Chapter Text
Las Vegas - 1980
Marissa loved watching her mother perform.
Every evening, rather than doing her homework upstairs like she'd been told to, Marissa would clamber down the splintering staircase at the back of the Languid Lounge. The fogged glass door wasn't enough to block the tinkling of piano keys, the cloyingly sweet and clove scent that hung heavy in the air.
Pushing the door open, Marissa poked her head through the crack to see Jenny was behind the bar like he always was in the evenings. Marissa had thought she was being quiet, but it didn’t matter. Jenny had spotted her immediately.
‘Well hello, little lady,’ he said. the brightly coloured bangles on his wrist jingled as he set his hand on his hip.
‘I want to see,’ Marissa said quietly through the crack in the door.
Jenny's plum painted lips twitched. ‘Come on, quickly,’ He said, reaching his arms out towards her.
Marissa bounded into his arms.
From watching TV, Marissa had assumed that people who wore red high-heels and glittery makeup were meant to be glamorous and dainty. While Jenny was certainly glamorous - Marissa had seen the pearls to prove it - he was anything but dainty, lifting her up and onto the bar with ease.
Marissa swivelled round, letting her legs dangle off the edge of the bar, her mis-matched sneakers kicking with excitement.
‘You be quiet,’ Jenny said, shoving a small bowl of pretzels into Marissa’s fidgeting hands.
There was a spattering of applause and Marissa turned towards the stage.
The current performer finished and someone else was stepping out from behind the dried-blood curtains. They'd probably been vibrant once, as red as the satin dress Marissa's mother wore as she stepped up to the grand piano. But like everything else in the Languid Lounge, it was pushed far past its prime.
Peggy Marks took her seat at the piano, flipping her golden curls over her shoulder so they swished against her bare back.
Marissa thought her mother looked like a princess while she played the piano with the practised grace of someone who’d never done anything else.
Peggy Marks tilted her head back, the dainty jewels at her ears and throat twinkled like stars as she parted her red lips and began to sing.
‘I’m sentimental, so I walk in the rain.
I’ve got some habits, even I can’t explain.
I go to the corner, I end up in Spain.
Why try to change me now?’
Peggy’s eyes wandered out towards the audience. Marissa knew the lights would be far too bright to see her where she sat on the bar, but she waved anyway, bouncing slightly with excitement.
‘She looks beautiful!’ Marissa exclaimed through a mouthful of pretzels.
‘That she does, Doll,’ Jenny said, wiping a few crumbs from Marissa’s cheek.
For as long as Marissa could remember, it had been the three of them. Marissa, her mother and Jenny. They all lived in the apartment above the Languid Lounge.
Sometimes, they’d all gather around the TV and watch a movie together with popcorn made with caramel, sticky and sweet, just the way Marissa liked it. Other times, Marissa would marvel as Jenny painted first Peggy’s, then his own face.
It was cramped and it was messy, but Marissa loved it all the same.
‘Why can't I be more conventional?
People talk and they stare, so I try
But that can't be 'cause I can't see
My strange little world just go passing me by’
Marissa turned back to the stage and watched her mother as she sang.
Peggy was still looking out at the audience, but she seemed to be focused on one spot in particular. Marissa tried to see who it was her mother was singing to - to see who had caught the fair princess's attentions - but it was too dark.
‘Let people wonder
Let 'em laugh, let 'em frown
You know I'll love you till the moon's upside down
D on't you remember I was always your clown
So why try to change me?
Why would you want to change me?
Why try to change me now?
The song came to a close and Marissa was the first to applaud, bobbing up and down on the bar.
There was a spattering of applause from the audience as Peggy stood and offered a small bow.
Jenny was preoccupied with cleaning a not all that dirty glass and Marissa took the chance to hop down from the bar. She was ducking back under the bar and hurrying to the side door leading backstage before the curtains had even closed.
She heard Jenny call after her, but didn't stop.
The golden glow of the dressing table bulbs came into view and then there was Peggy, pulling the silver clasps from her hair.
‘Mommy!’ Marissa called out.
Peggy turned in time to catch her daughter against her stomach.
