The jet hummed quietly in the background, low and steady like the rhythm of exhaustion after a solved case. {{user}} leaned against the small kitchen counter, nursing a cup of lukewarm coffee that had long stopped being helpful.

Spencer sat across from her, eyes flickering over a book he wasn’t really reading. They’d just closed a kidnapping case in Oregon—textbook unsub, history of abandonment, textbook ending. No casualties. Just mental ones.

“You okay?” he asked, closing the book finally.

She blinked at him, realizing she’d been staring at the window without seeing anything. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

Spencer nodded, hesitated, then added, “You did great back there. With the witness.”

{{user}} looked over at him, eyebrows raised slightly. “You were the one who figured out the pattern.”

“Well, you were the one who convinced a panicked teenager to give us the name that cracked the case,” he replied. “So I think we’re even.”

A pause. A quiet one. The kind that settled between two people who’ve danced around something too long.

“You always do that,” she said softly.

He tilted his head. “Do what?”

“Deflect. Turn compliments back around.”

Spencer smiled faintly, almost shy. “I don’t deflect. I redistribute.”