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awordsmith · 2 days ago

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where you came from 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which you receive a letter detailing the death of your grandfather, head back to your hometown, and wonder if you ever should have left.

katcember

who? spencer reid x bau!reader when? s8 category: angst to fluff (comfort) content warnings: proofed! not much sad angst (more sad angst if that makes any sense), death of a family member/funeral, reader's hometown is in Europe (purely for aesthetic), more plot than spencer (kind of idk) reid with warmth word count: 11.2k a/n: this was my one of my first ideas when first posting on tumblr so i really do hope you enjoy it! there are a few words not in english, but sometimes when writing in english it's easier to say something in another language because english can be really...corny sometimes...anyway ily cari !!

The loops and curves connecting the words in that elegant font you grew up learning stuck in the back of your mind like a non-removable tumor. You could feel it. You had a time limit–but not to live. Two days. In two days you would go back to Europe, back to a continent you had thought you’d left behind years ago, a place you had thought you held no attachment to… no emotion.

Maybe, though, it was the fact that you had been gone so long, had not once gone to visit in all your time in America, and now–now your time had run out–or rather, another, no longer invisible hourglass had lost the last of its sand and someone had flipped it again, setting a new timeline in motion.

Your grandpa, your beloved nonno*–oh how you just couldn’t believe it.

It had hit you so suddenly, your mother normally sent you letters, you didn’t mind her old ways, she was raised by the man who taught you cursive and calligraphy–with craft you thought ancient, and technology was still rather new, and she wasn’t one to conform to change.

You sighed, shifting in your seat as Hotch and the rest of the team gave the profile. The lights were too bright; you stared at the floor, one leg crossed over the other, and your arms folded. You tried keeping your focus. Yes, you were dealing with your own problems, and yes, you had just gotten the letter yesterday, but these children needed you now–and if you couldn’t be at your best with a personal issue weighing on your shoulders, could you even call yourself an FBI agent?

Emily had just left the team a month ago and her replacement wasn’t bad, but she wasn’t Emily. You desperately needed your friend right now, your soul sister. She could tell you what to do and how to handle things like this, she’s been doing this a lot longer than you, has more experience–and she understood you, at least where family matters were concerned.

“You okay?” Spencer whispered as the officers went back to their desks or collected in groups–some even leaving–probably to talk about the best course of action. This guy was going to strike again, every indication of it was there on the board.

“Yeah,” you sighed, feeling your stomach growl.

He furrowed his brows, “when’s the last time you ate?”

“Uhm,” you stood, rubbing your wrist, “I’m not sure, but I’m fine, really,” you gave him a tight smile walking over to the board, “We know he’s targeting school busses on their drop off, he’s insecure about something, his physical strength? That’s the only reason he’d subdue the bus driver in a blitz attack.”

Spencer called your name–almost as a whine–and you paused. “Look,” he said, “I don’t think the rest of the team’s noticed, so if you eat, I won’t say anything…”

You frowned, rubbing an eye, “fine.”

You’d think a look of triumph came over him, but you’d be wrong. He looked resigned, but not indifferent, it was more of a soft relief. Spencer had no idea what you were going through, you hadn’t told anyone–and you weren’t really planning on it. You liked to keep your personal life separate from work as much as possible, that’s one of the reasons you and Emily had clicked so well–you were nearly identical in that department, and, well, you both could agree Clyde was a little bit of an ass. You’d never worked directly with her during her Interpol days, but when she left, Clyde became your team lead, and–well, actually, that’s, pretty self-explanatory.

A few years in, you were able to transfer to the BAU, you’d performed considerably well and Clyde had recommended and vouched for you and–well, Emily knew Clyde, okay perhaps your connections helped a little, but was it really your connections or your skill because without your skill, you wouldn’t have been recommended now would you have?

Regardless, you had known how massive the opportunity was, which is why you’d said yes without a second thought. You joined the team two years ago, when Emily had shown no sign of leaving. You sighed, rubbing your hands together, they were sweaty and you felt sick, maybe you should try eating something.

“Alright,” you affirmed again, “come on you’re driving.”

You threw the keys that had been lying on the table next to the board at Spencer, he’d been close to Emily too, you assumed they still spoke sometimes when they got the chance as you did with her. Your mutual bond was probably–at least you considered it the most probable–reason for why you grew so close in such a short amount of time.

You were close in age, too, which you assumed added to the comfort.

Spencer took you to the closest fast food and you ate in the car devouring each bite. He asked for coffee and “real” sugar on the side, and then he sat there and watched you eat, and when you were finished he drove you back to the police station.

The case took you to Santa Monica, California. Penelope had ushered you all into the room as soon as you’d got into the office this morning, honestly, you were expecting it, and with the hurriedness she had, you knew it couldn’t be anywhere near good–though you considered none of the cases you received “good”, this one involved children, and it seemed they were the prime target, but what you couldn’t figure out was why.

He didn’t kill all the children–in fact, in both cases, the unsub only killed three kids; it seemed as if he was targeting specific children, but they all came from relatively different backgrounds, and both schools–when considering the environment and looking at it from a geographical perspective–weren’t at all in near-to-similar neighborhoods. Even the two kids that were killed on the same bus had no connection, they weren’t friends, the witnesses said the boys stayed away from each other unintentionally, they just never seemed to cross paths and it just did not make sense.

You wanted–no needed–to figure this out, for the next potential victims–but the team had no clue as to which school he’d hit next. For this reason, Penelope was emailing schools at the masses to keep them on high alert.

“He’s targeting school buses,” you said, taking a sip of your water. “Not schools…” Spencer nodded and you asked, “Why?”

“Perhaps something happened to him on a school bus?”

“It’s important,” you agreed, “but wouldn’t that make him–like–fifteen?”

“No,” Spencer shook his head, “a fifteen-year-old wouldn’t have this much time, he’d have been caught by now.”

“The survivors say he wore a mask, he called the students by name–”

“But not their name–maybe he’s living in a delusion?” Spencer’s speaking sped up, “maybe he’s not fifteen but he’s reliving his teenage days. Maybe he was bullied and now he wants revenge?”

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain going after high school kids now. Why not just go after the people his anger is directed toward?”

“Because he can’t? Maybe they’re substitutes?”

“We need to tell the others.”

Spencer nodded, you rushed out of the car and into the police station, catching Morgan, Hotch, and JJ leaning over a phone, talking to Penelope. You explained your theory and funnily enough, Penelope had just found school records that supported it. Each victim had been suspended within the past year, accused of bullying or inflicting some type of physical or mental pain on another student.

Complaints about the victims were filed by students, so now you knew your unsub had access to all this information, the question was what title did someone need in order to garner this details.

