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Funny how tradition crept up on a man when he wasn't paying attention.
Dave Rossi had sworn that last year was the last time. Told himself, told Emily, told anyone within earshot. Too much cleanup, too many glitter bombs detonated under his roof, too many novelty hats left behind like crime scene markers. But when Garcia sent the group chat a gif of a champagne bottle popping with the caption “Rossi’s again?”, he was already typing “of course” before his better judgment could get a word in.
So here they were, his house full by 9. The fireplace crackled. Frank Sinatra crooned on vinyl. The BAU team was all present and accounted for, laughing without Kevlar or case files in sight. That alone felt like a win.
They arrived in pairs, mostly. JJ and Will brought homemade cookies and Michael in tow. Henry, now old enough for teenage plans, was off celebrating with friends. Garcia swept in a knee-length iridescent thing that shimmered like oil in water, dragging Luke behind her like an unwilling pageant escort. Tara’s partner brought a bottle of champagne so old Rossi almost asked if it was insured. Even Emily had brought a plus-one—an old friend from Interpol, apparently. A statuesque redhead with a scar on her lip and a voice like Lauren Bacall.
Matt and Kristy came by early with their kids—dropped off some brownies, stayed long enough to toast, and headed out before bedtime. Family time, he said, but Rossi knew it was also about not letting five sugar-loaded children loose on his white carpets.
That left Michael the only kid still standing—and blissfully content playing on his Switch in the corner.
The one person notably without a plus-one was Reid. The kid had finally spilled the beans a few weeks ago, right at the beginning of December, admitting that yes, he was seeing someone. That had gone over like a starting pistol with this group. The team immediately turned it into a mystery to solve, but Reid had shut up tight. No name, no details, not even a job description. And that kind of secrecy, especially from him, only made them more curious.
Rossi hadn’t pressed. Let the kid have his secret. Besides, there was bruschetta to replenish.
The night settled into a rhythm. There was music, laughter, a brief discussion about whether or not it was acceptable to pre-pop the champagne. Someone brought up resolutions, which sparked a chorus of mockery.
Emily wanted to “cut down on idiocy” but hadn’t decided whether it was her own or everyone else’s. Luke said he wanted to do more hikes, and Garcia swore she’d join—if the hikes came with snacks and a portable espresso machine. JJ wanted to take a family trip somewhere warm, and Tara declared she was giving up passive-aggressive emails.
“Resolutions are for suckers,” Rossi muttered, refilling his glass. “People make promises when they’re tipsy and break them by February.”
“Speak for yourself,” Emily said. “Some of us are paragons of self-discipline.”
“Sure you are,” Luke grinned.
“I resolve,” Penelope said solemnly, “to buy more glitter.”
“You already buy it in bulk,” Tara said, deadpan.
“Exactly. More.”
Spencer, who had been rummaging in his messenger bag, cleared his throat. “While we’re reflecting…”
The group turned, collectively groaning.
“Oh no,” Luke said. “He brought a folder, didn’t he?”
Spencer flipped it open like a professor about to spring a pop quiz. “I may have compiled some year-end data.”
“Is this a party or a budget meeting?” Luke muttered under his breath.
JJ laughed, nudging Will. “Of course you did. Let’s hear it, Reid.”
“I figured it might be worth taking a minute to acknowledge the year. Everything we did. Everything we got through.” Spencer glanced around. “It matters.”
He opened the folder and started reading. “All right. In 2023, collectively, we’ve solved twenty-three cases out of town, interviewed 156 suspects, and logged approximately 137 hours in the air—that’s about 5.7 days.”
Tara let out a low whistle. “You counted the flight hours?”
“And the suspects?” Emily added, somewhere between impressed and exasperated.
“Did you log bathroom breaks too?” Luke asked.
Spencer pushed on. “Now, for non-operational, individual stats. Penelope, this year, you blessed us with exactly twenty-seven unique phrases to describe unsubs' psychological profiles. And that’s just the ones safe for work.”
“Blessed is the right word!” Penelope chimed in with a wink.
“Emily, you bought the most coffee for the team—fifty-two cups. You also confiscated three of my desk items under your... 'no distractions' policy.”
Emily smirked. “You were building a tiny trebuchet during office hours.”
Spencer went on with a laugh. “Rossi, you hosted more team dinners than anyone else—twelve, if you count the one where you burned the risotto.”
