Author's Note: It has definitely, definitely been awhile since I've been on here . . . Life has gotten thrice as crazy as usual . . . But in good ways, you know? I'm finally full-time at my job (which is bloody fantastic), acing two of my classes and out of the failing range with my fucking Accounting course, Halloween has passed and Chirstmas rapidly approaches . . . I would say that I'm at peace, but as my favorite T-Shirt reads, "I'm A Grayson, I Can't Keep Calm." *Snickers*

Anyhoo . . . everyone on this bloody site probably knows about my unstoppable addiction to "Heroes." And, subsequently, my excitement over the reboot of the series, Heroes Reborn. Now, halfway through the premier season . . . I'm not impressed. Not unimpressed, of course, but the show isn't quite as snazzy as the original one, I think. (Are they ever, though?) The villains suck, and most of the powers are pretty mainstream . . . but it's still fun and interesting, and given a season or two for the plot lines to develop and the characters to marinate, I'm sure it'll be a fine TV Show. At least, I hope so.

Alas, though, my two darlings of the universe are nowhere to be seen . . . And a world without Peter and Sylar is not a world I wanna live in. So, the next installment of my Criminal Heroes 'verse arrives! My inspiration came from one of the driving plot points of the Reborn series; is Claire Bennett alive or dead? Still no answer in that for canon, I'm afraid . . . But even thinking about it made me miss the whiny cheerleader, and she kind of elbowed into the story, asking if she could meet Reid. Makes sense to me; with as special as Peter and Spencer are to one another, SURELY they'd have become familiar with one another's family at some point, right? Riiight?

This started as a oneshot, quickly grew into a longer plot line, so there's gonna be at least a few chapters. Nothing too dramatic, I hope; just fun-sih family bonding, with a dash of angst. (LOLz, I have no idea, if you've read this series, you know how bad I can get.) We'll just have to see . . .

Warnings: Spoilers for Season 1-2 of Heroes. Spoilers for Season 1-3 of Criminal Minds. Mild language, snotty teenagers . . . fluff, eventually?

Disclaimer: I would own the shit out of Peter Petrelli and Spencer Reid if someone ever offered them to me . . . But that time has not yet come, alas. Same goes for the shows. *Sad face*

Read, if you'd like. Same for reviewing. Honestly, either way, I'm just happy you're here.

XXX Chapter One XXX

Every Friday morning found the FBI Headquarters in Quantico, Virginia, extremely busy; paperwork had to be examined and refiled, messages answered, meetings arranged, and general catch-up and busy work all collided, making it a stressful few hours as everyone struggled to finish all they had to do before calling it in for the weekend, going home to be mothers, fathers, husbands, wives . . . or even just people in general before they went back on Monday morning to once more being employees of the federal government.

It was an age-old tradition, really, having been around as long as the FBI itself, and all departments shared in it. Even the ones with private jets and overtime pay — Counter Terrorism and the Behavioral Analysis Unit amongst them.

Although he technically had no one waiting for him at home, Spencer Reid too fell into the group of those that wanted to clock out on time; the hours at the BAU were long, tense, and demanding, and many times, there was nothing the genius found more soothing than laying on his threadbare couch and falling asleep to the sound of some BLAH or another.

As such, he always took care to arrive early on Friday mornings — sometimes even beating his Unit Chief to the office — and hurried to finish all of the files waiting for him on his desk. Unless his team was called in on a case, Reid generally managed to get everything finished before the clock struck five, and was able to walk out with Derek, Emily, and Penelope to start the weekend.

Now, at nine, having just sat down with his third cup of coffee, Reid was writing up a report from one of the BAU's recent cases — or at least, he was trying to.

"Do you wanna just turn that on silent, man?" Derek Morgan asked as the genius's cell phone went off for the third time that day — and as, for the third time that day, Reid reached blindly into his bag and hit 'Ignore.'

"Not really," Reid answered, not looking up from his desk. "If it's my mom, I have to answer, and I need to be able to hear it. Otherwise, I just want to finish up my paperwork and go home." He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, fighting off another of the headaches that had become increasingly more common since Gideon had left.

