeah, the kid was just weird.

Still.

There was something about the way Spencer had looked at him on the plane. Morgan couldn't quite pinpoint it, but it deeply unsettled him. Secrets weren't safe in their line of work, he was only preoccupied for the team's functioning... Okay, he was lying, he was worried about the kid, just a little bit...

Okay, lying again, who was he kidding? The truth was, the kid was scaring the crap out of him. So as soon as they landed, Derek had insisted on taking him home. Well, "insisting" was an understatement—he wouldn't have taken a no for an answer. And perhaps Spencer sensed this, because he didn't object.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come in?" Derek asked for the third time. Spencer hadn't responded to the first two. He didn't ask Derek to repeat himself or anything, he didn't show any reaction at all.

During the entire drive, Spencer stared out the window, lost in thought. Derek tried to engage him in conversation, but his friend remained unresponsive. He decided not to call him out though, not this time; the kid already seemed on the verge of freaking out. He didn't need Morgan adding to his distress.

So, Derek patiently repeated the question, not acknowledging Spencer's unfocused gaze, and waited for him to come back to the present.

"No, Morgan," Spencer huffed a smile. "Really, I'm fine."

The way he said it made Derek think that the kid wasn't even aware of the multiple times he had been asked the question. That did nothing to ease Derek's nagging gut feeling. Nevertheless, he smiled back.

"Alright, pretty boy, whatever you say." He watched as Spencer got out of the passenger seat and closed the door. "Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"Yeah, of course."

"I mean it. No matter the time, I'll—"

"I'm gonna go now..."

"—Spencer!"

"Bye, Morgan!"

And he walked into the building. The words unsaid left a bitter taste on his mouth as he started driving back to his apartment. He tried to clear his head, but something still bothered him.

Sure, it wasn't anything new for Reid to be lost in his own mind. Morgan guessed that an 187 IQ brain was hard to keep entertained, and his thoughts often moved faster than the world around him. But going from that to completely missing his questions? Multiple times? And then there was that incident on the plane...

Without thinking, he grabbed his phone. Did Spencer looked okay to you? he had the text ready to send. But Hotch always seemed to be one step ahead. Morgan answered the call.

"Hotch."

" Morgan. Are you home already? " Hotch wasn't one for small talk, that was for sure. But Morgan couldn't blame him.

"Halfway there". Morgan was proud to say he could consider Aaron Hotchner a friend, but he was also enough of a good profiler to tell Hotch would never call simply to make sure he got home safe. "I offered to stay with him... He said... God, I think I should've stayed with him... If I turn around now, I can—"

"No " Hotch interrupted.

"What do you mean 'no'? What are you talking about?"

" Reid's a grown man, Morgan. If he explicitly expressed that he did not want your company, then he deserves the respect and privacy we would give to any member of the team " 

"Yeah, well, you didn't see him," Morgan spat. It wasn't his intention, but he hated feeling helpless when it came to protecting his family. "On the plane" he clarified, "you didn't see him..."

The line stayed silent for a moment, and he was pushed back to reality by the possibility of Hotch not knowing anything about the plane. Which, now that he thought about it, was totally possible. Rossi and Hotch had been in the kitchen and didn't witnessed Spencer's... thing. And both Emily and JJ had left right away and didn't stop to talk to Hotch so... yeah, his boss didn't know.

 "What happened in the plane?" 

But if Hotch had no idea about the plane...

"Wait, what were you calling about?"

"Nothing, I just... noticed him a little off. What happened on the plane? " Morgan did not press the matter.

"I think it was a flashback of some sort..." He sighed, shaking his head while thinking back to that moment. "He was just staring down at his book. He wasn't reading. But I guessed that the kid just wanted to think for a while, and that was the most polite way to tell us to piss off. You know how he is..."

The line stayed silent, but Morgan could picture Hotch nodding.

"So we didn't think much about it... But then he started... Honestly, I don't even know," he shook his head as if Hotch could somehow see him. "He looked... like he was having a nightmare. Except he was quite awake. He kept shaking his head, pulling his hair... he was looking in all directions, except he surely wasn't seeing us. His eyes were unfocused, and terrified, and... I don't know."

Hotch stayed quiet, but Morgan could now hear his boss's slightly accelerated breathing.

"And then, on our way here, I talked non-stop... He didn't even notice, he wasn't ignoring me, he was just... not there".

"That sounds like dissociative." 

"Yeah, I know, I just didn't know that he..."

"He does, it's in his medical chart."

"Damn".

"I shouldn't be telling you this, you know" Morgan actually smiled at that one " I am not. Telling you, I mean." 

"Of course" he said.

"And I'm certainly not telling you" Hotch continued "to keep an eye on him, cause I can't."

"Well, then I'm certainly not  assuring you that I will".

"Good" his boss stated "and Morgan, for real, I haven't told you anything"

"Tell me what?"

"Goodnight." 

"See you tomorrow".

If Spencer were completely honest with himself, he did not remember the car ride at all. Ever since the plane, he couldn't stop thinking about that day. It made him nostalgic, in a way. The flashback was supposed to be perhaps the scariest day of his life. He was a kid, he was hurt... but still, he couldn't help but think about those years as the "before everything went to shit."

Which truly said a lot about his life.

He was on autopilot as he walked to his room and crawled under his bed. There, under a loose floorboard, was an old wooden box made of beautiful oak wood with golden engravings of flowers and birds.

Spencer often found himself not feeling things the way he was supposed to. He had never realized it before, perhaps because the people he hung around with were the exact same way, so they never found it strange. That was kind of the way they were raised. But now, in his line of work, he was tasked with understanding how people reacted and felt towards things from their pasts. And every time he looked at the unsubs and made connections that turned out to be right, he couldn't help but feel that kind of profiling would never work on him. He wouldn't have reacted the same, he wouldn't have felt the same. He didn't.

He opened the box and started inspecting its contents. He had an eidetic memory, he already knew what was inside, but he still found it refreshing to look at it once in a while.

There wasn't much, really. A secure phone, a notebook full of phone numbers and contacts he'd probably never need, and a bunch of pictures. That  he was interested in. The first one he pulled out was a picture of the six of them together.

Lyndon was attempting to take the photo and appear in it at the same time, which turned out better than expected. Bella was raising her middle finger at the camera without looking, inexplicably wearing sunglasses at night. Camille was smiling sweetly while seated on the fancy red couch. Ethan, on the other hand, was sprawled all over the floor, making a weird face with his tongue out and his eyes rolled up, pretending to be dead or some stupid shit like that.

Spencer and Maeve were on the floor as well, in a much more elegant way than Ethan though. They were just sitting next to each other, leaning on the couch as a backrest. Maeve's head rested on his shoulder, she was looking at Ethan and laughing. And him, Spencer, was laughing too, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes.

Another photo showed only Maeve and Spencer, although he remembered the others being on that trip as well. In the background, the distant lights of the city could be seen while they leaned on the cruise ship's railing. Spencer had his arm around her waist, and their hands met on the other side, their fingers tangled.

There was one of Ly and Camille kissing Spencer's cheeks from both sides. In a different one, Bella pretended to be astonished, covering her open mouth with her hand as she pointed at Ethan and Spencer, who were playing dumb with lipstick all over their faces looking like they were caught  infraganti .

And there were many more. Made him homesick, somehow. And going back to the point he had been trying to make, would anyone else in his place feel the same way? He didn't think so.

He didn't consider himself cynical, but perhaps others would. He didn't care about many things that others would kill for, in the literal sense. But he didn't want to dwell on that, at least not at that moment. He looked at the phone he had carelessly thrown onto his bed.

Without hesitation, he grabbed it, driven by a surge of energy that he knew would soon wear off. He dialed the number and put the phone on speaker. As it rang, one, two, five times, he took his time lying on the bed, looking at the ceiling, allowing himself to relax in a way he rarely had time to anymore.

He wasn't worried, despite the late hour nearing midnight. He knew the call would reach its target, sooner or later—it always did.

And speaking of the devil.

" Do you even bother to check the time before calling anymore? " a voice answered sharply, making Spencer laugh.

"I thought you told me to check in more often..."

"Yeah, 'call once in a while' not 'you know what? let's have 3am chats' " 

"Fine, whatever, I take the blame. But were you actually sleeping though?" Now that made her laugh.

"Touché" 

There was a moment of silence.

"Hi, Bella".

"Hello, Spencer"  she said with much more affection in her tone now.

"How are you?"

"I'm... good, actually" Both of them were talking softly now, almost whispering, trying not to break the calm atmosphere they had created. The illusion of safety, Bella used to call it, " everything's been surprisingly good." 

"Good" whispered Spencer "I'm happy for you".

"Yeah"   They remained quiet and enjoyed each other's company, even if they were actually very far away. This way, hearing each other's breaths, they could almost pretend they weren't.

Then, Bella talked again.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Spencer huffed, a laugh mixed with a resigned sigh.

"Why does there have to be anything to talk about? Can't I just check in with an old friend?"

 "Well..." she said, holding back a laugh "you can. But you don't. And I know you well enough to know when something's up so, come on, spit it up." 

Spencer just couldn't help but smile at that.

"I... Uh... had a flashback. A bad one. About... you know. That super-duper fun night where we played tag with three bad guy's cars and two police cars."

She bursted out a laugh.

"And did that messed you up bad enough to want to talk to me?" 

"No" he chuckled "but then I... Kind of dissociated, on my way here, just a little bit."

Despite not being able to see her, he could sense the change in her body language and it was audible in her voice, in the serious tone it had taken.

"You shouldn't sleep on your own, perhaps,"  she said, though it sounded less like a suggestion and more like an order.

"Well, too late I'm afraid," he grinned sadly "I just wasted the offer, so..."

The silence now felt less comforting and more and more deafening with each passing second. He could almost hear Bella's gears working in her head as she tried to find the right words.

"Is it weird that I... Is it weird that I miss them?"

Bella didn't need the context to understand the question perfectly.

"Well, I think it shouldn't be. But you know our heads don't..." She stayed quiet for a while, and Spencer knew she was struggling with the same strange conclusion he had reached, without being able to express it."Our brains don't work the same... what I mean is... well, for example: Did you ever miss them?" 

"No," he answered honestly. "Eight years, thought about them every day, but never missed them. Never missed any of them."

"Yeah, it was the same for me. And actually, I've been longing for them too, lately, " she said, "maybe it just means that it is starting to heal..."

"Oh, come on, Bella. You don't actually think that. Is it so hard to believe that maybe it hasn't 'healed' because there isn't anything to heal from?"

"I'm just trying to think of an explanation, okay?"   they didn't raised their voices.

They used to, when they were kids. They'd shout more than they talked. But time had taught them they needn't to yell to make a point

"Because what's the alternative? That our brains just happen to not work normally? That we're not haunted by our traumas, and we actually miss them? That we go to bed every night hoping to have a nightmare because it's the rush of adrenaline that I need to get through the week?"

"Maybe that's it. Maybe we're just addicted to our own tragedies. Hopeless romantics, tied to our stories..."

"Oh, how poetic,"  she scoffed.

He laughed. And then they shared a sigh. They always left discussions open, never finished a topic completely. It was like a silent agreement that they'd have to talk again, even if it was just to finish a conversation.

"How's Maeve?"

"Um..." She clearly hadn't expected the question "you should call her."

He shook his head, conscious that she couldn't see him.

"You know how she gets"

"She's scared, Spence. Imagine having someone on your back all twenty four hours a day..." 

"Yeah, can't imagine what that must be like."

"Sorry,"  she chuckled, "but you get my point. She has a stalker, she wants to get rid of it, so she can live her life again." 

"Well, what do you want me to do? If she doesn't let the FBI help, and she doesn't let the CIA help, nor any of our other contacts, how does she think she's gonna figure it out?" he continued before Bella could, "and in the meantime, she won't let me talk to her through the phone. And public cabins are so not the place to have those kind of conversations."

"I still think you should try," she said after thinking for a moment. "I'm... I miss her..." 

"Yeah..." he didn't. Actually, he felt like he had seen her yesterday. But he supposed that was his brain malfunctioning again, so he didn't say anything.

"I heard you reconnected with Ethan." 

He snorted.

"Yeah, 'reconnect' is a kind word. We talked for like, five minutes, and then went our separate ways"

"Well, a bird told me he misses you." 

Spencer suddenly frown in deep distrust.

"Might I humbly beseech thy grace to disclose the appellation bestowed upon this esteemed avian creature?" he asked slowly, over-pronouncing each word with a funny accent.

That earned a laugh from her.

"Verily, my good sir, the name bestowed upon the aforementioned avian entity is none other than..."  she dropped the accent with a huff "Just kidding, can't tell you. It's top secret. You know, CIA stuff... and since you're not a part of it anymore I can't..." 

"You bitch!" he interrupted, "you're in contact with him, aren't you?"

She laughed even harder this time.

"Relax, he called me after you left. And with the only purpose of having your number. Can you believe it? The little shit, eight years, not a moo, but he spends five minutes with you and suddenly he has the balls to use that pretty phone that I gave him..." 

Talking to Bella released an oppression on his chest that he didn't remember having. And when they hung up, he realized that they hadn't been talking for too long. Their conversations on the phone were never too long. Brevity is the soul of wit, they say. But it was also because they were still trying to stay under the radar, even after so many years. Spencer also suspected that it was Bella's way of keeping him on the edge, leaving him with a cliffhanger so he would remember to call her if something happened. Which, fair, because it worked.

The silence in his apartment suddenly became claustrophobic. He could feel his mind drifting away from his body, and maybe Bella was right. Maybe he shouldn't sleep alone. But it's not like it was the first time this had happened. He wasn't a kid anymore; he could handle it on his own. He wanted to sleep, but it wasn't near the time he usually went to bed. He knew that if he laid in bed now, he wouldn't fall asleep, and it would only further mess up his head.

So he spent a few more minutes looking at the pictures. He found one with the six of them, all smiling at the camera with champagne glasses in their hands. They were all dressed in black, and it seemed like they had asked someone else to take the photo. He couldn't quite remember the occasion—maybe a ball with a black dress code? They looked pretty young, maybe around thirteen.

He left the picture in the box and put everything back under the floorboard. He had barely finished when a knock on the door nearly gave him a heart attack. He looked at the door, confused, wondering if he had imagined it or if he should grab his gun just in case. Then, a second knock made him jump.

"Reid! Are you there?"

He rushed to the door and opened it, internally thankful that he had already hidden the wooden box.

"Hey..." he said, a little stunned. "What are you—?"

"Listen, man, I know you told me to go home," Morgan interrupted him. "And this does not mean that I don't respect your privacy or that I see you as weak because that is certainly not true, but..." He exhaled, as if he didn't even know what he was saying. "That's what friends are for, okay? And I don't think you should spend the night alone, so I... kind of turned back and came... I don't know!" He gestured with his hands, clearly flustered. "That's what friends do, alright?"

Spencer smiled, but Derek didn't seem to notice, too caught up in his speech. He had his go-bag on one shoulder and a takeaway food bag in the other hand.

"Okay" Spencer said.

"Okay?" Derek looked at him like he had grown another eye "Who are you and what did you do with Spencer Reid?"

Spencer laughed. "Honestly, I'm glad you're here."

Derek had to look at him for what felt like hours before apparently deciding that it was okay.

"Fine," he said brusquely as he entered the apartment, pushing Reid out of the way. "But your coffee better be good quality because I'm not going to work without a good breakfast. And I'm not watching Doctor Who!"

Spencer just rolled his eyes before following him inside. And as it turned out, Derek did indeed end up watching Doctor Who that night.

Spencer considered himself someone who did a pretty decent job at surviving shit.

Since he was a child, he had dealt with an abusive father and an ill mother. He attended school with kids twice his age but half his intelligence. When his father finally abandoned them when he was eleven, he had to find a way to support himself and his mother financially.

He had a skill for counting cards, but getting anywhere near a casino was out of the question. He resorted to performing magic tricks on the street for tips, although it didn't bring in nearly enough money. Consequently, he resorted to stealing food and pickpocketing in crowded places. Affording his mother's medication became increasingly challenging, and stealing that was even more complicated. The last thing he wanted was to get caught and handed over to social services on a silver platter.

At the age of eleven, he discovered he could enter bars and outsmart old drunk men in poker. It provided him with a bit more money, enough to barely secure an apartment. However, he had to avoid going to the same place twice because they were drunk, but not stupid.

Ironically, it was one of those games what probably saved him.

"We've got a case," Hotch's voice filled the bullpen, and they immediately made their way into the conference room.

"What is it?" Emily asked, taking a seat to Spencer's right.

"García, go ahead," Hotch directed.

"Yes, sir," she cleared her throat. "Four bodies have been found. This is Dr. Leena Lawson."

A middle-aged woman appeared on the screen, smiling at the camera, her hair and eyes dark brown.

"She's a renowned neurosurgeon known for a series of books she wrote about the functioning of the brain, apparently."

"Yes, her books are really good," Spencer chimed in, capturing everyone's attention. "She explains the relationship between the mind and body exceptionally well, but aimed at children and teenagers. She employs dynamic and engaging literary techniques to make everything entertaining. The plot of the first book revolves around a malfunctioning brain cell trying to find its place and communicate with others," he concluded, pressing his lips together and nodding.

The team continued staring at him for a moment to ensure he was finished before turning their attention back to Penelope. She nodded and resumed.

"Well, she was found in her home..." she stuttered," I— I'll let you see it for yourselves."

There was a collective sigh as they watched the crime scene. In a fancy dining room, Dr. Lawson's corpse was hanging from the chandelier, her body held by wires to make it seem like she was dancing. She was dressed in a bright, shimmering green dress, with blue feathers on the skirt, sewn with gold thread.

"Wow that is..." Emily started.

"A lot," Morgan said. "Almost too excessive. What is this guy trying to say?"

Silence enveloped the table. Spencer felt a lump forming in his throat—it looked like... but it can't be . He swiftly dismissed the thought, chalking it up to his mind playing tricks on him. He had spoken to Bella just the day before; the memory was fresh, and he couldn't help but draw a connection. But it was nonsensical—it could never be.

"She was tortured for three days and had been dead for twenty-four hours when a mailman noticed blood on the door frame and alerted the authorities."

"Why wasn't she reported missing?"

"She was supposed to attend a conference out of state. Apparently, it's normal for her to completely disconnect from her phone during this trips, so nobody thought much of it," Penelope explained, avoiding looking at the screens displaying the crime scene photos.

"Are they all like this?" JJ asked.

"Affirmative," Penelope confirmed. "The other victims include a young girl, Susan Davies. Poor thing, she was only ten years old. Her mother is an actress, and her father is a wealthy lawyer of some sort. She was reported missing and discovered three days later. Her schoolteacher stumbled upon the crime scene when she opened her office in the morning."

The crime scene photos mirrored the previous one, depicting the distressing sight of the little girl seated on a couch, dressed elegantly in an expensive-looking silvery dress. Spencer frowned at the champagne glass she held.

"Then there's Gabriel Thompson, a mafia boss who has been on the FBI watch list for over a year."

In the pictures, Thompson wore a golden suit adorned with Egyptian patterns intricately embroidered with gold thread. His face was partially concealed by a mask featuring a black cat with golden details. He appeared to be suspended from the ceiling, giving the illusion of standing with arms wide open, as if prepared for a hug.

"He also displayed signs of torture prior to his death. Next is Elijah Collins. Sixty-five-year-old politician on the verge of retirement. His wife reported him missing, and he was later found dead at his son's house across the city. Their grandkids discovered him after school, poor things. The scene was similar."

Mr. Collins was shown in a red velvet suit, sitting on an antique couch that didn't match the surrounding furniture. With every photo, Spencer's heart sank a little further, but he cleared his throat to speak.

"That couch... was it the Collins'?"

Penelope shook her head. "No, the killer placed it there as part of the staging," she replied, switching to a new set of images.

"And last but not least, we have Jasmine Carter—a young woman in her twenties who was a well-known model, even at her age. It seems she started her career pretty young. She was also found in her own home and exhibited signs of torture and rape before she was killed. With no immediate family and having recently moved to a different state, she wasn't in close contact with anyone. However, after five days, one of her friends contacted the police when she failed to respond to phone calls."

The pictures revealed a young black woman dressed in a grayish-pink silk dress adorned with ruby-like embellishments simulating bloodstains. And speaking of bloodstains...

"How were they tortured?" Spencer inquired.

"Pick your poison," Penelope replied, though there was no humor in her voice. "Burns, lacerations, broken bones, waterboarding, and multiple stab wounds. However, the CODs varied. Additionally, the bodies were cleaned and dressed postmortem."

Spencer nodded, his thoughts spiraling as he observed the girl on the screen. Jasmine... he had heard that name before. It could be a mere coincidence, of course. Yet, the age matched, and the profession of a model... He was abruptly brought back to reality by Emily's voice.

"Five bodies. I don't understand, why weren't we contacted earlier?"

Penelope shook her head. "The police didn't initially connect the cases. The victims appeared unrelated, and they were discovered in different states. Dr. Lawson in LA, then Susan Davies in Las Vegas. Gabriel Thompson later in Miami. The connection was only made by the police department when Elijah Collins and Jasmine Carter were found in New York, two weeks apart."

"Besides" Hotch pointed without looking up from where he was reading the case files "The COD's are different, the victimology is all over the place, and the MO is unclear. Inconsistent. The staging is the only thing that stands out."

"Yeah," JJ added, a tinge of disgust in her voice. "But why this elaborate staging? They all seem ready for a Victorian masquerade party or something."

"I mean," Rossi chimed in, "I can understand the glamour associated with a model, but a doctor? And to bring his own furniture to the Collins' residence just for staging?"

"It also crosses gender, age, and racial lines," Emily observed.

Hotch fixed his gaze directly on Spencer, though the younger man hadn't realized it yet, too absorbed in his own thoughts.

"Reid, what do you think?"

Hotch's question brought Spencer back to the present, and he quickly gathered his thoughts. It took a few seconds of awkward eye contact for Spencer to process the question, Hotch waiting patiently, without repeating himself or acknowledging the delay. Finally, Spencer cleared his throat and sat up as he talked.

"I believe the recent strikes in New York indicate that the unsub is devolving. It's possible that something has changed for him, causing him to become more impatient. The fact that he chose to kill twice in the same state with a shorter cooling-off period and minimal travel suggests that he's becoming less afraid of getting caught," Spencer analyzed, his mind racing to piece together the puzzle.

"Which hopefully makes him easier to catch," Rossi remarked optimistically.

"Or more dangerous," Emily added, raising a valid concern.

"Looks like we're going to New York," he stated, standing up. The team remained frozen for a moment, staring in expectation,"...What?"

"Wait, aren't you gonna... you know..." Emily attempted a poor impression of Hotch's voice. "Wheels up in thirty!"

"The weather isn't clear to fly, we'll need to wait until morning" Hotch responded, consciously ignoring the joke "but we will start with the background check and victimology here so we don't get there empty handed. I'm also dividing the team to cover L.A, Las Vegas and Miami, but first I want all of us to go to New York together, I was informed the press is following the case and and the locals will need all the help they can get so..."

"The weather isn't clear for flying," Hotch responded, ignoring joke, "so we'll have to wait until morning. In the meantime, we'll start with background checks and victimology here, so we're not empty-handed when we arrive. I'll also divide the team to cover L.A., Las Vegas, and Miami. But first, I want all of us to go to New York together. I've been informed that the press is following the case, and the local authorities will need all the help they can get so..."

"Okay, got it, so no wheels up then," Morgan interjected, as they left the conference room.

As the rest of the team took a break to review the case files before reconvening, only Hotch and Reid remained in the room. Spencer knew this was his chance to have a moment of privacy without having to go to Hotch's office.

"Hey, uh... I was wondering if maybe..." Spencer stumbled over his words, meeting Hotch's unwavering gaze. He knew his boss had a knack for profiling, even unintentionally.

"What is it?" Hotch inquired, his tone indicating that he was ready to listen.

"I thought maybe since the plane is not leaving until the morning, I can go home for a few hours I think I need..." Honestly, he didn't think he would get this far. He had started asking without knowing where he was headed, hoping for the best. And now he found himself at a loss. He needed to what?

Hotch seemed to understand, sparing him from further explanation. "Go home, Spencer. Rest for the night. I'll call you if anything changes," he said comforting.

And Hotch was not profiling his team member, okay? He was not .

But, the way Spencer's eyes were going in and out of focus during the presentation of the case... he either needed to sleep or something else was going on. Spencer had looked at the crime scene photos with recognition in his eyes, but Hotch dismissed it as his own imagination, because, what in this case could have anything to do with Spencer?

And, oh how wrong he was.

Spencer took the opportunity and left to get some much-needed rest. He needed to clear his head, perhaps even have a panic attack or vomit, before he could feel like himself again. As he made his way home, his thoughts continued to swirl incessantly.

