Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.

"A musician must make music, an artist must paint, a poet must write, if he is to be ultimately at peace with himself. What a man can be, he must be." – Abraham Maslow

o o o o

4 February, 2011

"Look, I'm sorry I upset you, Brenda," Spencer repeated the words for the 29th time. Over the past hour, he'd been letting Brenda rail at him until she was blue in the face. "But I don't regret what I did. We will have a big, formal wedding, but it'll be on our terms, not following traditions because that's what's expected."

"People expect us to honour traditions," Brenda protested.

"This isn't their wedding. It's our wedding. I'm not suggesting Calliope and I get married outside the Wawa Food Market on Merrimac wearing our pajamas, but I want Calliope to have the wedding of her dreams, even if it upsets you. I'm sorry, Brenda, but this is Calliope's wedding and I want her to love it," Spencer cross his arms over his chest and straightened his back. "When she's flipping through bridal magazines, she doesn't stop on the muted, formal, monotone pictures. She stops on the bright, vibrant ones. That's what she wants and that's what she's getting. If you don't like it, you can pretend, because you will not ruin this for her."

Spencer watched as Brenda's face morphed from emotion to emotion like a multiple exposure photograph. He wasn't bending and she knew it.

"Brenda," Ben leaned against the door jam. Letting out a huff, Brenda stormed from the room, passing Ben without a word, and Spencer's knees nearly gave out beneath him. "I'm proud of you, Spencer. Not many people have stood up to Brenda."

"She just started to like me," Spencer ran a hand over his face. "She's going to kill me."

"Well, I wouldn't go walking down a dark ally with her anytime soon, but I think she'll cool down. I'm proud of you. Callie is too protective of Brenda's feelings," Ben moved to stand next to Spencer, looking out the window over the snow-covered ground spreading out behind the house. "She feels like it's her job to be the perfect grandchild, because her brothers and sister are gone - that she has to give Brenda everything she wants because there's no one else to give it to her."

"It's not her job," Spencer shook his head. "It's not Calliope's job to be Brenda's dream. She needs to feel free to be her own dream. I hate that she hides parts of herself when Brenda's around. It's like Calliope is so afraid of disappointing her that she's willing to give herself up and be someone else just to please Brenda. She wants her approval that much."

"She's always been that way," Ben nodded, resting a hand on Spencer's back the way a father would with his son. The gesture, laced with acceptance and love, felt good; it was one he couldn't remember ever getting from his own father and hadn't realized he wanted until this very second. "I think... we all have at least one person we're weak around. One person we can't say 'no' to. Brenda is Callie's. Michele was mine. I could not say no to her. Michele was special to me and I would have given her anything to make her happy. Calliope is the same way with Brenda - she'll do anything to make Brenda happy."

"I need to make her happy," Spencer looked at Ben. "That's my job, isn't it? To make sure Calliope's happy?"

"No, Spencer," Ben disagreed. "It's your job to support her and defend her and love her and help her see reason and light when she can only see darkness. It's your job to be her partner, Spencer, it's not your job to do everything to make her happy. If you start doing that, you'll end up running around trying to make her happy the same way she runs around trying to make Brenda happy."

Spencer nodded, looking back out the window and losing himself in his thoughts. He didn't notice when Ben's hand left his back or when he turned. Emeline grabbing his legs grabbed his attention and Spencer bent down to scoop his daughter and her doll up into his arms.

"You're cold, Princess," Spencer kissed her round cheek and squeezed her.

"Me and Maman and Uncle Kady and Sasifi were playing in the snow! Firsted, we went to Uncle Kady's and he and Maman talked forever and ever. I thought they were never gonna stop talking, Poppy."

"Yeah? And what were Maman and Uncle Kaden talking about? Were they talking about you and how pretty you are?"

"No, they were talking about when they were little, but they can't be little because they're Maman and Uncle Kady and they're growned ups."

"You know... once, a long, long time ago, Maman was a little girl just like you and and Uncle Kaden was a little boy like Jack and Henry, so was Poppy." Emeline gave him a look like he was talking crazy and Spencer laughing. He walked over to the bookcase and picked up a framed picture of a little girl with wild red hair sitting on top of a horse with Ben sitting behind her. "See? This is Maman when she was your age."

"No, Poppy! That's not Maman," Emeline shook her head vehemently and pointed at another picture, one of the three of them at the Jamestown Beach Park. "That's Maman. She's got the purple bucket."