“That has to be how he’s choosing his victims,” Morgan said.

Hotch thought for a second, then nodded, “All alright, call Rossi and Blake, tell them to get here, Penelope, are you still on?”

“Running and ready, sir,” she confirmed, “All alright, give me a list of the next potential targets, all kids who have been suspended or complained about in the last year due to bullying, narrow the search to males, fifteen older.”

“Sir, do you want me to narrow the search between the two schools?”

“No,” Hotch sighed, looking each of you in your eyes, “I want the entire city–”

“Hotch–”

Spencer’s eyes narrowed in confusion, but Hotch cut him off, “you really want to sit around waiting for another body?”

Everyone went silent and Spencer’s eyes flitted to you for a moment, almost as in reassurance.

“He’s right, Hotch,” you stepped forward, trying to push away all thoughts of what was to be expected of you in two days.

“You,” Hotch narrowed his eyes as if just now suspecting something was up with you.

A silent staring contest ensued, though it was quickly broken when an officer burst into your makeshift bullpen. “Another body was discovered.” Your heart sunk and you glanced to Spencer for comfort, his eyes drifting to yours for the same thing.

It always just seemed a little bit more painful when children were involved. Your stomach lurched and you felt sick, wanting to throw up the food you’d just eaten. You just wanted this all to be over so you could focus on your family issues. It might have been selfish, but wasn’t that your right? You couldn’t think about this right now, you needed to find this guy before he murdered another innocent kid.

“Give Garcia the geographical point and have her narrow the search.”

Hotch directed at Spencer, turning to JJ, “Stay here, help him and Rossi figure out what career our unsub might have. Morgan go Blake to check out the new crime scene, and,” he turned to you, “Come with me.”

You turned to Spencer one last time, not wanting to leave him. You were always together, working together, that is. Hotch never split you up so you thought there must be a reason for it now, but why, well, you couldn’t know for certain. You shook your head and followed him out the door. He seemed to wait for you with pause, his expression unreadable, almost like he was analyzing you. You tilted your head in warning and he finally relented.

“Let’s go.”

From that point forward, there wasn’t really much of a struggle, it just sucked you had been called in so late, and that another kid had died before you caught the guy. Four kids in total, three crime scenes. The ride back on the jet was tense.

Everyone seemed to need their own space whenever you dealt with a case like this, you, well, you’d play with Spencer’s hair, if you were really tired, he’d let you lean against his shoulder or use his lap as a pillow and sleep. This time, though, you were restless and you couldn’t find the need to sleep anywhere. You knew you probably should,but…it was just too much.

You couldn’t stay seated, you paced back and forth, your mind fleeting from the case to the letter you’d received yesterday. You’d brought it with you and you hesitated only for a second before pulling it from your bag and sitting in one of the empty rows. You could feel eyes on you, though they were trying to pretend they weren’t looking.

You wanted to say you could see them, say you weren’t in need of monitoring, but you were the youngest on the team, and despite your closeness, with Emily particularly, they all cared for you, which is why when JJ slid into the seat across from you you resisted rolling your eyes.

“Are you okay? You’ve been kind of… not yourself.”

“I’m fine, JJ, thanks.” You returned your eyes to your mother’s letter.

“You sure?” she asked, “is it your mother? Has something happened?”

She motioned toward the letter. They’d gotten accustomed to seeing you read over the renaissance looking artifacts throughout the day. That wasn’t the unusual part, no JJ was talking about how you weren’t attached to Spencer’s hip, how you avoided them all almost the entire day, and how you had been so focused on the case as if you were trying to make something else dissappear.

“We’re all here for you, you know.” She reached her hand out, rubbing her thumb over it.

“Yeah,” Morgan motioned for JJ to scoot over, “we’re a family, you know.”

“Aww, I wish I was there,” Penelope said from the other side of Morgan’s phone. You wanted to scoff, but a sad smile pressed to your mouth instead. They were cornering you as if they’d planned it.

Your eyes flitter over toward Rossi and Hotch who were pretending not to listen and Blake, who was evidently really not, then they landed on Spencer’s who stood suddenly from his normal spot in the front of the jet and began walking toward you. “See, even pretty boy’s upset.”

“I am not upset,” Spencer scoffed, sliding into the seat next to you. But then he held your gaze as if trying to communicate with his eyes, “but we are here for you, you know I’m always here, and…I’m sure if you called, Emily would be too.”

You took a breath, and when it came out it was shuddering, and that was the first time crying had crossed your mind. So, you said–first in general, “My grandfather just passed, I’m supposed to leave in two days for his funeral.” You let them take it in, then, “I need time off, Hotch.”

A snort came from Rossi and the team frowned at him, but you smiled, why was he so unserious all the time? You rolled your eyes, but then Penelope spoke up from the phone in Morgan’s pocket, “if you need someone to go with you, I’d be willing.”

Your eyes swelled at her offer and you opened your mouth to say ‘Really?’ but Spencer said, “I’d go too–you know, if you wanted that is,” before you could open your mouth.

“Thank you,” you nodded, “I’d like that…and you know…it wouldn’t hurt if the rest of you came as well,” your admission scared you, what were you doing? This is the exactly the opposite response Emily would have given, but maybe you weren’t as strong as Emily, and maybe…maybe that was okay.

“When are we leaving again?” Rossi sighed, pulling out his phone, “I’ll have to check my schedule.” And with that you let loose a snort, appreciating the kindness of your team.

“Jack, Will, and Henry are welcome to come as well.” You said, “And that girlfriend of yours, Hotch,” you added, “I think I’d be able to brave my family again if I had the Guardians of the Galaxy with me.”

“What about Strauss?” JJ suddenly asked, “What are we gonna tell her?”

“Oh you let me worry about her,” Blake smiled, though you had been sure she wasn’t even listening.

“You’re from Europe right?”

You huffed a sigh, “Yes, Rossi, I’m sure we’re not cousins.”

A few chuckled as Rossi responded with a nod and a smug grin, “Just checking.”

You claimed the window seat, forcing Spencer to sit in the middle, though you had to climb over him multiple times to use the bathroom, you didn’t care, and neither did he…much. You thought you’d be able to sleep, but just like on the jet, you found yourself restless, and Spencer, well, he couldn’t help but ask.

The first question was simple, “how do you feel about going home?”

You laughed, a bitter expression framing your face, “I don’t know.” You were lying, though he wasn’t sure if you knew that fact yourself as you seemed genuine. The only way he knew for sure your response wasn’t what your subconscious truly thought was was by the way your lips pressed together right before you spoke, that was your tell.