Spencer had barely turned eleven when met Alexander Sinclair. He vividly remembers Alec's hoarse, deep voice and the constant dry cough that plagued his lungs. Alec was a man in his late forties, always playing poker in a dingy bar in Las Vegas that a young Spencer happened to stumble upon in an attempt to make some money. Alec, much like Rossi, was someone who drank persistently but never seemed to get drunk. Maybe it was because he wasn't as old or as intoxicated as the others that he quickly recognized Spencer's exceptional intellect within seconds of meeting him.

"Hey, kid. Do you play chess?" Alec had asked, pointing to a chessboard on one of the tables.

"Um... no, thank you," Spencer had replied, ready to walk away. Alec didn't try to stop him, but he did say something that caught Spencer's interest.

"Oh, come on, I'll double the bet."

Now, hear him out for a second. A bunch of things could have probably gone wrong, but the truth was that Spencer was desperate. So when Alec offered him a job... In that moment, desperate for a change, Spencer didn't think twice.

Looking back, it seemed like some sort of initiation or a test, perhaps. Alec asked him to steal an item from an antiques store. A little wooden box, with birds and flowers engraved in gold. He had promised Spencer more money than he could make playing poker with intoxicated elders. So, Spencer accepted the task.

And it was. Oh. So. Easy.

So that's how things went. From that point on, Alec became his mentor, teaching him a wide range of skills. He learned how to shoot a gun, drive a car, pick locks, and engage in hand-to-hand combat. Alec even took care of Spencer's mother's medical expenses and ensured she received the best care in a specialized institution. Spencer lived almost independently in a spacious room within Alec's grand manor, it was five times the size of his old apartment. And he had limited contact with his mentor, as Alec was rarely home, so it was just him and the staff.

But what Alec did that Spencer was most grateful for and repulsed at the same time, was to introduce him to the Underground Affluence.

The Underground Affluence was something Spencer never had the need to explain before, and he wouldn't know how to.

He could perhaps say, that there was this weird enigmatic society hidden in plain sight, comprised of influential individuals and groups. While it might sound like a conspiracy, it wasn't about overthrowing governments or causing harm to the outside world. Instead, it revolved around extravagant parties, luxurious gatherings, and a tacit agreement among its members, a zone of truce between anyone that was part of it. To gain entry, one had to be invited, and there were unwritten rules that everyone seemed to instinctively follow.

No one made it public, the people that knew of its existence called it the Underground Affluence, but you didn't knew it existed unless you were a part of it The rich, the powerful, and those immersed in luxury and class converged in this realm, organizing overpriced dinners and themed balls. Politicians mingled with actresses, illusionists with mobsters, and police officers with paid assassins. Each person minded their own business. The authorities that knew about it mostly let it be, because the criminals in it often hunted each other, allowing them to pursue their rivalries without impacting the outside world.

Alec began taking Spencer to various gatherings within the Underground Affluence. Spencer adorned himself in the most expensive outfits and indulged in the finest champagne. Weirdly, he was never the only child present, he quickly formed a close-knit group with Bella, Ethan, Lyndon, and later Camille and Maeve.

They made a weird mix, they grew so close that soon they were known as a group. They were assigned jobs separately, but also as a team. Kids at the Affluence were dangerous, they were always prepared to get in places adults couldn't. The six of them claimed a spot on the Underground Affluence, and made a name on their own, they were always seen together. They played pranks on the most dangerous persons on the Affluence. It became tradition, everyone expected it, they wondered who would be next. It was a game, cause, of course it was a game. The Affluence fed on games and mischievousness.

This case... It couldn't be, could it? A characteristic of the Underground Affluence was that it was secret, everyone wanted to keep it secret. If you wanted to send a perverted message to someone inside, you did it inside. You didn't display a body where you knew it would be found by the general public. You did it in the isolated houses you knew  everyone had. You can easily be a sadist inside the Affluence, but you don't take it outside of it.

"Jasmine Carter"

Lyndon scoffed with his mouth full, spaghetti falling from his chin.

"Shut up," Ly retorted, still chewing. "That sounds made up."

"No, I swear!" Camille chimed in, laughing. "She's around my age, maybe a year younger. She wants to be an actress but was offered a modeling job and wants me to mentor her."

"Why does she specifically want your mentoring?" Spencer asked, genuinely curious, but his friends erupted in laughter.

"Don't be mean, Spencer!" Maeve playfully punched him in the shoulder as the laughter continued around the table.

"It was an honest question!" Spencer protested, incredulous. "She's in the fucking Underground Affluence, she probably has contacts but she required you specifically. I was just asking..." the laughter continued.

"Logical that she wants help from one of the Six Underground Kids..." Bella interjected, humble as always.

He couldn't help but shake his head as he looked directly at Camille, giving up on the rest. "I wasn't trying to be mean," he clarified, seeking understanding.

Camille simply smiled warmly in response. "I know, Spence. It's okay. She came to me because we were in middle school together. I guess I'm just someone she knows," she explained, shrugging her shoulders.

Jasmine Carter—that's where he recognized the name from.

A coincidence , his brain futilely whispered in a useless attempt to make this all go away,  a mere coincidence.  There was nothing to worry about; it was just a coincidence.

However, if it wasn't ( it is, there's nothing to worry about ), he couldn't let the BAU handle it alone. He needed to contact the CIA. And that, perhaps, was the primary reason he refused to acknowledge the unfolding situation. The mere thought of reliving his past as a CIA agent, encountering his old boss, his former partner... he dreaded it. But he would have to face it if this case truly had any connection to the Affluence.

And then the CIA would want to take the case from them, and he didn't want that either. But nor he wanted to put Hotch in a position in which he had to get in a fight with the CIA to keep a case just because Spencer wanted to work on it.

Somehow, someway, by the end of the trip, he had convinced himself to set it aside for the night. A break was imperative; he needed to rest. As he entered his apartment, he had resolved to actually do it—for once.

"Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me!"

Spencer slumped against the door frame, his legs suddenly feeling weak. There, near the entrance on the floor, lay a yellowish—white envelope adorned with a fancy golden ribbon and sealed with scarlet wax.

That... that right there confirmed all the things he had been trying to deny ever since Penelope had shown them the crime scene photos. He used a paper towel to handle the envelope, Spencer knew it would soon be placed in an evidence bag.

To Doctor Spencer Reid.

...was the only thing written outside, in flawless black ink handwriting. No address, no postal code. And it hadn't just been left at the reception; it had been personally delivered to his apartment. Someone had walked it here, specifically for him, whoever had delivered it knew exactly where he lived. Typical Underground Affluence.

He hadn't realized he was hyperventilating until he found the secure phone in his hand. The wooden box fell carelessly, the pictures scattering across the floor. The phone rang as he waited to connect. Whom was he calling again? He couldn't recall dialing the number.

"This is Agent Carolina Hawthorne, you shouldn't have this number unless — " 

"Carol."

" — Oh my god, Reid!"  Her voice now lacked the previous condescending tone, replaced by a gasp she tried to conceal admirably.

Hotch observed as Spencer left the bullpen and vanished behind the closing elevator doors. He could already sense the team's concerned glances directed at him. It might have been the first time the young man had asked for something that prioritized his health, and Hotch wouldn't have refused him anything.

He didn't want to admit his worry, not even to himself. He simply hoped Reid would manage to get some sleep before they had to leave in the morning.

Exiting the conference room, Hotch made his way to his office, assigning various tasks to the members of the BAU team. He attempted to decipher the files sent by the local police departments, but progress was slow. He needed to see the crime scene firsthand.

He didn't know how long had it been when there was a knock at his door.

"Aaron," Rossi stated with a serious expression. "You should come."

Hotch was on his feet in an instant. Three individuals—two men and a woman—approached, followed closely by Strauss. The rest of the team gathered behind Hotch, soon they were all standing close together as if forming a protective shield against the rest of the world.

"Agent Hotchner, these are Agents Hawthorne and Smith. And this is John Porter; he's..."

"Director of the CIA," Hotch interrupted, extending his hand. "What can I do for you?"

"Is there somewhere your team and mine could have a private conversation?" Porter skipped the pleasantries and led them straight to the conference room. "Agent Hotchner, it's a pleasure to meet you, although I wish it were under better circumstances," he nodded.

"Apologies for all the secrecy," the woman spoke. Hotch looked at her—her hair almost white, slicked back, dressed entirely in black. If someone were asked to point out the CIA agent in a crowd, they would likely point to her first.

"An occupational hazard for you guys, huh?" Morgan blurted out. Hotch shot him a glare, but the woman (Hawthorne, as Strauss had mentioned) didn't seem bothered.

"I suppose so."

"Lovely visit," Rossi cut in. "What do you need from us?"

Porter and Strauss exchanged a meaningful glance.

"Let's get down to business, then." Strauss took a few steps forward, indicating for everyone to take a seat around the table. With a hint of distrust in their eyes, they complied.

"Right," Porter began. "I'll be direct. You were called in for a case that happens to be related to one the CIA has been tracking for years. I'm afraid we'll have to—"

"You're not taking the case from us," Derek said.

"SSA Morgan," Strauss admonished.

"Listen," Hawthorne spoke up before Strauss could continue, "we don't expect you to relinquish the case entirely, but we want to brief you so you understand what you're dealing with."

"Agent Hawthorne and I have been partners for nearly five years," Smith finally spoke. "But before that, she worked the case personally with her former partner. She knows what she's doing."

"We would also like to assign someone we trust to work with you so we can maintain contact, in case you need consultation or we discover anything relevant. Although I doubt that will be an issue."

Hotch didn't even try not to profile Porter. He locked eyes with him. The way he spoke suggested he was genuinely trying to be their ally. He could have simply demanded that his orders be followed; after all, he was a superior. But there he was, offering assistance with the case instead of taking it over.

"I'd also like to add," Porter continued when no one replied "That these are unique circumstances, to no other team would we offer such thing"

That statement caught the group's attention. Hotch tried to conceal his surprise, but he had a feeling he wasn't doing a great job. Strauss, on the other hand, appeared defeated, resigned to a situation she couldn't control, much like facing an impending explosion with no means of defusing it.

"What are the circumstances?" Rossi asked, looking around the table and then at the CIA agents.

Porter and Hawthorne shared a look, and just as the Director was about to speak, the woman spoke first.

"When I was working on this case five years ago, my old partner and I, we... something happened. It wasn't specifically because of this particular case, but still, what happened was bad enough that he decided to transfer."

"The CIA helped, of course," Porter said, and if Hotch hadn't known better, he would've thought he saw a spark of shame in his eyes. But it was so fleeting that he couldn't quite sort it out. "He had been a great agent, and I personally took responsibility for what happened. The plan was to retire him, even though he was the youngest agent we had... but he didn't want that, he wanted to keep working. So, soon the transfer was approved, and he started working with the FBI..."

He paused for a moment, and when no one reacted, Hawthorne continued speaking.

"...for the BAU," she finished slowly, glaring at each of them one at a time. "He worked here."

The team, suddenly startled, looked at each other as if they were seeing one another for the first time. Hotch, however, fixed his gaze on Strauss. She looked like a kicked puppy, a sight he had never witnessed before. She was staring down at the table like it was a very unusual piece of furniture. He recognized the fear of losing control in her eyes. The team glanced at Hawthorne once more, but she wasn't looking at any of them.

"Wait," Emily was the first one to make the connection. "Reid?"

When Hawthorne and Porter shared a look at that, everyone had their answer.

"W-wait," Rossi stammered, interrupted by a laugh. "What?" His tone turned serious and astonished as he realized no one was joking.

Then the team turned to Hotch, but he showed no reaction and continued to gaze into Strauss's eyes. She held the glare as best as she could, but her eyes were softer than they had ever been seen.

"Erin," he said, and his voice could have frozen someone's blood. "Did you know anything about this?"

She shook her head and finally broke eye contact.

"I'm afraid the transfer had to be kept as secret as possible. Only Agent Gideon was aware of Dr. Reid's past with the CIA..."

Morgan felt a lump in his throat. It felt as if someone was pressing his chest so hard he couldn't breathe. He couldn't determine if it was surprise, worry, anger, or all of the above. But he knew his team was in a similar state, judging by the expressions on their faces. He felt tears welling up in his eyes, although he held them back. He felt betrayed in a way he had never felt before, yet the rational side of his brain told him he had no reason to be mad.

"You said you wanted to keep someone you trusted with us throughout the case," Hotch tried to maintain his composure, but it became harder with each word. "And you also said that you didn't think that would be an issue... You were thinking of Reid."

Porter nodded, although it wasn't a question. And seeing that nobody was in any condition to say anything for a while, Smith carried on with the conversation.

"We've already sent the classified files of Agent Reid to…"

"Doctor," came the chorus from the team, still too stunned to speak, but it was more of a reflex than anything else.

"Apologies," he paused, a little intimidated by the timing of the statement. "Dr. Reid's classified files for you to check what they were working on before the transfer."

They nodded distantly.

"Well," Porter clapped in an attempt to break the room's astonishment, "shall we review the case then?"

"W-wait," JJ cleared her throat. "Shouldn't Spence be here?"

"I'll call him," Hotch mentally slapped himself. How could he call Reid as if they hadn't just discovered what they did? That wasn't fair to him, and it wasn't amusing to be exposed in such a way behind your back. He wished he could talk with his team first, to let them know they needed to make it clear to Spencer that they weren't mad at him.

And he hadn't even stopped to consider what it meant for Spencer to have a past in the CIA. He was twenty-one when he joined the Bureau, which meant he was at least twenty when he started working for the CIA, probably even younger. He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of a phone ringing.

Everyone looked at Hawthorne as she reached for her phone with a frown.

"Isn't that the secure phone?" Porter asked her.

"Yeah," she answered. "This is Agent Carolina Hawthorne. You shouldn't have this number unless... Oh my god, Reid!"

To be honest, she wasn't particularly proud of that moment. It hadn't been her intention to have such an overt reaction. But she couldn't help it. Although she had been talking about her old partner just minutes ago, that didn't change the fact that it was the first time she had heard his voice in almost five years.

The room immediately perked up, listening attentively. She made an attempt to leave the room and talk in private, but a hand on her arm stopped her. It was Hotchner, who had crossed the table at a record speed and was now gesturing for her to put it on speaker.

She didn't, but the room was so quiet that she wouldn't be surprised if they had heard anyway.

 "Carol, listen to me. I wouldn't be calling if it wasn't important..." 

"Spencer, I know, I—" she didn't get to say anything as Reid kept talking without even taking a breath.

 "There's this case, and I thought maybe it was a coincidence. But this girl, Jasmine Carter, I've heard of her before. And Leena and I used to talk, she'd send me her manuscripts. And..."

"Reid! Listen! I know. I'm—"

"And I got home, and I—"

"You need to breathe. And shut up, hear what I have to say."

"But—"

"Listen. I sent a car to pick you up, okay? It should be there in about five minutes now, if it isn't already..."

"Okay, but I also—"

"Calm down, come here, and we'll talk. Alright?"

Spencer stayed silent for a moment. She could hear his accelerated breathing on the other end.

"Alright."

"Alright. Stay safe. The driver is Agent Johnson. Ask for his badge."

She hung up after hearing the soft "Okay" that Spencer let out.

"You didn't tell him anything" Morgan scolded. The blond Agent frowned at him, glaring unimpressed.

"It occurred to me that it was a complicated conversation to have on the phone," she said simply.

"So he's just gonna walk in here and see you guys talking to us? No warning?" Emily looked annoyed too, and Hotch's chest warmed at the reactions of the team. They weren't mad—okay, maybe they were—but they were mostly worried. Still putting their protective instincts toward their youngest member first.

"With all due respect" Porter said, trying to catch the fight before it started "we should start revising the case"

"With all due respect" Hotch moved forwards. He was now inches away from Porter, looking down at him "My team and I can start looking at the case files on our own"

It truly wasn't his intention to seem challenging, but the sudden awareness of the situation weighed on him. And if he wouldn't blame Reid (and he wouldn't), he needed someone to blame. His brain misinterpreted this, as usual, as that person being the head of the CIA, Spencer's old partner, and a random agent that just happened to be there.

"And we appreciate the moment of privacy to process this information. Thank you. We can go on with the briefing as soon as my remaining team member gets here."

The intensity with which he stated ' my remaining team member' made the team smile. Soon, the CIA agents excused themselves and left the room. Strauss hesitated for a few steps and turned to Hotch.

"I know it's a lot, Aaron, but I will ask you not to let this interfere with your output in this case," she scanned every member of the team before looking back at Hotch. "Agent Porter is trying to go with this as smoothly as possible, but if needed, he won't be this permissive."

Without waiting for an answer, she took off. The room visibly relaxed. Rossi was still staring at the door reflectively.

"I wonder why..." he said to no one in particular.

"Why what?" asked Penelope, her voice was little more than a whisper, she hadn't talked since the agents arrived, and now she had tears in her eyes that were fighting to fall down her cheeks, she was doing a good work at keeping it all in, but it wouldn't work forever.

"Why Porter wants to go smoothly. Why not just take the case? Why offering all this slack? He's practically asking us how do we want to handle their case."

"I was thinking the same thing," Emily said.

"The way they both talked about Reid, the way Smith didn't even mention his name..." Hotch attempted to respond. "My guess is that they want to be on good terms with him. They know that if they forcefully took the case from us, we would fight for it."

Rossi nodded.

"And they realized that when the time comes to choose sides, Reid would probably stay with us. Whatever connection this kid has to the case, it's significant."

"Let's check it out then, shall we?" Penelope said, opening her laptop.

"Wait, wait. So we don't talk about the elephant in the room? Guys," Emily was at the edge of her seat "Spencer was CIA."

"Yeah" JJ sighed "I still can't believe it..."

Morgan ran his hand over his face.

"I just can't believe he would lie to us for almost five years. I—" the bitter taste of betrayal got stuck in his throat, followed by anger at himself for feeling that way. To be honest, he was a mess, a jumble of emotions beyond recognition. "I don't know. I guess I just think this isn't the kind of thing you can sweep under the carpet and hope for the best."

"Ohhhh... Um... Guys," Penelope warned, gazing to the table in shock. She opened her mouth several times, unsure of what to say "I... I think there's much more under that carpet than we thought."

"What do you mean?" Hotch asked, and they all stood up behind her to look at the screen.

"Um... Alright, this is Spencer's CIA file. There are a few classified parts, but they've given us almost everything. Apparently, they've been keeping an eye on him since he was thirteen ."

Morgan whistled.

"That's very young" Emily said, eyes filled with disbelief.

"Yeah," Penelope continued, "He was in Mensa, and he was invited to other similar organizations like the Prometheus Society and TNS. It mentions something about some... Underground Affluence?"

"I've never heard that name before," Rossi said.

"Me neither," Morgan looked at the screen confused.

"Whatever it is," she said "he was in it. It doesn't look like anything official though, they are just some margin notes of some of sort. So the CIA watched him, and he was formally recruited at... seventeen"

"He was still a kid!" JJ said, expecting this to be some kind of a joke. "can they even do that?"

Nobody answered, so Penelope kept talking.

"He was immediately assigned to Carolina Hawthorne as his partner, and he didn't change partners in about four years he worked there."

"The way she talked about him, she was more of his babysitter than his partner," Emily rolled her eyes.

"He was practically a teenager" JJ thought out loud "they probably wanted to make sure he'd follow the protocol, especially in the field."

"But they still placed him in one of their most important cases?" Morgan shook his head. "I don't know."

"Hotch" the man looked at Rossi, who was talking, made Hotch snap out o his thoughts "You've been awfully quiet. What do you think?"

The table watched him expectantly.

"I think..." he began, "that they would need a really good reason to recruit a teenager. And I think Spencer was more important to them than they want to let on. I don't know whether it's because of a previous connection with the case or something else entirely. García, is there something on what happened that made him request the transfer?"

She redirected her attention back to the keyboard. "Um... no. It's all classified and labeled as 'personal matters'."

"Which we know is bullshit," Rossi stated. "Because they just told us that it was something that happened in the field."

"They also said the plan was retiring him," Morgan added.

"Which only adds to the gravity of whatever happened," Emily observed, "what could be bad enough that you want to retire a... how old was he? twenty years old?"

"You think it was something physical?" JJ asked. Her voice trembled, her fingers were softly running back and forth through her bottom lip, a gesture she recognized as her stress going up. She couldn't help it. She thought about Spencer, but she could only see him as a kid, hurt and scared and alone. She was so angry at so many people in that moment. Just the thought of something bad happening to him, bad enough for the CIA to want to retire him...

"Guys the file was last edited a few hours ago."

"So they... what? Change the file before giving it to us?" Morgan frowned. "That doesn't make any sense. They could've restricted the access or just not give us the file, but why change  the information in it?"

"It invalidates the whole thing," Hotch realized. "We don't know which parts were altered. This is useless. García, close it up."

He stood up and was heading angrily to the door. Morgan looked at the team and then back at Hotch before standing up and stopping him.

"Wait, wait. Where are you going?"

"To tell Strauss, damn maybe Porter. They really looked like they wanted to help, even if it was just for the sake of keeping Reid. But we can't work with an edited file, of which we already know at least one thing is fake."

"Hotch, wait, we should be smart about it."

"Yeah, Emily's right, Aaron" Rossi said "Maybe we should dig up a little on our own. Talk to Reid, subtly profile Mr. and Mrs. CIA. And then see if this was intentionally planned."

Hotch stared at him in disbelief, but he actually stopped and turned around.

"What do you mean? How could this not  be intentionally planned?" Hotch knew he was starting to lose objectiveness in all this matter. But he didn't care, and was glad that the team didn't bring it up. He couldn't help it, with each second, the phone in his pocket became heavier and heavier, he wished to talk to Spencer, to know if he was okay.

And there was the fact that, once Spencer did get here, he still couldn't hug him, hold him in his arms, promise that nobody was mad at him. He would have to interrogate him about shit from his past Spencer probably didn't want them to know, and tell him that his old boss, who he probably trusted, and the first partner he knew in the field could be hiding information. Information that they needed.

"How could this have not been intentionally planned?" he repeated, weaker this time, more tired.

"Maybe they didn't supervise the editing of the file before sending it," Emily said. "Perhaps the technical analyst made a stupid mistake and labeled it incorrectly instead of just blurring it. Maybe it's not supposed to be a secret at all... we need to check if all the doors are locked before we kick in the front one."

Hotch didn't immediately nod, but in the second he could bring himself back to his right mind, he understood it was the best course of action.

However, he didn't have much time to think about it because in that moment, he spotted the elevator doors opening, and a very pale and agitated Dr. Spencer Reid walked (read: stumbled) through them.  We need more time , was the first thought that crossed Hotch's mind. But Porter and Hawthorne were right about one thing: there was still a serial murderer out there, and they had already let this situation occupy too much of their minds.

He contemplated the option of telling the team to stay there until he had talked to Reid, Strauss, and the CIA little gang by himself first. He knew it was out o the table when he saw Hawthorne and the others leaving the kitchen, and Morgan was already getting ahead of him, Emily running behind him. Soon the whole team was rushing to him, getting there before Strauss and the others.

"Spencer!" JJ went straight in for a hug, and García was next. Spencer hugged them back as best he could, still appearing a little zoned out. Then his eyes met Hotch's.

"Hotch... What…?" He looked at each one of them, and they all stood in silence. Not even a team of profilers were able to hide the situation that was probably written all over their faces. Not to mention that Reid was still an amazing profiler himself.

Hotch saw the exact moment when Reid reached the conclusion, which spoke volumes about the younger man's mental health. On any other day—one where Spencer wasn't half dissociated and sleep-deprived—Hotch would have never been fast enough to keep up with Spencer's thinking, his brain moving faster than the human eye could perceive. But now it was clear in his eyes when he turned and saw Hawthorne and Porter walking towards him.

"Reid!" Carol half pushed Morgan out of the way before jumping at Spencer and wrapping her arms around him.

It was brief and uncomfortable, as if she hadn't planned it and it just happened, like she couldn't help it when she saw him. Spencer didn't hug her back, which could have been passed off as shock, but Hotch knew better, and by the looks on his team's faces, they did too. Spencer simply held his arms in the air above Carol's shoulders. He didn't back up, but he didn't appear relaxed either.

Soon she took a step back, as if remembering the situation. She coughed and brushed off her suit jacket.

"I am sorry. It is so good to see you," she smiled. Hotch couldn't decipher her expression; she looked somewhere between sad and guilty but also happy to see Spencer, even if he didn't share the feeling.

Porter arrived a little slower and gave everyone a look before turning his gaze to Spencer. He held out his hand towards him.

"Dr. Reid, it's been a long time." Spencer nodded with his lips pressed together and unconsciously took a step backward. Then Porter seemed to remember something and moved his hand to show his palm in the air. "Right, no handshakes. Forgive me."