Rossi lifted his glass. “Still tasted better than takeout.”
“And, according to Emily’s eye-roll counter, you told the same story about Sinatra three separate times.”
“It’s a classic,” Rossi said, unbothered. Philistines. That story got better with age.
“JJ,” Spencer continued, “you set the record for the fastest case resolution: seventy-three hours, including travel.”
“Is he timing our cases now?” JJ whispered to Will, shaking her head, though she looked pleased.
Spencer rattled off a few more: Luke’s gym visits (192), Tara’s new mystery novels (18). He paused, then looked around with a rare, genuine smile.
“We also managed twenty-four team dinners, thirty-five late nights, and forty-two case closures. That’s a 100% success rate. We made it through another year. Alive. Mostly sane. Together.”
The room quieted. Not the kind of silence they dreaded—the other kind. The kind that felt earned.
JJ raised her glass. “To 2023. We survived it.”
A beat passed. Then Penelope, blinking mistily, grinned. “Okay, but what about your big stat, Doctor Reid?”
Spencer blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You got yourself a girlfriend this year!”
He went pink instantly.
Emily leaned back in her chair, smiling like a shark. “Funny she’s not here.”
“Exactly,” Penelope continued, sidling up next to him with champagne in hand. “Where is your mystery woman? Still classified?”
“She’s, um… working,” Spencer said too quickly, fingers twitching.
Rossi hid a smirk behind his glass. Kid still can’t lie to save his life.
“On New Year’s Eve?” JJ asked from her spot on the couch, a small frown tugging at her lips. “What kind of job makes you work tonight?”
Spencer shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting between JJ and Penelope. “Well, there are plenty of jobs that require working on holidays—first responders, police, airline crew, essential services like public transportation or power grid operators, not to mention nurses, doctors, emergency services. In fact, did you know that more people visit emergency rooms on New Year’s Eve than almost any other night of the year? Statistically speaking—”
“Spencer,” Emily cut in, a grin tugging at her lips as she sipped her wine. “You’re deflecting.”
That flicker of panic in his eyes didn’t escape Rossi. Interesting. Emily clearly knew more than she was letting on.
“Ooooh,” Penelope said, narrowing her eyes. “Is she a spy?”
“Don’t tell me she’s, like, a cabaret singer or something,” Luke said with mock suspense. “Or—wait—a dancer?”
That did it. You could practically hear the alarm bells going off in Spencer’s head. Poor kid looked like he was trying to calculate a lie and a warp-speed exit strategy at the same time.
“You’ve been acting squirrelly since October,” JJ said, narrowing her eyes.
Profilers. You can't hide shit from them. Rossi almost felt sorry for the kid. Almost.
Penelope's eyes flickered with realization. He smirked to himself, sinking into his chair. It was like watching a chess game unfold, with everyone slowly piecing together what Spencer hadn’t said.
“Oh my god.” Penelope gasped, her eyes widening as she pointed an accusing finger at Spencer. “Is your girlfriend Lola DeLuxe?”
Spencer’s reaction was answer enough. His eyes widened, and a flush crept up his neck. “I—what? No, I mean—how did you even—”
Rossi chuckled under his breath. The poor kid had walked right into it. He had to give Penelope credit—she was sharp when she wanted to be.
“Wait, wait, wait,” JJ said, leaning forward with wide eyes. “Lola DeLuxe? As in the burlesque performer from Le Club Noir? The same club where we had that case in October?”
Spencer slumped slightly, realizing there was no way out. “Yes,” he said finally, the word quiet but firm. Not ashamed—just outnumbered.
There was a beat of stunned silence, and then Penelope’s high-pitched squeal of excitement filled the room. “You’re dating Lola DeLuxe! That’s so cool I can’t breathe!”
“I knew it,” Tara said with a smirk, taking a sip of her wine. “I knew there was something going on between you two during that case.”
Spencer raised his hands. “It’s not what you think! We didn’t start dating until after the case was over, I swear!”
Rossi, amused, stepped in. “Hey, hey, let’s not dogpile the guy. He’s already turning redder than a Barolo.” He clapped a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “No one’s accusing you of anything, kid. You just might’ve underestimated how nosy this team is.”
JJ's expression tightened slightly. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us sooner.”
Emily gave Spencer a warm smile. “Just for the record, we’re happy for you. But you didn’t think you could dodge this forever, did you?”
Spencer gave him a sheepish smile. “I guess not.”