He didn't know if you knew you did it, but he’d caught on to it pretty quickly when you’d first met, it had been something small, but he remembered it as clearly as if it were playing out right now in front of him. It had to do with your favorite food. Morgan had said he’d overheard you talking to Emily about how you wanted a certain order from this new restaurant because it tasted like the one you had back home, and to surprise you, he had brought it in one day and set it on your desk, brimming with energy to see your reaction.

You were confused at first, but when you saw him, you’d grinned, prying to box open, then your eyebrows had shot up and he’d asked you if it was your favorite food. You’d pressed your lips together and nodded, grimacing with the first bite, “I love it, thank you.”

Later on, he’d smacked Morgan for the first time upside the head, running away quickly after, Morgan had chased him for some time until Hotch had told them to stop acting like, “idiots,” and thst, “Jack acthas better self control than you two most days.”

“Do you have any pets at home?” He asked, watching you stretch out your arms above your head, deflating against your seat.

You smiled, “I used to have a dog, but she died before I left for university.”

“I’m sorry,” he frowned.

“Don’t be, she wasn’t really mine, but my sister’s.”

He nodded, it was early morning, everyone had gotten up way before they’d wanted to, except him. He was ready to go a bit too early, and when he’d picked you up at your apartment, it seemed as if you hadn’t slept much either.

“Hey, Spencer?” You suddenly whispered.

“Yeah?” He stared down at you as you began to move, causing him to shift until his body aligned with yours and your back hit his chest.

“Do you want to hear a boring story?” He quirked a brow, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face. To the normal eye, you seemed incredibly close, strangely close–a couple kind of close, but to the team and between the two of you, it was more like the relationship Penelope and Dereck had, although instead of heaty words, it was comforting gestures like this, that, and you were always attached at the hip, you were partners with each other before anyone else, work partners that is.

“What’s a boring story?” He asked and you didn’t know if he was trying to be poetic, but it brought a smile to your face.

“My grandfather,” you focussed your eyes on the window, finding warmth in being pressed against him, his arms acting as a blanket that wrapped around you. “He was old in age, I mean, I knew that even when I was a kid, but there were times,” you shook your head recalling the moments in your mind.

Spencer kept quiet, listening intently as he rubbed circles on the exposed inner corner of your elbow.

“He would take me on adventures and back then, he seemed so young, so exceptionally immortal. It was otherworldly,” your voice got quieter as you continued, “I don’t know how to face him,” you sighed–God it seemed like all you could do for the past 45 hours was sigh.

“Tell me,” he whispered, “tell me about the adventures.”

You paused, turning your head slightly to see him, you’d done this countless times, but for some reason, it seemed more pertinent now. More….significant, “my grandad,” you murmured, “he was my captain. That was the game. We’d go to the pier sometimes, or the forest, and he’d always have these elaborate scavenger hunts set up in advance. He really–” you blinked and breathed, “...he was really good at things like that.”

“Setting up games?” Spencer asked incredulously, but you knew it was good-natured, meant to bring the smile that had so evidently fallen off back to your face.

“At crafting and cultivating imagination.”

“Ah,” Spencer nodded, “yeah how did I miss that?”

You smacked is chest playfully.

“How do you feel about seeing your family, how long has it been?”

You gazed out the window again, there was low chatter around the plain, it was dark, the lights were off, and most people were asleep. You pondered briefly about why Spencer was still up and deigned to ask him when sunlight shone through the window, blinding you momentarily. It wasn’t a lot nor was it as bright as you were used to, and it was quickly hidden behind the clouds once more, but you smiled at it anyway.

“A new beginning,” you raised your hand, blocking the slight sunlight that filtered in now and then, not really sure what you meant.

Spencer chuckled, reaching out to grab your wris. He held it, waving it around as if you were casting a non-verbal spell.

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” he whispered, “but whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

“I know you will,” you replied as easily as if you hadn’t said anything at all. “You always are.”

And again, for a moment, you pondered why that was, why Spencer always seemed to be the only person–other than Emily–who was always there for you when you needed someone, why he was the only person you wanted there when things went wrong.

It was a question that had bubbled up over the last month since Emily had left. You’d begun to lean on him a lot more, yes, but you could very well just have as easily called Emily. Spencer wasn’t lying, you knew she would pick up no matter what, but oddly, you found you didn't want to call her because–you already had the person you needed with you. And he would always be there, even if you stopped working together, Spencer would always be there.

You were sure you could call him in the middle of the night and he’d come running. But why would you want to? You shook the dangerous thought away.

“It’s sunrise,” he said, pulling your attention back to the window. Slowly, he brought your hand to once again rest on your stomach.

“We still have about 5 hours,” you sighed, noting the time.

He leaned back, shifting in his seat, “Then we better get comfortable.”

You wondered what you’d do first when you landed, would you have so much jet lag you wouldn’t be able to see your family for some time? Would you be able to sleep? Finally? Where would your grandpa be? Probably at the funeral home. Would other family members be traveling into the city for the funeral? If they were they’d have to stay at the main house, there wewould be no other space available in the others.

You were only staying three days, and if Stauss called you in early, you’d have no choice, but to leave before that. You were able to solve one more case before you left, though you had still strained for sleep, everyone else seemed to be a little overly excited. Blake stayed to help other teams, she was new and you weren’t that close, though she didn’t seem to mind.

She was like Rossi in that department, unable to take days away from work as she ran on catching these guys. But for you, and everyone else on the team, you were sure, you couldn’t wait for your days off.

They were the closest thing you got to normalcy, that and time with Spencer outside of work, it was time in your world, one where bad guys didn’t exist, one where you could escape into the realities of a Charlotte Bontë novel, one your grandpa had gifted you before you could remember a life without it.

You wanted to thank Spencer, but you didn’t know how. You wanted to thank everyone, really, but Spencer most of all, and instead of thinking about why, of letting it plague your thoughts, you leaned further into him, rubbed your face into his soft sweater vest, and closed your eyes.

Penelope threw her head back as she grabbed her suitcase, “where to now?” Spencer pushed her sunhat out of the way. She was in for a rude awakening, it was winter in Europe, and though most people were on holiday, that only meant the airports would be extra lively.

“First, let’s make sure we have everyone.” You began counting of heads, narrowing your eyes, “where’s Hotch?”

“We’re here!” Jack came running, Hotch sprinting after him. It was not too odd a sight, for you to see Hotch in dad mode, he normally had that look on when Spencer did something stupid or Penelope said too much on speaker–but this, oh this was gold.

Rossi snapped a photo with an old camera he’d brought along, chuckling when Hotch glared at him. “Alright,” you nodded, noting Hotch’s girlfriend slowly filling the space beside him. “Now, my immediate family isn’t that big, but the rest of the family does live in the same town, so you’ve all been assigned housemates.”

