Author's Note: Annnnnnnd . . . college is finite for the year! I'm one degree closer to finishing college, and so, SO em-effing excited for a break from term papers and running restaurants.

So, I will admit, I felt a bit of a rush to get this chapter out before another day went by, because tomorrow, I'm leaving with my girlfriend to vacation down in N'Awlins for a few days, savor our brief winter hiatus, and I was thinking that when I got back, I might be more in the mood to write another Spencer/Remy story instead . . . Louisiana on my mind, and all that good stuff. This will be where this tale makes it's end. Hafta admit, when I was writing this, I had planned to pan the ending to tie in with another oneshot I have in the works, but . . . I like how this one came out, better. Spencer is protective, Peter more so, and somehow, Claire is always at the middle of it all.

Thank you all so much for your reviews and comments (and SO many questions, too, silverwrym). I love you all, and it meant a great deal to me that you've been so good and vigilant in reading this and nudging me to finish.

Fear nor; something else should be out by New Year's, once I've caught up on all the laundry I ignored over the semester. LOLz. Happy Holidays, my doves!

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 Five XXX

Indigo wisps had begun to perforate the sky outside — and though he would never admit it, Reid hurried to get Claire to his apartment as fast as possible once they left the BAU that evening, not wanting to be outside, at night . . . in the dark . . . alone . . . ish.

Though he technically had a car, and company, Reid had always preferred the few minutes of solitude that his walk to and from work allowed, and tried to take the scenic route whenever possible these days. The weather was nice, work had slowed down somewhat since Rossi joined the team . . . it was peaceful, or some version of it, anyway.

Much as before, a silence settled between the genius and the teen as they walked reservedly next to one another, not a word being spoken to break the fading sounds of the city behind them. They were within sight of Reid's building before Claire broke the quiet.

"Thanks."

Her voice was so soft that at first Reid thought he might have imagined it, craning his neck to meet Claire's eyes.

For a moment, the girl held his gaze, unblinking, and looked back at the ground.

"For t-today, I mean. I'm not really familiar with this area — l-like, at all, I mean, and I really appreciated . . . your time . . . "

Reid tried to cover his smile. "You're really not all that comfortable thanking people, are you?"

"I'm not all that comfortable with people trying to help me," Claire corrected, and then sighed. "Still . . . you were really . . . helpful. And nice, I guess."

"I guess," Reid repeated quietly, looking ahead. They were less than a block away from the place he called home. Turning back to Claire, he was somewhat taken aback to see that the girl was shivering, arms wrapped tightly across her chest and shoulders trembling as another gust of wind bit at them.

"Are you alright?" HIs voice was concerned, kind even, but Claire still clinched her jaw at the question.

"Fine," she ground out shortly.

A moment later, something heavy and soft dropped over her shoulders, and Claire, against her will, jumped. She swiveled around, hands immediately clenching into fists at her side, ready to attack, to defend . . . Only to see Reid standing next to her, arms slightly raised in a pacifying gesture, looking almost as startled as she.

"I'm sorry — I shouldn't have . . ." He cleared his throat. "You just . . . you looked cold."

Posture still tense, Claire glanced at her shoulders, seeing —

his jacket.

Wanting simultaneously to laugh and yell at herself for her ridiculousness, Claire lowered her gaze, and tugged the covering more tightly around her. Virginia air certainly had more of a bite to it than her own Odessa.

"You're fine," she mumbled after a minute, refusing to get lost in homesickness. "Sorry I overreacted."

"You didn't." Reid's voice was tentative, but kind. He fell back into step beside her. "I'm sensitive to touch as well. That was very thoughtless of me."

Claire smiled. "I don't think you can be thoughtless."

Reid sighed, rolling his eyes. "You were talking to Morgan again, weren't you?"

"No. Just my own opinion. You're always using your brain, always . . . on. Like, even more than a girl. You're always thinking."

"Aren't we always?" The question was rueful.

"No," Claire answered honestly. "That's kinda the point. You're odd."

"Wonderful deduction."

"I meant it in a nice way!"

