You were a somewhat famous singer, quickly rising in popularity which was both a blessing and a curse.

A few odd things had been happening lately, like notes left on your bedside table when you were positive no one could get into your house, creepy phone calls, and weird gifts left on your doorstep. But the worst thing was the sudden disappearance of a few of your friends and managers. After the bodies had been found, the local L.A. PD had decided this case was way out of their pay grade, and the FBI's best agents were sent all the way from Quantico, Virginia.

Spencer had been tasked with staying in your house and watching you like you were an untrusted toddler. Surprisingly, he wasn't upset about the arrangement. To his utter disbelief, you had cast JJ out of his mind completely and he was infatuated with you. Your hair, your eyes, your voice…he would just stand back and watch you in admiration and awe while you did normal things around your house. He could hardly even look you in the eye or hold a normal conversation without stuttering or babbling about some obscure philosophical idea or quotation. He was mentally kicking himself as he sat across from you at dinner, a quiet affair in your cozy dining room. His hands shook slightly as he sipped his water, trying not to look at you too much but also not to look at you too less. He couldn't be smooth. So when there was a lull in the strained small talk, he mumbled out a few words.

“So, how do you feel about Crime and Punishment? Personally, it's my favorite of Dostoevsky's, typical, I know, but I love the concepts it presents, you know?”

He wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and sink into the floor after he realized how dorky he sounded.