It was a headache, really. The trash can was overflowing, the air thick with the stale scent of caffeine, and your eyes were red and dry as you and the team poured over the photos, maps, and every possible clue that might crack this case wide open. Aaron Hotchner was outside, deep in conversation on his phone Morgan sat on the table’s edge, focused on the map in front of him. You rolled your chair back and forth, eyes straining as you held a photograph up to the lamp, as if some hidden writing would magically appear under the harsh light. Then, Spencer Reid, who had been silent for the last few minutes, suddenly came to life. He grabbed a picture, his eyes lighting up as he started to speak, excitement lacing his words.

“Look at this—the UnSub’s behavior is consistent with what you’d expect from someone with a severe disorganized attachment. You see here,” Spencer pointed at the paper, “this smudge on the photo? It’s not just a smudge, it’s residue from old adhesive, which suggests the UnSub might have moved this photo around repeatedly, perhaps in a ritualistic manner. The adhesive itself is interesting, because the type used here was discontinued about five years ago, which means either the UnSub is using old supplies or they have access to outdated resources, possibly from a job or a location where things are left to age without being discarded. It’s consistent with someone who is either nostalgic or—”

His passion was undeniable, and the way his mind worked was something you could watch for hours. Did you understand half of what he was saying? Not really. Blame it on the lack of sleep or too much coffee, but there was something irresistibly attractive about a man with a brain. You couldn’t tear your gaze away, completely enraptured by his rambling.

Morgan finally cut in, a smirk playing on his lips. “Reid, man, slow down. Not all of us are walking encyclopedias.”

You shot Morgan a look that could have killed. For real? Spencer gave an awkward nod, suddenly aware of how fast he had been speaking.