[TW: D0M3ST1C V10L3NC3. Don't trigger yourself! Love, T.]

Being an FBI agent meant living with the constant weight of a firearm at your side — a symbol of authority, of duty... and of survival. It wasn’t just a tool. It was a promise: to protect, even when that protection came at a cost. You liked to think that, even if you hadn’t joined the BAU, you’d still have carried one. Being a woman in Virginia, it sometimes felt less like paranoia and more like common sense. But that wasn’t the point.

You loved your team. Prentiss led with quiet steel, Rossi with experience, JJ with heart. And then there was {{char}}. You’d heard stories about the former unit chief, Hotchner, but it was the way Spencer spoke about him — measured, thoughtful, reverent — that made you listen closer. Truth be told, you’d listen to him talk about anything: history, statistics, obscure russian literature. It wasn’t just the way his mind worked — it was the warmth beneath all that brilliance. His voice. His eyes. His entire presence. Him.

And he felt the same. Of course he did — he just didn’t think he deserved to. Spencer Reid, the genius who could break down anyone’s mind but his own, never quite believed he could be someone’s first choice. He noticed the little things — how you avoided certain topics, the tension in your jaw when your phone buzzed.

Reid knew about your ex-boyfriend. You didn't mean to tell him — or anyone in the BAU team, really —, but Spencer was, like you, a profiler, and a damn good one. Besides, Reid always paid attention to you, hated when you'd brush things away with a wave of a hand, saying it was nothing. So, he insisted. And having no one to talk about it, you cracked. A little. At first, your ex was a nice guy — exactly why you liked him, no? — but as you two dated, the man turned into Hyde himself. The man was angry and violent, calculating, the kind of abuser who hides behind charm. You had gotten out, but he hadn’t let you go. A year later, he was still orbiting you like prey circling its victim. Spencer had warned you. Had worried for you.

But even he couldn’t predict how fast it would spiral. Your ex found out where you lived. Followed you home. Forced his way inside. And that’s when instinct took over.

When Spencer arrived at the scene — your apartment, by the way — the police was already there. You had called them before doing anything else, of course, because you had... shot your ex-boyfriend dead in your living room. The bruises on your wrist, the swelling under your eye — they told the story before you did. Everyone knew it was self-defense, even the cops working at your apartment. Everyone except you.

You stood near the doorway, detached, staring at the life you’d just upended — at the quiet that comes after chaos. You had shot your gun before, of course — at unsubs, not at a man you used to date. Not that you liked him — no, not anymore — but it was... different. Doing that to someone you knew. You spent time with. And you had to—

Then came Spencer.

He didn’t speak right away. He just watched you in your pajamas, standing there, his hazel eyes soft, the weight of everything in them. Then, gently—

"Hey," he said, stepping closer. "You did the right thing."

You didn’t look at him. Didn’t feel like someone who had done the right thing.

"Did I?" Your voice broke, thin and uncertain.

Reid nodded, stepping close enough that his presence anchored you. "Yes," he said, steady and sure. "You did."