❝These are the days that must happen to you.❞

WALT WHITMAN

✩

1.4 : happy birthday

OR

season 6, episode 19 : with friends like these

IT IS A MELANCHOLY MORNING, AND EVEN THE SKY SEEMS TO BE STRUGGLING TO STAY POSITIVE. It's been a little over a month since Emily's funeral, and despite the joy Fin should feel at turning twenty-seven, it's been overcast all morning, the wind blew her hair into a bird's nest, and to cap it all off, the chocolate chip muffin she bought for breakfast turned out to be raisin bran. Happy birthday to me.

 Spencer hasn't stayed over since a little after the funeral, and Fin understands why: Their relationship's been weird since she got back, and they still haven't talked about what they really are. She keeps pushing him away, and he keeps insisting that he doesn't care about potentially being murdered. That's not a great foundation for a relationship, and combined with grieving a close friend, there just hasn't been a good time to talk about it.

Everyone is still struggling in their own ways, grieving on their own time. Penelope stops and stares at Emily's photo on the wall every morning on her way to her lair. Spencer's journal is almost always in his hand. Morgan spends extra time in the gym after-hours. Rossi's been listening to '80s punk rock a lot more than usual. Hotch smiles even less.

And Fin... Fin reads. A lot. All of a sudden, she can't get enough of the psychology books she was supposed to read in college. She devours books about the prospect of the afterlife, the human fear of death, existentialism, Christianity, and everything in between.

This particular morning, however, all she's going to be reading is a case file, because her phone buzzes just as she pushes the BAU door open. It's Penelope: Conference room! We've got a case.

"Happy birthday!" Penelope squeals the minute Fin walks into the conference room, practically jumping up and down.

Fin starts, unprepared for the onslaught of pink and white confetti that Penelope's just thrown at her. "Um–thanks, I think." She glances behind Penelope and her heart softens when she sees a container of cupcakes that look an awful lot like chocolate espresso–her favorite. And one is missing, which makes a lot of sense when she looks up and sees Spencer wiping chocolate off his lip with a napkin. He blushes when he sees her grinning at him.

"You didn't think I'd forget, did you?" Penelope asks, passing her a cupcake, a familiar but missed smile on her lips. "Not a special birthday like this!"

"What's so special about twenty-seven?" Fin takes a small bite of the cupcake and her suspicions are correct. How Penelope remembered her favorite cupcake flavor... She swallows hard, past the quick-growing lump in her throat.

"Every birthday is special," Penelope replies sweetly, and Fin smiles at her. For a moment, it's as if nothing has changed. Emily could be in the room with them.

"Happy birthday, mama." Morgan gives Fin a smile from across the table. Ever since the funeral, he's been kinder to her. Fin thinks it's because they're both in so much pain, he can't be angry at more than one person. She's easier to forgive than Doyle is.

"Yes, happy birthday." Hotch nods, the only one in the room without any trace of a smile. "Let's get started."

"Okay." Penelope picks up her remote, clicking the button and bringing up the crime scene photos on the screen. "We're going to Portland, Oregon, and it's not for a Dead Moon concert. So Jay Johnson, a DJ, was cutting through an alley on his way home after leaving a club, when he was bludgeoned by a pipe and then stabbed thirty-one times. His watch, his cell, and his computer were stolen. That was two days ago.

"Now, early this morning, Karen Heywood, a thirty-year-old nurse, she died during a home invasion. She was stabbed forty times, but first she was bludgeoned with weapons of opportunity."

"Eight different ones, to be exact," says Morgan, looking down at his tablet and sounding disgusted.

"That's too many weapons for one person," Rossi adds, nodding.

"There was a left- and a right-handed killer, according to the M.E. report." Penelope's voice goes quiet, the way it always does when she's a little shaken by the case.

"Yeah, but eight different weapons." Rossi shakes his head, frowning.

"So we're looking for a group," Morgan says, leaning forward on his elbows.

"Yeah." Hotch nods. "It seems that way. And the left-handed wounds were deeper than the right."

"Maybe a woman was involved?" Spencer speaks for the first time, his voice unusually timid.

"What does that mean, Spencer? That women aren't strong enough?" Fin means it as a joke, and beside her, Morgan snickers. That's progress, Fin thinks.

