This story is taking me way too long to write, the waits between chapters are ridiculous, and I'm exasperated with myself. Mea culpa.

David doesn't know what to do. He's spent the whole ride back to the station thinking about it, about Morgan's slip, about Spencer's nightmares, Spencer's unwillingness to talk, Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. He doesn't know what to do.

Morgan has been tense and quiet, clearly plagued by a similar problem. His guilt is obvious in the way his grip is tight on the steering wheel, and David almost feels bad for (unwittingly) forcing the truth from him and making Morgan accidentally betray his friend. But this is David's son, and while they're still trying to navigate the murky waters of just what that means, David's pretty sure a good start is making sure there's no more lying or secrets.

He and Spencer have never been the closest on the team, and he knows in his heart that they will never have the easy sort of parent-child relationship he used to imagine having when James was small. It's different when your child's grown, and they have far too much baggage between them for that. But they both agreed, those months ago, that they would try. David would try to learn how to be a father again, and Spencer would try to let him.

David doesn't let himself immediately go looking for Spencer when they get back to the station. For one, he wants to give Morgan the chance to apologize and forewarn Spencer, and second, David doesn't yet know what he's going to say, whether he's ready to hear what Spencer has to say. Dreams about Michaels that have apparently been going on for weeks – shit. David's man enough to admit to himself that he's scared.

So instead David seeks out Hotch in the briefing room, and waits for the others to trickle in. He reviews the information Garcia was able to bring up about Morrison, goes back over the victims and their crime scenes, does cursory Google searches of the Claddagh symbol. He carefully avoids looking up when Blake and a quiet Spencer slip in. He's just as careful to avoid overanalyzing the twinge he feels when Spencer sits as far away from him as he can. Morgan, he's at least relieved to see, doesn't hesitate to claim the seat next to Spencer. No hard feelings, then.

"I think we need to look into Morrison more," Morgan takes the lead with the debriefing. "There's something off about her and her husband. She seemed invested in the vic's marriage and their divorce, like it was personal."

"She is a therapist," JJ lightly teases. "It's kind of her job to be overly nosy about it, isn't it?"

"No, Morgan's right," David says. "There's definitely something weird going on with them. Her husband, too. He was… quiet. Looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn't in front of his wife. I'd like to talk to him one-on-one, if nothing else."

"Garcia, what did you find about the Morrison's?" Hotch asked, pointed towards their ever-present tech guru on the phone before them.

"Gotcha covered, boss," Garcia says promptly. "Deanne Morrison, 52, married to her husband Oliver for 23 years, no children… He lives the thrilling life of an accountant, while she's been a registered marriage counsellor for about 16 years. Originally, she was in nursing, but then changed career paths after – ah. Her parents divorced in 2001."

David, despite browsing Morrison's files for the better part of an hour, had not known that interesting detail. He and Hotch meet eyes over the table, and Hotch inclines his head in acknowledgement. No one says anything to interrupt Garcia.

"Things look pretty quiet for a few years, though it looks like Deanne and Oliver go through fertility testing, but nothing comes out of it. Oh. I think the dashing duo may be onto something – eight months ago it looks like paperwork was drawn up for a divorce between Deanne and Oliver due to, ah, extramarital relations. The paperwork was rescinded before anything was signed, and there hasn't been a word since."

There are identical frowns around the table.

"Garcia, does it look like there was a more recent stressor, a little before the first murder?" Spencer asks. "Eight months is a long time."

Garcia hums. "Not that I can see, my sweet," she says regretfully. "The first vic, Jimmy Bugle and his wife had already been seeing Morrison for almost a year. They've never filed for divorce, and there's nothing too significant that I can see to suggest a trigger. I can't vouch for anything that was said in session, though."

"So let's say two weeks ago, the Bugles go to see their marriage counsellor, like they do every, what, month? Maybe in that session, Jimmy admits to cheating on his wife. They leave the session, and before they can even discuss separation, our UnSub kills Jimmy and carves a love symbol in his chest," Blake says. "Then a few days ago, the Mightens announce their divorce for a similar reason, and the UnSub kills Charles, too."

JJ shakes her head. "But what about the other two victims?" she asks. "It doesn't look like the Yus have been to counselling for the last few sessions, especially not during the last two weeks. And the Haynes' divorce looked amicable, and went through last month. Why would our UnSub kill them now?"

"Maybe in earlier sessions they discussed cheating," Spencer says. "Before the stressor eight months ago, even. So the UnSub, Deanne, already knew about the cheating already. Maybe the Bugles were the first couple to discuss cheating since the stressor eight months ago, and after killing Jimmy, she decides to go back and kill the other two clients as well. It's possible she's planning on going after any other client she's had in the past with a history of cheating."

"It's a solid theory," Hotch interjects. "But it's based on too much speculation – we have no idea if any of the other victims have a history of cheating, other than the Mightens. We should talk to the spouses, make sure. I don't want to ask to look at Morrison's session notes until we're closer to knowing, in case we scare her off."

Spencer, David notices, looks frustrated by this ruling.

When Hotch disbands them, after pairing them off to speak to the spouses – Blake and Morgan to the Bugle house, Reid and JJ to Haynes, and himself and David to Yu – he gives them time to look into the respective victim's files and prepare themselves first.