"Okay," Spencer smiled, kissing her again. "Do you wanna go see if Halina has any kolaczki in the kitchen?"

"Raspberry?" Emeline asked hopefully.

"If you're lucky, Halina might have some raspberry kolaczki."

"Eee does," Calliope mumbled around a mouthful of cookie, a smudge of powdered sugar on her cheek. "Dere rea'y good."

"Oh my God, these are better than any cookie my grandma's ever made," Kaden mumbled his agreement, his mouth equally full in a way that made the siblings look even more alike, held out a plate with more kolaczki.

"Just wait until she makes you a birthday cake in June," Calliope said after she swallowed. "You're gonna die. You have to ask for the red velvet cake with cream cheese icing. You'll be in cake heaven. Especially if you did what I did on my seventh birthday and actually launch yourself into the cake and roll around in it."

"I really hope there's pictures of that."

"I think Grandpa got it on video."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

5 February, 2011

"That was Brianna," Calliope said, hanging up the phone. "Dean's not feeling well and she doesn't want to expose Emeline to whatever it is Dean has. She said it came on all of a sudden, so it's probably viral."

Calliope kicked off her shoes and grabbed her coat to go hang it up in the closet.

"Hold on," Spencer took the coat and iPhone from her hand, going through the contacts in her phone. "I've had this planned way too long. Plus, you need a night out before the exhibit tomorrow. Just relax and not think about it. Because if we stay home, that's all your going to think about and it's going to drive me crazy. What about Jen? Maybe she's free. What's her last name again? It starts with a B, right? Or was it a D?"

"A fourteen-year-old girl on a Saturday night? She's got plans, String Bean. It's fine, we'll just stay in. Maybe tonight's the night Emeline sits through Fellowship of the Ring."

"Good luck with that," Spencer rolled his eyes, hitting a contact on the screen and lifting the phone to his ear. "She has yet to make it to the end of The Little Mermaid."

"Spencer, don't do this to Jen!" Calliope nearly stamped her foot before climbing over the back of the couch while he took long strides away from her. "It's 5 o'clock! It's not fair and you know how sweet she is, she'll drop whatever she's doing to come sit on Eme. Spencer! Spencer, you hang up that -"

"Jen? Hey, it's Spencer Reid. I'm good, how are you?" Spencer sashayed around the island in the kitchen, leaving Calliope on one side, trying to decide which way to go around. She dove left and Spencer hurried right until he was in the place she'd vacated. "That's great! Yeah, I was wondering if you were free to babysit tonight. Dean's not feeling well so he and Brianne had to cancel."

"Jen! You do not have to babysit!" Calliope climbed over the island as she shouted to be heard through the phone. Spencer hurried away and Calliope jumped off the island in an awkward lung that had them both sprawled across the ground a second later. They heard Jen laughing on the other end of the line as they scrambled to get to the phone first, but Calliope had the advantage, as she was lying on top of Spencer's back with him flat on his stomach. "Jennifer!" Calliope gasped into the phone, "you do not have to babysit."

"Ms. Callie, I'd love to babysit. I haven't seen Eme in, like, two weeks! Can Dr. Reid come pick me up?"

"No, Jen, no. This is where you say, 'Sorry, Ms. Callie, I can't babysit tonight because I'm making a terrible teenage decision and jumping in the back of my 19-year-old boyfriend's 1980 rusted-out, barely-running Camaro and we're heading to Manhattan to get wasted and smoke crack and hope we don't break down on the way there.'"

"You've been watching Gilmore Girls again haven't you?"

"No. Yes. It's not my fault - it's a sickness. Emeline turned it on!"

"Ms. Callie," Jen rolled her eyes. "Send Dr. Reid to pick me up."

"Fine," Calliope crawled to her feet and ignored the hand Spencer reached towards her. "But I'm ordering you disgustingly greasy pizza with no vegetables and lots of potato chips and soda and cake and over paying you."

"There's no cake in the house," Spencer reminded her, brushing off his khaki pants. "You ate the last slice twenty minutes ago."

"No cake," Calliope amended. "But there is ice cream!"

"We finished that yesterday," Spencer shrugged into his blue wool peacoat.

"Brownies?" She looked at him hopefully. Spencer just raised his eyebrows. "You're right, I forgot. That's why we had to take Perses to the vet on Thursday. We have lots of cough syrup though. You could get totally buzzed."

