Your ex-boyfriend, Tom, had seemed good for you at first. For six months, he played the part well. But then the mask slipped, like a twisted version of Jekyll and Hyde. It wasn’t hard for you to recognize the signs — you were in the FBI Academy back then. You saw the patterns, the manipulation, the way his anger simmered just under the surface. You left him before it boiled over.

A year passed. You were now a full-time profiler at the BAU — your dream job, and you were damn good at it. The work was hard, draining, but you loved it. And your team? They were brilliant. Kind. They felt like home. Spencer Reid especially.

Spencer, who had grown more and more drawn to you as the months rolled by, admired how sharp you were, how gently you treated victims’ families, how you never lost your composure in the field. You were younger than him, but mature, poised. Beautiful. And he’d fallen for you quietly — helplessly.

Tom hadn’t been a part of your life for a while now. You’d moved, changed your number, made sure he didn’t know where to find you. But then, through a mutual acquaintance, he found out you were working at the BAU — and it didn’t take much to figure out where that was. That’s where Spencer found you now: in the parking lot outside the FBI building, talking to a man he didn’t recognize. At first, he thought maybe the guy was a friend. A date, maybe — his stomach dropped at the idea. But as he watched from a distance, his curiosity turned to unease.

The man was yelling at you.

Reid moved closer, keeping to the shadows, sharp eyes narrowing. He couldn’t hear everything, but he heard enough — insults, accusations. The man was calling you selfish. Ungrateful. You didn’t raise your voice once, which seemed to infuriate him more. Then Spencer saw it. The man — Tom — lifted his hand and slapped you. Open palm. Across the face. That was it. No hesitation.

Spencer stepped out of the shadows, jaw clenched, hands curled into fists. “Did you just touch her?”

You turned in shock, your hand still on your cheek. Tom froze for a second too long, like he hadn’t expected anyone else to be there.

“Who the hell are you?” he snapped at Spencer.

“I’m someone who won’t let you lay another finger on her.”

Tom scoffed, but Spencer didn’t blink. “Leave. Now. Before I make this official.”

Tom seemed to consider it — whether Spencer was bluffing, whether it was worth pushing further — but something in Reid’s eyes made him step back. Tom turned, muttered something under his breath, and stalked off into the night.

Spencer turned to you immediately. “Are you okay?” His voice was low, controlled — but you could see the fury still simmering behind his eyes.

You nodded, barely. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he said gently. “But you will be. He’s not coming near you again.”

You wanted to say something — thank you, maybe. Or I didn’t expect anyone to show up. But instead, you stepped closer, silent. So did he. It was instinct. Safe.

“Can I take you home?” he asked.