"No, it's not that women aren't strong enough, but the sheer biological difference between the sexes means a disparity in the strength and penetration when it comes to stabbing. Studies have shown that when men stab a skin simulant with a knife using their dominant hand, there's almost a hundred-point mean force disparity between them and women with the same criteria." Spencer says all this quickly and with a straight face, clearly not understanding the joke.

"Thank you, Reid." Hotch looks across the table at Penelope, as Fin, Rossi, and Morgan all hide grins behind their hands. "Anything taken from the house?"

"According to a neighbor, just some random stuff," Penelope replies. "A computer, some jewelry, a framed picture of a lily."

"And pawnable items." Morgan looks back down at his tablet, scrolling through the photos. "What do we have, serial-killing crooks?"

"Sounds like a musical," Rossi says, a tiny grin on his face.

"Similar victimology–young professionals killed three miles apart." Hotch folds his hands on the table, and Fin shakes her head, frowning.

"If our killers are looking for cash, easy things to pawn and make a quick buck on, why kill in the first place? Wouldn't it be easier and less messy to break in when they know the houses will be empty? They obviously knew both victim's schedules."

"That's what we have to find out," Rossi replies.

"And we have eight hours until nightfall." Hotch's mouth flattens into a thin line. "Let's go."

The trip to Portland is a long one, almost six hours by plane, and Fin spends the first two napping on the sofa and the next two sitting and staring out the window, deep in thought. This is their first real case without Emily, and the gap in her heart seems to be growing wider by the second. She's the only woman on the team now, with the exception of Penelope, and they desperately need someone to fill in the hole left by Emily. Everyone's still grieving, and it would be so much easier to have fresh eyes and a new face to help get through the muddy waters of a changed routine.

Fin gets up after a while and walks over to where Hotch is sitting at the back of the plane, poring over the case file. He glances up when she sits down and his eyes soften just a little, before going back to reading.

"You okay?" Fin asks, reaching across the table and pulling the file towards her, forcing Hotch to look up at her.

He nods, blinking as his eyes come slowly back into focus. "Yeah. There's just a lot on my mind at the moment."

"You're worried about us," Fin guesses, and Hotch gives her a little grimace that means "yes". She sighs. "Hotch, we're all still grieving, but we're making it through."

"I know that, but that doesn't take away from the fact that we're down a profiler. Strauss is bending my ear, trying to get me to bring someone new in, especially a probationary agent like Ashley Seaver."

"Even after what happened in New Mexico?" Fin's shocked; usually Strauss wouldn't overlook something like that.

"Seaver just graduated in the top of her class from the Academy a week ago, and Strauss is willing to chalk her miscue up to inexperience." Hotch's tone of voice indicates he doesn't agree with their section chief one bit. "She reminded me that she once ignored certain things in another agent's file before, and that seems to have turned out well."

Fin flushes. She knows exactly what Strauss is talking about. When she came in to interview for the BAU job, she was fresh out of the Academy and had almost no real qualifications for the job, other than her psychology background and the fact that her mother was a serial killer. Strauss told her she had a month to prove herself, to prove that she deserved a chance at profiling, and if she couldn't do it, she'd be transferred to some paper-pushing office in the basement.

Luckily for Fin, her third case was terrorism in New York City. Strauss gave everyone grace for that one, and she was on the team for good. Strauss knows about her pre-WITSEC background, but Fin's elected not to tell her about the stalking. She's sure Hotch hasn't, either.

"Are there other candidates you're looking at?" Fin asks, changing the subject before she can think about it anymore.

Hotch nods. "A few."

"Can I make a suggestion?"

"You may."

"I want JJ back," Fin says quietly. "We work better with her here. She understands what we're going through. And she's a damn good profiler."

Hotch doesn't respond, just nods again, and returns to perusing the case file. Deep down, though, Fin knows he agrees with her. Whether he'll act on it is another story, but she'll hold out hope.

✩

Paul Jones is the manager of the grocery store where Karen was last seen, but other than that, he's the most annoying witness Fin's ever talked to. He keeps trying to chat her up in between Morgan's questions, and if it weren't for police brutality laws, Fin would take away his ability to have children right here, right now.

"You're sure you didn't see a group here that night?" Morgan asks, as Jones stares Fin up and down, one disgusting pick-up line away from practically licking his lips.

