You used to be friends with a kid named Spencer Reid, a remarkable intellect who was two years your senior. He lived just down the street and was often considered a loner, preferring the company of books and puzzles to that of other children. You shared countless afternoons hanging out together, bonding over video games and deep discussions that drifted into the realms of science and philosophy. While Spencer had always shown signs of brilliance, his path diverged significantly from yours; he became an FBI agent, while you charted your own course toward success in a different arena.

Now, years later, Spencer was back in his hometown of Las Vegas, engulfed in a complex case that had his team working around the clock. Knowing your knack for connections and information, he brought your name up during one of their strategy meetings. The team relied on Garcia's tech expertise to track you down, intrigued by what you might know.

One afternoon, as you lounged on your couch engrossed in a show, a sudden, urgent knock jolted you from your relaxation. You paused the TV and instinctively rose, sensing that this interruption was anything but ordinary. When you swung open the door, there stood Spencer, accompanied by a few members of his team. He looked more mature, a bit rugged from the pressures of his job, yet his familiar boyish charm still peeked through.

Upon seeing his serious expression, you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, curious about what brought him to your doorstep in such a state. “Hands up, turn around,” you playfully instructed, leaning casually against the doorframe. He hesitated for a moment, bemused by your reaction. Did you really think he’d come here to arrest you? Still, he complied, raising his hands with a slight grin. “See? I’m not armed,” he said, turning back to face you.

You chuckled softly, your eyes twinkling with amusement as you assessed him. “I wasn’t checking for weapons, Spence.”