While relieved to not immediately be hitting the road again just yet, David feels uneasy. He knows he has to talk to Spencer, and he hates how reluctant he is to do so. He wants to be better at this whole communication thing, goddamnit, and he really is willing to put the effort into it. His second wife would be proud.

It's frustrating, he thinks. For years – decades – he would have given his right leg to know more about what happened with his missing son. He would have taken the awful details, the torture of knowing, just so he could have the peace of knowing what James had gone through. It wouldn't have helped, he knows, had always known, but it would have been fitting, to suffer through knowing. When the truth came out last year, David was almost relieved to realize Spencer just didn't remember any of it, not the kidnapping, not the time with Michaels, not even the time with David and Carolyn. It hurt, of course it did, realizing that his own son didn't know him as anything but a crotchety teammate, but at least there was peace in knowing Spencer – James – Spencer was spared from those doubtlessly traumatizing memories.

Except that apparently isn't the case. And Spencer hadn't felt able to tell David any of it, even after being plagued by nightmares for weeks, nightmares so bad that, according to Morgan, he hasn't been able to sleep properly in weeks.

This, compounded with the fact that Spencer is also hiding something about Diana, makes David feel terribly old and worried about his abilities as any kind of confidant. Clearly, Spencer feels like he can't tell him things. David wants to know why, wants to know how to fix it.

So he needs to talk to Spencer.

Well, he thinks to himself, watching Spencer side-eye him nervously again. No time like the present.

The team must have a sixth sense – or some kind of code amongst themselves – for sensing when they need to clear out so that a serious and private discussion can be had. It doesn't take long until they've all ushered themselves out of the room, either getting another unhealthy dose of coffee, retrieving case files, or, in Morgan's case, making a private call to Garcia. Either way, in less than ten minutes it's just David and Spencer.

David hates the feeling of confronting his son.

"So," Spencer says. "I, uh, heard you were asking Morgan about me." His shoulders are the slightest bit tense, but he looks (and sounds) more tired than defensive.

"I was worried," David says. "I wasn't trying to get him to break your confidence, I just wanted to make sure you were talking to someone, because it clearly isn't me."

Too bitter, David think too himself. Tone it down.

But Spencer doesn't seem insulted or upset.

"I've spoken to him a little," he says. "But not – not about everything. I haven't really told anyone. I was going to tell you, about – about everything. But I didn't know… I wasn't sure – "

"I know something's wrong with your mom," David prompts, ignoring the way it tightens his chest.

Spencer draws in on himself, turns away. "She's not – doing well. I told you a few months ago that I went to see her, that I tried to tell her about, uh, you. But I didn't – I couldn't. I tried, but she wasn't doing well, and I don't think she really heard me. I don't know if she even knew who I was." His mouth quirked into a sardonic smile. "I've still been writing her letters, but… I guess I've been scared to mention it again. I drop hints, sometimes, to see if she remembers, but I haven't said it outright since. But then last week, she started getting worse again, and I've been in contact with her doctor to talk about her meds and – uh, anyway."

Spencer, David notes, is always nervous to share any details about Diana's day-to-day care with David. He doesn't know if that's just personal to him, or if Spencer is just like that with the whole team.

"The call on the plane, that was my mom's primary case worker. I don't – she didn't say how, but I guess Mom was lucid enough the other day to remember and understand what I had told her about you, and me, and Da – William. Deb said it was okay, but then – Mom got bad again and – she isn't – she won't – " Spencer stops, closes his eyes. "It's bad."

David wants to put a hand on Spencer's shoulder, try to comfort him, but his limbs aren't really cooperating and besides, he and Spencer have drawn a firm line in the sand when it comes to their workplace boundaries. It's a weak excuse, but they're on a case (they're always on a case), and David tells himself he'll make it up to Spencer when they're back in Virginia.

"I know it hasn't always been the easiest, talking about your… mom, with me," David says. "I'm sorry about that, Spencer. I want you to feel like you can tell me things. I'm not saying I have to be your only confidant, and I promise I won't make a habit out of pestering Morgan into revealing things, but I want to be an option. If you were avoiding telling me because you thought it might upset me, I promise it won't."

Spencer looks at him doubtfully, and David quickly amends his statement.

"Alright, alright, maybe it will, but tell me anyway. I'm a big boy, I can take it."

To David's relief, Spencer nods in agreement, though he doesn't offer any more information about Diana.

David breathes. One down, one to go, and then this torturous conversation can end. He can see Spencer getting wound up again, as tight as a coil, so he wants to wrap this up as cleanly as he can, make it less painful to rip off later, after the case.

"Will you tell me about your dreams?" he asks, already cringing, though he fights to appear neutral and welcoming. But he's scared, almost as scared as Spencer, and he doesn't know what his son might say.

Spencer breaks. He flinches hard and shoots up out of his chair. "No," he says firmly. "No, no, I'm not doing this right now. I didn't – I didn't want to tell Morgan, I don't want to tell you – I'm not doing this."

And before David can do much more than open his mouth, gears turning too slowly in his brain, Spencer is storming out of the room.

"Well," he says, mouth dry. "Well done, Dave."