"No." He shakes his head. "Just that woman and a few other people, but no groups. If our cameras worked, you could see for yourself."

"Is it possible there was a group out in the parking lot?"

"It's a ghost town," Paul replies. "Nothing happens here that late. Except maybe a little party in the back." He directs this last sentence at Fin, who just rolls her eyes. God, he's insufferable.

"All right, tell me where you saw Karen first," Morgan says, just as done with this guy as Fin is.

"She was buying cookies, and then she went to the register." Paul points to the first register, just behind Morgan and Fin.

"Were there any other customers around?" Fin asks.

"There was one at the other checkout."

"Why would you have two registers open that time of night?" Morgan asks, frowning.

"There was this weird guy, mumbling to himself and swatting the air like someone was bugging him." Paul shrugs, and Fin can guess what happened: Karen felt uncomfortable and didn't want to go to the checkout with the other guy, so Paul opened up a new register. So he's not a complete prick after all.

"What did the guy look like?" Fin asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

Paul shrugs again. "Regular white dude. Greasy. He was buying salt, bag of chips, water."

"Did this guy and Karen interact?" Morgan asks, and Paul nods.

"He said something to her, but she blew him off."

"Just put her head down and said something dismissive back?" Morgan posits hopefully.

"Yeah, that's it," Paul replies, nodding. "Yeah."

"It's a natural defensive instinct when someone we don't know approaches us without warning," Fin says. "Especially someone we view as a possible threat."

"Unfortunately, it can backfire," Morgan adds grimly, and Fin's phone rings in her pocket. She pulls it out and looks at the screen. It's Hotch. She turns the phone around and shows it to Morgan, who nods. "Thank you for your time."

"No problem." Paul winks at Fin suggestively. "Help is always available around here."

The minute they're out of the grocery store, Fin answers the phone, putting it on speaker so Morgan can hear, too. "Oh, thank you for getting us out of there. I was getting closer and closer to a lawsuit."

"I don't even want to know," Rossi replies, chuckling. "Listen, Hotch and I have an interesting theory for you."

"Shoot."

"What if it's not a group, but one extremely erratic unsub? A group of unsubs looking to make a quick buck would've taken more from Karen Heywood's house."

"That would fit with what the store manager said," Morgan says, nodding. "There was a guy in there last night who was by himself, but he was acting strange, like he was being followed."

"Reid went to the club and found that the first victim was killed in an area of high drug use," Rossi says.

"If he's hallucinating, it could be PCP," Hotch adds.

"That would explain why he stole random things from Karen's place. He was out of it."

"And the disparity in the stabbings, why we thought a woman could be involved," Fin says, and Morgan nods at her.

"The adrenaline rush from the drugs is probably behind the overkill."

There's a pause, and then Hotch says, "Hang on, Garcia's on the other line." A series of beeps, and then: "Go ahead, Garcia. You have me, Rossi, Finley, and Morgan."

"Okay, I checked all the local pawn shops to see if any of those stolen items had shown up there," says Penelope, the sound of furious typing filling Fin's ears. "I'm coming up empty."

"Maybe he's trading the goods for drugs," Rossi suggests.

"What do you mean, he?" Penelope asks, sounding confused. "We're talking about a group, right?"

"No, we think it's a solo addict who's hallucinating that he's not alone," Hotch replies.

"Wow." Penelope's voice goes quiet, the way it always does when she's either shocked or disgusted. "That is a game-changer."

"Thanks." And Hotch and Rossi hang up.

"So what now?" Fin asks, shoving her phone back in her pocket and leaning up against the side of the SUV. "Back to the office?"

Morgan nods. "Regroup with Reid, Hotch, and Rossi, grab some more coffee, and hope that this unsub doesn't decide to kill again tonight."

Fin hops in the passenger seat, shutting the door behind her, and immediately tunes the radio to the local alternative station, where they're having a Throwback Thursday marathon and playing The Velvet Underground.

Morgan starts the car and backs out of the parking lot, pulling out onto the road, and begins whistling the opening melody of "After Hours".

After a moment of silence, Fin broaches the subject that's been weighing on her mind all day. "Derek?"

"Hmm?"