Morgan briefly shared a concerned look with Emily before she shrugged and waved him off; Reid was still upright and breathing, and there was no need to crowd him with mollycoddling.

Yet.

Derek pursed his lips, shaking his head as he walked over to his own desk and pulled a large stack of files towards himself.

For a small while, there was quiet in the office as everyone worked on reporting, filing, and drinking the god-awful sludge they called coffee from the employee lounge.

A loud, trilling noise broke the peace, and heads swiveled towards the source of the noise, perplexed and irritated by the interruption.

Reid, a blush spreading over his cheeks, blindly grabbed for his desk phone without checking the Caller ID.

"Hello?" He greeted, trying not to let his impatience show in his tone.

"Spencer!" The voice on the other end of the phone was warm, friendly — familiar. "Good — finally! I've been trying to reach you all day."

Reid straightened at his desk, shoving the file he'd been working on aside.

"Peter?"

"Who else?" his friend replied, voice garbled. Reid squinted, straining to hear.

"Listen," Peter continued, voice coming in through the slight static, " Are you busy?"

"Uh," Reid glanced around, and turned his chair towards his computer, speaking more quietly. "I'm sort of at work right now, Pete."

"Can you get away for a few minutes?"

Even knowing that he couldn't be seen, Reid frowned. Why?"

"Just come downstairs. I'll explain everything then."

"Peter — "

"See ya!"

The phone clicked off, and Reid was left with the dial tone humming in his ear. Huffing out an irritated sigh, Reid stood up, sweeping his coffee cup into his hand.

Emily glanced over at him. "Reid? Everything okay?"

Ignoring the concern in her voice, Reid spoke shortly. "I have to go downstairs for a moment," he muttered, barely meeting her eyes before turning to the door. "Could you tell Hotch, if he asks for me?"

"Sure." Emily blinked, curious.

"Thank you," Reid called over his shoulder, swiftly walking off before Emily should say anything else.

She watched as the genius swept across the floor, leaving the glass doors swinging behind him.

To her left, Morgan spoke. "What was that all about?"

Emily shook her head. "No idea." She turned to her coworker, a mischievous smile lighting pup her eyes.

"Wanna see how many files we can relocate to his desk?"

Reid had barely taken his first step out of the elevator before he heard his name called out above the din of people moving around.

"Spence!"

Something slammed into him, and Reid's small oomph of surprise was muffled as his best friend wrapped him tightly into a fiercer hug. Head pressed against Peter's shoulders, for a moment Reid could focus on nothing but the embrace, the feeling of warmth spreading through him. In a way he'd never been able to put into words, it always felt so comfortable, so . . . right to be by his longtime brother; the arms around his back were secure, familiar — loving. And as always, Reid felt safe, safer than he ever had when Peter wasn't by his side.

And so, for just a few seconds, the genius took solace in the contact, savoring the feeling of contentment that Peter always seemed to inspire in him; and soon, he was hugging him back.

The moment stretched on until . . .

Somewhere behind them, there was the unsubtle sound of a throat clearing, and both men immediately slammed back into reality.

Reid's eyes opened, and he swiveled his head around, for the first time taking in the sight of a girl — well, teenager, really — standing just behind Peter, glaring at the two men with one eyebrow raised. Slightly curious, Reid glanced the blonde over, his brilliant mind already filing away details, connecting dots and drawing conclusions.

Though short, the girl was extremely lean; well-toned calves and sinewy legs were emphasized strikingly by the khaki shorts she wore. A low-cut tank-top stopped just above her belt loops, showing a micrometer of tanned skin beneath the gauzy material. In an effort to seem somewhat conservative, the girl had loosely knotted a periwinkle button-down just under her cleavage, with the sleeves rolled up and her hands tucked carelessly into her pants' pockets. Long, thick, honey-blonde locks were French-braided and tossed casually over one shoulder, withal the girl's blunt bangs fell over one piercing green eye.

Athletic. Independent. Keen. Observing.

Each new classification clicked through Reid's head as he eyed the girl eyeing him. With a stance clearly on the offensive and fire smoldering behind her eyes, she unnerved Reid more than he wanted to admit, more than he felt was appropriate.

Mistrustful.