“Housemates?” JJ raised a brow.

“I’ll,” you checked the time, “explain on the train, come on.”

You were honestly surprised everyone had come, you’d invited them because you truly had thought them being here would lessen the pain, but to think that they all wanted to be here for you as well, even Rossi had come–and he hated taking vacation time. Though, the most surprising had to be the fact that Blake had actually succeeded in getting Straus to let you all come.

You stayed together, it was easy for some, though others kept getting sidetracked. You stopped a few times to look at a few shops and monuments, though you kept explaining to Penelope she’d have more than enough time later to go on her mini explorations.

You supposed it was normal though, that was how you were your first time in America–your first time in any new country or state, really. Most everyone had never been to Europe, even for you it felt like stepping into a storybook. You hadn’t been home in so long, it was like a lost memory.

Though afternoon, the day was getting dark already, and people were milling about, readying for Christmas–your heart lurched, and though you tried not thinking about him too much, you couldn’t help but wonder if your grandfather had been alone during his passing, what were his last words? His last thoughts? Rainclouds not only drew to the sky but your mind as well.

You felt more than guilty, that was the only way you could describe the horrid emotion twisting in your gut ever since you’d received the letter. You hadn’t seen your parents–your sister–face to face in a long time. It was part of the guilt of moving to America without giving them a heads up and for leaving when you knew they wanted you to stay.

Your older sister had stayed, why couldn’t you have? There really was no explanation other than you just couldn’t. It felt small, suffocating. You loved your hometown, but eventually, you knew there had to be something more out there, something more calling your name, and the longer you stayed, the more you buried that feeling, the less motivated to do anything you got.

So, you saved up during your uni days and took the first position in America you’d found, which is how you ended up at Interpol, climbing the ranks slowly but surely and eventually working with Clyde.

You reached the train station, the cool weather making everything around you a tint of blue. The benches that sat in front of the train tracks were taken up by Jack, Henry, and Will, who’d been carrying a ton of baby supplies. You paused, checked your watch again, nodded, and turned your face toward everyone again, “Alright people, here’s the plan. My family knows you're coming, one of the reasons they were okay with it is because we own a few properties and can house you all, hence your housemates, or if you prefer, hosts.” You glanced at JJ, “You, Will, and Henry will be staying with my sister and her husband. She has two kids so she’s used to the noise.”

You had thought about letting Hotch stay with your sister, but that would have just been too weird. No, instead you’d paired Hotch up with one of your cousins, who was married, but had no kids. Jack was older, no longer in diapers, and had a controlled temper, so it seemed perfect.

You relayed this information and moved on, “Penelope and Morgan, you’re staying with my aunt and uncle on my dad’s side, trust me, you’ll be thanking me–and Rossi, you’re with my aunt an uncle on my mom’s side Is that everyone then?” You looked around, nodding.

“Hang on,” Rossi held up a hand, “I don’t like the way you said that last part.”

“That’s everyone then?” You ignored him, “All alright, the train should be here–” You cut off your sentence as the train pulled into the station, “...right on time.”

Waiting your turn to step onto the train as people made their way off, you felt around in your pocket for the letter one last time, sighing in relief when you it was still there. You grabbed your suitcase and began pulling it aboard the train when Spencer grabbed your arm and held you back. You glanced at everyone else boarding the train, making sure you had time before turning back, “Uhm,” he frowned, looking awkward, “where am I staying?”

“Hmm?” Your eyebrows furrowed and you looked at your watch again, “with me and my parents.” You said it so simply, as if it were an afterthought–as if it was so incredibly obvious that you didn’t think you had to mention it.

“Oh,” he didn’t know how to feel, he was a little embarrassed, but there was something else…sick? He didn’t know, but it made him bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

“Come on,” you latched your hand onto his wrist and yanked him onto the train, “before it leaves without us.”

You honestly wanted to go straight to your parent's house, but you knew you had to introduce your co-workers/friends to your family so when you left it wasn’t so weird, though the only one who complained was Rossi, you couldn’t blame him, but at the same time you found it funny. He swore up and down you had put him in this position on purpose and he didn’t find it funny–“Not one bit,” he’d said right before you left him in his room. “I’ll get you back for this,” he’d warned.

Once you’d left JJ, Will, and Henry at your sisters–she hadn’t been home, thank God, as you didn’t think you could face her just yet–you and Spencer hailed a cab and had all but drifted off to sleep during the ride to your childhood home. Your mom had been the firstborn, so she’d gotten the main house, though your grandparents never left. They had kind acted as your second parents growing up and you were incredibly close, especially you and your grandfather…and now he was gone. You bit the inner corner of your cheek, feeling like you wanted to cry but just couldn’t find the comfort to do so.

Spencer noticed, of course, that you were leaning on him, and had been the entire cab ride. When the it came to a stop in front of a large, three-story Victorian house, he hesitated before shaking you awake. He wouldn’t have done it if he knew what to do, but this wasn’t his house and this was the first time he was going to meet your parents, though it excited him, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why.

You were like–his platonic soulmate, nothing had ever happened between you two and just because you were going to be sleeping in the same house, probably a few feet apart, didn’t mean anything was going to start now. Morgan slept at Penelope’s all the time and though Spencer always suspected they were more, nothing had ever happened, which meant it was possible for a guy and a girl to just be friends–and yet, here is was, palms sweating, mind running, mouth drying as he walked up the trail leading to the front door of your parent’s house.

A knock, and hushed whispers, and then the door opened, your mother standing in the doorway with a bright smile on her face. She called your name and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a hug. You wondered if your grandpa was at the funeral home still, if he was cold, which was a stupid thought, he couldn’t feel anything, he was gone, no longer here roaming the earth, telling his outdated jokes and taking you on secret journey’s, and you were no longer that little girl who laughed at his outdated jokes and believed in the magic of his secret journeys.

When you pulled away your mother, with her now thinning, grayed hair pulled into a tight ponytail and the wrinkles lining her frail face–said, “Oh, let me get a look at you.”

She took a step back and that’s when your father came into view, “Dad,” you smiled, the feeling almost overwhelming.

He pulled you into another hug, and just when you didn’t know if you could handle seeing one more relative you hadn’t seen in ages, your grandmother shouted from somewhere on the first floor, “Is that her? Is she here?”

Your heart seized itself and you took a step back, unknowingly stepping into Spencer’s personal space. You turned to apologize, but your grandmother had already wobbled in on her two dainty legs, as quickly as she could have if in her prime. Her old crone eyes narrowed, “nice of you to grace us with your presence.” She sprinkled salt on the floor as she glowered.