"No problem" he said. And then, looking defeated, he added "I'm guessing everyone knows"

Hotch nodded silently. He was in a weird state of unreality, his mind lost in what he had heard about Spencer, and the case, and the fact that the director of the CIA was standing next to him, giving puppy eyes to the youngest member of his team, seeking his help.

He was profiling everyone in the room, all at once, and it was exhausting. Strauss was embarrassed that she had no idea about all this, and if Gideon were here, she'd probably had already chocked him. Hotch wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't do the same.

His team was divided between guilty angry looks and complete confusion. He couldn't blame them. Porter was nervous, which wasn't what he would've expected from the head of the CIA, and at the same time, it made him fear how involved Reid was in all this. Smith looked like a lost puppy. And Carol was now scanning Spencer as if she had never seen him before. She looked protective, but at the same time, she was beating herself up about something.

It was clear that Spencer hadn't talked to them this whole time, and he didn't look particularly excited to be involved with them now. Hotch would never admit how much satisfaction and ease he got from seeing that Spencer was closer with the team he is currently a part of than with his old one. But it also made him anxious to think about what was labeled as 'personal issues' in Spencer's files. It was clear that whatever had happened for Spencer to stop working with them was right there, hanging in the air, making it thicker and harder to breathe.

"We should start with the case," finally Strauss broke the silence.

Carol nodded vigorously. "We think it's related to another one we've been following from the Affluence."

"I received an invitation," Reid said taking something out of his bag. It was an evidence bag with a paper in it. "I didn't open it, but... I mean, I know where it's from... and who it's from."

Carol widened her eyes as the team got closer to look at the invitation. Hotch just wanted to ask what the hell this Affluence was that he had heard mentioned twice tonight. But they needed to discuss it in a much more private place.

"We should go to the conference room," he croaked somehow, "we can start revising the case."

Everyone agreed and gave Spencer quick looks before heading there. Porter and his two agents went first, followed by Strauss, leaving the team behind.

"Are you angry at me?" Spencer asked so quietly that Hotch would have missed it if he hadn't been specifically paying attention to him.

"Of course not, Reid" he said immediately, and he could hear the team agreeing with him, but Spencer was looking at Morgan, who remained silent.

That's why Hotch wanted to keep his team in the conference room. He knew Morgan tended to hide the rest of his emotions behind anger, but he also knew that Spencer couldn't, nor shouldn't, handle that now. He knew that Derek being resentful towards Spencer for keeping a secret didn't mean that he stopped caring for him. He knew that, Derek knew that, but Spencer didn't. He wouldn't believe it.

He just prayed  for Morgan to make that connection by himself before answering.

Morgan sighed.

And then he started walking to the conference room without saying a word.

Hotch felt Spencer's single dry sob in his chest, as if someone were stabbing him. Hotch knew that Morgan and him would have a long talk later that day.

Or night.

Spencer Reid had been living a life far from mundane, where boredom was a foreign concept. It wasn't a choice he had made consciously, not at first at least. The circumstances that led him to this position weren't initially under his control. However, in the midst of it all, he started making conscious decisions to stay there.

Allow him to demonstrate. He didn't decide to attend poker games and then become part of the Affluence with the purpose of leading an extraordinary life. But as he grew older and realized he had the option to stop or step back, he chose to dive even deeper.

When his full-time commitment to the Affluence inevitably had to end, he accepted an offer to join the CIA (it wasn't the sole motive, but it played a significant role), despite Gideon promising him a place at the FBI as soon as he turned twenty-one. Spencer eventually took that position, but not before spending four years working closely with Bella and Maeve, under the watchful eye of Carol.

Upon leaving the CIA, he knew what he was doing. He ensured he had a place in the BAU, making sure he would work in the field before even informing Porter that he planned to leave. Retirement was not an option for him. He wouldn't have left to become a professor, and he'd suck at just being a civilian.

He chose to work for the BAU because he was an addict—whether it was dilaudid, adrenaline, or something else. Maybe he didn't choose how it started, but he took responsibility for the rest.

Now, sitting in a car with Porter, Carol, that Smith guy in the backseat, and Hotch driving, he questioned his life choices. He weighed the worth of such an adventurous fun life, wondering if he would give it all up just to avoid this awkwardness (he probably would).

The silence was killing him, and he wasn't the only one affected. Hotch turned the radio on. Spencer found it peculiar coming from Hotch, as he would've thought he'd rather die before listening to music while working a case. This spoke volumes about the discomfort of the situation, as not even Hotch could bear the silence.

"Oh, what an unexpected coincidence!" Smith said, god bless him, not reading the room at all. "This song happens to be one of my favorites."

He then started singing  along to it. Spencer could only widen his eyes and turn to Hotch, who didn't acknowledge him, didn't even change his facial expression. He just waited a few eternal, terrifying seconds, then leaned forward to turn the radio off, with Smith stopping abruptly.

"Ow, that's alright, I prefer the silence anyway," and maybe Spencer was missing social cues, but he didn't detect any sarcasm in his voice. After glancing at Hotch, he was pretty sure he hadn't missed anything; Smith was genuinely and entirely unaware of his surroundings.

"How was the funeral?" Rossi asked, cracking a laugh, when they met again in the airport.

Emily laughed as well. "You guys look like you just walked into each other naked," she said.

Hotch dismissed her with a glare, then faced Porter, shaking his hand. They exchanged a few words that Spencer missed before saying their goodbyes.

"Are you planning on going to New York?" Hotch didn't offer a place in the jet, and that was definitely intentional.

"Not at the moment," Carol answered. "Anytime now, a helicopter's supposed to pick us up; we have urgent matters, I'm afraid."

"We'll keep an eye on the case," Porter assured. "Dr. Reid has a phone to contact any of us personally. Any questions you need answers to, call."

Hotch nodded and thanked him.

"And Agent Vitale is currently in New York if you need to consult with her at any given time," Carol looked at Spencer. "And we don't know where Dr. Donovan is exactly; she felt it was safer that way. But she should be available on the phone."

Spencer hadn't meant to roll his eyes, but he probably did, because Carol spoke again, looking at him. "Yeah, well, that's why I said should ." And then they left.

They kept revising the case on the plane. Spencer didn't feel tired; the team didn't look tired either. It was hard to remember that they hadn't slept all night; was it possible that the shock of the previous revelations was still running through everyone's system? It was still running through Spencer's, that was for sure.

When they ran out of theories based on the files they got, they stood in a peaceful silence that reminded Spencer that it was possible to be in silence without making it extremely uncomfortable. He had managed to forget that in only one car ride with Smith in it; how interesting. But he wasn't stupid; he never for a second thought he could have it his way with this, so he awaited the questions.

"Shut up," he said, with no real venom in his voice, he simply said the words out loud.

"I haven't said anything," Hotch replied, calm and collected, as always.

"You're thinking. It's annoying..."

"Reid."

"I can hear your brains overthinking from all the way here..."

"Spencer," that shut him up.

"Yeah?" he asked quietly, looking up from the file he'd been staring at.

Hotch sighed.

"Just... we'll have to talk about it eventually. We may as well end with it now."

Spencer hesitated, "Okay," he ran his eyes around the jet, looking at each of his friends in the eyes, except Morgan, who was staring out the window. Now was Spencer's turn to sigh, "what do you want to know?"

Hotch and Dave exchanged a look before the latter spoke.

"Why did you leave the CIA?"

"Yeah, right." He chuckled, and then quickly responded, "What else do you want to know?"

His voice was a lot firmer than before, and Hotch watched once again how the emotion he had shown a second ago now completely abandoned his face. It was disturbing, the way his eyes were so full of sentiment just a moment before, and suddenly, you may as well be looking at a corpse. But that was too dark, he didn't want to go there.

hat worried him, more specifically, was that he didn't know if that look was a product of Spencer's mind unconsciously depersonalizing or if Spencer was very consciously putting on a mask created by years of working for the CIA and the Affluence. Honestly, he didn't know which option was worse. He decided to interrupt when he saw that they weren't getting an answer to that question from Spencer any time soon.

"Alright, let's just start somewhere else," he said, making an effort not to sound like he was talking to an unsub. "You say you had a mentor who got you into the Underground Affluence when you were eleven?"

Spencer seemed to relax at that, but he was still unreadable. Hotch couldn't have made a profile even if he tried. "Yes," Spencer said, "What about him?"

"How did that happen? How did you meet him?"

"Long story short," the boy started, "I beat him at chess... And poker. Over and over again. He offered me a job, I took it. Next thing I know, I'm a child spy like taken from a movie. I lived in one of his big-ass houses for a while, and then I moved alone at... I don't know, fourteen, fifteen? He paid for my mother's care, and... well, everything else, for the first couple of years, while I still wasn't truly a part of the Affluence..."

He talked unconcerned, while the team struggled to keep the horror out of their faces. JJ was not doing a good job.

"What do you mean by 'a job'? What did he want?" she asked, paling. Even Derek moved his eyes away from the window, expectant for the answer.

Hotch thought of that question. He had also thought of a million others. How the hell did an eleven-year-old end up playing poker with a criminal? (he didn't know if this guy was a criminal, but he sure sounded like one). How did he end up living in his house? Why did he pay his mother's care? How come he was living alone at fourteen? What had he meant he wasn't 'truly a part of the Affluence'? There was just so much said in that answer; he wasn't even near processing it.

"Nothing dirty, if that's your question," Spencer smirked in a way Hotch hadn't seen him before, but again, this was a whole side of Spencer that they had never seen before. "I mean, it wasn't entirely legal, but it wasn't what you think. He trained me, and then he sent me on different tasks. Maybe to piss off a rival, get information from someone, scouting missions, stealing some stuff..."

"Okay, stop. Stop, stop, stop!" Rossi raised his hand. "There's... too much to unpack in there... It's overwhelming," he said what Hotch was thinking.

"How come you weren't truly a member of the Affluence until you were fourteen?" Emily asked, a lot less tense, and even returning a soft side smile.

"You know how the invitation said that I could bring unlimited guests? Well, anyone that I bring that isn't invited wouldn't immediately be part of the Affluence just by knowing its existence. You have to contribute with something, meet people, and slowly but surely make yourself a name inside of it. Of course, the kids inside often end up being part of it by inheritance, just because they end up meeting people regardless of what they have to put into. But it takes a while for someone to attend to the events as the guest of a member, to actually receive the invitations yourself. And I guess I did that pretty soon because a year and a half after I started attending, I barely depended on my mentor, sometimes I went months without seeing him. So maybe you could say I lived practically alone since I was thirteen, because..."

"Who are the other CIA agents inside..." Rossi asked, trying to shut Spencer up before someone on the team suffered a heart attack. "Hawthorne mentioned... Vitale and Donovan?"

"Bella and Maeve," he confirmed, "they're..."

Spencer seemed doubtful whether to talk about them; Hotch thought maybe he needed a little push.

"Did you meet them when you started working for the CIA?" he asked.

"Um... No... No, I..." he scratched his neck and shook his head, as if to get out of his thoughts. "We met in the Affluence. We had this weird... We were about six kids; we started hanging out and became a weird misfit squad. We never intended for this, but they called us the Six Underground kids, sometimes. I met Bella and Maeve, among others. Then something happened and we separated. Bella had been also deeply trained in spying, and she's really smart. And Maeve is... well, a certified genius, and a geneticist at age seventeen. So when they recruited me, they offered them a position as well."

Hotch was going to ask another question, thinking that Spencer wasn't going to share anything more than what he was asked to, but the boy spoke again before he could.

"This kids... we practically grew up together, they were my family..."

Hotch looked at Spencer. He was... Was he apologizing? He sure sounded like he was, but the tone made no sense with his words.

"Kid, what happened before you were transferred?" Hotch was surprised to hear Morgan's voice. Spencer jumped a little too, immediately looking in his direction.

Conflicted, Spencer opened his mouth to say something, but then he bit his lip instead. For a second, Hotch actually thought he would tell them, but of course, it wouldn't be that simple. And by the way Spencer leaned on the couch he was sitting, he was done talking.

JJ wasn't having it, not a bit. But Hotch's look stopped her. Morgan didn't ask again, observing worriedly at Spencer instead, a mix of worry and anger that Hotch doubted he himself could understand.

Now that he wasn't paying attention to Reid, what he had said actually started to kick in. He would have never considered Spencer's childhood being so messy. He thought he knew enough. Abusive father, negligent mother (not on purpose, but she still was), a twelve-year-old in Las Vegas public High School, a thirteen-year-old in college... anyone would think that's messy enough.

They'd had no idea.

He mourned at the thought of an eleven-year-old Spencer trying to navigate through a world that most adults didn't even know to exist. And then making a home out of that place, making friends, losing them. Being offered a position in the CIA, losing it. And finally joining the BAU...

Well. That was the end of it. The team wasn't going anywhere away from him anytime soon. He'd make sure of that.

hey all revised the case in their own files, exchanged ideas once in a while, but worked mainly in silence. He allowed it; they all needed time to think by themselves.

When the plane landed and the SUVs were handed to them, his first thought was to get in the same one Spencer was heading, but when he saw Morgan walking towards the other one, he quickly made up his mind.

At the end it was him, Morgan and JJ. Emily, Rossi, and Spencer followed them in the car behind. Hotch was pretending he hadn't noticed nor cared about the sigh of relief Spencer let out when he saw his road trip buddies.

Now Hotch was silent, and Morgan knew why. But he wasn't gonna say anything about it; if he was lucky enough, Hotch wouldn't bring it up either, and he could live in peace a little longer. Of course, things don't ever go as planned.

"I am very uncomfortable right now," JJ stated from the backseat, half serious, half using a mom voice on purpose, "so if you two boys could use your words and not your fulminating looks, then I think that would make all of us feel better..."

Morgan rolled his eyes. Hotch sighed, and after a moment of silence, he spoke, eyes still on the road.

"I won't step into personal matters," he said, "but if this is going to affect the way the team works I..."

"Oh, for god's sake," JJ groaned, "Hotch, you're my boss, and I respect you, but seriously..."

"Fine!" the elevated tone freaked Morgan out. Hotch was the last person he thought was going to lose it in this situation, but the man looked frantic; he had to hold the wheel with one hand while he ran the other through his face before talking again. "What are you trying to accomplish with the silent treatment?"

Morgan was about to speak, but Hotch didn't let him. "Are you planning on cutting ties with him? not talk to him again?"

"I- No!" Morgan frowned. "I was just-"

"What? You were what, exactly? Because if you are not planning on stop being his friend then what is the purpose of this? just for fun? just torturing him? Don't you think he's already doing that on his own?"

"You know what? He lied to us for five years; forgive me if I need more than five hours to process it!" he defended himself, but the determination had visibly faded. He saw the point in Hotch's words; he had thought about it himself. But in a weak moment of selfishness, he'd decided to go on anyway.

"It is a lot to take in," JJ spoke, calmly, almost whispering.

"How do you do it?" Morgan asked, looking at Hotch "How can you be so calm? How can you not be mad? You found out at the same time than the rest of us."

Hotch thought about it, it's not like he hadn't wondered that himself, but he had found an answer that satisfied him.

"We can't go back in time and change Reid's life; we cannot change what he told us. I know what I know now and I know I don't want to change how I feel towards Reid because I've worked with him for five years, and I know him. So being mad would be just wasting my time, and everyone else's; there's no point in a fight if I expect it to end at the exact same point than it started..."

Morgan shook his head. What Hotch said did make sense. The problem was, Hotch has always been good at keeping his emotions in check, Derek could not say the same. His mother had always told him he wore his heart in his sleeve. With time, he got better and better at bottling, hiding behind jokes, but he could never deny that he always felt with amazing intensity and could not control it.

So yeah, it wasn't that simple; he couldn't just not be mad because it was a waste of time.

"What about you?" he spat, a little rougher than intended, at JJ, looking at her through the rearview.

In her defense, she did a good job at not reacting to Morgan's tough look. She stared at him calm and collected, not surprised at all.

"What about me?" she repeated.

"How do you feel about this? Are you angry?" now JJ took a second to think before answering.

"I... I don't know yet. I don't think I'm as angry as I am shocked. I guess I still find it hard to believe. And every time I think about getting angry, I remember..." she sighed. "Just look at Spence's life! He was a kid, damn it, and I get to feel angry because what? I was left in the dark? Spencer had to go through all of that in a world where he could trust himself and a couple of other kids who were probably more scared than him... I don't know; it can't be compared."

The car fell silent after that, and surprisingly, Morgan found JJ's words to be helpful. She was right; it couldn't be compared. If he had gone through something like that, he wouldn't want everyone to know it either. God, who was he kidding? He had gone through something, and just imagining that to be exposed without his control when all he wanted was to forget it... He wouldn't survive that. And that without even counting that Spencer couldn't legally say anything to them.

Gosh. Poor kid.

Before even getting to the doors of the police station, they could already see reporters and channel trucks in front.

"Aaron, what do we do?" they were on the phone with the other car, and García from Quantico, Rossi just spoke.

"García, have you got a hold of someone inside the station?"

"Yes sir, of course sir. It took me a minute because all the lines are saturated, but I've spoken with the captain and you can enter through the back door, there'll be someone waiting for you." 

"Got it, good job, García."

"That's why I'm here," she said joyful, "García, over and out,"  and with that she hanged the phone.

"Alright, we'll meet you guys inside" Emily said before hanging as well.

They got out of the car and entered with no further inconveniences.

The rest of the day was a blur to Morgan; they visited crime scenes, checked the bodies, talked to the locals. Hotch didn't partner him up with Spencer, not once, but he supposed that had more to do with Spencer's comfort than with himself.

By the time they got to the hotel to get some rest, Derek didn't have any energy that would allow him to have a coherent conversation with Spencer. So he was planning on going straight to his room and getting some sleep.

"You know? I could use a drink, but I could use eight hours of sleep even more," Rossi said. The team chuckled, looking like they were thinking the exact same. Even Spencer looked ready to go to bed; he hadn't even taken any files from the police station; he was really going to rest.

"Excuse me..." he heard a little voice say. They still weren't inside the reception, and this was New York, so there were plenty of people on the street, but this particular voice was closer to them, clearer.

When Hotch got out of the way, Derek could see the source of the voice. It was a dark-haired boy who couldn't be more than fourteen; he was pale and shaking visibly.

"Can I help you?" Hotch talked, with that authoritative voice that probably did little to calm the kid's nerves.

"Um.. I'm actually looking for Spencer Reid."

He had to make a conscious effort to avoid looking directly at Spencer, and he knew the rest did the same because none of them reacted at all. Spencer stood quiet himself, not wanting to reveal his presence.

"Who's looking for him?" Hotch asked carefully, looking around at the streets rather than the boy he was talking to.

"I've got something for him." The shake in his voice didn't wear off; he held up a brown box that Morgan hadn't spotted before.

"Who sent you, kid?" Derek spoke this time.

"He just told me to give this to Spencer Reid," the kid handed the envelope to Hotch, who grabbed it by reflex.

"Who's 'he'?" Hotch asked.

"Who's 'he'?" Hotch asked.

"You'll give it to him? Spencer Reid?" he didn't wait for anyone to respond. "Okay. I'll go now."

"Wait!" Hotch tried to stop him, but he disappeared quickly; New York was far from being asleep, even at that time. The people crowded, and the kid was soon lost.

"We have to split," Rossi said with urgency.

"There's no point" Morgan pointed "The Hotel has surveillance, we'll do quicker checking that"

"Let's get inside," Hotch ordered. Like everyone else, he was now hypervigilant, looking at every direction while he escorted the team inside.

He could see his team members checking paranoidly on each other, as if fearing one of them might disappear. Except Spencer, Hotch noted; he was staring at the floor while he walked, not even looking nervous. His eyes were unfocused, a look that Hotch had seen more times than he ever wanted to.

In an impulse he didn't know why he followed, he raised a hand and pressed it on Spencer's shoulder, then the back of his neck, while he guided him inside. Part of him was hoping to ground him, get him out of wherever he was in his mind. He also considered it a safety measure; if Spencer slipped more into dissociation, he didn't want him not being able to follow the group inside. And a tiny bit, one that he was going to deny at any cost, was happy to have that small gesture to himself, to ease his own worry.

If the team noticed, they didn't mention it. And if it helped or hurt Spencer in any way, he didn't show it either, not even a flinch, no acknowledgment at all.

Hotch firmly conducted everyone to the entrance and got them all into the elevator. On their way up, Spencer started blinking rapidly, and he seemed to become more aware of his surroundings. It was only then that Hotch realized that he was still holding his hand on Spencer's back, and he quickly pulled it away. Apart from Rossi raising an eyebrow at him, with a smirk on his face, nobody else said anything.

"They finished interviewing the kid?" Emily asked later that night. It was only her and Hotch; the rest of the team was grounded in bed. The whole team had already been awake for forty-eight hours; they weren't going to be functioning well without some rest.

Hotch himself felt ready to close his eyes and call it a night, and by the mere look Emily had on her face, she felt the same. Just a few more hours, he said to himself; then they all could start fresh in the morning.

"Yes," he answered her.

"And?"

"Nothing useful," he watched as her expression fell, "he says an old homeless guy gave him the package, pointed to us and told him to give it to a Dr. Spencer Reid. When we asked why did he do it he only said the man was really scary."

"You think that's the end of it?" she asked.

"I don't know. But we don't have any proof he's lying, and his parents picked him up; we can't keep questioning him. We talked to the parents, and García did a background check; they're clean. So that's it for the night."

"And the box?"

"It wasn't a bomb if that makes you feel better," he said shrugging, not proper of him, but he was really tired, "but we don't know what it might be; it just looks like a Rubik cube, with a very limited color pallet..." She raised her eyebrows, and Hotch continued. "Entirely black," he said. "We haven't even touched it yet; we should consult Reid before we do anything, but..." but Spencer was sleeping, and Hotch wasn't about to wake him up.

He watched Emily sight, debating between being downcast because they didn't have any new clues, or being glad the night was over. At this point Hotch was thinking he would lean towards the second.

"Get some rest."

"You too," Emily said, disappearing into her room.

Hotch was so tired he wasn't even paying attention while walking into what he hoped was his room, maybe that's why the voice in the hallway almost gave him a heart attack.

"Anything?"

He turned. Of course, it was Morgan; of course, he'll have to deal with him before he finally got some sleep. He felt irritated; he nearly said some awful insults to his team member, but then his bitterness surprised him, and he thought he must be more tired than he had anticipated.

"No," he said, luckily being able to keep all the harsh feelings away from his voice, "we didn't get much of it. We'll brief in the morning; if you'll excuse me, I'm exhausted."

Morgan had the decency of looking guilty.

"Of course, I'm sorry, go on." he started to walk away. Hotch was able to open the door to his room and get inside quickly.

When he looked at the time, he was surprised it was only midnight. He would've expected a time closer to 3 AM. He was about to collapse in bed without even changing, but then he decided it would not have much of a comfortable sleep in a suit.

Despite how tired his body was, his mind was awake, he was watching the recent events like flashbacks from a movie, one after another, passing before his eyes at tremendous speed. He was so angry. He wasn't even sure at whom exactly. Maybe Porter? Maybe the person that got Spencer to get inside a criminal activity zone when he was eleven. Or maybe at Spencer himself, for not telling them, for not letting them help.

Or maybe he was just really tired, and he was looking for an emotion to cover the wave of protectiveness that hit him every time he gave a thought to what Spencer had to go through. Which, due to recent events, was very often.

He laid on the bed, really tired, but felt like hours before his eyes started to close. He couldn't get the case out of his head. And they still had to discuss so many things in the morning, starting with the content of the package the kid had given them. So that was on the list of problems for his future self.

Another thing in his mind was, surprisingly, Gideon. He wondered if Gideon knew about this, if he had met Spencer in a party while he was working for the CIA, or even before. If he knew about his mother, father, mentor, friends, life... And if so, why would he leave him. Ever.

Hotch didn't think he could. Even before he knew all of what he does now, he would've never left Spencer the way Gideon had, not like that. And Spencer didn't even trust him the way he did Gideon.

I knew you'd understand.

And when Spencer and him became closer, the feeling did nothing but grow. Every time Hotch had to remind Spencer that the team was there for him, that they were not going anywhere, and he looked at Hotch with a smile that never got to the eyes, like saying "oh how sweet, how innocent of you, wait and you'll see." He never mentioned this to Spencer, but Hotch always promised to himself to prove him wrong anyways.

The real question was how had Gideon stared into Spencer's eyes and decided to prove the kid right.

Hotch usually noticed when he was about to finally fall asleep because a part of his thoughts drifted to complete nonsense, thinking it's a revolutionary idea, while the other part said, "that was so incoherent, you're falling asleep." But this night, he didn't see it coming; he drifted away from thoughts to dreams without feeling the difference.

