A warm arm draped around his shoulders and Derek looked up into the soft eyes of his lover. "Hey, when did you get back from Vegas?"

"About an hour ago. It was hell, trying to get from the airport to here. Everything's set, Bennington is moving Mom here in two weeks, and her doctor will accompany her the entire time, and even agreed to stay here until she had been fully transitioned over to a new doctor. I hadn't realized how much she had come to depend on him in the last few years."

"He's one of the people she sees every day, why wouldn't she depend on him?" he asked, reaching up and closing his hand around Spencer's arm, squeezing gently. "But if she's not doing well, we really should have her here. Baby Girl can always look in on her if necessary."

"That's what I was thinking, actually. Penelope would almost be the perfect candidate, since she often stays home on cases. I just don't know if I could ask that of her."

Derek sighed and tugged Spencer around so that he sat on the kitchen table. "Kid, she would do anything for us, you know that. And this isn't really that big a favor to ask. Ten, fifteen minutes every other day is nothing in the scheme of things."

Spencer looked sadly at him and he reached out for his hands, clasping them tightly, reassuring him that he was there and he could say whatever was on his mind. "What, what if she starts asking why I don't come to visit? I'm not sure that I can right away. I don't want to see her like that, even if I know that I won't end up in a place like she is. I just, sometimes I can't face my own guilt."

He nodded before opening his arms, letting the younger man collapse against him. There were no tears, there never were, but still, his shoulders shook a little as raw emotion swept through him. "Guilt is a heavy burden to carry all alone. I've learned that in the years spent in my own head."

"Buford can rot in hell," he whispered fiercely, tightening his arms around Derek's waist, nuzzling his face against the fabric of his t-shirt. "Schizophrenia can rot in hell. Fuck, everything that's ever hurt us can rot in hell. John Curtis, Randall Garner, Tobias Henkle, farms in Canada, that nut who shot Garcia, Ian Doyle. Each and every one of those bastards can just go to hell, and be tormented by the Devil."

Derek sighed lightly. "I thought you didn't believe in religion."

"I don't. I still believe in hell. In a place where bad people receive the punishment they deserve." His tone was bitter, and it suddenly became Derek's turn to hold him tightly, to rub his back in long, sweeping motions of his hand. "We've all seen too much evil in this job we do for me to honestly say that I don't wish for an eternal punishment for some of these people."

Another sigh ripped from Derek's throat and Spencer shrugged a little, as if he knew how bothered he was by his words. "We can't wish that kind of vengeance on others, Spencer. You know that."

"I know. It brings us down to their level. And we cannot let our lives be dictated by their choices. However illogical it is, I can't help but feel that way. You're my family."

The way Spencer hissed those words clued Derek in to why he was feeling so vehement about wanting those people to suffer. "You are nothing like those unsubs, Spencer. Not at all. Do you hear me?"

He nodded half-heartedly before turning his face and kissing his cheek lightly. "But why do I still feel so guilty? Why do I think that I'm torturing my mother by keeping her locked up in a private sanitarium?"

"Because you love her, and despite being unable to take care of her yourself, you want the very best for her." Derek pulled away so that he could meet Spencer's eye as he continued to speak to him. "I understand being uncomfortable around your mom. But you really need to visit her as often as you can. She needs you, especially as she's getting worse."

"I know," he replied softly, looking away from him. "I don't want to let her go."

Derek felt his gaze soften as he smiled. "We never want to let our loved ones go. And we have the distinct disadvantage of having two close friends resurrect from their supposed deaths. Life is not always going to work like that. We all have a thread that we must come to the end of, eventually."

"Atropos."

"I'm sorry?" he replied, not getting the reference. Then again, there were a lot of references from his lover that he didn't get.

"Atropos. She's one of the three Fates of Greek mythology. She's the one who cuts the thread of our lives to weave them in the tapestry of life. Collectively, they're known as the Moirai. I, I try to think about that, instead of the fact that we may all just be hurtling around in the universe, nothing to control how and where we go."

It was the closest that Derek had ever heard him come to admitting that he believed in some sort of Fate. And that thought made his heart melt towards him even more. "You will never cease to amaze me, will you? I am constantly going to be surprised by what you tell me about the world and about yourself."

Spencer shrugged, blushing a little. "Maybe. I've just read a little more than you, that's all. At least you get to learn for the rest of your life. I love you."

He looked at Derek as he uttered those words, and Derek watched a faint blush steal across his cheeks. A long moment of silence passed between them, and then he smiled widely. "I love you, too, kid. Now come on, let's go see Penelope. We have something to ask of her."

He stood and held his hand out to his lover, his smile softening when Spencer clasped it tightly. For all the bitter thoughts they had, it was the moments when they came together that made their lives so sweet.

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