A glimmer of a smile passed over Reid's face at that. "As did I. You're very observant, Claire. Astute. I admire that." After a moment, he hesitantly added, 'I don't suppose you've given much thought to joining the FBI Academy . . . ?"

"Heck no." Claire knew he was probing, and winced when she saw how his shoulders slumped at her answer. "It's nothing personal," she added hastily. "Government stuff never really interested me, is all. Too much like the skeevy stuff my dad does. If I was gonna do stuff like that, I'd wanna be in the front lines, fighting right up there for people. You know . . . feel more like I'm actually doing something. Get to know I'm helping someone, rather than trusting someone else to do it for me."

On the last words, her voice cracked, and Reid came to a halt behind her. They were on the porch of his apartment building, but he hadn't yet used his key to get them in.

Instead, the genius stared at his companion, completely unsure of what to say. Emotions had never come easily to Reid, and neither had women. This gir — woman — in particular he found vexing, unsure of what moves to make as she went from defensive to angry to tacit to joking to flirty to —

Even the thought made him shake his head. Too many feelings inside one person, and he was exactly the wrong one to try and deal with it all.

Still, he tried.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." The walls were back up, tugged firmly into place, as though they'd never left at all. "I'm fine."

Reid sighed, and turned to unlock the door. A small, soft hand fell tentatively on his shoulders, as though wary of him lashing out.

"Dr. Reid . . ." Claire swallowed, hesitant. "Spencer. Really . . . I'm good." His eyes landed on hers, and she held them firmly, a light in the depths of the emerald green beneath her long lashes. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm as okay as I'm gonna get right now. You're good, I'm good . . . it's fine." One corner of Reid's mouth turned up in that half-smile that was so characteristic of Peter that Claire added, "Thank you."

"Anytime."

"We're here!" Reid called out over his shoulder as he held the door open for Claire. Though his voice was relatively quiet and unobtrusive, the sound still bounced around the walls of his apartment, and it was only seconds before Peter walked into the living room, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and smiling a smile that was really more of a grimace at both of them.

"Productive day?" He asked lightly, eyes searching both of them with that concern that never left, even when he was positively glowing with happiness.

"Good," Reid answered after some thought, and Peter nodded, his eyes sliding over to his blonde companion.

"Yeah, it was fine," Claire shrugged. "Did work, got stuck in an elevator, ate a spectacularly crappy lunch — "

"Next time, you can pay!" Reid said, just as Peter cut in with "Stuck on an elevator?"

Claire smirked as both men turned to face each other. Reid spoke first. "It was the one at the Bureau; it gets faulty sometimes, and today was no exception. We were between floors for a little over an hour, and walked off completely unharmed . . . but hungry. Hence the, ah . . . lunch."

Peter's glower didn't lessen. "You knew the thing was broken?"

Reid frowned. "Barely so. It acts up once in a while, and stops. Maintenance repairs it quickly, and our days continue as normal. At worst, it's an inconvenience."

"It's broken," Peter ground out, "And you still put yourself and my niece at risk."

"Technically — "

"There isn't a technicality, Spencer!" Peter's voice raised, and Reid fought not to flinch back from the sudden loudness. "You guys are my family; I care about you. And to go and put yourself in danger when I came specifically to you to keep Claire safe — "

"Hold on just a minute!" Reid protested, now getting a little angry himself. "I didn't know the thing was going to get stuck. It was an accident. A risible one, granted, but unintentional nonetheless. I would never put someone in harm's way deliberately. If you knew me at all — "

"Don't you dare — "

"Will both of you SHUT UP?"

Peter and Reid both jumped at the sudden noise, and turned to the person making it; Claire's arms were crossed tightly, a murderous scowl on her face and aimed at both of them.

"God! You guys argue like an old married couple! Peter," She took a deep breath, and forced a calmer, quieter voice, "I'm fine. The elevator ride was annoying, but we're both okay. I'm, like, the last person you'll ever have to worry about injury with. Don't blame Spencer for the stupid thing — it's probably fifty years old, anyway. And Spencer," she turned to him, "My momma always told me not to escalate a fight. Just let him vent next time. Both of you are being idiots; we're all here, everyone's alive, so can we please just chill out and get some sleep?"