Spencer was fully awake in seconds. It was that kind of sleep where you are deep in dreams, and the next second, you open your eyes, feeling as if you have been wide awake the whole time. Weird, he thought; that hadn't happened to him in a while.

When he was a kid, moving from place to place with his Underground kids, he experienced that kind of sleep regularly. Every night or even during a nap, he had the ability to transition from deep sleep to wide awake in an instant. He found it quite useful. They didn't always have time to sleep at night, and if they did, it probably wasn't in their own homes. There was no assurance that they wouldn't be awakened by someone with less than good intentions.

He vividly remembered his flat in Las Vegas, situated right in the middle of the city, larger than what most could afford. There was also the small one he used when staying in New York. Although it wasn't more extensive than a comfortable living space for three, it was elegant and expensive. However, he rarely used any of them until he separated from the gang and worked for the CIA. When he joined the FBI, he assumed the CIA would retain ownership of those properties. Technically, he now owned all the places that used to belong to Alec, but the CIA wasn't aware of that, and he hadn't visited any of the properties. The CIA only knew about the two flats he used while undercover.

He wondered if there was an undercover agent living in those properties now, or if the white modern furniture was just collecting dust, waiting for someone to stumble in at night, high on everything, with five other kids in the same condition, all ready to crash on the couch or the floor and get a few hours of sleep. It was a rather specific scenario, but it had happened plenty of times.

Although he had a house where he "lived," he never actually stayed there. Sometimes, he didn't even set foot in it for months. They moved with the group from city to city, state to state. If one of them owned a property, they stayed there; if not, they rented rooms in the first hotel they found. Money wasn't a problem for them. However, if they were high, drunk, or armed enough not to care, there was a chance they would sleep under a tree in the middle of the park.

Thinking about it now, as a competent adult, he cringed at the places he slept in and substances he consumed. But there wasn't much he could do to change the past. Even then he had lived a rather luxurious life compared to where he came from.

"Reid," Hotch called.

"Sorry, lost in thought," he replied without missing a beat. "I was saying that New York is one of the main cities for the party side of the Affluence, kind of like the capital, along with maybe Las Vegas and Los Angeles. I know at least thirty-seven hidden locations in a radius of forty miles..."

"That's... More than I expected," said Emily.

"And that's only what I'm aware of; I haven't been updated for five years. There could be new ones and old ones that closed."

"So first thing we have to do," Morgan stated, looking at Hotch, "is get an update on that, we need information that will help us now, not five years ago"

Hotch looked at Spencer. "Can you do that?"

"I can call a couple of people," he replied. Hawthorne had told him in front of the team to call Bella or Maeve, so when he said 'people' there wasn't really any mystery in it. But still it somehow felt wrong to expose them to his team. It felt that way since this all started, creating a sense of collision between two sides of his life that shouldn't be merging. Only this time, it was more personal; he couldn't tell if he was protecting his team from the Affluence or the Affluence from his team.

"You do that. We need you to start with the geographic profile – the hidden locations, the crime scenes, and any other useful information you may find." Spencer nodded. "And then there's this..." He pointed to the box, leaving it open for others to share.

"An invitation," Spencer said, that didn't really surprised anybody, they were already suspecting it'd be something like that.

"I think," Emily said, "if we know that this unsub is going to be difficult to catch – for all we know, we could be talking about a whole organization – we need to get Spencer inside again as fast as possible. There's no way we can get better informants."

"And what if it's not an organization?" Morgan said, looking angry and scared. "What if it's just a really well-organized unsub that we can catch doing a profile like we know how to do? And when we are done with the case in a few weeks, we will have put Reid back in the middle of an illegal society we're unable to end, with no ticket back, and all in vain."

JJ looked like she agreed with him, but to her credit, she didn't say anything, didn't even nod.

JJ looked like she agreed with him, but to her credit, she didn't say anything, not even nod. Spencer could appreciate Emily's cold head. She thought the way a secret agent would. Spencer wasn't proud to be called a secret agent. If this were any other member of the team, he would totally agree with Morgan, but when it was himself on the line, he thought exactly like Emily. If that made him a hypocrite, then... well, so be it.

Emily was discussing with Morgan, their voices getting progressively louder without them realizing. Spencer wasn't listening. For the first time since he had received the first letter and then the second invitation last night, he was confronted with the possibility of going back.

When they mentioned it the day before (or two days before?), it was just an idea, a note on the useful easy entrance they had in case they needed it. But right now, it was actually needed, and he would have to do it. He would accept the invitation and get dressed in fancy fabrics, custom-made suits.

He'd have to wear his pretty smile, get his flirty talk back, and smoke and drink like he hadn't in five whole years. He'd have to make up excuses for passing on the drugs because there was no way he was doing that  again. And he'd have to see old faces, talk, fake laugh, and explain his absence.

It made him anxious but excited. The adrenaline made him want to throw up, but he was kind of longing for that kind of adrenaline anyway. It was strange. It terrified him yet exhilarated him. He didn't know if he trusted himself with that kind of feeling. An addict, he reminded himself; the adrenaline was nothing but his drug of choice. If he got into that gala, dressed all red and golden, would he laugh like a maniac? Or panic and freeze?

And that wonder made it even more nerve-tingling. It was electrifying, breath-stealing. It was...

"Reid," Hotch said, "it's up to you. Are you prepared to go back?"

Surprisingly, Spencer had been following the conversation pretty well despite how fast his brain was going on other matters. But that was the question, wasn't it? Was he prepared? No. But he guessed that no one is ever prepared for something like that; he sure hadn't been prepared the first time he'd entered the Affluence, but he was alive now, right?

On the other hand, he probably shouldn't. He lacked the conviction for ending things, even if he knew it was doing more harm than good. If he got back in, would he ever be able to leave it behind again?

"Yes," he found himself saying. "I want to to go back."

Morgan glared at him, his expression a mix of disappointment and resignation, as well as fear. Spencer didn't like that look on his friend. But there wasn't much he could do. He had already made up his mind; he'd go back in. The first invitation that he received in October was a couple of weeks away, but to go back, he needed... well, he had so much to do. They needed to start now.

"Okay," said Hotch. Their eyes met for a second, and Spencer knew that Hotch was putting his trust in him. Weirdly, it didn't bother him. This was something he actually knew how to do; he had trained since he was a kid for this moment; he could do this. "Then it's decided."

"Days of hard work await us," Rossi commented after a second of silence. "It seems like we'll be working day and night..."

"It's true," Hotch sighed. "Reid will manage the geographic profile, and we'll all collaborate on the field when we get to the time of being undercover. But everything else is going to be distributed between us. You," he looked at Spencer, "will get everything in order to accommodate yourself back into the Affluence, just… always move in pairs, alright?" Be careful , he didn't say. He would, just not at that moment.

Everyone nodded, and Hotch quickly finished distributing the tasks. Then they all went in different directions. Spencer was with JJ for the day, so they'd visit the last crime scene with the others, and then JJ was going with him while he talked to some people, trying to get back into the gossip network that The NYC Affluence had to offer.

The crime scene did nothing but confirm all of Spencer's fears about it having anything to do with the Underground Affluence. They looked around. The body wasn't there, obviously, but the scene hadn't been cleaned up yet, so that helped a lot with the profile.

Hotch was talking to the locals; they, of course, didn't know anything about this being related to a hidden world that lived among them without them noticing. But they had seen this and the other scenes fresh when they were found, so they were actually quite helpful. Hotch partnered himself with Morgan, who was hearing the conversation while paying attention to Spencer looking around.

Spencer wasn't hearing Hotch's conversation in the slightest, nor did he care. He could feel Derek's eyes carving a hole into the back of his neck, but he pretended he wasn't aware of him. His eyes caught a detail that he hadn't spotted before.

"She's still receiving mail?" he asked, interrupting the officer in the middle of a sentence.

"Excuse me?" the man asked, clearly not following Spencer's train of thought.

"Why, Reid? What did you find?" Hotch came closer to him, following his gaze straight to the mailbox hanging from the door.

"It's stuck," he pointed to the mailbox's small opening for the letters at the other side of the door "It wasn't in the pictures you sent us of the crime scene. So, is she still receiving mail?"

The officer had probably not even seen the mailbox. Why would the door have a mailbox, anyway? This was a fancy building; the mail had lockers in the reception numbered by apartment. Why would anyone have a mailbox at the apartment's door? But Spencer knew perfectly why she needed it.

"Um... no," the officer answered, "she is legally dead, and we had the perimeter area with patrol twenty-four seven. No mailman would have gotten close enough to put a letter in the mailbox..." and after a beat in which no one said anything, he continued, "I'm sure that it just moved when we opened the door and got stuck."

"Yeah, of course," said Spencer. His tone was akin to someone reassuring a child about the existence of the tooth fairy, just to make them stop pestering. Hotch found it slightly amusing, but he'd never say that. "But we could still check, if that's okay."

He didn't wait for an answer, not that he would have received a negative one, before putting on a latex glove and opening the door to the inside of the mailbox. There was a letter.

Not on the floor of the mailbox, as one would expect, but stuck on the opening on the other side of the door, making it look like it was half open. Spencer took the letter and showed it to the members of his team present.

To Jasmine Carter. 

No address, no postal code. Only the name, in fancy black lettering. The team had seen that kind of writing before. They didn't even need to say what it was about; they just immediately knew.

"You think the person who delivered it didn't know she was dead?" JJ questioned, still glaring at the letter as if it had personally attacked her.

"Or knew she was dead, but submitted it anyway to deliver a message," Morgan said.

"What message could that be?" Spencer asked, genuinely curious about Derek's thoughts. He could only guess why they would do that. Maybe it was for him? To let him know that they were aware of him working the case? Being back? No. It didn't make much sense.

"No idea," Morgan said. Spencer had to stop himself from rolling his eyes because, of course, he had no idea, neither did he.

"Alright, we'll go on different paths now, then," Hotch was saying as they were leaving the building. "Actually, JJ, would you help me with something for a minute?" he said before going back inside, and JJ quickly followed him.

"What do you need?" she asked, raising her eyebrows when she saw that Hotch was just taking a seat on the reception's sofa.

"Nothing," he said, sounding tired. "Just sit here for a couple of minutes while those two get their shit together."

If JJ was extremely perturbed by hearing Hotch say 'get their shit together' she didn't show it. She simply sat down next to him, and grabbed a magazine from the coffee table.

"What the hell are they doing?" Spencer let out when Hotch and JJ didn't come out after a couple of minutes.

"Maybe still arranging something with the locals," Derek suggested. Spencer nodded but otherwise stayed quiet. He was staring at him again; Derek knew he was being less than subtle, but he couldn't help himself. At last, he spoke again. "Look, kid..."

Spencer did not turn to look at him, but that wasn't exactly new for the kid. He rarely looked anyone in the eyes during a conversation he didn't want to have. But Derek still knew he was listening.

"Spencer." Now, that was a little bit weirder. Derek almost never used Spencer's name. It was always Pretty Boy, Boy Genius, Boy Wonder, or just Reid. But never Spencer. "I just wanted you to know that I am not mad at you," he ripped the bandage; he was ready to continue, but Spencer got to it first.

"You don't have to say that, you know?" he asked weakly, not looking up from his shoes.

"Say what?"

"You are mad. That is okay. You are allowed to be mad at me."

Morgan's heart clenched a little. "Oh, kid, no..." he found it hard to believe that he was distrusting that kid before, that the thought of Spencer only faking being close with the team even went through his head. This was Spencer, for god's sake, their Spencer. His Spencer.

"Alright," he admitted, "I was mad. But only because I was confused and shocked and felt a little betrayed. And... a little scared..." open-hearted, he thought to himself, time of the truth only. "But now I've had time to process it, and I realize that it was not fair to treat you the way I have. I want to be there for you; you are my friend now, regardless of your past."

Spencer was still looking at the ground as if it was the most interesting thing in the streets of New York. Still, Derek could see tears forming in his eyes.

"Sorry," the kid said, right after he shed a tear. Now he was quickly raising his arm to clean it off his face with the sleeve of his cardigan.

"No need to be sorry, kid; it's alright."

"Thank you for not being mad at me," he could see that the kid was doing his best not to show that he was crying harder now, and his breathing was starting to pick up. Derek frowned a little.

"You don't need to thank me. I am sorry I made you feel I was mad at you," he watched the younger man without approaching him, not knowing if that would make him better or worse. "Pretty boy, you need to breathe."

"I am so sorry I am like this," he said again, the tears had stopped, but he was still struggling to get air into his lungs. "I..."

Now Spencer looked at him. Morgan wasn't expecting it. The kid's red eyes looked directly into his soul, old and wise, as if it wasn't his younger team member, but someone who lived a million lives and could tell you the secret of the universe. He briefly wondered what kind of things this kid had seen in the Underground Affluence and then forgot he ever wondered that because he realized why the kid was looking at him for.

Morgan had opened his heart to him, spoken his mind about his feelings. Spencer was looking at him to see if it was safe to do the same. He didn't know how the kid's eyes could be so expressive; he did his best to put trust in his gaze, in the hope that the kid would feel safe enough even if he didn't say it with words.

Maybe he nailed it because Spencer talked.

"I've been... off," he said, "but now I'm back, and it's..." he sighed heavily. It wasn't proper of him to not find the words; all he had in his head were words. Complex meaningless words, waiting to be picked up to describe something. And now he couldn't find a way that explained it.

Morgan stood silent and waited, inviting Spencer to keep talking.

"Sometimes, when I dissociate, I feel like a sociopath, y'know," Derek didn't say anything, but he did swallow a lump in his throat. "It's not only zoning out; it's something that lasts longer. I am completely functional, but I'm just... Not there."

He shifted to be more comfortably leaning in the car; he shot a quick look at Morgan but wasn't looking anymore when he talked again. "You know, it's a strange sensation. When I'm dissociated, it's as if I'm observing the world from a distance, like an impartial spectator. Emotions, connections, they all seem... irrelevant...

"It's like the logical part of my mind takes over completely. I analyze everything, every action, every reaction. It's efficient, almost sociopathic. I can see the world as a series of variables, devoid of sentiment. And it's something I learned... you know? Like, it was useful; I've always been able to turn it on and off. But lately... I seem to be losing control of it."

It went unsaid the reason why he had learned it, why he needed it when he was a kid. But, of course, that didn't stop Morgan from thinking about it and wishing to have someone to get angry at, to blame for Spencer's pain.

"But then, when I snap back to reality, it's overwhelming. All those suppressed emotions flood back in. It's like a storm after eerie calmness. Guilt, sadness, joy, it all rushes in at once, and I feel like I've been away for ages. Like I'm not used to feeling, so it's all more intense, and I can't regulate..." he sighed. "Sometimes when I was a kid, I wished I could maintain that detached state. Because I work better, cold headed, smarter. But then I'd be missing out on life's richness, wouldn't I? It's a constant struggle to find a balance between brilliance and humanity."

He shrugged, as if to convey a sense of 'that's it,' as though he hadn't just uttered one of the most reflexive and sorrowful things a man could say. Like he hadn't made Derek struggle with his own tears, which, of course, years of practice, managed to hold in.

He shrugged, as if to convey a sense of 'that's it,' as though he hadn't just uttered one of the most reflexive and sorrowful things a man could say. Like he hadn't made Derek struggle with his own tears, which, of course, years of practice, managed to hold in.

He watched as the kid failed epically to hold in more tears, which he cleaned helplessly with his sweater's sleeve.

"Kid, talk to me. I want to help. What do you need?"

"Nothing, just," he took a deep breath, "maybe just tell me when you're mad... or when you aren't," he smiled a little embarrassed, "I know I'm a profiler, but it's different when I have to read what people think of myself, you know? I tend to incline for the bad always."

Derek smiled a little too, even though he didn't find it funny. He hoped to make Spencer feel more comfortable.

"Of course, I can do that." And after a bit, he called the kid's attention again. "Hey, pretty boy."

He looked up. "Yeah?"

"Can I hug you?"

Spencer huffed a little and looked back at the floor, but he nodded. And that was enough for Derek. He drew him to himself from the side and pressed firmly, knowing that Spencer dislikes light touches. It was just for a second, and Morgan used his other hand to mess up with the kid's hair, and then he let go. Both of them recovering slowly; Derek shook himself while Spencer ran his hands through his face.

"Are you ready to go, Spence?" That was JJ, coming out of the building.

"Yeah, I'm good. See ya," he waved at Morgan and Hotch, who were getting into the closer SUV, while JJ and him got into the other one.

"So what did you boys talk about?" JJ asked, smirking complicitly.

Spencer raised his eyebrows, half-smiling too.

"Why are you talking as if we were two kids that disagreed in the playground?"

"Well," she said slowly, "you kind of are two kids that disagreed in the playground."

Spencer just kept staring at her irritated, but when she broke out a chuckle, he couldn't help but do the same. And JJ kept driving. They sighed after having a good laugh, and the air seemed so full of peace that he wished it could stay that way forever.

For a second, nothing weighed on him. Not what his team thought of him. Not his past. Not his future. He could just stay right there, breathing the same air as JJ, his mind completely silent, completely at ease...

But nothing lasts forever.

"Where to?" she asked, quietly, as if she knew she was disturbing a weird moment of calm before the storm that was surely coming. "Hotch told me there was a bar you could go to try and gather information..."

"Yeah, yeah," he cut her off, "but first, I need to do something."

She drove in silence to the directions he gave her.

"And I win," Ly said, and then he added smugly, "again."

"Well, I take no offense by it," Spencer replied, throwing the cards that remained in his hands and leaning on the couch. He lit a cigarette. "It's a stupid game, it has no strategy, no trick, no merit, no... no... no game!"

"You say so because you keep losing, darling; just accept it, it'll be easier for everyone," Ly responded. He took the glass resting next to his hand on the black glass table and tried to take a sip. It was empty, had been for the last half-hour, but somehow every time he intended to refill it, he found himself getting distracted and wouldn't remember the glass until he inevitably tried to drink from it.

The game was stupid, Spencer decided. He didn't even remember why he had agreed to play it in the first place. And he couldn't suggest playing poker because he was immediately accused of being a "Vegas kid," which... fair.

The apartment was nice. It had a modern design, white and black tiles in the kitchen. Black leather couch in the living room, a black glass coffee table. A grand piano collecting dust in the corner, although now Ethan was making use of it. The lights were dim, the blinds were closed.

How long have they been here? He didn't remember much; he was already feeling a little light-headed before leaving the party. He only knew that Alec and Ly's dad had burst into the room they were hanging out in and told them to get out urgently. From outside, he remembered even less. Running, gunshots, he had a cut on the cheekbone that was stinging him, but he didn't know how he got it.

He was the one driving, which, he recognized now, was extremely irresponsible and dangerous. He didn't even remember the streets, just the acceleration and the wind on his face, the adrenaline that the speed and the chase gave him. Motorcycles trying to reach them, more gunshots...

And now they were here. They had thrown their phones away; they only kept one that Alec gave them, with only one contact. They were confined here with the only consigne of "I'm serious, Spencer, the six of you, wait for my call, or Will's, or Margo's" (Note to the reader that Will was Ly's dad, yes, he was called the same as Spencer's; they had surely joked about it.

"Maybe we could introduce them; you think they'd found a hate your kid club?" Ly had laughed. Spencer didn't have the heart to tell him that he didn't agree with what Ly thought. William Miller was a rough love kind of person; he expected too much of his kid, and at the same time, he was disappointed, and at the same time, he let him do whatever he wanted with whatever money he wanted. William Miller wasn't a good father, but he wasn't William Reid. During the first ten years of his life, Spencer had been locked in trunks, yelled at while cleaning a freshly broken glass of whiskey that Reid had spilled, kicked, punched, and fake sleeping at night just so his father would leave him alone. It wasn't the same. But it was not fair to tell this to Ly; his trauma was just as valid as his.

The resting name was Margo; she was Maeve's professor, and in her free time, she was also a part-time hired assassin. Lovely woman, really).

Back to it, Alec had made himself clear in the "wait for instructions" order. 'They were kids' after all, even if most of them had killed someone at least once, even if three of them were certified geniuses, even if they had at least one Ph.D., they were still kids. So there they were. The phone had been placed in the middle of the kitchen counter and had been silent the whole time. The air was barely breathable, full of smoke, the only one really affected was Maeve, the rest of them were actually guilty.

"What do you think they wanted?" Camille asked. She was near the window, holding the blinds for them to be partially opened, looking outside to the streets of New York as if she was going to suddenly notice the reason a group of randoms attacked them.

"I don't know," Bella responded. Camille looked at her; she had been walking around the apartment, moving the books in the bookshelves, kicking the socles, pressing the walls. If Camille had to guess, she was looking for a hidden safe. There was one at every hidden location, but you didn't always know where they were. Bella was getting increasingly upset with every failed attempt to activate some secret door or compartment. "Fuck this thing."

Her scream made Maeve jump; she was half asleep lying on the carpet, her legs up on the couch. "Why the fuck are you yelling?" she bit in a whisper.

Ly had abandoned the cards and had finally gotten up to refill his drink. He lit a cigarette and then sat down again, next to Spencer, with Maeve's feet between them. Spencer had turned around on the couch to face Bella; he took a moment to see what she was doing.

"You can't find it?" he asked needlessly and got up.

"Don't you even think of showing off your stupid brilliant mind. If you know where it is, just tell me."

Spencer, who was too tired to prepare words that could explain his thought process of deduction that led him to figure it out, just nodded. "Fine." He walked straight to the piano and put a hand under it, feeling the edges of the wood, looking for... "there," the cover fell, and with it, a thin but long wooden box was tossed into the ground. "You're welcome."

"Go fuck yourself," Bella responded helpfully, without missing a beat.

"Where was that fitting in...?" Ethan asked but was successfully ignored.

She opened it right away. Three guns, cartridges, a phone, some fake IDs of people she didn't recognize, some Regular Signet Tokens, and a few Specifics of someone.

That reminded him of his own extra ring. He had quite a few. The general one, that allowed him to use the hidden services the Affluence could offer, as well as the Personal one, as important as an ID inside of the Affluence. Then there were a few more that were Specifics, like affiliations and loyalties; they sometimes allowed you special services that each specific alliance had to offer. He had the Mensa one, but barely used it. And he had the one with the symbol of Alec's net, his inner circle; he found that much useful. He had a few more, but they were hardly important.

It was normal to have a lot of the Regular's and Personal; you put them in every hidden location you have, ready for the moment you get there in a rush, having lost all the others, and need it to survive. But Spencer had one extra Personal in his person right now. Alec had it done last week, and he didn't hide it anywhere yet.

Maybe he was high, maybe he was drunk (he was, both), but somehow he thought it was a great idea to get it out of his pocket and slide it under the couch. He didn't know who the house belonged to, but if they were there, it probably belonged to Alec, Margo, or Will. That meant they would probably see it again.

Whatever the people on the motorcycles wanted, he surely didn't want to risk losing not just one, but two Personal Signet Tokens. He'd come back and fetch it when this thing was cleared out.

"We have enough money to run away," Ly grinned, looking inside the box, where indeed were a couple wads of money. Spencer huffed a laugh, and even Maeve smiled, but Bella didn't think it was funny.

"We have to wait for instructions, they said so. You know I don't like it either, but this isn't like last time; I think something's up. Bigger than a couple of guys trying to kill us at a party."

She was taking some money out, loading the guns, and looking more closely at the Specific Signet Tokens, probably seeing if they could use them as a last resource.

"If those are discontinued, it won't be of use to us," Spencer pointed out, lighting a cigarette.

"That's what I'm trying to see."

Bella looked worried. Maybe they all should be. But Spencer and Ly kept drinking, Ethan was musicalizing the evening, Maeve was more worried when she had to study for her finals on chemistry, and Camille expressed more curiosity than anything else. Spencer huffed, smiling internally. No wonder Bella looked frustrated.

Bella was worrying because she was the only one worrying. Always the leader, always the responsible one. Even Alec, who was Spencer's  mentor, always addressed her to have somebody aware of the plan, asked her to look after him. If Spencer were the leader, they would all be long dead.

"Let's play something else," Spencer whined, Ly was laughing at him, that kind of giggling laugh he only had when he was drunk or high. "I don't see what's funny," he didn't, but still, he was half laughing half coughing, cigarette between his lips, using his hands to shuffle the cards.

"You two should stop drinking," Bella suggested, not looking up from the box she was leaving all her extra jewelry in.

"Bold words for someone who was challenging me to tequila shots two hours ago," Ly laughed. Now Camille was also chuckling, finally leaving the window in favor of sitting next to Ly, who immediately put his arm around her waist. Maeve started laughing too; they looked insane.

Bella gave up; she sat on the couch, on the opposite side from the rest of the group. She put a cigarette in her mouth, and Spencer lit it for her, still laughing.