‘Hey there, baby girl,’ Peggy said, running her hand down one of Marissa's pigtails. ‘What are you doing back here?’
‘I wanted to see you,’ Marissa beamed up at her.
‘That's very sweet, baby,' her mother said, rubbing Marissa's cheek with her thumb. 'I'm sorry I've been so been busy,’ Peggy said gently.
‘That’s okay. Jenny bought me ice cream!’
Without the stage lights to illuminate her skin like ivory, Peggy's skin was wan, her cheeks hollow from the thick makeup. her eyes heavy with the eyelashes she wore.
Marissa didn't think it was a bad thing. She also didn't think it was a problem that her tiny arms could reach all the way around and clasp behind her mother's back.
‘Mara! What have I told you about running off,’ came a call from the hallway, followed by the hurried tell-tale clop of Jenny’s heels. Sure enough, seconds later Jenny was standing in the doorway, his broad shoulders almost spanning the entire width of it as she looked at the pair.
Marissa buried her face against her mother's dress. She'd thought it would be smooth, like touching water - but it's was slick and sticky with sweat.
Jenny's eyes fell on Peggy, his brow furrowing.
‘Your friend is waiting up front,’ he said icily.
Peggy swallowed. ' Tell him I’m coming. I’m just saying hello to my daughter.'
‘He said you either come now or you go without.’
Peggy took a deep breath and Marissa felt as it rattled out of her.
‘Is Ella in?’ Peggy asked and Jenny nodded. ‘Okay, Moo,’ Peggy eased Marissa back by her shoulders, tilting her chin with a hand under her chin. ‘You go upstairs with Jenny and get ready for bed.’
‘You have to read to me,’ Marissa said.
‘I know, Moo. I’ll be up just as soon as I speak to my friend.’
‘Who’s your friend?’ Marissa asked.
‘He’s a very special friend,’ Peggy said. Jenny scoffed, but Marissa didn’t think anything of it.
‘Can I meet him?’
‘Not yet, Moo,’ Peggy said. ‘Soon, though.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise,’ Peggy said, planting a quick kiss on her daughter's head.
Marissa pressed her face into her mother's stomach until he mother physically pushed her away. When she turned around, Jenny was waiting with a jewelled hand held out to her. She took it, but turned to look back at Peggy over her shoulder.
‘Go on up. I’ll be right there.’
Marissa followed Jenny as he led the way up the creaking staircase to their flat above the lounge.
Marissa’s bedroom was the smallest, just big enough to fit in her tiny bed and a box for her toys. The window was barely the width of the bed and Marissa had crammed it full of books. Some were stood upright, their spines readable, others were laid flat atop until they covered half the window.
Jenny picked out some pyjamas which Marissa argued she could put on herself. She had a glass of milk and brushed her teeth before clambering into bed.
‘What you got there?’ Jenny asked from the doorway as Marissa settled herself upright in bed.
He'd changed out of his blue dress and put on a boring pair of plaid pyjama bottoms. All the sparkle was gone from his eyes and his lips were no longer their glorious plum colour.
This was morning Jenny - Sunday Jenny. The Jenny that the rest of the world called Greg. It didn’t bother Marissa how Jenny chose to dress - she called him Jenny because she thought it was a pretty name and she liked the way his eyes glowed when she said it.
Marissa held up her battered copy of ‘ Tom’s Midnight Garden ’. for Jenny to see.
It was the story of a boy who heard the clock strike thirteen and ran away to a magic garden and found himself a friend there. Marissa didn't have friends of her own - she wondered if maybe she should wait for the clock to strike thirteen and see if she'd find one then.
‘Do you want me to read it to you?’ Jenny asked, flipping the book over to read the back.
‘No,’ Marissa snatched the book back. ‘Mommy said she’d do it.’
Jenny sighed. ‘Your mommy might not be back in time to read it,’ he explained. Marissa crossed her arms over her chest, holding the book to her heart as if it might guard it. ‘Chip off the old block, aren’t you,’ Jenny sighed. ‘Alright, wait up. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
Jenny stood and left the room, pulling the door almost shut behind him.
And so, Marissa waited.
The clock above her bed said it had been half an hour since she’d gotten into bed.
