Disclaimer: Yeah, sure they're mine. That's why I still have to worry about my gas bill.

Chapter One

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Bars in Vegas are never truly dark - the never-ending garishness of the city sees to that - but this one was dimmer than most, muted down from glaring to simply bright. Considering its clientele looked to be three-quarters off-call E/R docs trying to unwind before they headed home, it made sense the place was only mildly raucous. An intern with five-o'clock shadow was hammering away at an out-dated video game and the juke box was playing some song from the nineties, but most people were just drinking and talking and watching a ball game on the tv in the far corner.

"Hey, kid."

Reid turned from the bar, scotch in hand. "You're kidding me. Please, please tell me this isn't about the party."

Dave Rossi raised his hands in surrender. "Nope, you won't hear a word about that from me."

Reid raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing it, but didn't press it.

"Mind if I sit down?"

"Would it stop you if I said no?" Reid asked, and turned back to the bar.

Rossi grimaced; belligerence he'd expected, but there was a layer of coldness to Reid's reply that surprised him. Still, he sat down. "Not going to ask how I found you?"

Reid shrugged. "Where else would I be?"

"Vegas, I'll buy, but I should at least get points for finding you in a bar. It's hardly your thing."

"I presume you called Bennington, likely playing the FBI agent card and telling them I was needed on a case, found out my Mom was admitted to Centennial Hills and decided to check the bar across the street - possibly on a whim - when you found I'd been kicked out because visiting hours were over."

Rossi signalled the bartender for a refill for Reid and one for himself. "How did I know you didn't go to a hotel?"

"You didn't. That would have been your next step if checking this place crapped out."

"Because checking all the bars in Vegas is so much easier than checking all the hotels?"

"No, because checking the one bar that's right across the street from the hospital is easier than checking all the hotels, especially considering I might have been so busy getting my Mom calmed down from her delusion that I was abetting her government kidnappers I might not have had time to find a place to stay yet."

"That hadn't occurred to me," Rossi admitted, raising his scotch to his lips. "So where'd you stay last night? Bennington?"

Reid nodded and his shoulders hunched almost imperceptibly, just for a second dropping his defensiveness and looking like their normal Reid. "I stayed up all night doing my best to reassure her," the younger man went on to explain. "Her doctors thought I should wait until today, right before they wanted to take her, but I couldn't pretend to be here on just a family visit and then turn around and let them haul her off; it would have been too much of a betrayal. She would never have trusted me again. Besides, she deserved to know the truth, even if it meant she had to be anxious for an extra fifteen hours and thirty-seven minutes."

"So what is going on?"

"They give the patients full physicals every six months. On her last one, her doctor found a lump in her left breast."

"That's rough. I'm sorry, Reid."

"Not your fault."

Rossi refrained from pointing out that taking the blame was not what people meant by "I'm sorry" in situations like these. Instead, he asked, "So she's getting a biopsy?"

"Yeah."

"They still use surgery for that? I thought they just needed some kind of special needle nowadays."

"There's several different procedures, including fine needle aspiration and a core needle biopsy, but it all depends on various factors. The size of the mass, the location, its appearance and characteristics…" Reid sighed and Rossi could hear his exhaustion, "In this case, they determined that an open surgical biopsy was best. And, well, it does have the benefit that she'll be under general anaesthesia. She would've never calmed down enough for anything else."

"Fighting it, is she?"

Reid smiled grimly. "She believes it's all a ploy to get her to some top-secret installation in the desert. I don't know, maybe if she'd found the lump herself… But she's never been lucid enough to keep up with any kind of self-examination.

"So her doctors asked me to come down and try to convince her otherwise, not that I wasn't planning on coming in any case, but they were hoping it would save everyone a lot of trouble if I could get through to her. It was supposed to be in a couple of weeks - I hadn't even talked to Hotch yet about getting the time off - but then they called Friday afternoon right after work and - "

"Reid… Spencer…" Rossi said and put a hand on the other man's back. "It's okay." The kid's white-knuckled hands were wrapped around his drink resting on the bar and Rossi couldn't tell if they were clenched so tight out of rage or fear. He suspected a little of both.

"I did text him," Reid said, "From the plane. He must not have gotten it, though."

"Why do you say that?"

"He sent me a text not long after, very collected, nothing that could be construed as angry or accusatory, only that he'd been 'slightly disappointed' I felt I wasn't ready to come to your cooking class. Then, later last night he chided me for not checking my messages, telling me that no matter how I felt about what had happened, there was no reason to ignore everyone. "

Dave winced. Not that Hotch's words would have been completely out of line under normal circumstances, but then again, under normal circumstances, Reid likely would have broken down and at least sent some kind of word to Morgan or Garcia. Rossi knew without a shadow of a doubt their Unit Chief was going to feel like a heel when he found out what was going on.