And then the phone rang. They shut up like someone had pushed a button. Ethan's constant music stopped right away. There was a heavy silence; you could've heard the flutter of a fly. They were all looking at the phone, ringing on the kitchen counter, but no one moved a muscle.

At the end, Bella was the one to talk. Slowly, and carefully, as still as the rest of them. "Well...? we should get that."

Silence again.

"Here?" JJ asked.

"Yeah, left," Spencer told her; he was fiddling with the bracelet he held in his pocket, golden and engraved. It used to be Camille's; now he had the feeling he might need it. "It's the second... no, third building... actually, I'll know when I see it... There! That one! no... Yeah! that one, yes."

JJ pulled onto the crowded streets of New York, and they got into the building. JJ hadn't asked any questions during the car ride. She wanted to; oh, goodness, she wanted to, but she felt like seeing it would be easier than explaining it.

They were on the good part of New York; the buildings were incredibly luxurious, and JJ knew they couldn't be cheap. The one they had walked into looked particularly fancy; she couldn't help but look at the reception, all white floors with white sofas and flowerpots on every corner. Three security guards were distributed at the doors, and JJ couldn't help but wonder what the building had inside to need that much security. The receptionist called their attention from behind the desk.

"Excuse me! Visiting anybody?"

JJ was about to step in. She was going to tell the receptionist that they were FBI agents, show him her badge, tell him that they needed access to one of the apartments. She didn't, though, because Spencer stepped in and talked before she could. She hoped she did a good job hiding her surprise; she wasn't used to Spencer stepping in.

"Actually, I thought you might help me a little here," he got closer to the desk, JJ followed after a second of shock, "I've been away for a while."

"Well..." the receptionist said, looking a little confused but keeping calm "You, sir... live here?"

Spencer laughed, short and low, with a confidence that JJ had never heard coming out of his mouth.

"No, no. I don't live here. But I... still think you can help me. You see, I don't have the key but if you..."

"Sir, I'm afraid that if you don't live here and you will not visit anybody then I'll have to ask you to leave the building-"

"Come on, help me out here. See, I don't have much," Spencer got something out of his pocket. JJ had never seen that before. It was a golden bracelet; it looked heavy and antique. It had a medal engraved with complex figures; she couldn't make much out; it kind of looked like the drama masks one would often associate with theater. "But I need... sanctuary."

The tone didn't change, but something in the air did, as if Spencer had just pronounced the magic words. He placed the bracelet on the desk. The receptionist did not change his expression, but JJ was trained to read people; she could see how his eyes cleared, like Spencer just told the punch line of a joke JJ had not been part of.

"What is the number and floor of the apartment you are interested in?"

"D fourteen, on the eleventh floor."

"Let's see," he typed something on the computer, and then looked for something in the back. He placed a single key on the desk, next to the bracelet. "Seems like it hasn't been used in over a decade," he commented.

"Sounds about right. Thank you."

"A pleasure to do business with you, have a good day, Mister..." he let it hang, looking at Spencer for the response.

"Doctor, actually," Spencer corrected. "Spencer Reid."

"Reid..." he tasted the name on his mouth, as if trying to remember something "Well, Doctor Reid, have a good day. You too, ma'am."

JJ just nodded, too stunned to speak. Spencer took the key and headed to the elevator; JJ noticed the receptionist grabbing the bracelet. Before they even got to the elevator doors, one of the security guards had pushed the button, so it was already waiting for them with the doors opened.

"Which floor?"

"Eleven," Spencer answered easily.

If they hadn't been in the elevator, with the doors closed and heading up, JJ would have seen the receptionist as he picked up the phone and dialed. She wouldn't have been able to hear the other side, but she would have heard the receptionist's response.

"Yes, I am sure. Dr. Spencer Reid, that's what he said... well, no, of course no... he used an old bracelet..."

But JJ was in the elevator. Trapped in an awkward silence with Spencer. So she didn't hear any of that.

"Don't you think the 'Doctor, actually' was a little much?" JJ tried to joke. Spencer laughed easily. He looked so relaxed, as if his past didn't weigh on him, as if his mind didn't overwhelm him. JJ wished to see him like this more often; then she thought of the possibility he was just faking better, hiding more, and she was repulsed by the idea.

"I thought that if I'll go back, I might as well give notice that I'm here."

"Yeah, the receptionist of a residential building is an important first step," she teased.

"You wouldn't believe how fast the news travel."

And he was right; by the time they reached the eleventh floor, twenty facilities around New York were already aware that Spencer Reid was back. "Yeah, I saw him once, he ran around with another five kids, terrible trouble those six."

"Was he the one that followed Alec everywhere? Oh, yes. On one occasion he stole my watch while showing me a magic trick, that one's sneaky, I tell ya."

"Was he one of the Six Underground kids?"

"Wasn't he with the CIA?"

"Not since he left the Affluence. I was under the impression that he had moved to Ohio."

"I heard he became a cowboy, the other handsome boy was saying that, what was his name..."

"Miller? the kid, I mean. Yeah, can't really trust that lad, always high, his father didn't know what to do with him..."

People in the Affluence liked talking; that was one of the main reasons that the Underground Affluence was even born.

"What are we doing here anyway?" JJ asked as they reached the D14 door.

"The bracelet was my emergency ticket," he explained, as if that was supposed to make sense for JJ, "but I'm gonna need more currency funds if I want to keep going."

"Y'know we work for the FBI, the funds we need for the investigation are..."

"Not that kind of funds," he interrupted, opening the door. When opened, the door made a suction sound, like a fridge. That made JJ think that at some point it had a more advanced locking mechanism. But at that moment it opened nicely with just Spencer's key, and they got in.

It was a hell of a large apartment, beautifully decorated. The amount of dust on the furniture wasn't what JJ expected for a place that hadn't been opened in ten years. However, she reasoned that if the windows, vents, and the door were sealed, it was reasonable to assume that dust wouldn't be able to get in.

That meant this place was practically a time capsule. As JJ looked around, it seemed even more apparent. A few books were out of place, two glasses of dried whiskey were on the coffee table, and the couch cushions were slightly askew. A deck of cards was dealt on the table, as if someone had left in the middle of a round. Cigarette butts on a black ashtray. It fascinated JJ how, whoever was here, had left ten years ago, yet if they returned now, everything would be exactly where they left it.

Spencer didn't seem as sentimental as her, as a matter of fact, he didn't even looked at the place; he went straight for the piano.

"I don't know why I chose this place," he commented while feeling under the piano with his hand.

"What do you mean?" she asked softly.

"I have a lot of places in New York that I can go for funds, but still, this place... I don't know, I've only been here once, actually... I could've gone anywhere, but..." he shrugged.

But what?  JJ wanted to ask, she wanted him to keep talking, to tell her about this world. From what she had heard, she didn't like it much, but if it was important for Spencer, she wanted to give it a chance.

She watched as Spencer got something from under the piano, a box, she noted. It was old and elegant on the outside, less so on the inside. Or perhaps it was once somewhat elegant on the inside, but JJ couldn't have known because now it looked as if someone had robbed it.

There was no better way of describing it. It looked like the robber was caught in the middle and could only manage to get away with half of the things. There were a few cartridges and the shapes of three pistols on the padded velvet, but someone had obviously taken them. There was some money. An impressive amount of jewelry caught JJ's eye; she would need to take a closer look, but she didn't think it was fake.

What intrigued her the most were the coins and rings in the box. They were separated from the rest of the jewelry and were the only things in the box that looked intact, carefully placed in their respective places on the velvet, not one missing.

Spencer centered his attention on them as well. He took two to have a closer look. Then he put one on. No one struck JJ less as a "ring person" than Spencer Reid, but by now she was already getting used to the things she didn't know about him. He vaguely looked at the others but finally placed them down in their place. He took a generous amount of the coins and put them in his pocket. Finally, he moved around pieces of jewelry to find a bracelet, just like the one he gave to the receptionist.

"Alright," he looked at JJ, pressing his lips into a smile. "Almost there. Can you help me with this?" He got up and headed for the couch; JJ followed his instructions as he indicated for her to help him move it. "It should be here... there!"

It was just a ring. Well, a gorgeous ring, golden and round, sculpted with a design JJ couldn't see, but a ring, very similar to the ones Spencer had left in the box.

"This one's different," he explained. "They're called Signet Tokens; you use them to sign. The designs are different for different things, but anywhere you go, you usually use two: the one with the Affluence symbol," he showed her the one that was already on his finger, which had the same design as the bracelet, the drama masks. Now she noted that there was a snake going through them. "And a personal one; this one's mine. There's a bunch more that are from the affiliations you have, but I wont bother with mine cause I'm not even sure the groups I was a part of exist any longer." He put the other ring on but didn't attempt to show JJ its design.

"And what about the coins?" she asked, half-interested, half just to get the weird moment out of her head.

"Medals, we called them. Or... well, Tokens. We didn't use them much, but from what I heard, now they are more popular. They serve the same purpose as the Signet Tokens, just more... I don't know. It's not for paying," he added as an afterthought, "we just pay with money; it's much easier. I mean, what would you do with a bunch of medals? You can't spend them in the rest of the world."

She watched closely as he placed the box where he'd found it, back under the piano. While he was finishing, he looked at her. JJ felt as if he was scanning her, up and down, and into her soul.

"We can't go to one of the fancy ones; we're not dressed properly," JJ looked at herself and then at him. They were actually pretty nicely dressed. Spencer wore a gray shirt, a dark blue tie, and a jacket and pants matching blue. JJ wore a suit as well; she was ready to talk to the press, so she wore a white blouse with black tight pants. She didn't want to imagine what level of fancy the Underground Affluence had. But she supposed the name gave you a clue. Affluence, after all, referred to luxury.

"Should we go change?" she suggested.

"No, we can go to one of the lower ones. There are not many, but it's also where the better whispers happen."

He closed the door and went back down.

"Better now?" asked the receptionist.

"Greatly," Spencer smiled, heading for the desk, and he placed the key on it like the receptionist had earlier. "For the next one who needs it," he muttered, and the man nodded solemnly.

"May your return to the Underground Affluence be rewarding, Dr. Spencer Reid," he said as they were leaving. Lastly, he nodded goodbye to JJ. "Ma'am."

She nodded back, and they got out; the glass doors closed slowly behind them. They got back into the car, and JJ wished the day was over; she desperately wanted a shower. She was also hungry, she noted. Spencer looked tired too, which made her feel inexplicably better, as if she wasn't alone in this. It gave her the energy to push a little more, just for him.

On Spencer's side, his exhaustion was purely mental. Still divided since he was a kid between fear and freedom, pain and lust, pure adrenaline, good or bad. It was the mixed feelings that the Affluence gave him that always kept him on edge. And for some reason, he just loved being on edge and hated it, all at the same time. It made him a complete addict. Exhausted him, but gave him the strength to move.

JJ and he looked at each other for a moment; they both had a clear image of what they wanted next. Spencer, to use his Signet Tokens once again after five years, to be part of this again, to play the game he was trained for. JJ, to eat a cheeseburger, extra fries, preferably. It only took a breath; they were ready to keep going. She started the car.

"Where to now?"

There was this penthouse in Los Angeles. With pristine white walls and stylish blue ceramic floors. The bathrooms had golden sinks and each room's king sized bed had its own set of silk sheets.

One side of the expansive industrial decor space led to a large terrace, offering a view of a small garden, a barbecue, a table with crystal-clear chairs, and discreetly positioned snipers guarding each corner.

On the terrace, adults engaged in conversation, puffing on pipes and cigars, sipping only the finest whiskies and brandies, with a couple of wine bottles nearby. Amidst an assortment of appetizers, they conversed, occasionally sparring verbally, while engaging in the art of plotting and calculating. This gathering wasn't formal; it was an intimate affair, an inner circle of a few individuals who knew each other well. Though small in number—four men and two women—they were accompanied by an entourage of bodyguards, enough people for the terrace to feel a little tight.

Inside the penthouse, in a distant living room of bluish leather couches, with much less noise and alcohol, two kids played chess. A girl observed, intrigued, but didn't say anything. Two other girls were throwing a dice, non of the other kids knew the reason of this, that was between the girls and god. The remaining boy was a little further away from them, he seemed to be more concentrated in the book he was reading, but Spencer knew he was listening, he could see him reacting to the conversation on his microexpressions.

"Checkmate," Spencer announced. They had been playing forever now; this match had lasted like... five full minutes, making it the longest one so far.

Lydon looked at the board for a long time, as if Spencer had just broken his brain and was working extra hours to put the pieces back together.

"Fucking liar," the curly kid said, "that's not checkmate, you're lying, look," he pointed at his king and then showed that nothing was currently in the position of ending him.

"Well, not now," Spencer said, rolling his eyes, "but eventually, I see it in four more movements..."

"How can you possibly know what I am going to move next, huh?" Lydon replied angrily, "I might mess up your move."

"Alright, if you want, we can play it out and see how it goes," he offered calmly. He didn't know these kids well. He had seen them all before, at other parties, but he began rolling with Alec only about half a year ago and was still unsure of how to move around here. However, he was clever enough to notice he had to be careful.

Alec had told him a lot of specifications; luckily, he had an eidetic memory. He remembered all of them despite how tired he was that night, despite how much he begged in his head for Alec to shut up at once. But Alec kept talking for a long, long time before finally telling him to go to bed, that he should sleep better. Spencer had to take two full breaths to keep the response in his mouth.

"You are an extraordinarily smart kid, Spencer, use that in your favor," he had said, "but remember that there are plenty of smart kids in there, maybe not as clever as you are, but perhaps more clever than you're used to dealing with. Be polite; you don't want to pick a fight with someone who can help you later. Never owe favors; on the contrary, always collect favors from others when you can, make them owe you. You're smart, show it. Don't let the other kids win, or the adults. No matter how mad they get, never give them the power to manipulate your actions to please them. But don't show all your mind, alright? Always keep a part hidden, just for yourself, play dumb on a couple of specifically picked topics; you need the margin to surprise people even if they already know you're a genius. Never give the whole 100% of you. You have to learn to pick your battles, Spencer; that's maybe rule number one here. We have to respect the rules at all costs, you hear me? We are savages, killers. But we are also a collected society, humans. If we didn't have rules, we'd just be killers and savages..."

He went on; Spencer had learned a lot that night. One of the things he learned was not to ask questions when it was so late at night and he planned on sleeping. He'd learned to move carefully around the people in this place. "I'm a very dangerous man, Spencer, but I'm not the most dangerous, not even close," and though he didn't think it should technically apply to children, the tasks he'd been a part of told him otherwise. Although he didn't know these kids well, he was around them long enough to be able to see how they acted and why.

Lydon was the loudest one; every time he talked, he did it for everyone to hear, even if he was just next to Spencer's ear. He never commented on it, of course. Lydon was very sure of himself, and, Spencer noted, even though he liked winning, he didn't mind losing at all. He also dressed very pretty; today he had on a pink buttoned shirt and a fluffy white coat over it. He said he was going to be a designer; his father apologized for it.

"Fine, you win, I'm sick of this game anyway," he pushed the board and threw himself on the chair dramatically, "and what are you looking at?"

Camille jumped at being called out. She didn't talk much; she wasn't loud; Spencer liked her. She was also younger by a year or so; her mother was an actress, and that was why she was there.

"I'm just watching," she replied. Her voice was soft and high-pitched; you would expect it from a girl her age, but somehow it took Spencer by surprise.

"Watching the game or watching Spencer?" Lydon joked, but he was ignored.

"You like chess?" Spencer asked kindly. The girl blushed.

"I don't know, I don't play."

"I can teach you if you want."

Lydon and she exchanged places, and Spencer began an easy but detailed explanation of how the pieces moved. Lydon seemed to observe them for a while but finally got bored and looked at Bella and Maeve, who were still throwing a dice.

"What's that for?" Lydon asked.

Bella looked at him but said nothing; Spencer had the impression that Bella and he himself were the only ones disturbed by the presence of the guards in the room. There were five there with them, covering the doors and standing near them, watching. The other kids seemed as relaxed as they could be, unperturbed, like they were alone in the room. Spencer knew Bella and he were the only ones whose parents weren't part of the Affluence, the only ones who didn't grow up with that kind of security at all times, them and Maeve, but Maeve came from a rich family, before Margo introduced her, so even she was used to the guards.

After a beat of silence Maeve responded. "We asked Mr. Lee if these were truly precision dices, or if they were fake, and he said he didn't know. He told us to check, so we are checking."

She rolled the dice again, and Bella wrote the number down.

"How many times do you have to roll it?"

"At least a thousand," Spencer replied without looking up from the chessboard, but he was echoed by a second voice. He looked up to see Ethan staring as well. Lydon observed both of them alternatively, bored and unimpressed. They had said the same thing at the same time; chances of that happening were... what? One in a hundred? Maybe less. He didn't have time to elaborate on proper statistics, not while staring at Ethan's eyes.

The silence prolonged for a beat, and then Spencer looked back to the board, Ethan back to the book, and they forgot it had ever happened.

It was darkening outside, and Spencer heard the adults moving towards them. It was not usual for a reunion to happen during the day, but there was an important gathering tonight that they all were going to attend. The night was unavailable for all of them.

The reunion was strategic, for the groups of power inside of an alliance, and did not admit kids. That meant Spencer could sleep on an actual bed that night, maybe, probably. Or maybe he could convince Alec to take him to his mother's hospital for the night, and he could spend some time with her. He saw her very often; Alec had never denied him that. But with the number of gatherings he had attended for the last couple of months, the timetable had been very tight.

"Spencer," Alec called. Spencer got up as fast as he was able to and turned to see Alec and a man in his sixties with a very unusual mustache. "I want you to meet someone. Here, Spencer, this is Dr. Charles Anderson, he's a mathematics professor at Caltech. Charles, this is the kid I wanted you to meet..."

"I hear you're good at mathematics, Spencer," the man held out his hand, and Spencer looked at it. And then he looked slightly behind the man, where Ethan and his father were leaving; the boy waved goodbye. Even knowing that the man was expecting an answer, Spencer still didn't break eye contact with Ethan until the boy did first, like their own little stare contest.

Camille was cleaning out the chessboard while her mother was still in the middle of a conversation and of a drink. Lydon watched Dr. Anderson intrigued, always loud even when he didn't speak. Spencer could hear his curious questions directly out of his brain. Maeve smiled goodbye in silence and took off with her mentor; Bella rolled her eyes.

Spencer liked Bella. She was older than him by a few months. Her mother and father were really busy people, but they were still nice. She was the one Spencer knew the most because she trained with him. He knew her parents paid Alec to train her; they weren't a part of all this, but they let Alec educate her. She didn't go to school, not since she was five. He knew Alec really liked her. If he really liked her, he saw potential. She was bold and ruthless, and a fast learner. She had talent for fighting, and she was fast with guns, much like Spencer.

The competitiveness between them was high; they were often paired together in practice, so they spent the day exchanging blows. It was fun. She liked him too, but she had a peculiar way of showing it. In Alec's mansion, they shared a bedroom for the nights Bella stayed over. Spencer liked her; he trusted her more than anyone else in this place.

"I like mathematics," Spencer replied calmly. The professor had already given up on the handshake, but his smile didn't waver. Another thing Spencer liked about the Affluence: people didn't get offended easily, nor did they expect much from you as long as you didn't expect anything from them. And they were accustomed to eccentric individuals; they were all a different kind of weird.

Well, more than 'like,' I'd say. You see, Alec gave me a few of your papers. I hope you don't mind; I found them very interesting." Spencer raised his eyebrows. "Look, I've been a professor at Caltech for more than thirty years. I can pull strings all over the place, but I don't even think I need to. We'd love to have a mind like yours among our students, if you find something that interests you in our school, of course," he chuckled.

"Of course," Spencer mocked subtly.

Then the professor handed Spencer a pamphlet with an aerial view of the campus on the cover. "Just take a look at what we have to offer, would you? We know that with your brain, and Mr. Sinclair's funds, you could attend any school you like. But maybe you'll find something interesting and decide to join us in California... Just, there you go." Spencer took the pamphlet. "Have a great night, kid. I really hope we could meet again. I'd like to hear your opinion on some topics and give you mine on others... I'm sure many would want to see your mind at work..."

The professor was talking a lot, smiling like a kid. He seemed nice. Spencer was starting to get dizzy with all the pleasantries. Alec seemed to notice because he promptly grabbed the professor by the shoulder and led him away from Spencer, promising to take him to California personally for another chat. Spencer turned around.

The house was almost empty now. Only two of the room's bodyguards remained, but there were now four new ones who were previously outside. Lydon was lying on the couch; he had nowhere to go—this was his house. Well, he didn't live here, but it was his house. Bella was also there; her only means of returning home was for Alec to bring her, so she had no choice but to stand there while the professor talked.

Ly and she were both looking at him; his eyes were still wide open with surprise at the professor's speech. And then Lydon blurted out a laugh, and so did Bella, and so did Spencer. And perhaps at the next gala, when it was way past midnight and the only place to sleep was an uncomfortable, expensive couch, he would have a couple of friends to laugh with.

"Anything new?" Hotch asked when JJ approached him.

"We couldn't figure out who spread the word. Everyone seems to have heard it from somebody different; it just spread like wildfire."

"Reid did mention that they liked the gossip."

"Yeah, well... it wasn't our only lead, though. We still have two events we can attend..." JJ looked at him hopefully. Hotch hadn't mentioned who would attend each event; they didn't even know the details of one of them. JJ sincerely hoped that all of them could attend the first one; she wanted to be there but didn't feel like she would be the most useful to Spencer during the talk work. However, people had already seen her; she was already exposed, so she was a good choice.

"Speaking of which..." Hotch said, retrieving something from one of the desk's drawers.

"Speaking of what?" Morgan said, leaning on the door frame. Behind him, the rest of the team was looking over his shoulder; they had agreed to regroup there, and finally, all of them had arrived.

"I was just about to get you," Hotch pointed to Spencer as he placed whatever he had taken out of the desk in front of the younger man, who was entering the room to see the package. "An invitation, you said. How is that?"

Spencer was eager to show him.

"You'll see, the Underground Affluence has a great appreciation for great minds. Many gatherings are exclusively for people in Mensa or geniuses in particular topics. Due to this, many invitations are as public as in the newspaper, but you can't solve it unless you are meant to solve it, you know?"

No, Hotch didn't know. He supposed he'd fit in the "can't solve it" category. It never ceased to amaze him—Spencer's mind. Moments like this always reminded him that Spencer never knew anything different. When he talked about these kinds of things, he made it sound so normal, so mundane, doing it innocently, without even thinking about it, not knowing that, in fact, no one else understood what he was talking about.

He kept his gaze on Spencer. Innocent as he looked, Hotch knew he was still a profiler and noticed when his team members exchanged looks behind his back without intending for him to notice. To prove his point, he noticed out of the corner of his eye Morgan and Emily smiling at each other meaningfully. Spencer held his gaze on them a little longer before continuing to talk.

Hotch knew what it meant; Spencer recognized a joke, a joke he didn't get, that he wasn't a part of. Hotch couldn't imagine what it was like in his head. How frustrating it would be to see everything, more than a normal brain, to have the fastest mind among everyone he ever knew, and yet miss a joke. It was probably exhausting.

"So... um, as I was saying... this particular form of invitation I know. I've been to this place before. I mean, of course, each invitation is unique; no two of them are solved the same, but I still know the system; it should be pretty simple..." While he talked, he started playing with the Rubik's Cube. It was all black, so Hotch had no idea where he was going with it, but somehow the movements seemed planned, not random at all.

"There," Spencer exclaimed.

Hotch paid attention; some squares had lit up—nine, to be exact. They were randomly placed over the cube, and Spencer started assembling them. As he did, more squares lit up, making him change the whole previous pattern he had assembled. Now he needed to take care of the new ones, so he ruined the previous ones. This process went on for a while, but you couldn't have known; maybe Hotch should have sent the team to do something else—it's not like they had time to waste—but he himself, as did the rest of the group, was completely hypnotized by the way Spencer went through every stage of the puzzle without slowing down.

At the end, the cube was solved by all sides, except for one corner, it was turned, the colors didn't match.

"That's impossible," Emily jumped, as if she were watching a match with an unfair conclusion.

Spencer grinned. "It is," now it was everyone's turn to look at him, "that is the point," he explained. "It's unsolvable."

They watched as Spencer turned the corner, and when the cube was finally solved, all the little cubes fell. The team jumped; they weren't expecting that, but Spencer's face showed no amusement, so they assumed that it was supposed to happen. All the pieces spreading on the desk were black again; the only thing left in Spencer's hands was a black cube that opened like a box. Spencer took out a black cardboard from it; Hotch couldn't read what it said, but he could make out the golden lettering.