It chimed ten.
Marissa djusted the pillows so she was sat up straight the way mommy told her to.
Then Eleven.
Marissa arranged her teddies so there was space for her mom to sit.
Then twelve.
Marissa scooted closer to the wall and pulled the covers back in case mommy wanted to get in with her the way she used to.
Marisa waited all night.
The clock didn't chime thirteen.
And her mother didn’t come .
Spencer adored Penelope Garcia.
She had a mind quick enough to match his own and was close enough to his age that he didn’t find her concern for him to be babying.
Penelope Garcia was the sister that Spencer never even knew he wanted.
And it was because he loved her that he didn’t feel any guilt in telling her, ‘You should clean up in here.’
Garcia turned from her monitor to look at him, her penguin pen still in her mouth.
‘Excuse me, boy genius, this is clean,’ she said, gesturing around them. He could only half agree with her. Penelope's office wasn’t dirty - she always had a coaster set beneath her buckets of tea and there wasn’t a speck of dust to be found on any of the computer equipment.
There was, however, a lot of brightly coloured and smiley faced stuff. It wasn’t the organised chaos that Spencer himself lived in, the eclectic mess of a scholar on a mission - it was like Penelope had walked into a toy shop covered in glue and left with anything that had stuck. Namely, the array of figurines lined up beneath the screen.
And the ones on top of the filing cabinet.
And, of course, the ones on the shelf beside the door.
Spencer could feel their tiny eyes on him and felt like he’d done something to offend them.
He was about to tell her as much when he heard the phone ring.
‘Go for, Garcia,’ she said, answering with her headset before the second ring. ‘Now? Really? Okay, I’ll be right there,’ she hung up and began shuffling out of her seat.
Spencer, still not that mobile, could only swing his chair slightly to one side to get out of her way.
‘What it is?’ he asked as she smoothed her voluminous skirts.
‘They need me at the front desk,’ she said and shimmied through the gap Spencer had made. ‘Oh!’ she said, pulling the headset off and offering it to him. ‘Man the line, Wonder-Boy,’ she said.
Spencer stared at the headset like it was a pair of glittery, pink antlers.
‘You and your technophobic ways’ Garcia said, settling the headset on his head.
‘I wouldn’t call it a phobia - phobia implies extreme irrational fear,’ Spencer said, trying not to tense as Penelope pushed his hair behind his ears so as not to obstruct any sound. ‘I’m not afraid of technology - I just -’
‘Oh I know, old fashioned, blah blah blah,’ She said, smoothing the curls on either side of his face. ‘Trust me, Alfred, couple more weeks in my batcave and I’ll make a Robin out of you. Press this to answer.’ she said, pressing a small button over his left ear.
'Surely Alfred would be more accepting of technology given he was raised in the house?' Spencer countered.
Garcia chuckled before she turned and disappeared from the aforementioned cave, leaving Spencer with nothing but the tiny, judgy eyes of her figurines.
There was one in particular, a cow that had a large red neckerchief and a european brow whose eyes seemed to follow him no matter which way he swiveled his chair. Logically he knew this was a common occurrence when the visual information that defines near and far points in unaffected but viewing direction and yet was still being interpreted perpetually as if it were a real object - but that didn’t make it any less creepy.
He continued to stare at the cow in silence until he heard a beep and the door to Penelope’s office opened.
‘Hey, Garcia, where did you get this little cow thing?’ he asked, swivelling on his chair to look at her.
Only it wasn’t Garcia standing in the doorway.
The woman had pulled her curls back loose enough that they spilled out every which way. Her jeans had a rip in one knee and the burgundy jumper she wore beneath her green jacket had a hole in the cuff that she’d poked her thumb through.
Spencer couldn’t help but gape as his brain finally caught up to tell him who he was looking at.
‘Hey,’ Marissa said, smiling her cat-like smile.
‘Marissa,’ Spencer said, going to stand before he remembered just why he was sitting in Garcia’s office in the first place. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Well,’ she said, stepping further into the room. Spencer tried to shift his leg - still in its cast and boot - out of sight. ‘I was going to ask if you wanted to grab lunch,’ she turned her attention to the figurines lining Garcia’s walls. It was to them she said, ‘but someone failed to mention they’d been shot.’