"You haven't talked to Derek or Penelope, then?"

Reid didn't look at him. "They had their own disappointment in me to share."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, ouch," Reid said and raised his glass with a shaky hand to finish off his drink.

"It was just a miscommunication, though. You know they're going to feel like shit when they learn where you really were."

"I've got to be honest, Rossi, at this moment I really don't give a good goddamn."

Rossi nodded and finished off his own drink. "Understandable." Reid was about to signal for two more when Dave laid a hand on his arm. "What's say we call it an evening, Reid? I'll get us a taxi and you can share a hotel room with me."

"I can find my own room, thanks all the same."

"Yes, but it won't have me paying for room service, will it now?"

"I think I'd rather be alone, if you don't mind."

"Oh, but I do mind, il mio amico."

"Why?"

"Because your mother has enough on her plate - she doesn't need seeing her only child looking like death warmed over. So you're going to come with me, get some dinner into you, have a good night's sleep, and then you can be strong enough for her to lean on without you both falling over."

"I don't see when she'll have to physically lean on me. They'll wheel her out on a gurney to a recovery room when the procedure is done."

Rossi forgave Reid's tendency for being overly literal just this once. The kid's focus was always so intense he missed nuances at the best of times; now, bleary-eyed and emotionally overloaded, not to mention under the influence of who knew how many drinks other than the amount was one Reid was likely unused to, he couldn't expect the man to grasp such mundane details as metaphors. "Never mind, Spencer," Rossi told him. "Just come with me, all right?"

Reid acquiesced with a shrug, not looking at the older profiler, who had to practically pull him along. "You'd think I was dragging you off to the gas chamber," he complained.

"Actually, did you know that the first use of the gas chamber was at Nevada State Prison on February 8, 1924? They were trying to execute a man named Gee Jon for murdering a 74-year-old laundry proprietor and member of the rival Bing Kong Tong gang. They tried pumping the gas directly into his cell, but that didn't work, so they had to use a makeshift chamber…"

Rossi tuned out most of Reid's rambling without thinking, but there was a smile on his face as he got a taxi. The return of the familiar telling of long-winded anecdotes told him that the younger man was unconsciously relieved to have someone reaching out to him. If he starts spouting off statistics, then I'll know he's really found his feet again, the experienced profiler thought.

-x-

The hotel was a fairly classy place, though being in Vegas it couldn't altogether escape from a hint of flashiness as well. Still, from the slight widening of his young friend's eyes, Rossi could tell Reid wasn't expecting to put up for the night in such sumptuousness.

"This is certainly not the general accommodation we get with the Bureau," Reid said.

"Enjoy it!" Rossi told him as he checked them in. "Relax. We'll have some dinner and watch a movie. Do you want a massage?"

"WHAT?" Reid squeaked.

"A massage. They give a great Swedish massage here, or Shiatsu, if that's your thing. I can arrange for you to have one. Or go for a swim - this place can supply a suit if you didn't bring one. Take a sauna bath or lounge in the hot tub. It might help you relax and get some sleep," Rossi explained as the clerk handed him two keys.

"Ohhhhh."

Rossi glanced up and burst into laughter. "Geez, Reid, you didn't think…? Ha! No, no, the legal kind."

"I wasn't thinking that. I thought you were offering to give me one."

Rossi sputtered; the kid was perfectly serious! After a moment, Rossi laughed again and clapped Reid on the back. "How about we just stick to dinner on our first date then?"

Reid froze, sheer panic on his face.

"Kidding, Reid. Kidding."

"Oh."

-x-

Dinner had been good, if a little subdued. When Reid had refused to say what he wanted for dinner other than, "Whatever's easiest is fine," Rossi, thinking the younger man looked a little washed out, ordered for iron content as well as calories and got them each a large steak, a baked potato and whatever green vegetable - which turned out to be broccoli - was freshest. They ate in the room and, by the way Reid was starting to droop, Rossi was glad to have spared him going out to a noisy, crowded restaurant. Now, watching Blazing Saddles - a comedy old enough not to require much thought or reaction, just smiles - Rossi looked at his friend sitting on the other bed, arms wrapped around his long spindly legs. A corner of the younger man's mouth would occasionally quirk if something particularly funny happened onscreen, but nothing seem to touch his faraway gaze.

A buzzing sounded from Rossi's go bag just as Sheriff Bart was meeting the Waco Kid. He pulled out his cell, got off the bed and walked across the room so as not to interrupt the film for Reid.