“Mom,” your mother groaned.

“What?” She crossed her arms and turned her head as if she had things better to do than welcome the granddaughter–who’d left everything behind–back into her life.

“It’s fine, Mom,” you reassured as your father went to close the door behind you’d walked in, Spencer gled to your back.

Your grandmother stomped out of the room in old lady fashion. “How are you dear? Have you been getting my letters?”

You cringed, “Yes,” though you never sent one back, you did always text a message, thanking your mom for writing you, she’d only heart it, though, which left you wondering if maybe you should’ve picked up a pen and paper. “I keep them all secure in a drawer.”

She nodded, a placid smile falling to her lips, “Well, you must be tired and–” she glanced at you, then at Spencer, then at your father and held his gaze for a moment before returning her eyes to you, “who’s your…”

“Oh, this is Spencer,” you patted his chest as if that was explanation enough.

Your mother nodded, not really sure how to take it, she turned to Spencer, hoping he’d offer a little more information, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Spencer stared at her hand, contemplating and you were just about to say something about it when he reached out and shook it. Slack-jawed, you eyed him suspiciously, turning away in a huff. When you’d first met him, he’d refused to shake your hand, sure he had come a long way since then, but it still annoyed you for some reason.

“Come, let me show you your rooms.”

Your mother led you up the starcase than faded into a small stairwell, leading up to the second floor. The wood was old mahogany, though you weren’t paying much attention to it. At the end of the left hall was another staircase that led to the third floor, but even half awake you knew it was probably locked. It always had been.

You recognized the wallpaper, a deep, forest green and you half wondered if the wallpaper in your bedroom had changed, if it had been converted into a guest bedroom. Your mother gave Spencer the guest room down the hall. You waved goonight to him before heading into your room. He paused his eyes taking in your childhood home.

It was so incredibly different from his, but it also felt…small. You were this giant, bubble of energy and a quiet town in Europe just dind’t seem to add up to your personality. He sighed and pulled open the door, you weren’t a few steps away like he had hoped, but you were close enough. He stopped himself–this was completely bizarre, even for him. This was more up–well, he didn’t know, but it wasn’t up his alley.

Tired, you’d turned in for the night, though your eyes caught on all the things you’d left behind, you told yourself you’d look at it in the morning. You were glad everyone was here supporting you, you were especially glad to have Spencer–were glad he came, but then of course he came, that was just the kind of person he was.

You turned off the lamp on the bedside table, burying your face in the sheets, finding yourself still unable to cry, but whispering, “You would have liked him a lot, nonno*.” Which was madness, firstly, why did it matter if you grandfather would have liked Spencer or not. Secondly, your grandfather was gone, and the whole reason you were here was because of that fact. Maybe you just couldn’t accept it yet and that’s why you were thinking all these weird thoughts, why you couldn't cry.

You sighed, shutting your eyes, hoping you wouldn’t dream; to face tomorrow, you would just need sleep. Sleep and a lot of quiet.

You cracked open one eye, light trickling in through the curtains though it wasn’t bright. You left your door ajar as you headed toward the bathroom. There was soft chatter on the first floor, and you were sure your grandmother and parents were awake. The faint aroma of coffee wafted through the air and you wondered if Spencer was up too.

You didn’t have to wait long to find out as he stepped out of the bathroom just as you went to open the door. His hair was wet and he was wearing a white collared shirt under a brown sweater vest. He smiled when he saw you, though your eyes were drawn to the water dripping down his forehead. He was holding a towel, you assumed to try and dry it, though it looked if he hadn’t had much success.

“Morning.” You murmured.

“Good morning,” he echoed, stepping out of the way. “You’re parents said I could,” he motioned behind him, pressing his lips together when you raised a brow. He nodded, “hurry? I am kind of nervous.”

You snorted and shook your head, “sure thing, piccolo*.”

You shut the bathroom door behind you, feeling an airy sensation float through your body as you began pulling your clothes off.

Half an hour later, you found Spencer in his room still trying to dry his hair. “You should just let it air dry.” You voiced, tucking a lock of your own wet hair behind your ear.

He looked up when you opened the door, sighing, and setting the hand towel to the side. His hair was nearly dry, though he was trying to get the wet bits in the back.

You huffed, climbing on the bed and sitting behind him on your knees, “let me see it.” You began massaging the now-damp towel into his hair, trying to use the little dry parts it still had left. He chuckled, jerking his head slightly when the towel rubbed a sensitive spot. You smirked, “that tickle?”

He huffed another laugh, “stop,” he called your name in warning, “I’m serious.”

You laughed, running the towel teasingly up and down his neck. He jerked and eventually jumped up, pushing you backward on accident. He launched a tickle attack, fingers jabbing at your sides, your neck, under your arms, and when you thought he couldn’t get any worse, he sought your feet, your sockless feet.

“Okay!” You snorted, “Okay, you win!”

“What?” He asked, staring down at you with triumph.

“Oh, don’t be an ass.”

He grinned playfully, but relented, “Alright, come on, your parents probably want to see you.”

You huffed a sigh and threw your head back, the pillows coming to its rescue as you let your hands come to rest on your stomach, “do we have to?” His grin eased into a gentle smile and you gave in, jumping up, “Yeah, fine.”

You headed downstairs, passing picture frames from past relatives. There were so many ancient trinkets that your generations had left behind, Spencer said it was like walking through time, and it honestly was. Not just because the house was built in the middle 1800s, but because everything from the wallpaper to the furniture, and right down to the people still living in it–had that reminiscent aura about them.

“Nice of you to join us.” Your grandmother said as you walked in, “And who’s this, a boyfriend?”

Your mother sent hers a warning glare before turning back to you, “good morning, please sit,” she motioned toward the breakfast table.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Spencer said taking the seat beside you, “again.”

Your mother laughed and waved a hand, “There is no need for formalities, but I do want to thank you for coming.” She glanced at you momentarily, but you avoided her eyes. You knew you would eventually have to speak to everyone again, but you weren’t ready for that yet.

“So, how long have you been dating my daughter?” Your father asked. You would have choked on the tea had you drunk any prior. Your eyes widened instead and you turned to Spencer apologetically, but he didn’t seem at all fazed, “we’re just friends.”

His smile seemed content, but your grandmother scoffed. You turned to her, almost already fed up with the little attitude that’d been present since your arrival. You knew she had always preferred the company of your sister, and she detested you for leaving without a word–not to her, but to your grandfather.

You frowned, wanting to ask about it, but you couldn’t find words that would bring the least amount of sadness to the room.

