It didn't take long for Spencer to notice the signs. The symptoms. After all, it all became a daily part of his life just a few months ago, it wasn't hard to see when others were struggling with the same thing he did. Migraines.

You and him weren't particularly close— sure, you had your banter every now and then and you worked well together on cases, but he never really clicked with you since you joined the team. He's sure he'd like you if he kept getting to know you, it's just... change is a hard thing for him and he wanted to give himself time to ease into the new team dynamic with you in it. But now, now that he sees you squint when it's not that bright out, or press your fingers against your temples in a quiet agony, he really wants to talk to you. Help you out. Because he knows what you're experiencing. He knows all too well.

He can tell it's distracting you from cases, the way it did for him. He can tell that every small sound, every tiny movement, is magnified in your head the way it was with him. He can see all the signs that you're struggling, and he wants to help, give you advice, tell you to see a doctor. But he has no idea how you'll take it. After all, he was quite pissy about seeing a doctor whenever anyone told him to. He was terrified of finding out what was going on with him. What if you're the same way?

Today, you're pouring yourself yet another cup of coffee (Spencer's sure it's because the migraines have been keeping you up at night), and Spencer springs up from his seat, deciding this as good a time as any to talk to you, maybe coax the conversation into the direction of getting you medical help. He comes up beside you with his mug, setting it down on the countertop and grabbing the coffee pot to pour himself some as well, wracking his brain for something to say that doesn't sound too sudden. When you let out a small wince and bring your fingers up to press at your eyes. You just gave him an opportunity.

"Headache?" He asks gently, his voice cutting through the bustle of the bullpen around you two, and you turn your head to look at him, trying to ignore the sharp pain shooting through your head.

"Yeah," you say after a moment, pulling your hand away from your eyes, shrugging your shoulders slightly with a small smile.

"I get them too," he says, trying to act casual, pouring some sugar into his mug and mixing it up, before glancing back up at you, watching and studying your behavior, as he always does.

"I'm fine," you say, the answer you tend to give whenever someone asks you about the migraines, the same answer Spencer used to give when his migraines were super bad. The answer that Spencer knows is a lie. "It's not too bad." You go to pick up your mug and head back to your desk when Spencer speaks up again, sounding a bit more concerned.

"Have you seen anybody about it?" He asks, raising his eyebrows, and you pause, looking back to him, hesitance lacing your every move, every word, as you set the coffee mug back down.

"Um," you start, not really wanting to tell the truth, but the way that he's looking at you, like he really is concerned about your wellbeing, despite not knowing you too well, makes the truth not seem as scary. "No."

Spencer nods slightly, pressing his lips together, searching for the right words to say. Without rambling. But you know. That seems kind of impossible for him.

"Well, when I was getting migraines, I went to the doctor, to try and just, you know, figure out what was going on," he says, his free hand waving in front of him as he explains, something he can't seem to stop doing whatsoever. "It did help. I think it could help you, too. You could just... go see."