"Are we okay? I mean, you were mad at me for so long, but now, after...everything, it seems like you're less mad. I don't know–"

Morgan takes a deep breath, exhaling heavily, and Fin pauses, holding her breath. "I really don't know anymore," he says finally, shaking his head. "I was angry at Prentiss for not letting us in, angry that she would keep something like that from us, but then I was on that floor, holding her hand, watching her–" He pauses, inhales again– "And all I could tell her was that I was proud of her. I couldn't be angry anymore."

"Me either," Fin replies softly, blinking the tears away, swallowing hard past the lump in her throat.

"And I don't know what it is you're keeping from us, and I wish I could force you to tell me, but I can't do that. All I can say is that you can trust me, and all I want is to protect you and help you. But I realized that night that being angry solves nothing in the long run." Morgan pauses for another deep breath, and when he starts again, his voice is slightly shaky. "So to answer your question, I think we're okay."

Kate Bush comes on the radio, and Fin wipes away a stray tear, nodding. "Okay."

She feels a little better.

Happy birthday to me.

✩

But that good feeling comes to a screeching halt the next morning, when another body is found, and when their profile switches from a drug addict having hallucinations to a paranoid schizophrenic. Instantly, Spencer's demeanor changes–and not for the better.

Fin makes sure to stand next to him during the profile, leaning her hip against the desk he's sitting on, and when Rossi begins by talking about the unsub's possible schizophrenia, she moves closer, pressing her hand to his lower back gently, beneath his cardigan so he can feel her hand. He leans back against her slightly, his dress shirt the only thing between her hand and the bare skin of his back. Fin resists a shiver.

"We believe something happened to our unsub in his childhood," Rossi continues. "Childhood voices are telling him to kill, or he's misinterpreting them as doing so."

Spencer fidgets uncomfortably, picking at something on his hand, eyes shifting anxiously. Fin rubs circles on his back, hoping against hope that he'll stay out of his own head, stay away from nervous self-diagnosing.

"Our unsub has probably been coping up to this point," Hotch says. "But a recent traumatic event, something we call a stressor, brought him back to that childhood incident and that's what's causing him to lash out."

"Our unsub spends his days wandering, trying to fight the desire to kill, yet he feels trapped by his hallucinations." Morgan crosses his arms over his chest, glancing at Spencer before looking back at the officers gathered in the center of the room. "No matter what he does or tries to do, the hallucination's power is greater than his own. Because of his limited social circle as a child, it is our belief that the incident involved close friends or family."

"Once we figure out what the incident actually was, and what triggered his relapse, we'll be much closer to the identity of our killer," Fin says, and Spencer tenses against her hand. She taps three times against his back with a closed fist: I love you.

"Reid," says Hotch, gesturing to the map next to him.

Spencer blinks, nods. He pulls the map out and points to the places he's marked with Sharpie. "We need you all to start searching in this area. Based on previous kills, we know that he strikes at night and will not retreat until we find him."

Rossi dismisses the officers, and immediately, Spencer leaps to his feet and makes a beeline for the mens' restroom. Morgan starts to go after him, but Fin shakes her head. "Give him a minute," she mouths.

But a minute turns into five, and then into ten, and Spencer still hasn't come back. Morgan raises his eyebrows at Fin, and she sighs. "I've got it."

Here in Oregon, Esther can't touch them. She can't see anything here.

Fin can put aside her own fear for a few minutes.

Spencer is staring at himself in the mirror, a paper towel clenched in his fist as he grips the counter so hard his knuckles turn white. He sees Fin in the reflection and his shoulders tense. "This is the mens' room."

"I'm aware." Fin tugs her sweater sleeves over her hands, realizing how chilly it is in this bathroom. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit."

Spencer sighs, rubbing his face again with the paper towel, almost compulsively. "That profile kind of makes it sound like schizophrenia leads to serial killing."

"But we all know it doesn't," Fin replies gently.

"You know my mom has schizophrenia," Spencer continues, as if he didn't hear her. "There are many different types. Catatonic, disorganized... Just because someone suffers from inability to organize their thoughts or they can't bathe or dress themselves, it doesn't mean they'd stab someone in the chest thirty times postmortem."

"Is this about your headaches?" Fin asks. She's noticed him rubbing his eyes, bouncing his leg a little more than usual, and she wondered just a little.