"Just send Dr. Reid, Ms. Callie."

"Ugh, you're giving me nothing here, Jen. At least invite over the biker gang I saw in the Target parking lot this morning. Jen? Jen? She hung up on me." Calliope tossed the phone onto the counter and pushed up on her toes to kiss Spencer.

"I wonder why. I'll be back in twenty and I better not find a biker gang on the couch or cough syrup placed in conspicuous places around the house."

"Stance on the children's Sudafed? ... How about the compressed air in your office? Spencer?" The garage door closed with a bang and Calliope turned to the dog watching her from the couch. "I think that's a no, Pers. You know what else is a no, Pers? Single pawedly eating the three pounds of Godiva chocolate Starbucks Americano triple expresso brownies that Ethel baked for me. I didn't even get one. What have I told you about sharing, Perses? I mean, I feed you ever day. I walk you. I only make you take a bath when you start smelling. I rarely put you in sissy outfits. You get to sleep on the end of the bed. You mostly maintain your manhood... except for the whole testicles thing, but trust me, Pers, cojones are nothing but trouble. Just ask your Uncle Dave. The least you could have done was save me a single brownie."

"Maman... Perses won't talk back, you know," Emeline dragged a blanket into the living room, dropping it into the middle of the floor and pulling pillows off the couch. "What are coneys, Maman?"

"Coneys are those super cool hot dogs, remember? The ones Uncle Steve and Aunt Jill made for you last weekend. It had the chili and the onions and the yellow ketchup," Calliope said, desperate for something to shove into her mouth before she said something else she couldn't - shouldn't - explain to a three year old. "Perses can't have coneys, because they'll make him gassy and it'll smell bad. What kind of pizza do you want for dinner, Princess?"

"Mama's!" Emeline screeched the name of their favourite pizza place, Mama's Pizza and Subs over on Plank Road. Calliope, knowing the answer, already held the phone to her ear.

"Hey, Steph, it's Calliope. No, delivery. Two extra-large pizzas, one house special with extra cheese and the other one a meatball. An order of mozzarella sticks, an order of garlic bread, two fudge brownies, a cheesecake, and tiramisu. No, I'm not feeding the high school's football team! I like having left over pizza for breakfast, sue me. Yes! No, we have drinks. Okay. No, I'll pay cash. Thanks, Steph."

Forty minutes later, Emeline and Jen were building a cushion fort in the living room and Spencer and Calliope were driving down the driveway towards the road. Spencer parked the car in an empty spot in front of The Hobbit Hole. The steps were icy, but they made it up and through the door without incident.

"I can't wait to tell Derek your romantic date is at the Hole," Calliope teased, squeezing his hand. "What are we doing? Filing? Shelf reading and putting the books back in order? Repairing the Dewy Decimal system? I mean, I know how much some of the system bugs you and you've shown me your re-write about a hundred times."

"We are not filing, shelf reading or implementing my system - though, mine does make more sense," Spencer told her, reaching into his pocket.

"Hey!"

"Stop moving," Spencer laughed as he tied her silk scarf over her eyes.

"You know I hate being blind, Spencer," Calliope grumbled, one hand clamped on his jacket and the other groping the air around her.

"It's only for a minute. I won't let you fall."

"Stairs?" Calliopes shuffling foot hit the base of the steps and she balked. "Spencer, no. You're crazy. I'll fall and break something and, if I go down, you're damn well coming with me. Can I just walk up the stairs and then you cover my eyes with your hands or something?"

"I'm not going to let you fall."

"You're out of your mind."

They made it up the stairs with only a few stumbles and she knew they were standing outside of the painting studio based on how many stepped they'd taken from the top of the stairs.

"Something smells good," Calliope said, holding onto the door frame.

"Don't pull off the blindfold until I say," Spencer squeezed her shoulder and went around the room lighting the candles he'd set up earlier that day. He hit the play button on the iHome in the corner and Dexter Gordon's saxophone poured out of the speakers.

"This song kills me every time."

"Okay," Spencer gave the room one more glance before hurrying back to her. He untied the knot, but kept the silk over her eyes. "You ready?"

"Yes!"

"You sure?"

"Spencer!" Calliope pulled the scarf away and her eyes watered. Sniffling, she turned into him and buried her face in his shirt. Spencer wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "It's perfect and I hate you for being perfect."

"You don't have to cry."

"Yes, I do. This is the most romantic thing you've ever done for me," she wailed into his sweater.