“Are you going out today?” Your father changed the subject, turning toward Spencer. He seemed to catch on to the fact that you were uncomfortable, so he directed all his questions at your beloved pretty boy.

Spencer answered them with ease–to which you knew you’d be in debt. An hour went by and Penelope was blowing up the team group chat, asking when you were meeting up. Eventually, you knew you’d have to take her around town and to be honest, you could use a little distraction from the looming presence of being around the rest of your family when they got in this afternoon.

“When will you be back?” Your mother asked

“Not sure,” you replied, more clipped than you meant for it to be.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her,” Spencer reassured, trying to ease the tension.

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” your grandmother poked her head out of nowhere.

You shot her a glare and said, “Is this your way of seeing me off?”

Shocked by your reply, she tutted and jerked her head away, with closed eyes and crossed arms. You rolled your eyes, whispering, “see you later,” in the softest voice you could manage.

“That was…”

You huffed, wrapping your arms around yourself, “tell me about it.”

“So…your grandmother…”

“She hates me because I left, deep down they all do.” You frowned, but no tears came, they seemed to evade you.

Spencer pressed his lips together, normally he had the perfect response for anything you said, but you never spoke about your family. You were always sure to draw a boundary, you were very much like Emily in that sense, or at least he thought so.

You took a cab to the pier, agreeing to meet at the beach seemed simple. There were a few people, mostly locals though, your hometown wasn’t a place tourists normally visited. The main reason this town was able to survive was because a lot of the residents were wealthy, and that wealth stayed in the family and–well, the families stayed here.

“Woah,” Penelope yelped at the fourth store you stopped in, “we have to look around,” she said, eye-widening. Jack and Henry were milling about together, looking at little trinkets. You recognized the shop, it was an antique toy store–your grandfather had bought all your gifts over the years from this one in particular, some were secondhand, but they were sentimental to you and you had taken a few with you when you’d moved to America.

“Babygirl, calm down.” Morgan laughed, following her down an aisle.

“How’s everyone settling in?” You asked, turning to Rossi when he huffed and muttered something under his breath. “What was that?” You leaned in, grinning.

Spencer pulled you back just as Rossi glared and called you a sadist. “We’re doing fine, your sister is nice.” JJ smiled, “she was asking about you,” she paused, waiting to see if it was an alright topic of conversation. When she realized you were waiting patiently for her to continue, she did, “she said she was sorry for not being home when you dropped us off. She wanted to catch up.”

You took a breath, your cheeks seemingly hot in the cold weather. “I know it’s not my place,” Will started, catching your eyes, “...but I…I think you should talk to her…”

You frowned at him, contemplating, then you nodded, sigh slipping past your lips, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Oh!” Penelope shouted, “Gelato, my phone says there’s a gelato place right around the corner!”

You noticed Morgan walking up behind her when a laugh–though it sounded more like a croak–rang through your ears. “Your phone would be correct,” an old woman rounded the counter, short as could be. Her eyes bounced from face to face, settling on yours, “I told your old wench of a grandmother you’d come back. Were it for anything it’d be for him.” She sighed, “Come here, let me have a spin, my God how long has it been?”

You wanted to say eight years, but you neglected that subject and instead focussed your memory on figuring out who this woman was.

“Hmm,” she hummed after a moment, taking a step back, her arms so incredibly bony they looked as if they might snap with the slightest pressure. Her pallor was somewhat tanned, and there were a few black spots up and down her exposed skin.

“You’re nonna’s old classmate.” It clicked, she was always stopping by the house in your earlier days, and she’d sometimes sit on the wraparound porch, sipping wine with your grandmother.

“Did you forget me already capretta*?” She chuckled as if she’d made a joke.

The rest of your group had deemed the conversation not there’s to listen in on, so they’d taken to wandering around the shop, the only one who stayed–partially because he wanted to and partially because you’d grabbed his wrist when he had tried walking away–was Spencer.

“I’m not a little girl anymore,” you murmured, “you shouldn’t call me that.”

“Oh, you’ll always be capretta* to me, you and all the others.” She smiled, her beady eyes watching you for a moment, as if expecting you to do something brash. Eventually, she said, “his funeral is tomorrow, yes?”

“Yeah,” saying it brought out a wave of pain. Your mouth felt heavy and your stomach dropped to your feet.

She nodded, “have you decided what you’re going to say?”

You shook your head, “I won’t be speaking.”

She paused, disappointment flashing across her face, “well, I’m sorry to hear that.” You pressed your lips together and began turning away, ready to get out of this uncomfortable situation, but she wasn’t finished, “you know, I’m sure he’s happy you’re here.”

Spencer watched you close your eyes, take a deep, shuddering breath, and open them carefully. He watched them gloss over and without thinking about it, snaked a hand behind your back, as if holding you to this earth would help you in some way, unbeknownst to him, it did. His touch grounded you, and you thought, another debt to be owed.

“You’re amante*,” she said right before you walked back outside.

“He’s not my–” you waved your hands but your your words faltered as she shook a cloth at you, a knowing smile adorning her face.

“Maybe not yet, capretta*.”

You sighed, yanking Spencer outside. “What did she say?” He asked as if he couldn’t use damned context clues.

“Nothing,” you responded, but Rossi raised an eyebrow, holding up his hands when you shot him a look, your eyes flashing in warning.

The other’s finally joined you outside and you spent a few more hours acting as a tour guide. When you deemed it time to go home, you told everyone to be ready in formal attire around 8, the rest of your family would be coming in, staying at the main house as it was the last place that still had room, and a small party would ensue. Everyone only came together for weddings and funerals so they tended to make the most of it.

You weren’t really looking forward to seeing the rest of your cousins, hell you could barely face your immediate family, extended seemed a little too much too soon.

You thought about hiding up in your room, you hadn't had much time to take it in yet and you thought it might help.

Relatives started arriving around 7:30. Spencer had wandered down to your room and knocked, though you could hear the hesitation in it. “Come in,” you said, sitting up.

He walked through, shutting the door softly behind him. “So this is where I find all your secrets.” He chirped, an easy smile settling on his face as joined you on the bed, leaning back. “It’s pink,” he noted.

“Hey,” you said, “the wallpaper came with the room.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes catching on a few blankets stacked neatly on a shelf linear your bed, “are those your baby blankets?”

“No,” you laid back down, the lamp at your side dimming slightly. “I think I stole those from my sister.”

He smiled, “I wonder what it’s like to have a sibling.”

You smiled, recalling all the idiotic fights you’d get into, how your parents would send you two to your room until you, “learned to love each other”. “She’s older by a few years,” your voice carried through the silent room, though it was lively on the first floor. You suddenly remembered you had a third, but you couldn’t recall a single memory of you being allowed there as is had always been locked.