"Rossi."

"Dave, where are you?" Hotch asked.

"Vegas."

Hotch huffed in relief on the other end. "That's great! So you know what's going on? Is he there with you?"

"Yeah. He's fine," Rossi shot a glance over to where Reid was sitting, still staring at nothing. The younger man hadn't even looked over, even though he had to have guessed he was being talked about. "Well, as good as can be expected," Rossi clarified.

"God, Dave, I just found his message… Do you know what's going on? He didn't say much, just about some emergency with his mother. Is it bad?" His Unit Chief was speaking in his stony, handling-the-situation voice, but Dave was sharp enough, and had known Aaron long enough, to tell the man was a little ruffled at the moment.

"Could be," Rossi said. "Look, just a sec." He moved a few steps towards his roommate. "Reid," he said gently, "Hotch is on the phone. He's asking about your Mom. What would you like me to tell him?"

Reid held out his hand and Rossi passed him the phone. After that, he only heard Reid's half of the conversation. "Yeah / It's a biopsy. They found a lump on her breast. / They're not sure. / Yeah. / No. / No, I don't want that. / No, Rossi's here, I don't need anyone else. / No, really. / Yeah. / Till Tuesday, maybe. / No, they won't know for two or three weeks. I'll have to come back then. / Thank you. / Okay." Reid passed him back his cell phone.

"Dave, you still there?" Hotch asked.

"Yeah."

"I'll fill the others in. He doesn't want anyone else to come down."

"That's probably for the best right now."

"Do you think it has anything to do with what's been happening with J.J., Emily and I?"

"It's hard to say, but I think a lot of it is simply him needing some space."

"You know Morgan and Garcia are going to have fits. They'll want to be on the first plane down, especially now, after everything. Hell, everyone will."

"I get it. But keep them on a leash, Aaron. Tell them to sit tight and trust Reid to know what he wants right now."

"Like you did? How did he react to your showing up?"

"Okay, so I'm a hypocrite. But seriously, Aaron, I'll talk to him, but I don't think he wants to be too crowded at the moment. Me, I'm just here to make sure he eats."

"All right, I'll do what I can. But make sure he knows any one of us will be down there in a second if he needs us. And tell him I'm sorry for what I texted him before."

"I will. I'll talk to you later."

"Right," Hotch said and hung up.

Rossi caught Reid looking at him out of the corner of his eye. "Hotch wanted to know if I was keeping them away because of J.J?"

"Yeah."

"What did you tell him?"

"You must have heard me."

Reid shrugged. "I suppose I just wanted to make certain. Anyway, thank you for telling him what you did."

"Sure."

-x-

Bart and Jim had just traded their horses for a car and driven off into the sunset when out of the blue Reid said, "It isn't just about J.J."

"I didn't think it was."

Reid was curled on one side, propped up against the headboard of his bed. "I know she and Hotch and Emily had to do what they did. I get it, I really do."

"I know you do, but I also understand that it still hurts, and that's okay. The cooking lesson wasn't meant to solve everything, you know. It was just supposed to be a start."

"I know," Reid said. The tv channel they were on must have been having a Mel Brooks night because Young Frankenstein started up. The two men watched for awhile before Reid spoke again.

"Do you remember the Owen Savage case? In Texas?"

"Reid, don't."

"Oh, ah…yeah… okay. I guess you don't need to hear something so embarrassing. I'll shut up and -"

"It's not that, Reid. It's that you've had a few drinks and you're upset and exhausted. I don't want you to start pouring your heart out if you're going to wake up tomorrow and wish you hadn't. I'm more than happy to listen if you really want to talk - in fact I'd be thrilled - but I don't want you to end up with a pile regrets on top of everything else. So just think about what you really want to tell me before you start talking - you're stuck with me till Tuesday, you'll need to be able to look me in the eye at least some point during the next couple of days. Besides, the last thing you need is to feel another person is manipulating you, even if it's just by letting you ramble when you're in a bad state."

"Oh, okay," Reid repeated, a little happier this time though. "Thanks for… thanks, Rossi."

"No problem. But if you still do want to talk…"

"Maybe."

"All right, then. Anytime you want, kiddo."

Reid nodded, but said no more that night. Rossi looked over just after Gene Wilder and Peter Boyle had done their "Puttin' on the Ritz" number to find his companion fast asleep. He got up and eased Reid down to a lying position and pulled the covers up, making sure the sheet folded well over the top of the bedspread, to save Reid from the "germ-covered" outer blankets. He watched tv for another hour or so, switching from the movie to the second game of a double-header and fell asleep sometime after the eight inning.