Pulling back from his friend's embrace, Reid coughed uncomfortably, and clapped Peter lightly on the shoulder. taking a step back, Reid brushed the hair away form his face and stood rocking on his heels.

Peter frowned briefly, confused, but chased the expression away to fact to comment. Instead, a smile lit his face, and his eyes sparkled as he looked his friend over.

"It's good to see you, Spence. You look . . . better."

The awkwardness behind the sentence was palpable — Peter Petrelli simply didn't know how to do subtle.

Neither did Reid. The genius waited just a second too long before forcing a smile and nodding.

"Thank you," he spoke quietly, casting the last threads of the moment away easily. "You look . . . well."

Half of Peter's mouth upturned in his signature smirk.

As it always did, the expression on Peter's face caused Reid's own lips to quirk into a smile, he blinked, once again forgetting exactly when and where they were.

Behind them, the girl who'd yet to be introduced properly was rapidly tapping her foot on the ground, a look mixing impatience and impudence marring what was normally a very pretty face.

Controlling.

Reid's nose crinkled. "Ah, Peter?"

"Hmm?"

Widening his eyes slightly and jerking his head towards their company, Reid tried to keep his voice low, for diplomacy's sake. "You brought — someone?"

For just a moment longer, his friend looked confused, eyes squinting slightly as he tried to remember — and then, seeing what Reid was gesturing at, (or who, really) his entire face changed, morphing into an entirely different, if still familiar, loving look.

"Oh!" Peter's eyes alit, and he took a final step back, fully extracting himself from the contact with Reid.

"Spence, I'm so sorry — can't even believe I forgot! — " Peter coughed. blushing. "Spencer, this is Claire. Claire Bennet."

His tone was relaxed, full of affection. As if to further prove his devotion, Peter slung his arm over Claire's shoulder, with an ease that a suggested the gesture had been made many times before.

Claire. Claire, Claire, Claire . . .

Claire!

"I remember," Reid stepped forward. "Claire. Your niece from Odessa." He stuck out his hand. "I've heard so much about you."

Claire made no move to acknowledge his greeting. She stood stiffly under Peter's arm, eyeing Reid blearily, managing to communicate in a strictly nonverbal way just how intrusive this was, her intense . . . dislike.

Reid tried not to shiver; the look she gave him was all too similar to the ones he'd gotten throughout high school and college — that instant disdain, the promise of later clashing.

Aggressive.

Seeing his slightly dazed expression, Claire raised an eyebrow. "Funny. Peter's never said a word about you."

Limply, Reid's hand dropped to his side, and he tried not to frown at Claire's unfriendly tone; instead, the genius sought out his friend's eyes, silently asking Peter what was going on.

Peter smiled, but it was pained. "I . . . I haven't had a one-on-one with Claire in . . . quite a while. But I've talked about you tons, Spence." He shrugged. "Claire means I never mentioned that we were going to see you today."

"You never mentioned it to me, either," Reid deadpanned.

"Right," Peter mumbled, posture tensing slightly. His hand dropped from Claire's shoulder, and he fluidly closed the space between himself and Reid. "Listen," he said, voice lowered to the point that only the genius could hear him, "I — I need a favor."

Reid hesitated before leaning in closer. "Go on."

Peter glanced over his shoulder. "It's . . . it's Claire. I — I need you to keep an eye on her."

"What?"
"Today. I . . . I can't be with her for a bit, I have to . . . do something. Something private. I need you to watch her." Peter's voice was hushed, urgent.

Reid began to shake his head. "Pete, I'm at work — "

"Well, keep her here with you, then!" Peter strained to keep his voice from carrying, tried not to shout. "She's smart, she'll know how to act like nothing's wrong . . . And where could be safer for her than right here?"

"No, you don't understand —" Reid was cut off again.

"No, you don't understand! I'm your friend, your brother, and I need your help — "

"Peter, I don't know her! And we're in the Headquarters of the FBI — secrecy's a bit fo a concern here, we don't just allow people to walk in — "

"I got in easily enough."

It took all of Reid's willpower to ignore the smug tone.

"So I see," he countered. "And I'm sure that none of your . . . genetic capabilities had anything to do with that little stunt."