Spencer swallowed.
Marissa didn’t sound angry, his memory of her by his bedside a few months earlier told him that. She also, however, did not sound too impressed.
‘It’s not that bad,’ Spencer lied. It was agony. The bullet had not only shattered his knee cap, but it had then shattered itself, tearing through muscle and skin alike, leaving his knee a bloody, pulpy mess.
But Marissa didn't need to know that.
‘Cut the crap,’ she said, turning to look at him. He couldn’t describe the look on her face as anything other than stormy. ‘I'm not a doctor but I know crutches mean that it’s pretty bad.’
‘I see them as a sign of healing,’ he said in the same voice he’d used earlier on Hotch when he’d fudged his paperwork. Second opinion, he’d told them then. It had gotten a smile then at least. Marissa just raised a brow.
‘I see them as a sign you can’t walk,’ she said. Spencer almost thought then she was angry, but he heard the slight lift in her tone. Not amusement, but a challenge.
‘No lunch then?’ he said.
His heart was in his throat with no thoughts of coming back down again until she said, ‘I didn’t say that.’
As if she’d timed it for the stage, the door to the office opened again and there was Garcia, a paper bag in one hand and a tray of coffees in the other.
‘They didn’t have pan au chocolat so I just got everything else chocolate that they had and I hope that’s okay,’ she said, shuffling in on her heels to plant the goods on the desk beside Spencer.
‘You really didn’t have to Penelope,’ Marissa said with a familiarity that made Spencer pause.
‘Oh hush up,’ Penelope said, batting Marissa's shoulder. She’d even wheeled another chair in with her for Marissa to sit on. ‘You’ve had a long flight and I know that that airport food is just - yuck.’
Spencer looked between the two women.
As far as he knew, Garcia and Marissa had only met once - at the hospital when he’d been infected with anthrax.
Had they been talking to one another outside of that encounter?
The thought made him feel queasy - or perhaps that was the hunger the smell of fresh, chocolatey pastries was eliciting.
‘All-black, all-sugar for you Dr Reid,’ Penelope said, handing him the smallest of the three cups. ‘And just black with none of the good stuff for our Miss Myers,’ she gave the next cup to Marissa before getting started on distributing pastries.
‘So, this is where you dig up people's deep dark secrets,’ Marissa said, taking a seat.
Spencer and Garcia shared a look.
‘I have already apologised profusely for the aforementioned digging,’ Garcia said, brushing almond croissant crumbs from her lap. ‘And if you really think about it, nothing we found out about you was even that bad.’
Marissa raised her brow.
‘I just mean we only looked into you to help you. So, it’s an end justify the means situation and - oh my god stop looking at me like that!’
Spencer felt himself smiling at the redness in Garcia’s face. It was a smile that only grew when Marissa dropped her disapproving glare and grinned.
‘I’m joking, Penelope,’ she said.
‘Thank god,’ Penelope sighed in relief. ‘You scare me,’ she said, pointing at Marissa before turning to Spencer. ‘She scares me.’
‘She has that effect,’ Spencer said with a small smile.
‘Hey!’ Marissa batted his arm, but she was laughing.
There was a trill from the headset and Spencer jumped.
‘What-’
‘Give it here,’ Garcia said, already pulling the set from his head and putting it on her own. ‘Almighty Queen of the Amazing, what can I do you for?’
Spencer tried to flatten his hair back down when he caught Marissa out the corner of his eye. She was looking at Garcia and gnawing her lip slightly.
‘What is it?’ he asked, swivelling to better face her.
‘Should I be listening to this?’ she asked, gesturing to where Garcia was listing suspects and narrowing parameters on her computer with the ease of someone writing a shopping list.
That hadn’t even occurred to him. Spencer wasn’t used to having friends that weren’t in the FBI.
‘Oh, er - no. Probably not,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some work at my desk. We can sit there for a bit.’
Marissa was already standing. She set her coffee down before reaching for Spencer’s crutches which she swapped for his coffee. Once he was standing upright if not steadily, she grabbed her own coffee and with a small wave to Garcia, they left her office.