Peter and Reid stood for a moment, evaluating the girl; each was, in his won way, marveling at the maturity that the girl had shown them, at the calm demeanor and something like wisdom in her eyes. If they hadn't known that she was still a teenager, neither would have guessed it.

Finally, Peter spoke, and his voice was tight with control. "Claire, we're leaving in the morning for Arizona. I picked up some clothes for the trip, but I had to guess for sizes. They're in Spencer's room; why don't you go take a look at them?"

Claire glowered. "I'm not leaving until you two — "

"Claire," Reid cut in, surprising the hell out of both of them, "Go try on the clothes."

A hint of hurt flashed over the girl's face, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. "Whatever," she muttered with a huff, and stomped out of the living room. The door slammed, and both men winced at the sound of it. After the echoes had faded, there was complete silence, and Peter and Reid stood in the quiet, each looking at the other and wishing for a way to break the awkwardness.

Peter looked away first. Staring off at the direction in which his niece had stomped, the man's shoulders slumped. "Maybe I should go check on her . . . "

Reid shook his head. "I doubt that that's be a good idea. She's not going to be open to talking right now — I promise."

"I know," Peter sighed. "I've been on the road for days with her. Think she misses her dad — both of them."

"Probably. Not that she's told me that much about them . . . "

"She does. I'm sure of it."

Reid made a noncommittal "Hmm," and continued examining his fingernails with a decided interest.

"Spence."

The genius looked up slowly, willing his nerves under control. Peter was staring at him with that probe-like intensity, his dark eyes glowing dangerously — but not angrily.

Powerful.

"I'm sorry," Peter said, almost too soft to be heard. "I shouldn't have . . . I mean, I was . . . overreacting . . . I guess." He sighed, tugging his hand through dark locks before continuing. "I can't even begin to explain how much you and Claire mean to me. Both of you, Spencer. And — and I've been trying so hard to keep you safe, keep you alive . . ." Peter bit his lower lip, unable to continue, and Reid moved a step closer, brushing his hands against his friend's shoulder, remaining silent. Peter would say what he had to when he was ready. All Spencer could do was offer calm, peace, and time.

As it turned out, it didn't take long.

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you guys got hurt."

"Oh, Peter," Reid breathed out, drawing his friend into a soft embrace. Though never one to be comfortable with touch, Peter had been his friend for so long that Reid couldn't imagine life without contact with the man he called brother. And Peter reciprocated in that same way.

So for a moment, both of the men stood, taking comfort in each other's presence, before Reid pulled away, shaking his head.

"You can't stop life from happening, Pete. You can beg and bargain and fight until your dying breath, but everything's eventual. People die, and people get hurt — it's inevitable. And as much as I love you for sacrificing all that you have, for thoughtlessly giving things you shouldn't need to for the sake of others . . . I'm okay. I'm trained, and aware, and smart enough to try to avoid trouble." At that, Peter scoffed good-naturedly, and Reid let out a small chuckle. The genius always found trouble — or, rather, trouble found him. But no matter. Reid looked Peter straight in the eye, and kept his voice steady. "And Claire's more capable than you think, too."

Peter started to protest, and Reid held up a hand, stopping him immediately. "I know that she's impulsive, and presumptuous. She's got a bit of an attitude problem, and she doesn't know how to ask for help . . . She's young, Peter. A teenager who's had to become an adult way too fast. And it shows." Reid took in a deep breath. "But she's quick, and smart. She's got good instincts about people, and a protective side a mile wide. She loves you. We both do. And . . . and it kills her — m-me and her — that you can't . . . that you don't comprehend that."

"I'd die for you!" Peter hissed.

"I know," Reid nodded sadly. "You would, and you almost have, more times than I can ever thank you for. But, Peter . . . there's love lost in a relationship where we can't trust one another."

"I would trust both of you with my life; I do, actually."

Reid tried to ignore the ache that his friend's words twisted in his gut. "Not enough to tell us about you losing you powers," he whispered cooly, his heart breaking just a little bit as he said it.

