Spencer has always been harder on himself than most. Ever since he was a kid. For a long time, he blamed himself for the split up of his parents, blamed himself for being the one beat up at school, he even blamed himself for not being able to find the cure for his mother's schizophrenia. At 18. And the pattern just continued well into adulthood. He'd like to say he started understanding that not everything was his fault, but every time another body would be found or a case would be left unsolved, he always heard that voice in the back of his head; I should have tried harder.

But he found a way to cope with it. Push the thoughts back and ignore the voice— get on with life as normal. And you just helped him tenfold— the love of his life, who entered the picture right when he needed you the most. You helped him believe that some things are just out of his control. That he isn't always to blame. It worked wonderfully for a long time.

And then prison happened.

Framed, locked up, and desperate, he had lost a part of himself in there, a part that he knew he couldn't get back. You were a solace, a comfort, but even then, he felt so alone. When the team finally managed to prove his innocence and get him out of the hellhole that was prison life, he thought he'd feel so wonderful to get out, get back to work. He thought it'd fix the part of him that was lost in prison. And yeah, he was relieved to be out, of course he was. But he had forgotten how to cope with the guilt that he deals with every single day. Even with his eidetic memory, he had forgotten how to push the voice back, to believe that he was doing the best he could. And he couldn't stop the guilt from eating at him every day.

This case the team is working on is an especially difficult one. A serial killer who seems to know the BAU's every move. A serial killer who stalks and mocks the team every chance he gets, whether that's with photos of members, presents, items left at crime scenes. All of it. And it was really grating on Spencer's nerves. How could someone be right under their noses and still Spencer can't find him?

Today was a particularly hard day. The unsub had spoken to Penelope over the phone. It had presented itself as a tip call. She didn't even know it was him until it was too late. Until he had threatened her life near the end of the call and made it relatively impossible to trace where the call came from. And that guilt started pooling up again right underneath Spencer's skin, like a scratch he can't quite reach.

He had tossed his messenger bag to the floor rather aggressively when he got home today, catching your attention instantly from the kitchen. You glance up, watching him run his hands through his hair, pulling at the roots so tightly you were half convinced he might start pulling it out.

"Hey," you said, cautiously but as softly as you can muster as you leave the veggies for a moment to cross the room to Spencer. "What's going on?" You ask, but it's like he didn't even hear you.

"I don't get it," he said under his breath, pacing a small space as you follow after him uselessly, before he abruptly turns again and snatches up his messenger bag, digging through it for some file. "I don't get how he can just keep—" he cuts himself off, bringing a hand up to rub his eye in exhaustion before finally pulling out a file and letting the bag drop to the floor carelessly.

"Spencer," you say, trying to bring his attention to you, seeing as he seems to be a little off the rails, but he just starts flicking through the pages of the file quickly, his eyes taking in all the information he's already memorized, as if he'll see something new.

"I'm a goddamn genius, I should be able to figure this out—" he mutters under his breath, and you instantly know what this is about. His guilt. Your confused expression softens into one of concern, and you place a tentative hand on his back, trying to guide him to the couch.

"Spencer, just take a break for a second," you say, but he hardly budges.

"I can't take a break," he says, looking up at you finally.