There was something bizarre about seeing Marissa in the BAU bullpen, like seeing a wild animal sitting in a local park in broad daylight. There was no reason the two shouldn’t go together but actually seeing it was still a shock.
Spencer was in his chair, a case file open but he could barely focus on it. Not with Marissa so close to him, examining his desk. The smile he saw on her face when she fingered the Grand Canyon keychain on his monitor was enough to both stop and then restart his heart.
Spencer was usually funny about people in his space, touching his stuff, spreading their germs. But not Marissa. Even when she didn’t speak she brought that calmness to him, that first breath of clean air after a lungful of smoke.
‘Oh, you have to be kidding,’ he heard her say.
Spencer turned to see what had caught her eye, only to see the bottom drawer of his desk wide open, and a magazine in Marissa’s hands.
‘Is this real?’ she asked, showing Spencer the front page. He could feel the heat rising to his face.
‘Um, yeah. That was taken four years ago.’
‘Lila Archer,’ she huffed a laugh, flipping the magazine open. ‘My, my, Dr Reid. Seems you’ve had quite the illustrious dating life,’ she said, still smiling.
‘Not really,’ he said, smoothing his hair away from his face. `We were just looking for her stalker and things went - well, they got complicated. And before that there wasn’t anyone - well, there was someone, but not a serious someone. He was a - a friend - well, more - he was-’ Spencer tugged at his collar.
Had someone cranked the heating up?
Marissa, as usual, was just letting him ramble, watching him with her bright eyes and a slight smile. He wondered if she took some kind of pleasure in seeing him so flustered. But that thought led to other thoughts that were certainly not to be thought of in the company of others.
‘I don’t have a lot of dating experience,’ he finally said and then wanted to slap himself.
‘You’re not missing much,’ Marissa chuckled but it sounded a little flat. She looked back down at the magazine, flipping through the pages without even reading them.
‘What happened with that guy?’ Spencer asked before he could stop himself.
The question had been nagging him for months - ever since she’d told him she was on a date. Ever since the morning after he’d slept on the floor beside her.
They hadn’t spoken about it - Spencer wasn’t sure what there was to say.
By the time he’d woken up, Marissa was in the kitchen making coffee. She made an offhand joke about a real slumber party and threatened him with a teaspoon to make sure he slept in a real bed that night.
And that was it.
Spencer wasn’t sure what that silence meant. He had been too scared to ask.
‘That didn’t work out,’ Marissa said simply.
‘Why not?’
She shrugged, ‘Just didn't.’
Spencer felt himself sighing before he could catch himself.
He wanted Marissa to be happy, o f course he did. But did it have to come at the expense of him feeling like someone was whisking his intestines with a rusty fork?
Marissa had finished with the magazine and dumped it back in the bottom drawer, kicking it closed with the toe of her sneaker.
‘Marissa?’ Spencer asked, as she sat back in her swivel chair again.
‘Yeah?’
‘Why are you here?’ He hadn’t meant to sound accusatory but by the way Marissa’s brow had risen, he could tell that’s hos it sounded. ‘Not that I don’t want you here!’ He amended. ‘It’s just - you’re a bad flier and you never said you were coming. So, why are you here?’
‘Last time I was here,’ she said, chipping at some of the navy paint on her nails. ‘Before you got discharged from the hospital, I asked Penelope for a favour.’
For once it was Spencer who’s brows were raised.
‘You did what?’
‘I know it’s stupid but you don’t get chances like this often and I had to at least ask. ’
‘What did you ask?’
Marissa was becoming very focused on picking at her nail polish. He could see the skin around the nail was bitten and raw - so was her lip.
He reached out and grabbed her hand.
‘What is it?’
Marissa sighed, looking up at him. She gripped his hand and said, ‘I asked if she could find my mom.’
Spencer didn’t know what to say.
He knew Marissa’s mother had left her when she was barely a teenager, but he’d never thought to ask if that was the last Marissa had heard from her. It hadn’t been relevant to the case, so they’d not dug any deeper.
He was surprised Marissa even wanted to know.
His father had left him, and Spencer had only even considered searching him out because he’d thought he’d murdered a child. He’d not had any contact with the man since then.