Peter's nose twitched. "Spence," he said, his voice choking on a mixture of plea and resolve, "Please. I need your help."

Startled by the level of seriousness suddenly in his friend's voice, Reid straightened up.

"I — I j-just . . . Claire's with me. I let her come along with me today, into this damn city, where everyone from vice police to her fucking father is looking for her. She's here because of me. She's in danger because of me. I have to protect her, Spencer." Peter's tone was desperate, aching, everything about it pulsating with the care he held for his niece.

Still, Reid raised an eyebrow. "Peter . . . you're you. I'm me. How am I possibly in a position to be of any help at all — better than you?"

Peter pursed his lips. "You're a genius, Spence. And strong. And quick and kind and caring . . . You're the only one I trust with her. It has to be you."

Reid opened his mouth to protest further, but before he even started speaking, the genius knew he was relenting.

"Why can't she stay with you?" he asked, hating how petulant he sounded.

Peter sighed, and lowered his voice. "I . . ." he struggled for a moment, trying to speak. "I . . ."

He swallowed tightly, and shook his head. "She just can't, okay?" Seeing Reid's raised eyebrows prompted the man to continue, somewhat reluctantly, ""I have to go and find my mom, Spence — she's in trouble, and Nathan won't do a damn thing to help her, of course."

His voice was so bitter, almost as much as it had been the last time the two of them had spoken face-to-face. Internally, Reid winced. Cynicism didn't suit this man he called brother — sarcasm and cruel, harsh words had no place in someone so gentle.

The thought did him in completely.

"Are you sure . . . ?" the genius tried weakly, one last time, to get out of it. Not that it mattered. Peter's eyes shone with that strange mixture of gratitude and victory that only he could manage; the man knew Spencer all enough to understand that he had won.

"Thank you, Spence," he hurried out, relief making his voice breathy before he turned back to face Claire again.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours, okay?" He spoke softly, gently, stooping ever-so-slightly so that he was put at eye-level with his niece.

Claire responded by crossing her arms. "I know, Peter," she spat out.

Undeterred, the man continued his patronly instructions, arms snaking up to rest lightly on Claire's shoulders.

"Stay with Spencer — he has a desk upstairs, and there's plenty of stuff to keep you interested, I'm sure — "

"Peter," Claire cut in in, rolling her eyes despite the faint smile on her face, "I'm fine. Go."

Peter sighed, barely audible, his reluctance to leave clear in every inch of his waif posture. Finally, though, he turned away, bravely smiling as he faced Reid.

"Thanks, Spence," he murmured, piercing Reid head-on with that powerful gaze of his. "You've no idea what this mean to me."

Reid, throat dry from nerves, could only nod.

Peter stayed a second longer, just enough to give the genius a one-armed hug.

"I'll be at your place tonight!" he whispered into Reid's ear before swiveling around. With a grace very few people expected from someone so gangly, Peter sped to the door and armed his way through it in one fluid, rapid move.

Reid watched until the silhouette of his friend disappeared completely, shaking his head all the while.

As soon as the raven-haired man could no longer be seen, Reid turned to face Claire, very feature of his face tensed in apprehension of his new charge.

Claire looked Reid over much as he was her, one perfectly waxed eyebrow raised at his stiff posture.

"So," Reid started — and then, having nothing to follow up with, stopped.

He'd never had any luck talking to kids — the Reid effect was completely indiscriminate in that regard.

Claire let the word hang there awkwardly, continuing to stare at him, almost amused by the way Reid was struggling not to fidget, and making no attempt herself to fill the painfully stretching silence.

"I . . . I work right upstairs . . ." he gestured uselessly to the elevator.

Claire squinted at him, gaze chirp and calculating, evaluating. Reid held his breath.

Then, abruptly, the girl turned and marched — not walked, marched — to the elevator doors, covering the distance in a microsecond.

Biting back a sigh, Reid trailed slowly behind, mentally calculating the trim he had left until Peter re-joined them.

Why did he have the feeling that this particular Friday was going to be twice as long as usual?

Author's Endnote: More of that, soonish . . . Not sure I'll have a regular update schedule on this one, but I'll try for weekly or more, kek?