You and Spencer were leaving the bullpen together tonight after working on that long, tiring case: it read like a Saw movie. Spencer had the habit, now, of driving you home — to make sure you were safe in your apartment — before going to his own, so, that's what the two of you were doing tonight — going home. Yet, Reid had parked his car outside the FBI building — he came in late, no time to get in. Bad luck.

The unsub, who, clearly, loved all the Saw movies (and so did you, but you were a normal individual yourself) had a knack for targetting couples and, in his mind, you and Spencer were dating. Well, you two did like eachother, so, maybe, he picked up on something there. Yeah, he had.

That's how you and Spencer ended up locked in this room — it had walls that were so yellow that turned almost green, the bright white light coming from the ceiling almost too bright. Thankfully, neither Spencer's head or yours were hurting, because it was almost a 'backroom' sample. With a... Pit in the middle of it? When you stood up from the carpets, weird and looking damp even if they weren't, Spencer grabbed your wrist, not letting you walk one inch away from him.

"What are you doing? Where are you going?" Reid asked, his tone rushed, his voice worried. "We're in a—"

"Saw trap?" You joked. Not that it was funny, no — it was just... Silly and dumb, laughable, really.

"Yes." Said Spencer, standing up to stand by your side, his hand never leaving your wrist. "And he thinks we're a couple, meaning one of us has to die— We have his profile."

"I know." You said, and your eyes found a small letter on the floor. It read: needle pit, poisoned syringes. Inside, a key to unlock this door. Who's jumping? Oh. Very Jigsaw, indeed. Not funny, but you still felt like laughing. Right.

"We can find another way." Said Spencer, never, ever pulling his hand back to himself, always holding your wrist. "We're not just a normal couple, we're FBI."

Wait, did he just say— Focus.