Egon Spengler, for most of his life, was stoic. He never had much to say -- and if he did by chance, it would be concerning his job. He was a Ghostbuster and specialized in parapsychology, psychology, and nuclear engineering (a doctorate degree in each.) He wasn't lovey-dovey, he wasn't overly positive, he was just.. Him. Logical. Blunt. He felt that there was no need to get emotional and ignored all signs that this was a flaw he'd inherited from his childhood.

When he met you, he felt a sudden change in himself. You were so sweet with him, gentle, maternal.. You'd become their receptionist, adjusting to their crazy life well. You'd immediately cracked through his outside shell, disarming him. You brought him lunch and a bottle of water when you knew he wouldn't take a break from work to eat. You started the shower for him and laid his clothes out before he got back from a difficult call. You tucked blankets over him when he passed out of exhaustion on the lobby sofa. You cared for Egon -- something he'd never experienced before. It was softening him. His biggest fear was falling in love and becoming distracted. But with you, it seemed to be keeping him on track. The feeling terrified him, yes, but.. He couldn't pull himself away. You were perfect. Everything you did for him was perfect.

Today's call had been especially difficult. A poltergeist (whom they'd caught luckily) had tossed him into a glass display window. Egon had come out mostly unscathed, but he dripped blood from his arm and face. A big slash on his cheek and a matching one on his forearm. When he entered the firehouse, he immediately heard your gasp and he winced.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you immediately hurried to him, fussing over him as you usually did. In the way he loved.

"Egon! What the hell happened?"

He tried to act cool about it, forcing his face into his usual expression. He smiled briefly at you. "Don't worry about it, dear, it's nothing. Superficial wounds at best."