Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. If I did, would I be writing fan fiction?

This one is based off of the train station scene in Reflections of Desire.

"Do what you can, with what you have, where you are."

- Theodore Roosevelt -

The train station. The fastest transportation on land, as well as your most preferred mode for long trips. That was why you were that day, in Georgetown, silently reading your paper. You're still not sure if that was a blessing, or a possible curse.

The pages are littered with the recent abductions of two girls, one that ended in a terrible murder. You're not sure how terrible. The newspapers aren't that details. From your experience, it was probably a good thing.

The newspapers gave you one-sided interaction with the only real family you've ever made. They know nothing about you, have no idea where you are or how you're doing; you know everything any reporter has printed on them. You've heard about Hotch's attack, stepping down from unit chief of the team, and how his wife was murdered. You knew all about David Rossi, a friend you have not seen in years, taking your position, leading you to buy a few of his books. The papers had an exclusive on the shooting of Penelope Garcia, and how her case was connected to a string of open, random shootings. Emily Prentiss was in a car accident and held hostage in Colorado, where she could have been easily killed; you were relieved when you read that she stills works with the team. You read about Derek Morgan's brushes with death, as well as the short lived job as unit chief. You wish you could've met JJ's son, Henry, when a small post was pasted in the papers, and seen her off when she was moved to the Pentagon. Of course, you always were looking for anything on Dr. Spencer Reid. You smile every time his name is in the paper, knowing you helped him get where his is when no one else thought so.

The papers say the local police call in an FBI team, but it doesn't say which one. It was much harder to find anything on the team when you were so used to looking for "Jennifer Jareau" making a statement. You quickly turn to another article on the page, "Need Thanksgiving Recipes?", because you stepped away from the violence and the hate four years ago. The only reason you read any article that includes murder, violence, or rape was to have some connection with the family you left behind.

Many times, while skimming the papers, you stop and wonder why you even do it. You wonder why you can't just leave them alone, why you seem to have this obsession with them. It's only because you used to be part of their family, back when you only had a son you never talked to, back when you considered one of the team members to be your son.

Grumbling, you turn the page, glancing around the station. Something caught your eye. It was the familiar profile of Emily Prentiss. There she stood, just as lovely as you remembered. A small smile stretches across your face, wondering if she was just a part of an overactive imagination. You have no idea why you're eyes automatically went for her, in dark red and black, when there was a woman in bright blue walking down the aisles of the station like it they were a catwalk.

Next to her was the unmistakable Aaron Hotchner. You almost laughed when you saw what he was dressed in, then you saw his face. He looked years older than he had when you left. The bags under his eyes were significantly larger, his face more distressing. You can't blame him, though. No one could. As a frown pulled your lips downward, you're amazed how much the situation the two of you faced was so similar. An UnSub you let get away came back, killing the woman you loved in your home. You realized how much stronger Hotch is than you can only dream to be.

Then, you see him. Dr. Reid stood there, one hand shoved deep in his pocket while the other moving over his chin, in a haircut that was so much different in any you have ever seen him in. You spy at the revolver on his belt, the watch on the sleeve of his shirt, the shoes you remember from years ago on his feet.

You don't even realized you were smiling so big until a chuckle escaped your lips. A woman sitting a few seats down from you looked at you. "I was just thinking about. . . my son," you say, trying not to let her think you're insane.

She nods, smiling back, before returning to her own paper. You turn back to look at your old team, not realizing how bad it might turn out. Big, hazel-brown eyes lock onto yours for just a second. Panicking, you pull your paper over your head, hoping he didn't see you.

You wait for it. The yell of his voice calling your name, excited to see you again. Possibly, as you fear, he might rush over here, letting emotions take the better of his actions. He might yell still, but this time angry, for abandoning him. He was so young when you left. When emotions invaded him, he had a hard time controlling them. You were glad he had Morgan for some type of emotional role model, but sometimes, Morgan let emotions get the better of him as well.

You count to thirty, wondering if it was long enough for him to make up his mind. Spying over your paper, you see the spot they had been standing in is now empty. You drop the paper into your lap. When you sigh out of relieve, you hadn't realized you had been holding your breath.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see them walk by. You can hear them over the noise. Emily and Hotch are talking about video cameras in the train station, their voices clear and familiar, even after four years. Then, Reid adds his input, a small fact about when video cameras were starting to be used as a security measure.

You smile at the sound of his voice. You turn your head slightly to watch their backs disappear, trying to hold on to that last time you'll ever see them again. As you can only see the backs of their heads before they disappear down a hallway or through a doorway, you are surprised. You are shocked.

Before you could no longer see his face, you swear Reid's eyes were looking at you at their corners, and he wore a smile. You know the most logical reason would be that he was happy with whatever Emily had said, but deep down, you want to think he was smiling at you.

You fold your paper, smiling ever so slightly. With an extra skip in your step, you made your way to your train, luggage in hand, thinking your second son has finally forgiven you.

Your phone rings, and you smile a little bigger at the caller. "Stephen," you said, "I'm on my way. Boarding the train now."

"Okay, Dad. Better hurry, though. Doctor says Dawn'll be having her baby in a few hours."

"Your baby, too, son. She'll having her baby and your baby."

A light chuckle is heard. "Right. Gotta remember that." There's a pause and you thought he hung up. The time is still running on. Pressing the phone to your ear, you hear, "Have a safe trip, Dad."

"I will. Be there in an hour and a half." You smile as you hang up the phone.

Smiling proud, your two sons have forgiven you. You couldn't be prouder; one is a 31 year old contractor, with a beautiful wife and a baby on the way. The other is a 30 year old profiler in the FBI, who had seen so much in his short life, but manages to stay driven in his line of work. You've made many mistakes in your life, but you feel like you've done well steering them in the right direction.

"Never miss an opportunity to make others happy, even if you have to leave them alone to do it."

- Author Unknown -