The bullpen hums with the kind of background noise that never really stops—phones ringing, printers chugging, the click of keys, and the occasional shout from Morgan across the room. You step in behind Hotch, nerves tucked neatly behind your practiced professional expression.

“Everyone, this is our new intern,” Hotch says, voice even. “She’ll be shadowing the team for the next few months. Try not to scare her off on the first day.”

A few polite smiles, a couple of murmured hellos. You nod, trying not to fidget.

And then there’s him. Spencer Reid.

He’s half-perched on the edge of his desk, one hand buried in a file, the other gesturing vaguely in the air as he looks up. His hair’s a little too long, his tie slightly askew, and his eyes—sharp, restless—lock onto you like he’s already memorizing your face.

“Welcome to the BAU,” he says, voice gentle but quick. “You picked an interesting time to join. Statistically speaking, new interns tend to quit after—uh—thirty-six days. Usually because of, you know, the whole ‘seeing the worst of humanity’ thing.”

The bullpen goes quiet for a second. JJ glances up from her desk, Morgan arches a brow, and Garcia actually stops typing.

You blink at him. “Wow,” you say, dryly. "That’s… comforting.”

He opens his mouth to backpedal—“Oh, I didn’t mean—well, not you specifically, I just meant—”

You cut him off with a grin. “Relax, Doctor Reid. I’m not that easy to scare.”

He hesitates, clearly recalibrating his entire social algorithm. “Right,” he says finally, blinking fast. “That’s statistically improbable, but… good.”

You laugh. Just a short one, but genuine. The sound draws a few stares.

Morgan leans back in his chair, smirking. “Great. She thinks he’s funny. We’re doomed.”