“Do you want to talk about her?” He asked after a while.

You debated, on one hand, it might be good practice for when you spoke to her, on the other hand, what would you even say? You had no idea how she’d been these past eight years, what her life was like. What could you say and so you said, “ask me about her.”

He hummed for a moment, falling on, “why’d you steal the blankets?”

Your lips pressed together and you tried piecing together an accurate depiction of the event. “Well, she’d got them on a trip with our grandmother. My grandfather and I had been on an adventure, I think we were in the forest, I can’t remember,” you sat up and pushed yourself off the bed, walking over to the dresser and bending down to the shelf that held the blankets.

Spencer sat up, letting his eyes follow you, he felt warm, not anxious. Though his mind was working slowly, he found he didn’t mind. You seemed to calm everything down for him, it was a sense of comfort he hadn’t known he’d needed until you came into his life, and his headaches from before had slowly ceased the closer the two of you got.

“This one,” you held up, “was originally hers.” You brought it to him as he pushed himself to the edge of the bed, his feet sprawled around you. You didn’t think twice before stepping in between him, but you had never done that before and it caught him off guard. You had never been in such proximity when you were both wide awake, and you certainly had never faced each other like this.

Nevertheless, he didn’t mind–in fact, he was finding it increasingly obvious that he preferred you to be as close to him as possible. He ran a hand over the smooth ruffles of the white blanket. It was pleaded with light pink embroidery. “You should give it to your daughter.” He heard himself say, though his throat went dry right after.

“You think so?” You found yourself wanting to be closer to him–as if I’m not close enough, you scolded yourself.

“Yeah,” he looked up at you, and gosh–it looked like he wanted you, and gosh–you felt your heartbeat speed up.

Your body moved on its own, stepping forward, loving the way his legs close together to entrap you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, dropping the blanket down beside him. You lifted your knees onto either side of his waist and sat in his lap, his arms snaking around your hips. “Hi,” you murmured, a nervous–almost hesitant–expression falling over your features.

His eyes flitted between your lips and your eyes, but he managed to force out a, “hi.”

You bit your lip and it drew his gaze instantly, you could feel his heart palpitate in his chest, almost as fast as yours. His eye fluttered close and his head fell back when you ran your hands through his hair. You didn’t know what you were doing, you told yourself multiple times, unsure of why this was happening–now of all times, oh your sweet nonno! Forgive me, you pleaded.

You angled your head forward, ready to do the one thing you’d knew your subconscious had been wanting for God knew how long, but then a knock sounded on the door and Spencer’s eyes opened once again.

“Who–” you cleared your throat, “who is it?”

“Uhm,” a nervous chuckle came from the other side of the door, “it..it’s me.” Your sister. You cursed, glanced at Spencer, then with an apologetic look, unraveled yourself from his embrace.

You walked toward the door, trying to fix your nettled clothing in the process. You took a breath and paused, then opened the door. Your sister stood there, tall, lean, and elegant, as you remembered her to be. “Hi,” she smiled, tilting her head.

You smiled back, trying your best to not give away what had just been going on–what the actual hell was just going on? You wanted to contemplate it more, wanted to ask yourself what the hell you thought you were doing–but refrained from doing so in the moment.

“Can…can I come in?”

You tensed, your eyes darting behind you and Spencer stood, throwing you an understanding glance. Your sister took a step back as he left the room, eyes following him as he disappeared somewhere down the hall. You swallowed and shifted out of the doorway, “come in.”

She raised an eyebrow but kept quiet upon you lifting a hand.

“How have you been?” She asked once you shut the door.

You thought about your answer, settling for, “good,” because you had been good, you had been very good, up until you got that letter.

“That’s good,” she responded, looking around the room, smiling, “you know, mom kept it just the way you had it when you left.”

You nodded, yes, you had noticed that, but you weren’t sure how you felt about it just yet.

“What’s this?” She walked toward your bed, where Spencer had been not a minute ago. She picked up the dainty blanket and sat down, steering clear of the part that had been undoubltey rumpled by Spencer. “Oh,” she said as if just recalling, “it’s the blanket I gave you.”

Your eyebrows scrunched together, you distinctly remember you stealing it from your room and hiding it when she had come asking if you’d seen it.

She laughed, apparently recalling the same thing, “I knew you had it back then,” which came as a surprise to you. She bit back a smile as she began folding it again, “nonna told me to let you keep it.”

Your eyes widened slightly, “did she?”

“Yep,” your sister popped the ‘p’.

“Hmm,” you hummed.

“What?” She asked, setting the blanket aside.

“She’s become batty.”

Your sister’s eyebrows rose, “how do you mean?”

“She’s been nothing but brutal to me,” you frowned, crossing your arms.

Your sister’s eye crinkled like she was about to laugh, “wow,” she said instead, “you’ve been gone so long you must have forgotten.”

“Forgotten what?” You scoffed.

“That’s how she’s always been,” your sister shook her head, mumbling your name and something else incoherent before turning to look back up at you, “I hope you visit again, that this isn’t some one off thing.”

You pulled away, your walls instantly going back up and your sister sighed, clearly noting the mask of an expression. “You always did that when you were a kid, you know.”

“Did what?” You furrowed your brows.

“Fold into yourself,” she waved her hands, “I don’t know how else to explain it.” She huffed, “you know, we really miss you, everyone. My kids,” she started, tears thrreatening to break loose, “you nieces and nephews–they don’t even know you.”

You looked down and for a second you weren’t sure what she was talking about, but then you remembered that yes–you were a zia*, your sister had children, three of them, and you hadn’t met them once.

Guilt wrapped itself around you like a veil, “I’m sorry,” you heard yourself saying, your face contorting as if you wanted to cry, wanted to express how remorseful you felt, but didn’t know how to.

“You’re just like her,” she threw her head back as a few tears ran down her cheek, “I think that’s why you were closer to Nonno*. You and Nonna* are too alike, you’re both so damn stubborn.” She huffed a laugh and for a moment, a sliver of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

“I think love my best friend,” you found yourself admitting, maybe it was your way of trying to reach out, to tell your sister you were still you.

“That guy that was just here?” She grinned at you, “yeah, the family has been talking about it, Nonna* said to expect a wedding within the next year.”

Your face fell, embarrassment taking over, “what? Why? That old bat!” You scoffed, standing, “I can’t believe her, I’ve only been here–what? Two days? If that? That crazy old woman,” you marched toward the door, “Well?” You called to your sister, “are you going to back me up or what?”

She stared at you for a moment and then slowly, but surely, an calm smile crept onto her face, but her eyes were ones of storybook villains,“yeah, sure.”