Spencer knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. "Not following you to Haiti and adopting a child?"

"No."

"Proposing?"

"Not even close."

"My attempted proposal in August?"

"Please."

"This is our most romantic moment?"

"Giving me Perses is a very close second. String Bean, this is absolutely going up in the bedroom."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

6 February, 2011

This opening night of the latest Scroll and Stylus Inc exhibit was unlike any of the other. Instead of rich art collectors, politicians, family friends and critics, the only people in the Smithsonian were their family, the team, and the families of the victims for which the paintings had been painted. Calliope had sent out invitations to the families and put the ones who had decided to come to the exhibit up in beautiful hotels for the past week and set up the entire week to be a vacation most of them would never dream of affording.

It was a little strange being around the family of people they hadn't been able to save, but more than a few people had come up to members of the team they remembered and thanked them for what closure they managed to give them. Surprisingly, the moments had been less awkward than they had anticipated and had somehow managed to bring some closure to the team on a few cases that had left lingering wounds. Sheila Hawkes, Zoe Hawkes' mother, actually hugged David and thanked him.

"Why does she paint these?" Emily asked, taking a sip of her champaign and looking around the exhibit, spotting John Cooley standing with an empty glass of champaign in front of the painting for their friend Matt. "I mean, they're beautiful. But why?"

Spencer looked around at the exhibit, taking in all the grey-scale paintings and the different, singular points of colour on each canvas. The canvases ranged in sizes and canvas orientation and the largest piece was the centre point of the room. A massive six-by-twenty-five black expanse of space was covered by a milky grey and white black hole mid-creation, centred around a pillowy mass of orange and yellow supernova, while brightly white galaxy's pinpricked the black.

The painting had taken a full year and, by Spencer's best guess, at least sixteen tons of chocolate in it's various forms, to finish. Spencer couldn't look at it without being brought back to the pig farm in Ontario. He remembered the feeling at the farm - like his soul had exploded and his entire being was caving in on itself. There was a lot of pain hidden in the beauty hung on the walls in the rooms of this exhibit and everyone could feel it.

"It's what she has to do. We all deal with the pain of our job in different ways. But Calliope… she's such an emotional person just as she is. The emotions this job brings – she really is with the wrong person," Spencer smiled dotingly as he watched his fiancé talk to two of the gallery's guests, an elderly couple, Conrad and Jane Winmar, as they looked at the painting for the group of victims their daughter, Monica, had been a part of. "This… these paintings… this is what she has to do to be with me and stay herself, to stay sane."

At the word 'sane' being used to describe the passionately joyful, vivacious, and more than mildly insane woman, the team couldn't help but chuckle just loud enough to be heard over the soothing jazz band Calliope had hired. Hearing them, Calliope turned to look at her friends, raised her eyebrows questioningly with a speculative smile, and waved. The team waved back and smiled at her before she returned to the Winmars.

"Ok. You're right – sane is definitely the wrong word. Sane by Calliope standards," he amended, laughing with them and picking up Emeline as she ran across the gallery towards him with Ben following after her at a far more sedate pace. "Hey, Princess Eme."

"Hi, Poppy," Emeline crowed in a loud whisper and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips. Spencer smiled and hugged her. "Maman paints pretty."

"She sure does," he agreed as he pulled her thumb from her mouth and shook his head. "Thumb stays out of the mouth, Princess Emeline. We talked about this, remember?" Emeline nodded and tucked her head into the crook of his neck, closing her eyes. Spencer ran his free hand over her back and whispered softly to her, tenderly kissing her forehead. "Getting sleepy, Princess?"

Emeline nodded and snuggled closer into his arms. "When are we going home, Poppy?"

"Grandpa's going to take you home in a little while and Maman and I will be home later tonight, okay?" Spencer kept his voice soft and quiet while his little girl started leaning against him more and more. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he rocked her gently in a rhythm that had become second nature. "We'll come give you kisses when we get home. Promise."

"You're a natural," Dave observed after Emeline had fallen asleep.

"She makes it easy," Spencer smiled. "García, after Deputy Battle shot you, you told Morgan 'One of the last things I said before he shot me was everything happens for a reason. Derek, if I lose faith in that then nothing in my life makes sense.' No matter what, you have to be able to believe that everything happens for a reason. You couldn't do your job if you didn't believe that.