And though the circumstances that his father had left him in hadn’t been ideal - what had happened to Marissa was-
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘It - er - It wasn’t actually my idea,’ Marissa said, looking down at where Spencer was still holding her hand. ‘Cathy suggested it.’
Catherine Stone had been the mother of Robert Moore’s youngest victim. Through their phone calls and letters, Spencer knew that Marissa and Catherine had grown closer - both trying to fill a hole in their lives that other fit into quite well.
So, why would Catherine suggest this?
‘She thinks I should try to reach out, reconnect with her.’
‘What do you want to do?’
Marissa blinked. Spencer was sure this wasn’t a question she was often asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she said softly. ‘Part of me wants to hold her accountable - let her see what he did to me. But the other part-’
‘Just wants closure,’ Spencer finished.
Wasn't that was all abandoned children wanted in the end?
‘Anyway, Penelope rang a couple days ago and said she finally got access to some files and they were being sent over. Something about red-tape and taxpayer dollars,’ Marissa waved her hand dismissively, making Spencer smile.
‘Do you know what the file is?’ Spencer asked.
‘I think we’re about to find out,’ she replied, looking at something over Spencer’s shoulder.
He swivelled slightly in his seat to see Garcia pulling open the glass door to the BAU bullpen.
‘Is it the file?’ Marissa asked once she’d gotten Spencer settled into the chair in Garcia's office.
Garica had called them over before hurrying back to her office in her strange tip-toe shuffle. Now she was sitting in her own chair, the monitors behind her curiously black.
‘I did,’ she said and Spencer recognised her tone immediately. Whatever news Garcia had, it wasn’t good. ‘You should probably sit down,' she began, wheeling the chair closer to Marissa.
‘I’ll stand.’
Garcia had said earlier that Marissa scared her, and with her tone like that - flat and demanding - he could see why.
‘Okay, that’s fine too. I just thought you might like to sit and-’
‘What did you find, Garcia?’ Spencer asked, trying to draw her back.
‘Right yes,’ she reached across her desk to grab a case file. It couldn’t have had more than two sheets of paper inside. ‘These are Margaret Mark’s medical records and her - um, well her-’
‘Her what?’ Marissa asked. Spencer didn’t envy Garcia for being on the receiving end of that tone.
‘It’s her death certificate,’ Garcia said, holding the slim file out.
Marissa didn’t even look surprised. It was like she’d set out despite the forecast for rain and now had no one to blame but herself for being soaking wet.
‘How’d they know it was her?’ Marissa asked, voice level as she opened the file.
From his spot on the chair, Spencer could only gauge the contents from Marissa’s expressions. Something that was in no way helped by Marissa’s stony glare at the paper in front of her.
‘They had her DNA on file from an arrest in ‘94 for drug possession,’ Garcia explained. Spencer knew she’d likely read the file before letting Marissa see it. ‘It was a perfect match.’
‘Marissa,’ Spencer said, reaching a hand up and laying on her forearm. She didn’t react.
‘She ODed,’ was all she said, ‘The year before Oscar was born.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Spencer said because it was what you were supposed to say.
Marissa didn’t respond, just looked up and met Garcia’s gaze. ‘What happened to her body?’
‘County records say she was buried,’ she explained. ‘Her body was released to the next of kin.’
‘I’m her next of kin.' The edge in Marissa's voice was sharpening.
Spencer wished he could stand, wished he could hold her or do something other than sit there.
Garcia’s eyes widened and she spun in her chair, her fingers like lightning over the keyboard.
‘It says here that her next of kin was listed as Samuel Myers,’ Garcia said, spinning back.
‘That’s impossible.’
On the surface, Marissa looked calm - serene, even. But Spencer knew better. Knew it because he could feel her trembling beneath his hand.
‘Is that your father?’ he asked, trying to draw her back from whatever dark place Marissa had begun to slink towards.
‘My father’s dead,’ she replied, her voice hollow. ‘I need some air,’ she said, shaking Spencer’s hand off.
He was in no position to follow her, so he watched as Marissa stormed out of Garcia's office, leaving all the evidence of her mother’s death behind.