The day started gloomy, though when you met Spencer in the hall, it became just a little less than that. You weren’t feeling like yourself, though you weren’t actually sure what self you were referring to.

JJ had messaged the group chat that she’d be late because Henry had an accident right before they set off to leave. You thought about messaging your sister, but it felt weird, you weren’t used to initiating conversation with your family, so you didn’t, although you did plan to speak before the funeral.

You wore simple black attire, as did everyone else and you caught yourself holding onto Spencer’s hand tighter than usual, almost as if he’d leave you too, and you couldn’t have that. Your heart studded in your chest once you saw the coffin, it was closed, of course. It had been open for the hearing, but that had occured before you’d landed.

You couldn’t move forward. You told the others to go on and after making sure you were okay, they did, “but you’re not allowed to go,” you’d whispered, almost to yourself.

Spencer had squeezed your hand, whispering back, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your family gathered around the casket and the sacerdote* stepped forward, reading off a few of the retellings your grandmother had no doubt written down with the help of your parents. You noted a few other, non-related spectators, probably friends.

A few of his favorite songs were played and then your mother said a few words, followed by your grandmother, and finally your sister. “Are you okay?” Spencer pulled you closer by your arm.

You pressed your lips together, watching the coffin being lowered into the grave. “I don’t know…” and when you swallowed, you found your throat dry and for the first time since the letter, you not only found yourself wanting to cry, you found it was almost within reach.

The ceremony ended and relatives began dropping dirt into the grave, you thought to say one last prayer before leaving, but you didn’t want anyone to see you. You turned to Spencer and let go of his hand, “I just…” you turned away, pressing your lips together as you eyed the fresh grave.

He smiled sadly, but he nodded; he always seemed to be able to understand you no matter how silent or how loud you were. Maybe that’s why you loved him, you couldn’t be sure. There were so many things you loved about him–gosh you loved him. The revelation was like a wish from a birthday candle being answered.

You stepped away and Spencer watched as you pushed through the crowd. Hotch and the others surrounded him, questioning stares ever-present. “We should give her some time,” he said after seeing you hesitate, then sit near the makeshift headstone.

“What’s she doing?” Penelope frowned, watching you shift in your spot on the wet grass.

“Saying goodbye,” Spencer was the only one to respond–he was also the last one to retreat.

You didn’t know how to begin, you hadn’t spoken to him in eight years. You were scared that he was angry at you, but then again, you knew that couldn’t be the case, yes you knew he was gone, but what if his spirit was still here? What if he couldn’t move on because he had unfinished business and it was your fault?

You stopped yourself, since when did you believe in superstition? That was your parents…and Rossi; not you.

You sighed, running your hand through the grass, deciding to start as if he were still there, trying not to sound too guilty.

Nonno, you began, I–I’m sorry, you shook your head, I know, I know I should have visited. I know– a single tear fell down your cheek and you paused to wipe it away, shocked by your own emotions. “Forgive me,” you whispered.

“You sound like a crazy person,” you jerked your head to the side, eyes landing on your grandmother.

You huffed, eyes narrowing as you sniffled and wiped another tear that had fallen. “You’re one to talk.”

Your grandmother shifted, as if uncomfortable, and then she moved forward, more brittle than you had noticed the first time. “I’m not going to sit down,” she said after a moment, “don’t let my looks full you, I’m not how I once was.” She grunted as she stood beside you.

“Yeah, well, your looks aren’t fooling anyone, so.”

“Ouch,” she laughed, but it sounded like a wenches cackle. “Oh nipotina*,” she clicked her tongue and shook her head, a complacent smile making its way onto her wrinkled face.

You sat in silence, comfortable or not, you were glad she had stopped talking, you didn’t know what to say to her. In your opinion, you had never really gotten along with your grandmother, this wasn’t reconnecting with your parents or sisters or even your zia* and zio*, this was…new territory altogether.

You frowned, “listen, child,” and you did, you perked up, you could listen to her talk, that would be easy, you just hoped she didn't expect a response. “Your grandfather loved you, he never stopped talking about you.” You smiled, but then it faltered. You had abandoned him, hadn’t even deigned to visit because of how guilty you’d felt…

“He knew,” you whispered, heart racing.

You heard your grandmother sigh. “I thought as much,” she frowned, staring at her husband's grave as if she could bring him back by will alone.

“You did?” You hadn’t left without saying goodbye, not to him at least, that was one thing everyone had gotten wrong, your grandmother knowing had never occurred to you because you were sure your grandfather kept it a secret. Why else would the entire family have blown up when they’d realized you had left? When they’d realized it was too late to stop or convince you otherwise–because by the time everyone else had found out, you were halfway across the North Atlantic already.

“I always thought it was strange how he never said anything about it.” A grim smile tugged her at her red-painted lips.

“Nonna*, did I make the right decision?” You asked, surprising even yourself.

She sighed and you thought she might say ‘I can’t tell you if it was right or wrong’ or something a normal grandmother would say, but your grandmother wasn’t normal, she was an old bat, probably the same one you’d turn into at her age and she said, “You’re damned right you were wrong.”

Your mouth dropped, taken aback, and then you burst into laughter, throwing your head back as you tried wiping your tears, “oh you’re such an old bat,” you sighed.

“I knew you always called me that behind my back,” she harumphed, jerking her head away and crossing her arms like a child.

“Oh come now, Nonna*,” you stood and reached out the touch her shoulder.

She huffed and dropped her arms, eyes darting around your face in what seemed to be concern. “You were wrong for not telling the rest of us, you had your parents worried sick, and your sister too.” Her frown deepened, “even me.”

You nodded, “I know, but nonna*,” you sighed, wanting to explain yourself, but she held up a hand. You raised a brow, almost saying huh, so that’s where I get it from, out loud.

“Your grandfather always said you were meant for something greater, that your heart wouldn’t allow you to stay in this town the way ours allowed the rest of us.

“No, no nipotina*, you were not wrong for leaving. This town, this family? Yes, you come from here, but there,” she nodded her head toward your co-workers, (or friends, you were honestly still deciding), “with them, that is where you belong now.”

You smiled, finding acceptance in her answer.

“And your friend,” she rolled her eyes when she said it, “well, I expect the wedding to be here.”

You huffed a laugh before turning, catching Specner’s eye, and when he waved your heart swelled. “We’ll see,” you started walking away.

Your grandmother trailed after you, throwing her hands up and shouting, “incovalato*! You insolent child!”

a/n: ahhh i can't wait to write my next fic because i already know waht it is. i don't want to give spoilers, but just know you're going to see dad!spencer !!

taglist: @darkmatilda @theylovemelody

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