"Calliope – she can't loose her faith that something good can come from terrible things. She watches me – us, really – she watches us do our jobs, waits for us to come back after we've caught one monster and holds on until she has to let go so we can go catch another. If she looses faith that our jobs do good, that there is some seed of good buried in the worst of humanity just waiting for someone to dust it off and make sure it grows, then the tragedy would completely overwhelm her. She has to know, has to remind herself every single day that, no matter what, the world is beautiful and life is good. If she tried to be with me and not paint these, she end up like May Boatwright."

Spencer smiled as Calliope walked up to him and gave him a quick kiss before kissing the forehead of their sleeping daughter. "She's worn out. I tried to get her to take a nap this afternoon, but she wouldn't sleep."

"She's all right," he shook his head. "We'll just have to make sure she gets up on time tomorrow otherwise she won't nap tomorrow either."

"No problem there. She has dance class tomorrow morning."

"Do you want me to take her or are you taking her?"

"Here's a novel idea – why don't we both take her?" Calliope rolled her eyes at him. "You haven't seen her dance yet. Oh. I hear my name being called. I love you."

"Love you too," Spencer kissed her before she turned and walked toward the patrons calling her name.

"Reid, there's one missing," Emily looked around at all the paintings one last time. "I've scoured the entire place and read the pamphlet twice. There's no painting from The Reaper."

"That one's private. It's only for the seven of us."

A/N:

I'VE BEEN UP FOR FORTY HOURS I'M SO TIRED. I REALLY NEED TO STOP WITH THE CAPS. AND WITH THE CAFFEINE. I'M SO BUZZED RIGHT NOW. I'M NEVER SLEEPING AGAIN. UNTIL I CRASH IN LIKE AN HOUR. ALSO MY PRESENTATION ON KIT PEARSON IS AMAZING AND EVERYONE SHOULD READ ALL OF HER BOOKS. ESPECIALLY AWAKE AND DREAMING BECAUSE IT'S MY FAVOURITE. EXCEPT YOU HAVE TO ORDER THEM ON AMAZON BECAUSE AMERICA IS STUPID. OKAY I'M REALLY DONE NOW.

I'M ON EPISODE 122 OF HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER I'VE GOT A SICKNESS SOMEONE TAKE NETFLIX AWAY FROM ME I CAN'T STOP I HAVE TO GET CAUGHT UP ALSO I HAVE LEARNED THAT I'M BASICALLY ROBIN SCHERBATSKY OR HOWEVER THE HECK YOU SPELL HER NAME. I MEAN HONESTLY. WE WERE PANTOMIMING PLAYING WITH CLAY IN ARTS INTEGRATION THIS AFTERNOON AND I TOTALLY PANTOMIMED MY CLAY INTO A HOCKEY NET A HOCKEY NET I MEAN HONESTLY WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME. AND TODAY - TODAY! - IT WAS LIKE 54 DEGREES WHEN I LEFT THE HOUSE (THAT'S 12 FOR PEOPLE WHO USE CELSIUS) AND I WAS TOTALLY LIKE 'OMG THIS FEELS SO NIIIIIICE' AND THEN I GOT IN THE CAR AND WAS LIKE 'WHO WAS THAT I'M THE GIRL THAT LOVES IT WHEN IT'S 110 (AKA 43) OUTSIDE WHO AM I' AND THEN I WENT THROUGH THE MICKEY D'S DRIVE THROUGH AND SAID THANK YOU ABOUT 25 TIMES I MEAN REALLY WHO DOES THAT HOW DO YOU WORK 25-ISH THANK YOUS INTO ORDERING, PAYING AND PICKING UP YOUR MCNUGGETS AND NO I DON'T WANT TO KNOW WHAT'S IN A MCNUGGET. OKAY I KNOW ROBIN DOESN'T APOLOGIZE ALL THE TIME BUT IT'S SO DAMN CANADIAN WHO AM I - OKAY MAYBE THAT LAST BIT WAS JUST THE FACT THAT MUMMY GRATIAE RAISED ME TO BE A RIDICULOUSLY POLITE PERSON. THANK YOU MUMMY I LOVE YOU.

OKAY. IT'S BEEN EXACTLY 17 MINUTES SINCE I TOLD MY FRIEND B THAT I WAS GOING TO CRASH FROM MY INSANE CAFFEINE HIGH AND I'M TOTALLY CRASHED RIGHT NOW I THINK I'M DYI

Love,

Thalia