" To Spencer, welcome back, black and white Halloween, one guest, October twenty-eighth, " he read hastily, barely pronouncing the words at all, and then put the card down. The team blinked, waiting for more.

"That's it?" Rossi demanded.

"Um..." Spencer looked around and shrugged, "yeah?"

"C'mon, kid," Morgan said, arms crossed, "no location, no time. What kind of invitation is that?" The rest of the team nodded in agreement; Spencer seemed to realize something then.

"Oh, yeah, right," he chuckled a little. Derek was not enjoying the fact that Spencer, the only one who knew how this world worked, was forgetting to explain half of the things. "So, this particular invitation is from a nightclub; it's always at the same location and always at the same time. I've been there before, so no need to specify anything."

"What kind of nightclub sends personalized invitations?" Hotch asked.

"The invitation is for the special Halloween night, which I guess is not open to the public. On all other nights, you can go freely as long as you have the corresponding Signet Token..."

And then he had to explain again what a Signet Token was, honestly, this was getting repetitive, and exhausting. He used that moment to address other matters; he explained the Medals too and provided some information about the safe houses and their locations all over the country. He explained how they worked, mentioning that all of them had a safe equipped with arms, money, Medals, and Signet Tokens, just in case he needed a safe place to hide. He didn't mention that technically he owned all the things his mentor left behind, nor did he disclose how much he actually had within the Affluence or that most of it came from dubious sources, probably not entirely legal. Lies, lies, more lies. Even now, he kept lying. He told himself that it was just not the moment. They had more urgent matters to attend to.

"And do you have the Signet Token that corresponds to that place?" Rossi asked.

"Yeah, I mean, I'd have to look for it, but I had it so..."

"The card addressed you by name, not formal at all," Hotch observed. "It said 'Spencer, welcome back.' Why so much familiarity?"

Spencer's lazy smile dissipated from his face in an instant. He seemed unsure about something. "Well, I..." he mumbled, "I know the owner, I think."

"You think?" Emily asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean, I can only guess. I did know the owner, but we weren't that close. It occurs to me that I knew the owner's son better. So perhaps if the ownership has changed, then I could say I was close enough to the owner for him to call me by my name," he finished.

"Alright," Hotch said, processing it, "what can you tell us about the nightclub?"

Spencer frowned, focusing on the details. "If I'm right about the ownership, that would mean that the owner is Skyler Everly. The club is called Everly Nights, and it's open every night of the year. It often organizes special events that are sometimes closed to the general public, like this one for Halloween. The club is really luxurious, with dancers, musicians, the best DJs, and expensive light shows. Your ticket in is the Signet Token specific to that place, or someone else's if you don't have it yourself. Of course, you have to pay for the entrance and whatever you consume inside. And by whatever, I mean..."

"Not only alcohol, huh?" Rossi guessed. Spencer could do nothing but nod.

"And what else can you say about the guy, Everly, you said?" JJ asked.

"Oh, yeah, Sky. Like I said, he probably inherited the place from his father. He'd be around twenty-seven now, as he was only a year or so older than me. He didn't roll with our gang, but we still saw him pretty often; his father also had business with my mentor, so I saw him at some reunions. He's a good guy... you know, despite the criminal activity. If he knows something about the murders, he'll tell us."

The team nodded; they trusted him, even though "despite the criminal activity" wasn't as inconsequential for them as it seemed to be for Spencer. Not for the first time, Hotch thought about how fascinating and terrible it was that Spencer didn't know anything different; the team saw a potential case of drug trafficking, and Spencer just remembered a friend from his childhood.

The rest of the day was mostly spent continuing with the profile. Spencer worked on the geographic profile and answered questions about the victims or the crime scenes. They discussed the staging: why would the unsub go as far as taking his own furniture to the crime scenes? They couldn't make much progress. Soon, the team would split up to visit the other states where the murders took place, but before that, there was one more thing they needed to figure out.

"So, about this gala," Spencer started, capturing everyone's attention in an instant, "we have to determine if we're going to attend and, if so, exactly who, because we really need to prepare."

"I was thinking we all could attend, ask around, cover more ground, and also let everyone see that you're back," Hotch stated. "But I was unsure about safety. I wouldn't like to compromise my agents to be undercover, all of us..."

"I don't think there's a problem," Spencer said. He was aware of the team looking at both of them, resembling kids expecting a positive answer to go out. Apparently, it was in Spencer's hands. "As long as you don't offer any services or form any alliances, it's actually very easy to get out of it. It's not a cult, you know? If you don't get too deep in, people won't even remember you."

Hotch nodded but didn't say anything else.

"But if we're gonna go," Spencer added, "we need to start getting ready, I mean for real, for starters we need clothes..."

"Alright," Hotch agreed, "first thing tomorrow."

"So, that means we all get to go?" Emily asked.

Hotch sighed. He was tempted to roll his eyes at his team's childish excitement, but he couldn't help breaking into a smile as well. "I guess so," he said dryly and left the room.

Spencer Reid loved life, and he hated life, simultaneously. When Spencer died, in his grave the epitaph might read "he lived," and it would be true. He lived. As he sat on the rooftop of the hotel where he was supposed to be sleeping, he could inhale the cold air and feel. And as he does, he remembers all of the little details of his life, all of the little things that made him the person sitting on that rooftop. Feeling.

It looks like rain. The night sky was devoid of stars, with no moon in sight, Spencer stares at it anyway. Spencer breathes, and Spencer feels.

He lit a cigarette.

In that moment, Spencer was transported back to a night much like this one, though it had unfolded quite differently. Rain had poured from the sky, the wind had howled, and the dark, thunderous clouds had been illuminated by lightning. It had been an unusual night, a very curious night, because that night something happened that they weren't used to. That night they were separated.

Spencer was fourteen at the time, the task they were assigned was to steal a small pendrive that Spencer guessed contained information Alec wished to keep concealed. The place was a grand and elegant auction house, bustling with activity as patrons prepared for the upcoming event. They needed to be out before the auction took place, with everyone on their sits and paying attention to the art pieces on sale, six kids wandering around the place would stick out too easily. They had to get it done in within the previous celebration.

Their plan had been meticulously crafted. Bella, Ethan, and Spencer, the masterminds as always, had left no detail overlooked. Nothing could go wrong. Of course, they hadn't considered the weather. How stupid was that? They had checked every possible outcome, thought they had prepared for all variables, and yet, they had forgotten to check the fucking weather.

Lydon was dressed beautifully, and so was Maeve, for they were the ones camouflaged as guests. Bella and Ethan were moving inside the hallways, trying to get to the surveillance room. When the guard was neutralized, they cut the power for just thirteen minutes, enough time for Spencer and Camille to climb through the window and steal the pendrive without setting off any alarms.

The pendrive was kept in the only completely locked room in the building. Once inside, they couldn't jump out of the window again. But that wasn't a problem because as soon as the power came back, the head of security would have lost the only key to the room. Thank God for Ly's ability at pickpocketing. The door would be unlocked for Camille and Spencer, and they'd be off in the getaway car as soon as they realized something was stolen. It was flawless.

Well, almost flawless.

"What the hell was that?" the voice sounded distorted, the intercom was failing.

"Bella, what the hell are you doing? Ly and I aren't even close to being able to steal the key," Maeve said.

"What happened?"

"The power was cut off, Spence."

"The power was cut off? But that isn't supposed to happen 'til..."

"We know!" those were two voices at the same time, Maeve and Lydon, they were probably together, in complete darkness apparently.

"Bella, Ethan, do you copy?" Camille asked, but the line stayed silent, "do you think something happened?"

"What cut the power?" Ly demanded.

"I'm guessing lightning," Spencer said. "It's raining cats and dogs out here."

"It's raining ?!" Maeve asked, surprised, at the same time that Lydon said, "since when you're british?"

"We seriously need to communicate with Bella and Ethan..." Camille called.

"Yeah," Maeve responded, "you're right, I'll..."

"We need to continue with the mission."

"There's no time, S. We need to flee," Ly croaked. "You and Cam go. We'll find B and Ethan and..."

"We can't go back empty-handed!" Spencer yelped. Bella would agree with him, he was sure of it, but Bella wasn't responding.

Lydon was in the dark. He didn't like the dark; it was rather eerie, and he didn't trust it. Now he had no choice but to not only stand in complete darkness but also walk and actually be functional through it. Maeve was right next to him; they could talk freely. He doubted anyone was paying attention. Everything was chaos; someone lit some candles, but they were not doing much to lighten the big-ass room.

"Okay, new plan," he heard Spencer through the earpiece. Because that was Spencer, when Bella and Ethan were gone, he took the reins. "Ly, you find the head of security and get the key. I don't care how; you have to."

"Done," Ly responded, loud and clear, because a little darkness couldn't stop him from doing his job. He walked right past Maeve without even a goodbye wave. She didn't stop him; they continued hearing Spencer's instructions.

"M, you go to the surveillance room, see if you can find Bella or Ethan. Figure out what happened and try to keep the power down for as long as you can."

"Got it," she said. "What are you going to do?"

"Camille is going inside to cause a distraction. I'm going in for the pendrive."

Lydon still walked firmly to the place he knew all the security would reunite to make sure the objects on sale weren't stolen. If Ly was right on this one, they'd be worried enough about protecting the art pieces in the dark that they wouldn't notice the little key until it was far away from their reach. Even in the dark, even in the storm, even in the situation, he still had to chuckle.

"Do you realize we're doing the exact thing we were told not to, right?"

They were separating; that was truly the thing they were warned about by Ly's father, Margo, and even Alec. Stay in pairs. How hard could it be? Boom, they were all on their own, two of them completely uncommunicated, missing, probably dead.

"Oh, but Lydon, where did you leave your adventurous spirit?" Spencer teased. Only that guy would joke in this kind of situation. Well, no, Lydon was lying. The six of them would joke in this kind of situation; they were a weird gang, when you thought about it. "Okay, all of you, tell me as soon as..."

The voice glitched, and then faded. Ly froze.

"What the..."

"Ly?" Camille cried out, "can you still hear me?"

"Yes, yes! What the fuck was that, Cam?"

"Spencer and Maeve are out, it's just us..."

"Well," he walked faster, "we're fucked."

Camille didn't answer, but Ly could hear her breathing on the other side. She was running. He wanted to tell her to get out of there, to go to a safe house, but Spencer had given her an order. She was as capable as the rest of them; she was as deadly as any of them. So he didn't say any of that.

"Just let me know before you do anything," he said instead.

"Copy that."

Lydon ran through all the guards looking for the one in charge. He was rushed by the adrenaline; he wasn't careful. He didn't have the time to be careful. If Spencer was already in the room, they didn't have much time. He got the key out easily. It couldn't all be perfect.

"Hey!" the guard yelped. "Who's there?!"

Now he was thankful for the darkness.

Maeve thought that it was wonderful how the universe was all about balance. Well, it was wonderful as long as it didn't affect her, and as it turns out, it did affect her. Maeve was able to infiltrate safely into the surveillance room, but her communication was cut off. Then she bumped into Bella, but Bella was running from four guys whose only reason not to alert the whole building was that they were cut off from their own intercoms as well. Balance.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Bella cursed while pushing Maeve to run with her. "Never mind, I'm so glad you're here. Tell me you are still armed."

Maeve was, and apparently Bella wasn't. As soon as she gave Bella the gun, she finished the job fairly quickly. They only shot once; the others were eliminated by more silent methods, but equally deadly, like Bella with a knife. They still ran. Even with the thundering storms and the uproar coming from the big hall, the shot would still draw attention.

"Where's Ethan?" Maeve asked, "Why were you unarmed? Why were they  unarmed?"

"Too many questions," Bella groaned, looking frantically around the hallway. "Here."

She abruptly threw them to the side to get into a room Maeve soon realized was a surveillance room very similar to the previous one. Weird, she thought there was only one...

"This place is a fucking maze," Bella commented. All the screens were off, and the chair was empty; on the floor, the body of a guard rested in a pool of blood. "But that's okay," she continued, "because I've cracked it."

Maeve sometimes wondered how she was considered a genius, but Bella wasn't. Bella looked like she should be a genius; Maeve wondered if anyone ever bothered to check.

"You've been here before," she said.

"You have, as well," Bella grinned. "What? Didn't notice the body, Donovan?"

Maeve was good, alright? She was a good fighter; she was a smart asset, a good strategist. She was planning on being a geneticist, but in the meanwhile, her knowledge in the medical field made her essential. She was good. However, she never wanted to become Bella; she never wanted to become Spencer. They were agents; they were warriors; they did the dirty job; they didn't blink at killing. And they were kids, just as she was. She didn't think less of them, but she never wished to become that.

Maeve's parents weren't a part of the affluence, neither were Bella's, and not to mention Spencer's. They were bonded because of that; the other kids had it easy compared to them; they didn't have to win their place; they inherited it. Maeve won it just by being smart and rich, but Bella and Spencer? They made their way inside bloodbath after bloodbath. They, along with Ethan, perhaps, were the kind of people who wouldn't look twice if there was a dead body in the room; Maeve wasn't that.

Except that maybe she was.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "What happened? Where's Ethan?"

Bella sighed. "We split apart; he was trying to get to the room before Spencer could, to warn him. Were you guys still on the line?"

"The line's dead," Maeve told her. "It worked for a little longer after you and Ethan were cut off, but now I'm out as well. I don't know if it still works for the others."

"What's the new plan?"

"Spencer's going for the pendrive; Ly's still going for the key; Camille will cause some kind of mess to get chaos to cover for us; I'm supposed to stop the power from going up again."

"Okay that's cool, we can't go back empty-handed," she mumbled, and then she spoke more firmly. "Alright," she processed it for a second, adapting the plan in her head. "Then we need to go outside."

"Outside?"

"Yes, I know where they will go to activate the generators; we need to get there first."

They were running like their lives depended on it, and in a way, they did. Bella had the lead, and Maeve followed her. Even for the situation, Bella was quieter than normal.

"What are you thinking about?" Maeve asked, agitated.

"I'm thinking that we won't be able to find each other before fleeing," she said, her voice firm as always. Seriously, how could she not break a sweat for her dear life; she wasn't even short of breath. "And there's only one getaway car," she concluded.

Maeve didn't want to know more.

"Ly, tell me you're near Spencer with the key." The line remained silent for a long, long while. "Ly..."

"Why?"

"I'm kind of about to start a fire," Camille blurted out.

"What? Are you crazy?" Ly's breathing was shallow, he was probably running, "Cam, for real. I'm literally the person who smoked incense sticks just to see if they had any kick, and I'm  telling you this is a bad idea."

"Spencer said to get everyone going out in chaos, what else should I do? Start shooting?"

"No! No, just..." The background noise stopped, as if Lydon had gotten into a closed room. "I'm not near Spencer yet, okay? I'm going though, I have the key. I just had to deal with something in the middle... Just wait, don't start a fire, alright?"

A beat.

"I'm gonna start a fucking fire."

"Camille, don't."

"Get to Spencer as fast as you can..."

"We don't know where the others are..."

"They're not stupid. If they see smoke, they'll run. Listen, just tell me—"

The line went dead. Ly knew what it meant. He couldn't hear the chaos behind Camille; he couldn't hear the buzzing of the speaker. The communication was completely off.

Ly wasn't having it.

"What?" he yelled. Was it a risk? Was he exposing himself? Maybe, but he couldn't help it. He was freaking out. "What?! Tell me what, Camille?!"

"Cam?" he heard himself saying. This time, the voice was weak and broken. He couldn't even stop the sob that came afterward.

He hated this. He was in the dark, and he was alone. Up until that moment, he'd lost all the other members of his team, they'd vanished one by one, like the darkness was swallowing them one at a time. He at least had Camille, even if they weren't physically together. He could hear her breathing; he could talk to her. Now she was gone, he was alone, and he was in the dark.

"Why are you even scared of the dark?" Bella teased.

"Because of the inherent absence of light," Spencer responded chuckling. It was a joke to him, but for Ly, it wasn't. Because he didn't know why his throat closed every time the lights went off, he didn't know why his chest clenched, and body trembled. He didn't know why he felt cold hands scratching every inch of skin, or why he stomach insisted on emptying his content.

So, Spencer was definitely not as scared of the dark as Ly was, because Ly was terrified of the dark. But Spencer got it. He understood, he never judged, and he never made a big deal out of it. Ly could trust Spencer with that little secret.

But the thing was, it wasn't a problem, not until he was completely alone. And yet, there he was. His mother would reprimand him for it; she'd say he was spreading nonsense fears to his little siblings. Ly knew, but Ly couldn't help it anyway. Ly's little brother and sister were not scared of the dark; it was just him. It had always been him.

He was sitting on the floor, trying to occupy as little space as possible, both of his hands desperately covering his mouth so no noise could escape his lips. He pulled it together, though. Because he had to, because his friend's life depended on it. He heard noises in the hallway; he knew it was time to keep going. He was running on fear. He shouldn't have been able to walk, much less run, by the sobs that were tearing his throat, but he kept going anyway.

His sight was blurring; he didn't know if it was from the tears or from the lack of oxygen, but he didn't stop. He must've been running at a tremendous speed, cause when he collided with another body, the force of the crash displaced them both several meters. They both groaned, but the other person quickly recovered and got up to their feet. Ly could not do the same.

"Oh my god, Lydon," okay, so it was Ethan. It could have been worse, he guessed. "Lydon, what's wrong? What is it? What happened?"

Ethan looked to both sides of the hallway; no one was actively there, but the sound of steps hadn't worn off. "We can't stay here," he muttered to himself. "Listen, man, what is it? Where were you going?"

And Ly pulled it together, cause that's what he did, that's what he had to do.

"Spencer," he gasped.

"I'm going to Spencer too. I just need to get the key..."

"No," Ly choked. "I have it. I have it. Spencer."

"You have the key?" Ly nodded, feeling both of his shoulders being pressed tightly, "Oh my god, I could kiss you right now."

 Please do , Ly thought, but he decided not to say it, just to save air.

"Alright, let's go. Get up," Ethan continued. "Let's find Spencer."

"Camille is going to start a fire," he blurted out, cause that felt like something Ethan should know.

"What? Is she insane?"

"I tried to tell her, but I think she'll do it anyways," he replied. "We all split apart; the line went dead. This is terrible."

"Yeah, it is."

They kept running, now in heavy silence.

When the line died, Camille stared at the lighter she was holding for a full minute. "I'm gonna start a fire," she told herself one last time, and she got to work.

The conversations kept going, but the chaos had died. There were so many candles now that she could almost see where she was walking, but it was dark enough that no one would notice her. The people were calmer; some of them left, but most of them stayed there, not wanting to walk straight into the storm. Camille was soaked wet; she was outside moments ago. She knew that it would be almost impossible to drive in that raging tempest.

She needed a way to get them all to move. She guessed people would prefer a little water to literal fire. That would set the chaos off again. The problem was, the hall was so immense that a little fire wouldn't scare anyone. She needed something that would actually scare them away. Luckily, she knew a little secret she bet most of the guests didn't know— the calefaction system ran on gas.

So, was Camille about to blow up an entire building full of illegal activity? Maybe. She didn't really mind that. What she hoped for was the other Underground kids to be okay.

She gave them time, she gave them all the time she thought they needed. This was ridiculous; how was she supposed to guess when to blow everything up? This would've been much easier if they could communicate. If she blew it up too early, she'd trap them inside, or kill them all. If she did it too late, she was risking they were caught and killed before they could escape. It was a game of chance.

So, when Camille started the small fire that was destined to eventually set off the gas pipes, she was completely trusting a hunch. As soon as the fire reached enough size for people to notice it, she found the nearest fire alarm. This had two purposes. One, get the people out of there, before everything went to shit. The plan was not to kill anybody, after all. And two, to let the others know. If she couldn't talk to them to warn them, she needed another way to tell them to hurry the fuck up.

The alarm was so loud Camille felt the impulse to cover her ears and crouch, she wasn't expecting it. She didn't, though. Instead, she started screaming.

"Oh my god! Fire! Fire!" she yelped as loud as she could, sounding truly scared and desperate. "There's a fire! Everyone out!"

Of course chaos reigned. People ran and screamed away from the fire, and towards the door. Wow, she was really good at this.

"What the fuck is that? What the fuck is that? What the fuck is that?"

"Sounds like the fire alarm," Ethan said.

"Oh, you think?! I know it's the fucking fire alarm; I just—"

"It means Camille did her part. Now let's get the hell out of here."

"What about Spencer?!"

A beat.

"I don't know."

"Oh, god. Oh my fucking god."

The room was empty; that was the thing. The room was empty, and the door was open. Something went wrong. They looked for Spencer and they looked for the pendrive, but soon the guards behind him caught up, so they got a little distracted running away from them. Spencer was not there; the door was open. How was the door open?

"We knew about the possibility of this not being the only copy of the key," Ethan had said. "Someone else used it."

"Yeah, whoever did has Spencer," Ly had pointed to the blood stains on the desk.

"We don't know that," Ethan said, but he was pressing his lips together in a way Ly didn't like. And it was a fucking merit not to find Ethan's lips attractive.

Now they were running to the entrance; they were both a little bruised from the fight with the guards, but nothing uncontrollable. Ethan was limping; Ly was bleeding from a cut in the eyebrow. Nothing that required immediate medical attention.

"I know what you're thinking," Ethan said. "But we still need to go. This place is about to blow up; we're not used to Spencer dead."

"How the fuck would you know if this will blow up?"

"Have you met Camille Deveraux?"

"Oh, yeah," that added up. Of course, Camille would make a huge deal out of this; she would start a riot any day; you just had to ask. Maybe she didn't look like it. Not with her light blond hair, or her light blue eyes, or her perfect nails and pretty dresses, but that girl was fucking mad.

Camille herself was not having a bad time; scaring people away was really funny, actually. What was less funny was that the people were a little stupid, and some of them didn't run for the exit. Camille didn't know how expensive or coveted the pieces about to be auctioned were, but people were risking their lives to get one of them for free.

She still managed to get most of the crowd out. Most of the civilians were now safely drowning under the storming rain. Cause this wasn't a closed event for the Affluence; that was the whole reason they were stealing something from here. In most of the Underground Affluence exclusive social gatherings, the rule of the truce ran; you couldn't attack, you couldn't steal, and you couldn't fight. Codes. Without the rules, we're just animals, Camille. The truce applied also to all the common places, all the Hotels, all the restaurants. Any Underground Affluence establishment, really. Personal properties didn't count; personal parties didn't count, but if your party was big enough, you could make it count; you got a special signet token approved, and then the truce applied.

Too many rules, too many specifications. If Camille hadn't quite literally grown up with them, she wouldn't understand them.

She thought everyone was out; she hoped the ones that she cared were out as well. She debated between checking and going out herself. She needn't decide; the building gave up on her.

Bella and Maeve watched the building explode from the car. They had watched the people coming out; they were looking for the others desperately, waiting for them to get to the car, so they could get the fuck out of there. No one came out. When Bella turned the car on, Maeve didn't say anything. Neither of them thought that the others were dead, but they knew that they weren't going to find them either. They were separated; that was it. Everyone needed to survive on their own; they would be dumb if they didn't get away.

"We could still..." she didn't finish.

"Bella, they saw us; they're gonna come for us. We need a safe place, now." Maeve couldn't even believe those words were coming out of her.

The car ride was gloomy and silent. They were both weighing the events of the night, dreading the next steps. They were both aware that they were being followed. They did not care. Bella respected all the transit rules; she didn't miss a red light, never exceeded the speed limit. And eventually, the car following must have decided they had the wrong one, cause they stopped.

"What do we do?" Ethan asked.

"You're asking me?!" Lydon protested. "Dude, you're the one that always makes the fucking plans! You're the genius here; you know?"

Ethan was pretty much out of ideas. You could tell because he was asking Ly. Right when the building exploded, Ethan's great idea was to throw Ly and himself out of the nearest window. Luckily, they weren't too high up. It ended up being the right choice, as the whole room collapsed right behind them. Now they were basically trapped outside the building, with no way of knowing if the others were okay, and freezing in the rain.

The truth was, even though the plan had been forgotten long ago, there was one scenario that they planned for. Not this one; they could've planned for ten years, and they would've never thought things could go like this. But they still planned for something else— separating. So maybe, when all the hopes were lost for everything else, they could still follow that bit of the plan.

"There's nothing left for us to do tonight," he said, offering Ly a hand to get up. "We find a place to pass the night; we regroup tomorrow."

Ly sighed but didn't object. They were hurt, and tired, and worried. They walked in silence, not in the mood to talk.

Spencer ran into Camille on his way out. She was conscious, and she was able to run with him. If she weren't, Spencer wasn't sure he would have been able to carry her. He had been buried in the room he was hiding in; he got away with minor injuries, and so did Camille, but he was sure that both of them were running on adrenaline, and it would wear off eventually.

"Spencer, stop!"

"What?" he let out, catching his breath.