In his arms, Peter flinched. With some effort, he disentangled himself from the other man, and stepped back, a mixture of shock and hurt fighting for dominance over his expression. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and then closed it, no sound coming out. Dark eyes scanned over the genius, looking for something he couldn't quite identify.

Finally, Peter spoke, his voice hushed, though not at all unemotional.

"H-How — ?" He croaked, voice dying as he shook his head.

Reid watched as Peter took in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to gather his calm and steady himself before continuing.

"Who told you?" The other man asked, squinting his eyes shut, fists clenched tightly by his side.

Reid answered softly. "Claire."

As if he had been expecting it, Peter flinched again, nodding slowly.

"Of course," he growled, almost viciously enough to hide the conflicting look of hurt playing across his face and the crack in his voice.

"Peter — "

"Don't," the man in question cut in, tone low with anger, frustration — fright. "Just don't, Spencer. No."

"I understand why — "

"Understand?" Peter's head shot up, gaze locking directly with the genius' as he let out a derisive laugh. "Of course you don't! How could you possibly — ?" He shook his head again. "You might learn in your profiling classes how to read people, how to analyze and emphasize and play the role of confidant, but that doesn't mean that you know anything about — "

Peter cut himself off again, choking on the words that tasted like acid in his throat. He buried his head in his hands, sinking to the ground slowly on shaking knees, making not a sound.

Reid didn't think — he acted purely on instinct, on the need to comfort a loved one. He dropped to his knees to, crouching in front of Peter, and spoke in the same tone he used he used with victims — soft and steady and kind.

"You don't always have to be so strong for me, Pete."

Fingers twitched, and the man before him shook his head, entire slender body jerking with the motion. Not looking up, he responded, "I'm supposed to protect you, Spencer."

"Friends protect each other," Reid argued, leaning forward. "We have each other, and hold each other, and keep the other one safe."

There was a long pause, and for a moment, the genius thought that his words had broken through. Then . . .

"And how," Peter said in a quivering tone as he finally pulled away from his interlocked hands and looked at Reid, "Am I supposed keep you — or Claire, or anyone — safe when I have no bloody powers? How am I supposed to reciprocate our friendship when I'm weak like this?"

He spat out the last words in utter disgust, and Reid's stomach clenched in guilt. He rushed forward, seizing Peter in his arms and holding the quivering man as tightly to him as he could. When Reid spoke, his voice leaked tremulous with sympathy, anger, and love.

"You," he whispered, "Have been keep ing me safe since long before you ever had any powers — before you even knew what they were, Peter. You keep me grounded, keep me sane . . . you've kept me alive simply by being alive yourself. By keeping me loved. That ability — to love and to give and receive and to share and to have — is more powerful than any mind-reading or telekinesis will ever be worth. You have that, and it's the only thing you'll ever need."

Peter shook his head. "I can't — " Reid cut him off, shushing gently.

"It doesn't matter what you can't do," he murmured. "It's only important what you do do with what you have. And Claire and I can both attest to it; Peter, you're one of the best people either of us know. You're compassionate and tireless. You're good. You're strong. You bear so much, and you do it so selflessly for us . . . Anything you can't carry, we will carry for you. You mean the world, P-Peter," his voice cracked, "And you're worth it."

"You really are."

Both men jumped slightly at the voice, and Reid swiveled around. Claire stood behind them, sweats-clad and in a different sweater, looking at them with shining eyes and a lilt in her voice. She met Reid's gaze, blinking rapidly, and then dropped down beside the two of them, wrapping her arms in the embrace — one around Peter, and one around Spencer.

"You can't keep hiding from us, Peter." She ground out, struggling to keep her voice steady. "It's not weak to need help from people who care about you; it's weak to run away from them." She clutched them both tighter, eyes clenching shut as she continued. "Strength is knowing when to let someone else share the burden. Strength is knowing when to grieve. Strength is love, Peter. And we love you. You just . . . you have to let us."

And, right before them, in their caring embrace, Peter crumbled. Tears fell down his cheeks, and still as silently as before, Peter gripped them, his hands so tight that for a moment, Reid was breathless and Claire shocked. Peter was too many things to categorize, sometimes. But being this open was something he rarely did, and even more rarely without the accompaniment of alcohol or exhaustion, at the very least.

