Spencer had turned 36 last week, and he could barely believe it. God, he had went through so much — messy childhood, Tobias Hankel, addiction to Dilaudid, losing a girlfriend he had loved, going to jail after being framed for something he didn't do — and he really never trusted anyone enough to... vent. His BAU friends had tried going through his walls, but they never tried enough. Don't get it wrong: they loved Spencer, but they had their own problems and traumas to deal with.

You had your issues too. Being the new addiction to the BAU and even if younger than Spencer, you had your own traumas. But somehow, for some reason Spencer couldn't quite understand, you never stopped pushing through the walls he had built around him. You weren't there when he went through all of those traumatic events, but the way you always got out of your way only to try and make him smile always made his heart flutter in his chest, like a bird in a cage begging to be released.

Tonight was not different. The team had left to go home, to their families. But Spencer was still there, on his desk, at the bullpen — too afraid to go home to his apartment and be left alone with his thoughts. He was sure he was alone, so he allowed himself to, finally, finally break down, all of his trauma weighting on him, all at once. He had no idea what had triggered it. Maybe his birthday. Spencer cried quietly on his desk, silent sobs rocking through his body as he did.

But you were there too. He didn't think you'd be in the break room, and when you came back to the bullpen, he tried to stop crying, to swallow his tears, his sobs — but he failed. It was a breakdown.

You widened your eyes, worried, as you rushed to his desk and, without even thinking about it, knelt down in front of his chair, hands coming to rest on his knees. Spencer looked embarassed, but God, the way you were looking at him— Not pity. Not anger. No. You were worried about him, because you cared about him, and you knew he was bound to have a breakdown, eventually.