“Well, you better get used to it, because now we’ve got questions,” Luke snorted. “Starting with how the hell you pulled that off.”
The teasing resumed—good-natured, lively. Rossi let it play out, swirling his drink. The kid was squirming, sure, but he was happy. And judging by that blush, that fluttery, deer-in-headlights look he still got when someone mentioned her name—he was in it.
Rossi let the noise wash over him, content.
After the midnight toasts and the laughter, the party eased into a more relaxed hum—conversations overlapping, the occasional clink of glasses, Penelope dramatically recounting something that had Luke shaking his head fondly. Someone put on fresh coffee. Will went to check on Michael, who had fallen asleep with the Switch on his chest. Rossi, needing a moment of quiet, slipped outside with his drink to smoke a cigar he wasn't supposed to have.
He wasn’t alone for long. A few minutes later, the door creaked open again, and Spencer stepped out, phone in hand. He didn’t notice Rossi at first, already dialing, his expression softening the moment the call connected.
"Hi. How was the show?" A pause, followed by a breath of laughter. “Yeah… I’m okay. It’s just… a little loud in there. I wanted to hear your voice.”
He leaned slightly against the railing, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I know. I miss you too. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Rossi took another sip of Scotch, content to let the moment play out. He wasn’t eavesdropping—not really—but Spencer’s tone said enough. It was a rare thing to hear that particular note in his voice: warmth, quiet happiness.
Good for you, kid, he thought, and smiled to himself.
By the time Spencer ended the call and turned, Rossi was watching him with a knowing look.
“Don’t worry, kid," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I wasn’t trying to listen in. But I couldn’t help but notice you sounded... well, you sounded happy.” He let the word hang in the air, catching the faint look of surprise in Spencer’s eyes.
Spencer shifted his weight, looking down at the floor as if he were trying to find the right words. “It still feels… I don’t know. Like I shouldn’t get used to it.”
“You’re overthinking it,” Rossi said gently, placing a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Look, I’ve lived long enough to know when something’s worth holding onto. And I’ve also learned that spending all your time worrying about when it’s going to end—well, that’s no way to enjoy it.”
Spencer glanced up, his brow furrowed, but there was a softening in his expression, as though Rossi’s words were starting to sink in.
“I’ve seen you go through some tough times, kid,” Rossi continued, his voice softening. “And I’ve been there myself. We’ve all lost people, we’ve all had things slip away when we weren’t ready for them to. But that doesn’t mean you close yourself off to the good stuff when it comes around.”
Spencer’s face relaxed a little, though there was still that uncertainty hovering in the air. “But what if I mess it up? I’ve never really... I mean, relationships aren’t exactly my strong suit.”
Rossi chuckled, giving Spencer’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Join the club, kid. No one’s an expert when it comes to love, not even after however many marriages.” He paused, his voice growing more thoughtful. “But here’s the thing—life isn’t about getting it perfect. It’s about being open to it. Being willing to experience it fully, even if it’s messy or scary.”
Spencer took a deep breath, his shoulders easing just a bit under the weight of Rossi’s words.
“I’ve had my share of loss,” Rossi continued, his tone more reflective now. “Caroline, Erin... Krystall. It would’ve been easy to shut down after any one of those, to say, ‘That’s it, no more.’ But if I’d done that, if I’d let that define me, I would’ve missed out on all the joy, all the moments that came after.”
Spencer looked at him, really looked at him, as if something had clicked.
“Some things just… end. Or change. Doesn’t make them not worth it. If I could do it all again, I wouldn't skip a single day. So, don’t overthink it, Spencer,” Rossi said softly. “You’ve got something good. Enjoy it. Don’t spend all your time waiting for something to go wrong, because if you do, you’ll miss all the good stuff happening right now. And that's worse.”
Silence. Wind in the trees. Somewhere, someone set off cheap fireworks, green and gold and fleeting. From inside came the echo of Garcia’s playlist shifting into Ella Fitzgerald.
“I think I want to keep trying,” Spencer said with a small, genuine smile. “To be happy. With her.”
Rossi gave him a light pat on the back. “Then that’s what you do.”
They stood in companionable quiet for a while, breath white against the dark, listening to the faint music through the walls.
When they finally went back inside, the warmth welcomed them like an old friend. Rossi didn’t say anything more—but as he stepped back into the light and sound, he found he was smiling too.