Long minutes passed as Peter let everything inside of him flow out, stemming though tears and trembles and shallow, hollowed breathing. Outside, dusk became much later and darker and still the group sat, all finding something like comfort in the arms of one another.

Nearly an hour had passed before anyone spoke again.

Shaking, Peter's muffled voice finally came though. "I'm sorry. I'm so, s-so sorry."

He pulled away from Claire and Spencer, looking them both in the eyes as he swiped his hair back and scrubbed at his cheeks.

"I know I shouldn't have lied . . . t-told you about my powers, but I just . . . I j-just . . ."

Claire put a reassuring hand on Peter's shoulder. "It's okay."

"We understand," Reid whispered, tone placid. In front of him, Peter shook his head.

"It's not okay, you shouldn't 'understand' . . . I did something stupid, w-wrong . . . "

"You're right, Pete," Reid mollified, shaking his head. "You were . . . an idiot . . . and it hurt all of us in some way. But you know that. And you would never want to hurt Claire or me — and we know that. It's not something you would ever intentionally do, and it's not something you'll ever do again."

"Of course not!"

"Then it is okay," Claire interjected, almost smiling. "We all screw up sometimes, Peter. The point is not that it happens, but that it doesn't happen twice. You . . . You have to trust us."

"I do," Peter murmured, biting his lower lip.

"And you will," Reid said. "It always takes time, but the people you love and who love you are willing to wait. We're here for you, Pete. Right now, and tomorrow, too."

Peter breathed deeply for a moment, concentrating his calm. "Spence?"

"Yeah?" Reid answered tenderly.

" . . . You sound like fucking Dr. Phil."

At first, the genius stared, unable to decide what emotion to respond with — although impatience was winning out thusfar. He was trying to be serious, and yet it seemed that just when he thought he had broken through to his best friend, Peter actually had the gall to make jokes . . . And Reid wondered if he had even been heard at all.

He shook his head, frustrated, and prepared to get up. But, unseen, Peter snaked his hand over to Spencer's, and gave him a small, reassuring squeeze — a quiet admission of understanding and regret, an apology, and a reassurance that though he was joking, he was listening.

And Reid got all of that.

At last he smiled, rolling his eyes and gently shrugging out of the grip, flashing Peter a look of understanding. All was forgiven.

The other man chuckled, nodding his head as he gently wrapped one arm around Claire — who was looking at the duo as if they had both lost their minds, but leaned in to the touch nonetheless.

"Well," Peter said, his voice finally steady as he assessed the room, "Dinner's going to be ready in a little bit." He turned to Reid. "I went grocery-shopping for you, man — like, all you had was coffee and some hummus in the back of the fridge!"

Reid struggled not to roll his eyes again. His health — or lack, thereof, according to Peter — was something that the two had argued about at length since Peter had entered medical school. The man was always proclaiming that Spencer, despite his protestations, didn't eat enough healthy food — or enough, period. No matter how many times the genius insisted that he was never hungry, or had a fast metabolism. It had never been an actual issue between the two of them — more a running joke than anything else.

Reid responded, grinning, "You're staying for awhile, then?"

Peter nodded. "Dinner — and tonight, if you'll have us. But, like I said, we have to go in the morning."

Claire turned to her uncle. "Go where?"

"I told you already."

Claire sighed. "A state is not a location, Peter!"

The man gave a minimal smile. "Coyote Sands. There's . . . something we have to address."

Claire frowned. "Is this about . . . " She glanced at Reid, unsure, and then continued. "Your parents?"

"And your grandparents." Peter nodded. "It's a long story."

"You could explain it over dinner." Both turned to face Reid, who had spoken. "I'm a certified genius; I'm sure I could keep up."

For less than a second, Peter tensed, but one look in Spencer's eyes had his defenses falling. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let's talk."

Peter lead the way, the other two following close behind, and the kitchen door fell softly behind them, sealing off the wafting smell of black beans, and leaving only the echoes of conversations that lasted deep into the night to show that anyone had been there at all.