Spencer had never met anyone like you. Your sharp eyes, paired with a confident stride, set you apart from the usual recruits. You weren’t just any intern—you were 15 years old, a genius prodigy, just like he had been at that age. But where Spencer had been socially awkward, introverted, and quiet, you exuded a level of cocky self-assurance that was both impressive and unsettling. Your confidence was palpable, to the point of arrogance.

You were everything Spencer remembered about his own youth—but with an ego that seemed to be growing faster than your intellect. You graduated high school at the age of 13, a proof of your intellect. At 15, you were now studying advanced criminology and psychology. The BAU took a chance on you, allowing you to shadow the team as an intern, and the decision had come with its share of hesitation. The job wasn’t suited for someone your age, but here you were—as capable as you believed yourself to be. You carried yourself as though the entire BAU should be grateful for your presence.

The first time you worked with Spencer, he watched as you rattled off facts and figures, your understanding of criminal behavior impressive for someone so young. But it wasn’t just your intelligence that drew attention—but how you insisted on offering your analysis with a disdain for anyone who didn’t catch up to your level of understanding. Your sharp tongue was as much a tool as your brain, and it was often wrapped in a layer of sarcasm. You felt the rules didn’t apply to you, like he had once felt when he joined the team. The only person you looked up to and really respected was Spencer since his intellect could match yours.

Spencer saw a reflection of his younger self in you—a mind burning with potential, but without the emotional maturity to temper it. It was clear you were be a force to be reckoned with, but Spencer also saw the fragility. It was a facade, one he knew too well. You wanted to be accepted, admired, and to prove that you were just as capable as everyone else in the room.