"No one is following us, I can't keep going, I can't breathe, I can't—"

"Alright it's okay," Spencer stopped; they were both breathing heavily. Camille was holding her side and wincing. Spencer couldn't see blood on her, but she was wearing a black suit specifically made for missions, just like him, and it was dark and raining; it was not like he would be able to see if there was any blood.

"Where are we even going?"

"Anywhere," he blurted out, "a place of the Affluence, somewhere where we can rely on the truce."

"Elysium is close by; we could get there walking," Camille suggested. Spencer nodded, and they started walking.

The adrenaline was slowly wearing off; Spencer just wanted to sleep, that's all he needed. He wanted a shower, a warm bed, and to sleep all night, or what remained of it. Elysium was a luxurious hotel well known within the Affluence. Spencer had only been there once, with Alec and Bella, for a special reunion that was happening nearby. He remembered the location, and he remembered the quality of the beds; he was craving that.

Camille was freezing; she felt as if the cold rain was carving into her skin until her bones were soaked. Even when she had a couple of burns from the explosion, she was still freezing; she almost longed for how warm it was near the fire.

At the doors of Elysium, Camille unconsciously tried to fix her hair. She knew it was vain; she was dirty and bloody and wet. She felt out of place on the red carpet and golden columns. Spencer and she walked up to the desk, making a mess on the floor. But no one stopped them. The man behind the desk looked at them, unimpressed.

"We need sanctuary," Spencer said. The man nodded solemnly and headed to the back.

Bella and Maeve got out of the car in what could have seemed to be a random street, but it wasn't. There was an alley nearby, and that's where they were headed. An old lady asked for alms; she repeated the same three sentences over and over again, being successfully ignored by every New Yorker on the streets at night. Bella crouched next to her and showed the woman the signet token on her finger, the one with the theatrical masks crossed by the snake, the symbol of the Affluence.

"We need sanctuary," she said to the woman. Maeve and Bella were directed inside the alley in seconds, and without a word spoken. When they reached the dead end, the woman opened a door hidden in the bricks of the wall. Inside, the place looked like an old cabin. The place was big and noisy; people chatted and drank, deer heads decorated the walls. On both sides of the place, rested two spiral stairs leading to a balcony; that's where they were directed. The balcony led to a common room with several numbered doors.

"Only one room?" the woman asked.

The rain was getting into Lydon's skin, he was sure of it.

"Really, man? a church?"

"Look," Ethan said, "there's nowhere else to go."

"Elysium was near!"

"Yeah, but we already ran in the opposite direction for an hour!"

"Fine!" Ly groaned, following him in.

The church was empty, and silent, and creepy. Just as Ly remembered churches. It wasn't a place you would scream into, so Ethan must be nuts.

"Someone?" Ethan yelled, "is there anyone here?"

"Dude shut the fuck up, what are you doing?"

But before Ethan could respond, the priest came out of a door on the back, looking exalted. Ly couldn't blame him; he didn't think that every night two kids got inside screaming.

"Father, I'm sorry to bother you," Ethan held up a hand, showing the ring signet token of the Affluence, "but please, we need sanctuary."

Spencer now remembered that night with a smile on his face. He didn't feel the fear or the adrenaline that he felt that night because now he knew the ending. The next day, they were all contacted and then extracted by Alec, Margo, and Will. They had sat down and explained the events of the night to the adults. It was funny remembering the faces they'd made when they enumerated all the things that went wrong. Then Alec was the one to finally ask for the actual reason for the mission, and that's when the group stayed silent.

"Maybe the pendrive is the friends we've made on the way...?" Ly joked because, of course, he had the energy to joke. Alec glared at him, and Will just slowly facepalmed. But Spencer smirked.

"Actually, I..." he pulled it out of his pocket and pressed his lips in a smile, "I did get it."

In the present, Spencer lit another cigarette, thinking that maybe it was time for him to go to sleep. Memories kept him awake. He though abut his imminent return to the Affluence, his brain kept imagining scenarios, he couldn't help it, it was who he was.

What would happen if he saw them again? See Bella in person. Talk to Maeve or Ethan. Have the first contact in eight years with Lydon or Camille. It was a big deal. He loved them dearly. He didn't truly miss them, not even Ly or Camille; he didn't feel like he had been apart from them for that long.

Maybe it was because he had followed every single step they took since the second they separated. He had read every article, asked for every piece of gossip in the Affluence. Even when he left the CIA and permanently the Affluence, he still made sure to be well informed. Even though he had no proof of it, he could still swear on his own life that they did the same. If he saw them again, they wouldn't even need to catch up.

He hadn't spoken with them in eight years, and yet he knew Camille finally got to be a well-known actress. He also knew Ly opened a nightclub in Vegas, and then got tired of it. When they were kids, Ly wanted to be a designer, but he never actually did that; now he settled into being a model. He knew they were together; he was happy for them.

He was sure Lydon and Camille knew everything about him. They knew when he was recruited because Ly's father told them. They probably heard what happened (Spencer didn't think there was someone in the Affluence who didn't hear), and they have their own sources to figure out what Spencer has been doing with the FBI. When Spencer went to see Ethan in New Orleans, it was because he knew exactly where to find him. There, Ethan didn't ask him what he was doing; he knew. They all knew about each other's lives like they lived together.

And now, Ethan apparently had his number because Bella gave it to him. When they all separated, Spencer had contact with Bella and Maeve because he worked with them. But not with the others. Bella was the only one that had a way to contact everyone, and everyone had a way to contact her. It only made sense; she had always been the leader, always taking care of all of them. But he knew that Bella hadn't spoken to Camille or Lydon this whole time. And had only recently talked to Ethan because he called her.

Spencer should call Maeve; it was rude of him not to. But he was a little exasperated because she wouldn't let anyone help her, and Spencer didn't know what to do if it wasn't helping her. He didn't even know where she was now. She wasn't working; she wasn't publishing papers; no one had heard of her. She fell off the map. The only proof that she was still alive was the occasional phone call she had with Bella, and that was it.

It was no way to live.

Spencer kept imagining. The people on the Affluence were very nostalgic; it was usual for a conversation to fly back to the same old anecdotes. If Spencer saw them again, they probably wouldn't talk about the eight years they missed in each other's lives; they would probably sit down, have a smoke, and tell the story of Ly almost throwing himself off the ship on the cruise they went on. They would laugh at the time Camille broke a guy's heart for a bet he had with Ethan. That was just who they were; even if they'd changed, they couldn't take that away from them.

Spencer lived now through those tiny experiences. He relished in them. He kept them in a little very special box in his heart, and even if he didn't think about them, they were there, giving him strength.

Just like sitting on the roof; that was another thing that made him nostalgic. It was a standard practice; the roofs were pretty much the place they hung out at. What Spencer came to learn when he was a boy that actually surprised him to that day was that actually, every roof had an access. Even if it was from the inside or the outside, from the front door or from the fire escape, or just a bunch of objects coincidentally lining up for you to climb on.

All the good things they had been through became good memories; all the bad things they went through actually became really fun anecdotes. That was his way of living; he couldn't picture a different life for himself.

The sudden punch from reality that brought him out of his reverie was actually that his cigarette pack was empty. He took that as a sign that he should finally go to sleep. He felt dazed on his way down the stairs; he hadn't realized how cold he was until he stepped inside and stopped shivering. He was tired, walking slowly; he wasn't really checking the way, so he couldn't really be surprised by the fact that he bumped right into someone.

"Woah, kid, are you alright?" Rossi grabbed him by the shoulders, Spencer barely responded, he just smiled vaguely at Dave.

"I'm fine, sorry."

"What are you doing in the hallways at three AM?"

"Just went to the bathroom," he said lazily. The lie came easy to his lips; it was second nature for him. Dave put an arm over his shoulder and guided him down the hallway. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Spencer recognized that they were going to his room.

"You have a bathroom in your room, kid. And... and you smell like a walking ashtray. Where the hell were you?"

"Yeah, I was on the roof," he admitted easily, it wasn't a secret, after all. "I smoked a full pack, didn't even noticed..."

"You smoke ?" he asked surprised and then seemed to recover; he shook his head. "Why were you on the roof so late though? and alone?" Spencer started to shake his head, but Rossi stopped and moved to face him. "Are you alright, kiddo?"

Spencer's sleepiness faded away in a second; he cleared his throat and looked at Rossi, more alert this time.

"I'm fine, really."

Dave looked right into his eyes for a few seconds; whatever was his test, Spencer passed, because he continued to guide him down the hallway.

"Alright," the older man was actually smirking now, "you know... if you ever need a fellow smoker to keep you company..."

Spencer chuckled, "I don't know," he said grinning, "I'm a silent smoker."

"Well, that's perfect!" Rossi exclaimed, his smile growing wider, "I'm a silent drinker; we're a match made in heaven."

That made Spencer laugh. They had finally reached his room, Spencer opened the door and turned to face him.

"You know? I might hold you onto that," he said.

"Good night, kiddo."

"Good night."

Spencer closed the door, and Rossi paced down the hallway to his own room. He didn't even remember what he was out to do in the first place. Dave wasn't surprised easily, but the kid smoking got him. He even considered telling him he was full of shit, but he had to admit, the kid did smell like cheap tobacco.

Dave had let him go; he looked tired, but overall... he looked okay. He didn't think the kid was lying; he was actually taking this better than expected, or perhaps it hadn't dawned on him yet. Either way, he did hope the kid would take his offer; Dave was a great listener; if Spencer needed to get something off his chest, he was positive he would tell him much easier than he would tell Hotch or Morgan or even JJ. Emily was mostly like him, but he didn't think Spencer would go to her.

And to be honest, he was liking this side of Spencer. He hadn't seen much of it, but it looked like they would get along really well. And really, was he wrong for being just a little glad at the fact that the kid apparently smoked? Maybe he shouldn't be, but can you blame him, though? he felt guilty for being the only reason the team had to choose tables outside in the restaurants.

His room wasn't far from Spencer's, so as he reached his bed and fell asleep, he almost laughed at the faces the team would make if they found out Spencer smoked. He went to sleep with a smile on his face.

Getting suits for the upcoming Crimson Gold ball of the Underground Affluence was the part Morgan hated the most. And by the way Hotch looked at the floor the entire time the lady was getting his measurements, Derek could tell that his chief unit was not loving this either. But because Spencer had been very clear when he told them what kind of clothing was acceptable at this kind of events —designer clothes, nothing less, custom-made specifically for the event— and Hotch was very clear as well with the rule he had established for anything having to do directly with the Affluence, "Spencer takes the lead", they were now obligated to accomplish.

Of course, that didn't happened exactly in that order, and Derek bet Hotch was now biting his tongue, regretting his own words, and wishing he could undo everything. But he couldn't. So Spencer took the lead. He took them to a dirty bar that looked like the opposite of something the Underground Affluence would have. But Spencer walked with elegance and confidence to the counter, and asked for a place for five people. Yeah, little shit didn't even include himself.

They were guided inside of the back store, where they entered an immensely big tailor shop. Morgan barely stopped himself from reacting, it was actually pretty astonishing. The walls were either mirrors or shelves fully stocked with fabrics and clothing items. They were led to a tiny living room that symbolically separated them from the enormous space, there were big couches and a coffee table fully stocked with drinks and food. They didn't touch any of it.

Around the big central place, Derek could see other living-room-like spaces where other groups of people, in some cases families, were being measured or trying on different suits and dresses. The team hadn't said a word; that was also part of the indications Reid had given them, "let me do the talking." So the lady chatted rapidly, the team kept their mouths shut, and Spencer replied lazily, without seeming uninterested, but mostly letting her talk.

Three guys and two girls were assigned to take the team's measurements. Morgan felt like he couldn't emphasize enough exactly how much he was hating this. So the whole team stood in silence while the lady in charge eyed them one at a time and commented on the ideas she had for the ball.

"Just keep it simple," Spencer said. He was leaning against a mirror just in front of the team, he had a glass in his hand. Derek was sure that if they were anywhere else, Hotch would have said something about drinking on duty, but Hotch apparently was a victim of his own rule.

On his side, Derek had never seen the kid drink before; he didn't know he drank at all, but he guessed he didn't know he was a CIA agent or a child spy, so drinking didn't seem that important.

"Oh, my darling, but you're cutting my wings," the lady complained. Spencer chuckled, "you know what I could do with all these pretty faces? Especially you..."

She was standing right in front of Emily. Emily was taller than her because of the platform she was on to get her measurements taken, so the lady looked up to her. Still, Emily backed away a little. Derek didn't blame her; the lady was intimidating, her eyes were too dark, too deep. Her comments too bold, her stare too hungry.

"You're beautiful, dear, I could make you more beautiful," she was progressively getting closer to Emily, and the entire team was glaring at her intensely. If looks could kill... Derek was about to step in, to get down from his own platform and tell the lady to take a fucking step back... but Spencer got to it first.

"Hey, do you know if the Ashfords are still in business?" he sounded almost bored, uninterested, he wasn't even looking at Emily, or the lady. But it was enough to get the lady away from Emily, and back to him, so Derek knew he did it on purpose. The whole team relaxed a little.

"The Ashfords?" the lady asked, "no, my dear, I'm sorry. I was sad that they stopped, too, they were par excellence the best couple of designers our world had seen. Sadly they are pretty old now, they spend most of their time with their grandkids..."

"Mmh," Spencer mumbled, resting the empty glass on a tray offered by one of the servers in suits. He was offered a second glass, but he shook his head. Derek almost laughed at just the thought of Spencer denying the glass after seeing Hotch's strong stare.

"Were you an old client of theirs?" the lady asked.

"I've been going to them since I was a kid," Spencer replied easily.

"Oh, then I'm sure they'll make an exception for you, dear. There's not many people that can say they wore some of their designs, me myself was always on waiting list, a tragedy, if you ask me..."

"Do you think they'll have me?"

"Well, of course!" she croaked, "here, look. Mary, dear, come here!"

A young girl that couldn't be more than sixteen approached from where she was talking to a couple. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Mary why don't you give the Ashfords a call and ask if they would fit in an old client for the Crimson Gold ball... It's... What's your name dear?" she looked at Spencer.

"Doctor Spencer Reid," he said.

"There, go, Mary." The girl nodded and quickly walked through a nearby door. "Oh, wait... Spencer Reid! I know who you are, honey, you were the kid who wore the Ashfords' beautiful suit on the cruise of '97."

"Oh, um," Morgan could actually see Reid blush a little, but his confidence did not waver, "yeah, I guess that was me."

"Oh, what a beautiful design, and you wore it gracefully, dear."

"Thanks, I guess."

"I'm done," the guy told Morgan. He almost sighed in relief; he didn't know how much more of it he could handle, he was getting irritated at the guy's measuring tape tickling him around his body. He stepped down from the platform at the same time the girl, Mary, came back from the back store.

"The Ashfords say that they'd be delighted to do a favor for you," she told Spencer, "they say that they're pleasantly surprised at your returning, and that they'd love for you to call them to coordinate the time. They told me they're excited to catch up with you, and they hope to introduce you to their youngest grandchildren, that apparently weren't born when you left," she finished and handed Spencer a piece of paper; Morgan could only guess, but it was probably the phone number to these Ashfords' house.

"That's great," Spencer said with a sincere smile, "I'll definitely give them a call."

"Well if you're all set up," the lady said, watching as the last member of their team got off the platform, ready to go, "I'll see you on October twentieth, to collect your wardrobe. I'm sorry we couldn't do a second round for improvements but..."

"I'm sure they'll be perfect," Spencer smiled, "thank you for fitting us in with such short notice."

"Oh, that's what we do, honey, we are fast workers."

And with that, they were out. Derek could almost physically feel the tension wash out of the team when they stepped out of the place. JJ even leaned on the wall outside the bar just to take deep breaths, Hotch loosened his tie. Spencer didn't shift a bit. His posture didn't relax, his face didn't drop the mask, he just looked patiently at the team, as if waiting for them to recover. He was still holding the paper with the number in his hand.

"What's up with the Ashfords folks?" Derek asked.

Spencer looked at the paper in his hand. "I think they could help us. You know Jasmine Carter? She was a client of theirs as well; they could fill us in on the details we couldn't get of her last years."

Hotch nodded. "Alright, so you call them and book an appointment. As for the rest of us, we really need to split up to cover L.A. Vegas, and Florida."

The team nodded, more alert now, rounding around Hotch to hear the next orders.

"Reid, you focus on getting that information, take Emily," Spencer and Emily nodded, "Morgan, you and Rossi go to L.A."

"Sure thing," Dave said.

"JJ, we're going to Las Vegas," he finished.

"What about Florida?" Derek asked.

"Well, we don't have enough, people, it'll have to wait a little longer."

"Or," Rossi started, pausing for a few seconds while everyone's attention was on him, "we ask for help." He finished, raising his eyebrows.

Spencer was the first to get it. "C'mon," he groaned, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes.

"Reid, Rossi's right," and Hotch was not happy to say that, believe him, "if we could get someone from the CIA to check Florida for us..."

"They wouldn't know what to look for! and we'd want to go anyways to make sure," Spencer finished for him.

"Not just any CIA agent, Reid, someone you trust," Rossi tried to convince him, what he wasn't expecting was for Spencer to look him dead in the eyes, his face completely wiped from emotions, and blurt out the response.

"There's no one I trust in the CIA."

That was enough to shut the team up. Something in Rossi's chest felt broken, like someone shattered a glass right in the space between his ribs and his lungs. By only looking at the faces of the team he knew they all felt the same. Hotch still tried to push, but he sounded soft; Dave was sure he hadn't intended to.

"What about the agents Hawthorne mentioned?"

"Donovan is not working in the field; actually, I'm not sure she's working at all," Spencer now spoke hurriedly, "she's hiding in a safe house and no one knows where she is, not even the CIA, so she wouldn't know anything useful about the case. The only way to get in contact with her is calling her through a fucking phone booth, which I wouldn't do anyway cause I'm trying to be angry at her."

The team exchanged looks, Rossi could see Hotch eyeing the streets, and then at the car. As if deciding where to take Spencer if all this got worse.

"Vitale, Bella, is on duty on the NYC Affluence, so she can't leave the state. And I'm also a little afraid to call her because the safe phone I always used to communicate is still in my apartment back home and I never used her phone number on anything else than that phone. And also, probably, maybe, but surely no, I'm a little pissed because she hasn't called me even though she's in New York and I'm in New York, and I haven't seen her in five years... So, yeah," he finished, sighing deeply, no longer looking like he was going to explode.

The team kept quiet for a second. Maybe they were processing the information, maybe they were giving Reid time to calm down, maybe they were just deciding the best course of action. Rossi wasn't doing any of those options; he was just looking at Spencer, seeing the way he swallowed and ran his hand over his face, he watched how he pulled himself together. He could almost hear the boy's head beating himself up for not keeping it together; Rossi had to stop himself from placing his hand on the kid's shoulder.

"Reid," Emily said at the end, Spencer immediately looked up to her, "why don't you call Bella?"

She phrased it like a question, but in reality she didn't leave much room for discussion.

"Now?"

"Yeah."

"But she can't leave New York..."

"We know," this time it was JJ, "you don't need to tell her to go to Florida..."

"I can tell her to send someone to Florida," Spencer suggested, "someone she trusts. She's still with the CIA, she'll know someone that I don't."

"That's actually a good idea," Hotch said, suddenly much more interested in the conversation, the team gave him a look, "what? we really need to cover Florida."

They watched as Spencer got his phone from his pocket. "Okay," he dialed the number and put it on speaker. After about five rings, she picked up.

"Who is this? and how do you have this number?"  A harsh voice came from the speaker, Rossi had the feeling that the time she took to answer the call was completely intended.

"Hi, Bella."

"Spencer?" the defensive tone dropped, but she still sounded suspicious, "where are you calling from?"

"Um... My actual phone?"

"What?! Are you crazy? why would you even..."

"Listen, I'm sorry, I need a big favour. Can you send someone to Miami, Florida, to check Gabriel Thompson's crime scene? Someone you know can give us good information for a..."

"Spencer, wait. Wait, wait,"  Spencer snapped his mouth shut, Bella paused, as if trying to make sense of Spencer's words, " seriously, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"I thought I wouldn't need to bother you, but our team needs to cover L.A. Vegas, Florida, and New York. We're all in New York right now, and we'll separate, but we need someone to cover Florida. And Porter said we could use the CIA resources so..."

"Wait, " the like stayed silent for a few moments, "Spencer, you're in New York? What are you talking about? You spoke to Porter? What's going on? Are you okay? You're in New York?!"  she repeated.

"Wait..." this time Spencer was the one to prolong the silence, "you didn't know?"

"What the fuck happened?" Up until that point, Rossi managed to draw three conclusions of the girl Bella. One, Bella cursed a lot. Two, he liked Bella. Three, Bella cursed a lot. Two and three were directly correlated.

"There's a case, some killer inside the Affluence is trying to send a public message. I mean, you must have heard that."

"The truth is, I'm kind of drifting away from the Affluence lately, this case is taking me to some other places... I'm not much into the network anymore I might have missed it..."

"Anyway, it's getting dangerous, and it's risking the Affluence's secrecy. So the CIA stepped in... Porter and Carol..."

"You're telling me Porter had the fucking guts to go to you and...?"

"He even told me I could call you, he made it seem like you were aware of everything. I don't understand why..."

"Well, I obviously didn't fucking know. Look, Spencer, I'm driving. Where are you, we need to talk face to face."

"I don't know, Bella, listen..."

"Where are you, Spencer?"

A beat.

"The tailor shop. The big one."

"I'm twenties minutes away, I'll see you in ten, just wait,"  she hung up.

It was so hard. Bella sometimes just wanted to curl up and cry. She wanted to scream and smash her mother's porcelain tableware against the walls. She wanted to yell at her mom and dad because, how dare they, they abandoned her, they weren't fucking there. Bella was ten and she trained with Alec eight hours a day. Alec didn't do everything, but he commanded everything, Bella knew that much.

Some tutors taught her what she used to learn at school, but for her parents, it had become inconvenient to take her to and from the school every day. Some other tutors taught her things she wasn't sure her parents knew she was learning; she didn't think they'd care. Really cool things, like computer stuff, and how to distinguish between different kinds of poisons. Alec personally taught her to fight, and she didn't really pay attention, she didn't really like it, she didn't really understand why she would need it.

So she spent eight hours a day in Alec's stupid mansion, and trained, and she had zero contact with other kids, and her parents wouldn't talk to her. So you can understand why she was... not the easiest child.

"Revolting," in her mother's words.

"Reckless. A brat," in her father's, "you've spoiled her, woman, that's what happened."

Bella was taken to doctors, and her mother made her take pills that she couldn't swallow. She hated every second of it. She was aggressive, she was reckless, she was... revolting. She bit her mother's arm until she drew blood, and she kicked and screamed at her father when he woke her up in the morning when Alec came for her. She cried, and broke her mother's stupid decorations, and she would knock her head against the wall just so her mother would touch her.

Because if she was a brat, then she'd be a fucking brat.

Bella was ten, and one time she broke a wine bottle and used it to cut into her arms violently. She was choking in her own sobs, making a mess of the kitchen. She did not manage very deep cuts, but the glass she stepped on had buried into the soles of her feet. When the housekeeper went to check what the noise was, Bella had put the broken bottle to her neck and told her she would kill herself.

She was only ten, and she didn't mean that, she wouldn't have, she just wanted her father to stop looking at the fucking computer. But when the housekeeper shouted terrified for her mother to come, to help, Bella heard her mother's response.

"She just wants attention; we can't reward that behavior with the attention she's looking for."

And Bella could only drop the bottle and keep crying. The glass cut her knees when she fell down to the floor crying. The housekeeper didn't call an ambulance; instead, she called Alec.

A woman who worked for Alec had patched her up in seconds; she didn't even need a single stitch, that's how irrelevant her tantrum was. All those problems, and her scars, if any, would be barely noticeable. Alec hadn't been mad at her; in fact, he was very honest with her about what he thought. He'd told her that it was a very stupid idea, and he said that if she had to get hurt for someone to look at her, then they weren't worth it. And then he said, "good try anyways." And walked away.

After that incident, their parents decided that as a punishment for her or a break for them, her hours of training with Alec would increase. She would spend the whole day there; she'd practically live with him. Some days, Alec would take her to the meetings he went to. He'd introduce her to some other kids and tell her to play with them. Alec was nuts; she didn't know how to play with other kids; she hadn't been around other kids since she was in school when she was five, and that was in another country.

Because now she spent all of her days and most of her nights at Alec's, he was in charge of her medicine. Her mother had explained everything in lazy words.

"She's diagnosed with EID; they say she also has anxiety and depression. Honestly, she's eleven; what kind of stress can an eleven-year-old have? But the pills do shut her up enough time for you to actually do something if you want."

