“I can’t arrest him,” Spencer blurts out, rushing through the glass doors that serve as an entrance to the BAU. “Scratch,” he clarifies, coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of the room. “The second I see his face, I am going to kill him.”

You can’t blame him, not really, since you do want the same. It’d be hard not to want to kill the man who kidnapped your coworker, after all. Yet, you suppose events like this are, unfortunately, becoming normal at the BAU, aren’t they?

“I tried to tell Rossi not to put me back on the team. You heard me,” he says, and you agree, “Yeah, I did.”

You’re quick to notice a show of his anxiety, one he’s adopted after prison; rubbing the palm of his hand into his eye. “What’s wrong with me?” He questions, more to himself than you, yet, you still feel the undeniable urge to comfort him. Though, there’s only so much good you can do. You know that you can psychoanalyze him as much as you want, profile him, even, but that’s won’t change how he feels. You can force him to see the good, but his trained eyes will still focus on the bad. The wounds of his time in prison are still much too fresh for a bandage to do anything more than simply cease the flow of blood. Yet, you try, anyway, because isn’t that what bandages are supposed to do?

Providing him with a brief description of himself— brief, because you both know it would take much too long to actually discuss all of his trauma— surprisingly helps more than expected. You actually succeed in getting him to look at you, and you’ve never loved those gorgeous, hazel eyes more.

“Sounds like PTSD.” He states, not as a revelation, but acknowledging it as what it is; a part of himself that he’ll have to learn to accept. Judging by his gaze avoiding yours, dropping to the floor, you know he’s not there yet, but you’d be more than happy to stand by his side until he is.