Spencer sits down on the edge of the counter, staring down at the floor, and nods, sniffling a little.

"Spencer, you have no problem organizing your thoughts, you can still dress yourself, and as far as I know, still bathe yourself. Just because you get migraines sometimes doesn't mean–"

"I'm at the prime age for a schizophrenic break," Spencer interrupts, his voice trembling slightly. "Headaches are one of the most common symptoms, and I'm ten percent more likely to have it because my mom has it. I'm–I'm scared, and I think what happened with Emily is making it worse."

Fin moves so she's in between his legs, pressed up against the counter, and tilts his chin up so he'll look at her. "Hey. You're grieving, just like we all are, and it's natural to feel like your world is falling apart. But you saw doctors, and they all told you that you were fine. Nothing is wrong with you. And trust me when I say that I would notice if you were losing your mind, and I wouldn't keep it to myself."

Spencer nods, swallowing hard, and Fin slides her hands up to cup his jaw, smiling softly. "You're perfect just the way you are, I promise. Everyone is working through this in their own ways, and it will eventually come to an end. There's light at the end of this tunnel. Just keep your eyes open."

"I'm sorry," Spencer whispers, and Fin shakes her head. This silly boy.

"Sorry for what?"

"For depressing you on your birthday."

"Spence, my birthday was yesterday," Fin says. "And it was fine. You're not depressing me at all."

Spencer fishes in the pocket of his pants and pulls out a tiny box. "I meant to give this to you yesterday," he says quietly, handing it to her. "Happy late birthday."

"Oh, Spencer, you didn't have to get me anything," Fin says softly, taking the box from him, heart fluttering happily in her chest.

"I know. But I wanted to." He gives her a watery smile. "Open it, please."

Fin opens the box and gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. Inside is a beautiful necklace: a thin gold chain with the smallest diamond pendant. It's minimal, simple, and definitely vintage, and it's the most Spencer-like gift in the world. "Spencer..."

"April's birthstone is the diamond, and I thought, since it's so small, you could wear it with anything," Spencer says, his hands fidgeting nervously. "Do–do you like it?"

"I love it." Fin carefully removes the necklace from the box, her hands shaking from either joy or the cold. Maybe both."Will you put it on for me?"

Spencer takes the necklace from her and gently moves her hair out of the way, clasping the dainty chain behind her neck. Fin can't believe how thoughtful he is, her stomach turning over and over.

She turns back around, her eyes meeting his, and they stare at each other for a moment, the tension so thick between them that you could cut it with a knife, neither one of them wanting to move an inch.

And then Fin shouts screw it to the universe and slides her hands up to cup his jaw again and pulls him in for a gentle kiss. Spencer's shoulders tense for a moment, and then he relaxes, kissing her back, his lips soft against hers. His hands tug gently at her hair and Fin leans into him, into the familiarity, the simplicity that is this moment.

"Now, Dr. Reid," Fin whispers, pulling back after an eternity and leaning her forehead against Spencer's, reveling in the feeling of his skin on hers, his hands running through her hair, "tell me what you're thinking about our unsub."

"His–his hallucinations aren't fractured like a typical schizophrenic," Spencer murmurs softly, his hands moving down to intertwine their fingers. "They're vivid and–and clear, and I think we're missing an important variable."

"Well, then let's go figure it out, genius." Fin smiles, pulling away ever-so-reluctantly and turning to head out the door.

But Spencer tugs on her hand, spinning her back into his arms and capturing her lips in a quick, final kiss. "One more for the road," he says, smiling against her mouth.

Fin chuckles, and as they stand there, holding hands, staring into each other's eyes, barely inches apart, the words I love you rest on her tongue once again, coming as easily as they would have a year ago.

It's not quite time to say them out loud yet, but Fin has a feeling deep in her gut that she'll say them again.

Standing here, in the arms of the man she loves more than life itself, 2,800 miles from Esther, Fin can have a little hope.

~

holy moly this chapter is long o.O hehe oops. 

only six chapters away from the end of part one!! so if you want to participate in the fin/spencer q&a, head back over to chapter 7 (0.7 in the formatting i use) and find the q&a submission note at the bottom :) i'm looking forward to the q&a at the beginning of part two!!