Although Alec agreed politely, the first thing he did when they got to his mansion that night was to sit in the living room with Bella and placed all the different pills on the table right in between them.

"Do you know what these are for, Bella?"

"They make me sleepy," she answered, because they did, "and they make me sick."

Alec didn't say anything for a beat, maybe because he couldn't stop the coughing attack enough to talk. He eventually got there, though.

"Alright, good thing you're not taking them anymore then."

It took a moment, but then Bella realized what Alec had said, and she looked at him. He grinned, and helplessly, Bella smiled too.

Bella had barely turned twelve when Alec brought Spencer one rainy night. The kid was soaked wet and shaking, and Bella was supposed to be asleep, but she thought Alec wouldn't be back until morning, so she had climbed the big bookshelves in the living room and was reading on the couch.

"Spencer, this is Bella, Bella this is Spencer," Alec said, already walking out of the room; his cough was getting worse, maybe because of the cold of the storm, "congrats, you're training buddies now."

They shared a room. Despite the mansion's vastness and numerous empty rooms, they still chose to share. Their beds were distantly spaced in the expansive room, so some nights they'd build a blanket fort and sleep together. Sometimes she felt bad for letting Spencer sleep alone, but she still had to go back to her house some nights.

She was better, she really was. She was smart, and she was good at fighting, it helped her wear off the energy, the anger. She no longer threw tantrums, screamed, or exhibited violent behavior. She hadn't even bit her mother when she woke her up at night to tell her she had forgotten to clean up her travel bag from the kitchen. Despite her change of attitude, her parents remained oblivious.

When Spencer was twelve as well, Alec took them to a new training area, she didn't even know the mansion had a place like that one. Alec sat them down and taught them firearm handling. By the time Bella was thirteen, she had stopped returning home altogether. She was a totally different kid. And now she had a ring on her finger signaling she belonged to a world beyond her parents comprehension, (not yet, not fully, but soon) she severed ties with them. From that point on, she barely even saw Alec, except to continue training, always continue training.

Sometimes she just pondered about that time. She wondered if her parents even realized she stopped showing up. She wondered when was the exact time they stopped paying Alec, or if Alec had told them to just... give the child to him? She wondered if they looked for her, if they cared.

So if when she was fourteen, laying on the floor of a roof with six other kids, with a grape-flavoured cigarette between her fingers, you asked her if she resented it? No. Or well, perhaps. But it didn't exactly bother her that it she wouldn't see her parents again. What truly, really upset her was the thought that if she saw them again; now as a collected young lady, who wore her own membership ring along with the Affluence one, who could shoot a gun with extreme precision and could poison you and make it seem like an accident; her parents wouldn't even notice.

They all knew immediately which car was Bella's. It stopped so fast that JJ was afraid she'd get bruises from the seatbelt. But the girl stepped out of the car unbothered, looking to both sides as if trying to be sure she wasn't followed, and then walked straight to Spencer.

She didn't acknowledge the team; they didn't get any introductions. They just watched as Spencer walked two long steps to meet her in the middle, and they hugged. It wasn't anything like Carol, JJ could tell. Carol had hugged Spencer, and Spencer had frozen and weighed stiff till it was over. Now JJ could see with what intensity Spencer hugged back. Although he didn't seem as desperate as Bella was for the contact, he still held her close and waited for her to end the hug.

Finally, she broke the hug and looked at the team with a smile. There was something dangerous about her. JJ felt a wave of respect for the girl, and she didn't even know her. Bella looked like the type of woman you couldn't surprise. Even in what should've been a vulnerable moment of seeing Spencer after so many years, she didn't look exposed. JJ felt more exposed than Bella looked, and JJ wasn't the one who had spoken frantically through the phone minutes ago.

"Um... Everyone, this is Bella," Spencer introduced, "Bella this is the team. David Rossi..."

"Pleasure to meet you," he said, shaking hands with her.

"Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss..."

"You're hot," Emily blurted out. "Oh, sorry. Wasn't supposed to say that, but you are. Not that I thought you weren't—wait, that's wrong. Not that I thought you were, either, it's just—Sorry." She wasn't sorry; you could see it in her eyes, completely unapologetic, even under the hard stare from Hotch. She didn't regret a word.

Bella chuckled and smirked at her, "I like you."

"Jennifer Jareau..."

"You can call me JJ," she smiled, Bella smiled back, and there was nothing mean about her, but JJ still felt like she was being scolded by her mother.

"And Aaron Hotchner, he's the chief unit."

"Nice to meet you," she said politely as she shook his hand. Hotch only nodded, "Well, I would very much like to know what the hell happened now."

"I know there's a lot to say," Hotch interrupted, "and a lot to unpack, believe me, I know. But we really shouldn't talk in the middle of the street, and we really should go on with the other parts of the investigation."

The team nodded, and so did Bella. She paid attention to him. JJ didn't know her. She didn't know in what moment she had prejudged Bella because now JJ was surprised by the fact that Bella was paying attention to Hotch's orders. Like she would have expected Bella to be more superb, like she would talk over Hotch and try to get the team to listen to her. Maybe it was that weird look she wore like a spell that made JJ think that Bella should be in charge of the situation.

"Agent Vitale, do you think you can get someone to cover Florida for us?" Hotch asked her.

"As soon as I hear the context, yes, of course."

"Alright, Reid can fill you in. We need someone you can trust."

"I don't trust anyone in the CIA."

The team looked at her for a second. She realized what she had said, and JJ thinks that she saw her confidence flicker, just for a split second, and then it was back up.

"You are the CIA," Morgan tried to reason, but Emily gave him a less-than-subtle jostle with her elbow.

"Yeah, I know... I just... I'll figure it out," she said.

"Alright, that's great," Hotch continued. "Thank you. Now, we'll fill Agent Vitale in, the rest of the plan stays the same. Rossi and Morgan, you're going to L.A. JJ, you and I will go to Vegas. Prentiss and Reid will stay here and visit the Ashfords. I'll be telling García to create a common file so we can all update it and have the same information..."

"I'm sorry," Bella interrupted, "García..."

"Our technical annalist," Spencer explained, then turned to Hotch, "hey, there's something else I think we absolutely must do."

"Of course, what is it?" Hotch asked.

"The Halloween invitation? I think we should visit the club before the party, we'll get a better chance at talking with Sky than at a party he's hosting. And trust me, we need to talk with Sky."

"Okay," Hotch thought about it. He supposed Emily and Spencer could go to the club that night to try and talk with the guy. He wasn't entirely sure about the security because there was no one to monitor from outside while the rest of them were gone.

"And why exactly is that?" Dave asked.

"Sky likes gossip. He thrives on it. If I had to bet on who knows the most, my money would definitely be on Sky."

"Oh, yeah," Bella added, unable to keep it in, "the guy runs the fucking gossip network, he has to have heard something."

"Right, of course," Hotch sighed. "Yeah, sure. Go clubbing, just... maybe with García on the phone? So someone can quickly contact help if something happens?"

"Yes, of course," Spencer said, and Emily nodded.

"Alright, so that's it. I guess we go in different directions now."

They said a quick goodbye. JJ even had time to hug Spencer, and then they got into different cars. Bella back to hers, Spencer and Emily to one SUV, and the rest to the other. They were now driving towards the airport. Hotch was driving; perhaps that was the reason he asked Morgan to call Penelope instead of doing it himself.

"Hey, momma," Derek greeted.

"Garcia's wonderland, how can we help you today?"

"García have you been able to figure out the file?"

"Mh, I'm afraid no, I swear to god this CIA agents are not passing the vibe check."

"Yeah, well, it's just about to get worse," Rossi told her.

They filled her in about what they had learned earlier. They told her their plan of splitting up to cover the crime scenes; they stated the different ways that Emily and Spencer would try to get information in New York; they mentioned Skyler Everly and the Ashfords.

"There's someone else I need you to look up for me, García," Hotch said.

"Your wish is my command, sir."

"Um, no. My commands are your commands. The name is Isabella Vitale, if there's a middle name I'm not aware."

"Hotch," Morgan mumbled, surprised, "are we really doing this?"

"Behind Spencer's back?" JJ added.

"Do what?"  Penelope asked, but no one answered her.

"Absolutely not," Hotch said firmly, "we don't do anything behind anyone's back in this team. We need information, Reid's busy right now: we get the information somewhere else," he let it sink in on his team before continuing, "but under no circumstances is this a secret to Reid, I hope you have that clear."

And then he stopped talking, for good apparently. JJ and Derek sank uncomfortably on their seats. At the end, Rossi was the one to talk.

"Just look up the name, García."

"On it. Isabella Vitale, on New York..." they heard the keyboard typing before she spoke again, "okay, I think I got it. It has to be this one."

"How can you be so sure?" Rossi asked, frowning.

"Just listen. Young couple Theodore and Helena Vitale, they had one daughter, Bella. She was born in Italy, but grew up in Argentina until she was eight, when the three of them came to the US. Apparently she was homeschool, cause there's no registers of her in any school since preschool when she was five, there's an official note from a teacher that the girl was 'difficult' whatever that means. But here's the interesting part, medical history is filled with visits at the ages from nine to ten, and she was diagnosed with a bunch of stuff..."

"What stuff? What was she diagnosed with?" JJ asked, she was starting to worry, she didn't even knew why. She didn't even knew the woman. But JJ wasn't picturing the woman they'd meet, she was picturing a nine-year-old who acted up in school and was probably isolated from other kids by being homeschooled.

"What wasn't she diagnosed with? There's everything. Anxiety, depression, BPD, bipolar... Looks like she was diagnosed, medicated, and then the nothing improved so she was diagnosed with a totally different thing. Finally, she was diagnosed with EID, and then there was a police report...."

"From who?" Rossi questioned impatient.

"A child psychologist, apparently she treated Bella for a short period of time, but the mother took Bella out before the psychologist could diagnose with anything. She called social services and stated that the diagnosis Bella had had before could not be valid because all the therapist diagnosed primarily talking with the mother, apparently she strongly insisted in the medication, the psychologist said that she believed there could be abuse going on."

"And there was an investigation, right?" JJ swallowed.

"I mean... There was an interview with the mother, and then everything was dropped down. Then, from that point on, Bella just... stopped existing."

"What?" Derek chuckled, even though he didn't find it funny, "baby, how can she stop existing?"

"There's no more records of her existence, no more doctors appointments, no ID renewal, not anything. After a few years there were a couple of 911 calls from neighbors who used to see Bella on the gardens or walking on the streets, saying that the girl was missing. The parents never filed a missing persons report and the investigations were dropped with no explanation. Do you know what this means, right?"

Even though the four in the car were still processing all that information, Derek still found within himself to answer Penelope.

"What does it mean, momma?"

"Isabella Vitale is a ghost," she emphasized the word, and then made a weird wind noise that came out strange through the speaker.

"Well, she looked pretty much alive," JJ said.

"Well, she's constantly doing undercover work, she lives full time in a society that operates illegally on everything, she doesn't need to be a real person," Rossi suggested.

"You're telling me she never took a plane?" Morgan raised his eyebrows.

"I'm telling you, she probably has tons of fakes IDs, and she works for the CIA, they probably cover her up even more. Hotch, what do you think?"

Hotch sighed. To be brutally honest, Hotch was having a hard time with hearing so many stories that don't end up well for the kids. He was an FBI agent, and he had heard worse things that happened to children, but he guessed that they just hadn't worked in any cases with minors in a while, and he just had to desensitize from it again. It was awful, but it was the job. Perhaps Spencer being a part of it was making it more difficult.

"I think," he finally said, "That agent Vitale is not a ghost, and that we should focus in why would she be kept in the dark about the case."

"Yes, you're right," Rossi spoke, "why would Porter and Hawthorne not tell her anything?"

"Maybe they were trusting in Spencer not to ask for help?" JJ suggested.

"But why mention her specifically? They told him that Vitale and Donovan were both available to help..."

They drove in silence for a while, not even Penelope spoke, but the call was still on. When Morgan spoke, it felt like he was interrupting something, even if nothing was happening.

"Also, this Donovan..."

"Yeah, that's weird too," Rossi agreed, "she's hiding on a safe house, the kid said. What do you think's the story there?"

"I don't know," Hotch scowled, "García, please keep working on the file, and have a look at the names we've told you. Okay?"

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

"Also you might get asked by Reid or Prentiss to be in contact with them while they go undercover. We won't be there so..."

"I can do that."

"Great."

"I'll get to work, bye my sweety pies,"  she hung up.

Training until her body gave up was what worked for Bella. She used to not pay attention to the training, but now she found it meditative and relaxing. It helped her regulate; she could pour all of her angry feelings in there and keep her mind focused when she needed to. Bella's favorite person to train with was Spencer, just for the familiarity of it. She had trained with him since day one, since even before they'd met the other kids.

But if she had to choose a second favorite, it was definitely Ethan. She liked training with Ethan because he had no mercy for her. Spencer always tried not to hurt, not to use the full extent of his abilities. Bella knew that Spencer hated every minute of training, and that he did it lazily, uninterested. He still gave a surprisingly good fight without really trying.

But Ethan loved training. He fought like his life depended on it, and he played dirty. His technique was rubbish, but that made him unpredictable. She liked the challenge. That was her primary relationship with Ethan. They weren't much of talkers, they barely knew each other at all, and yet, they were family. Over the few years that the Six Underground Kids worked together as a team, they got to know each other much better. The all kinds of dangerous tasks they did left them with no other choice but to create a bond with all the kids in their weird family. But that little thing between them didn't change; they kept training together until the day everything fell apart.

Bella also liked Ethan because his common sense allowed her to discuss serious things with him and entrust him with the most important stuff during the tasks. The others were sometimes a little difficult. Not always, but they were not as reliable as Ethan.

Spencer could be a bit apathetic. Sometimes he didn't care about things the way he should; he chose not to think about those bits of his life that could hurt him. Desensitizing from the things they had to see or do, was his coping mechanism, and Bella wasn't going to take that away from him. But that meant that sometimes he could see it all as a big game, feast on the adrenaline and not realize he was actually betting his life.

Lydon and Spencer often came in a pair. A pair of two dickheads who laughed, drank, and smoked like they weren't in a life or death situation. Ly's coping mechanism was similar to Spencer's except he used humor; he never dropped it because it wasn't a mask. Those inappropriate jokes weren't just to lighten the situation; they were honestly good jokes, and Bella often found herself actively trying not to laugh at them.

Camille could be reckless on occasions, and although most of the time she was perfectly good at following orders, you could never trust that she wouldn't go rogue. Bella trusted her anyways because she knew Camille. She knew Cam would never do anything to purposely hurt them. And she would follow orders that came from the team; her problem with authority was towards the adults involved.

Maeve couldn't handle the pressure of leading, she was okay with that. She'd told Bella on multiple occasions not to put her in charge by any means. The fact that Maeve didn't want to be leading anything or anyone did not make Bella or anyone think less of her. She was comfortable with her decision, and she showed no shame in it. It simply wasn't what she wanted.

So Bella and Ethan were often the ones left to babysit the Six Underground Kids. Just like that particular day.

"Uh oh," Ly sang from the couch he was leaning on, "mom and dad are mad."

Spencer laughed and choked on his drink while doing so. Camille giggled a little but otherwise didn't act like she'd seen them enter the room. Maeve wasn't there.

"We're not angry," Bella said.

"We're just here to give bad news," Ethan finished.

The three of them looked up immediately. Bella had to suppress a smile. That's something she could appreciate about her team; they knew when to stop fucking around.

"What happened?" Cam asked. Spencer and she were in the middle of a chess match. Bella would never be able to tell who was winning; for that to happen, she'd have to learn how the pieces moved first.

"Where's Maeve?" Ethan sat down on the couch, pushing Lydon's legs out of the spot.

"She's at home," Spencer replied with a cigarette between his lips, he was using both of his hands to fill the empty glass on the table next to him.

Bella sighed, "sometimes I forget she actually has a family."

"I know," Spencer answered, grinning, "it's crazy."

"If you think about it," Ethan remarked, "you two are the only one with no families," he pointed to Bella and Spencer.

Bella rolled her eyes, and she could bet a lot on Spencer doing the same.

"Oh, please," Spencer boomed, then pointed to Camille, "barely sees her mother," he pointed to Ethan, "hates his dad," he pointed to Ly, "all of the above. You are no one to judge."

"Yeah, besides," Bella interjected, "if you are gonna count that, Spencer and I do have families."

"Exactly, it's just that her parents were crazy and my mother is crazy, both in different senses, but equally true."

Ethan groaned, "anyways, we were not here for that," he reminded. The room turned serious again, so serious you could easily forget they were a bunch of kids.

"Alec and Margo just ambushed us in the hallway..." Bella said, taking a deep breath like she was about to announce the death of a loved one, when she finally said it, she blurted it out really fast, "they're putting us through a training weekend."

"What?!" Lydong yelped.

"Oh my god," Camille let her forehead rest on the table, completely defeated.

"Fuck," Spencer cursed.

"Fuck indeed, my friend," Ethan agreed.

A training weekend didn't mean anything good for them. They were always too well-planned, too rough, too exhausting. During the last training weekend they endured, they had driven them to the middle of the woods blindfolded, and were left there to find their way back on their own. The whole night they wandered around trees, barely able to see with only the moon, trying to find a way out.

They had learned a lot, of course. A lot of skills that, they all agreed later, would not be of much use for them, being their primary habitat New York and Las Vegas. Other training weekends were less horrible, like the time they got into a giant escape room, created only for them. That had felt like being Sherlock Holmes; they all had enjoyed it.

Perhaps the apprehension they felt for the training weekends came from the surprise that accompanied it. You never knew what flavor the dragee would turn out to be. And they weren't feeling very lucky.

"Well, we cannot whine now, we can only prepare," Bella stated, "Spencer, call Maeve, we're so winning this shit."

"It's a pretty house," Emily muttered. She hated to say this, but she was a little uncomfortable. She felt like she was interrupting a family moment, and she probably was, to be honest.

"Thank you," Bella smiled warmly.

Spencer had done a good job filling her in. Bella made it very clear that she did not have an eidetic memory, and that she was going to write everything down. Emily had cracked laughing at that, and suggested she could send the case files later, to which Bella agreed.

Emily was no stranger to smokers; she used to smoke herself, but it had been a while since she had to sit next to one in a closed space. Bella lit one grape-flavoured cigarette after the other while they talked; she didn't stop to catch a breath, she didn't even open a window. Emily didn't particularly mind, but she was surprised Reid hadn't even made a face or whined about it. The situation never came up before, but Emily would've imagined that Spencer would be the kind of person that blurted random facts about how smoking could kill you, and how you were affecting others if you don't smoke in an open space. He didn't, though. Emily thought maybe Bella and Spencer had had that discussion far too many times, and he just had to give up.

"I just can't think of a reason Porter wouldn't tell you anything about the case," Emily was saying. She noticed the look the two others exchanged but she decided not to comment on it, "I mean, he told Reid to contact you."

"I mean..."

"I can think of a thousand reasons Porter would want Bella out of any case," Spencer rolled his eyes.

Emily frowned, "well, I'll bite. Start listing."

"Porter and I aren't exactly best friends," Bella started, "and I tend to be a bit reckless in the field, and maybe I'm not great at catching orders. And, okay, I might have explicitly stated that I hate him a couple of times, but it was just in the heat of the moment..."

Emily didn't know whether she was allowed to laugh, "Uh, I mean, not to be rude but..."

"He won't fire me, I'm the best he has," she interrupted, smirking in a way she swears she's seen Spencer do.

"Still, alright, he doesn't tell you anything," Emily continued, "why mention you to Spencer specifically? I mean, all it took was a phone call and you found out everything."

"Yeah, about that..."

This time, when Emily frowned, she saw Spencer do it too.

"Look, I think Porter wasn't expecting us to be able to communicate," she said. She leaned in on the table like she was telling a secret, even when they were the only ones in the room. "You see, when I gave you the safe phone, that wasn't... that wasn't the one the CIA told me to give you. I did the same with all the others when we were recruited. I didn't think much about it, it was just that that safe phone was as secure as anything the CIA could give me, so I didn't think much of it, but..."

"But what?" Emily asked; she couldn't help but lean in too.

"But what if they cut the communication? What if the phone Spencer's supposed to have doesn't work anymore? That would mean that Spencer couldn't have told me anything..."

Spencer sighed, deep and slow, "there's a lot to unpack there, but let's assume he wanted me to try to contact you and fail. Wouldn't you have heard something in the network?"

"Yes! See? that's another thing," she replied in an excited whisper. She was so invested that she had forgotten to light another cigarette for a while, "this assignment I'm supposed to be on? It kept me away from the Affluence. I was undercover trying to get enough to make an arrest; I haven't been in the network for months now, that's why I hadn't heard before about you being back in. I finished the task before it was expected; I called in to make the arrest yesterday; Porter still doesn't know."

While Spencer was busy taking that in, Emily's head was popping with questions she didn't have answers to. She suspected Bella and Spencer couldn't answer her either.

"So Porter... didn't want you to help Spencer...?" she guessed, confused.

"No," Spencer realized, "he wanted me to believe she wouldn't help."

He had nothing to prove his theory, and he didn't have a good reason why Porter would do that, but somehow, it felt like the right answer.

"But why?" Emily asked, as if reading Spencer thoughts. He hesitated.

"I don't know."

"We'll figure it out," Bella said. Her face held no emotion, but when she looked at Spencer, she did something weird with her eyes that Emily couldn't quite figure out, then Bella looked at her.

She pursed her lips together in a way Emily was sure she'd seen Spencer do. This just gets curiouser and curiouser,  Emily thought.

Sometimes Bella and Spencer played hide and seek. Spencer always hid, and Bella always sought. Spencer didn't want anyone to find him because Spencer thought that pain was weakness. It wasn't. Alec said it wasn't. He said pain made you better, made you stronger. Spencer was in a lot of pain. In Bella's eyes, at twelve years old, that made Spencer really strong.

"Found you," Bella sang. She giggled a little while she struggled to get under the desk, next to where Spencer tried to make himself smaller. Spencer didn't react to her, but he didn't snap at her either, so that was good. If Bella was the one crying, she would have probably shouted at Spencer to get out already.

"Spence," she called, "why are you crying, Spence?"

"I'm not," came the wet muffled sob from inside Spencer's tangled body.

"Yes, you are, silly." She moved to be closer to him, and put her head on his shoulder, "does your tummy hurt from the training?"

Spencer shook his head. His crying had stopped, and he untangled himself to sit more comfortably next to Bella. His hands moved to brush his fingers against Bella's arms. He traced the barely visible scars. They were white, and irregular, all over her arm and wrist. Spencer knew Bella wasn't angry at those scars; Spencer knew she was angry at the scars she didn't have, from the only time it mattered. She was mad because it was so upsetting for her, but for the world? it didn't even leave a mark. Not one single scar that meant something.

Spencer was angry at his scars because they meant something. Because he was forced to remember every single moment that led to getting his scar. He remembers the ones his mother did. He remembers how she called him "crash" and "silly" and "clumsy". He remembers the ones his dad did. He told him "lesson," "punishment" and "freak". He remembers the one he did to himself, he called himself "clumsy," and "silly," and "freak". Because above all, he'll never stop believing in his parents' words.

"I just want my mom to remember me," he said, and he broke crying all over again.

Bella got it. He was homesick, sometimes she was, too. Bella sometimes thought that Spencer was a little bit lucky because at least Spencer's mom wanted to remember him, but couldn't. Bella's mom wished to forget her. But then Alec would say, "tragedies are not to be compared," as if he could read Bella's thoughts. So Bella wouldn't compare tragedies anymore.

"My tummy hurts from the training," Bella said. After all, she was twelve years old, she had learned with time how to calm Spencer down; right now, those simple and meaningless words seemed to work.

"Yeah, mine too," he admitted. That made Bella turn to look at him in disbelief.

"You said it didn't!"

Spencer shrugged, trying to keep a steady face, "I lied," he was doing a terrible job, Bella could see the smirk breaking on his lips.

She laughed.

This is it. This is the end of the chapter. Why is the end note inside of the chapter? well, a lot of you don't read the end notes, and that's okay, but I want that as many people as possible read this one.

In this chapter Alec stopped giving Bella her medicine. We, as the reader, know that the medicine she was prescripted was not helping her, because her negligent mother just wanted to drug her, and Bella didn't actually need the medicine. 

If you or your kids are prescripted with medicine please don't stop taking them, if you feel they're not helping, consult with your professional for a change in the prescription. Maybe even try another professional, but do not automedicate, or vice versa.

What Alec did wasn't good. What Bella's mother did was not good either. What those professionals did was less than good, it was criminal.

I know the spectator is not stupid, I know everyone reading this now knows already everything that I said, but I believe that is better to say things even if they're obvious. 

Thank you for reading.