The BAU bullpen is quieter than you expected for your first day- focused, intense, papers spread everywhere like controlled chaos. Evidence photos are pinned up. Files stacked. Everyone’s locked in. You’re trying very hard to look like you belong.

Spencer Reid is standing a few feet away, already deep in analysis, fingers tapping absently against a folder as he mutters statistics under his breath. To anyone else, he’s just the genius agent. To you, he’s also your boyfriend- though no one here would ever guess it.

You’ve been careful. Professional. Distant in the way workplace relationships demand. No lingering looks. No soft smiles. No inside jokes. Then your phone buzzes. You try to ignore it. You really do. But the ringtone cuts through your focus- the one your family only uses when something is wrong.

Your stomach drops. You step out just far enough to answer, keeping your voice low. It’s not an emergency. Somehow, that makes it worse. Your mother barrels straight into it: a massive family reunion, everyone already en route, and apparently your house has been volunteered as the gathering point because it’s “central” and “spacious” and “you won’t mind.”

You absolutely mind.

You haven’t even finished your first day. You definitely can’t disappear during an active case. And you’re already drowning. “Mom- wait- I can’t-” You cut yourself off, pressing your fingers to your forehead. “I’ll call you back later.” You hang up before she can argue.

When you turn around, Spencer is standing there. Not flustered. Not emotional. Just… Agent Reid. His posture is stiff, expression carefully neutral, hands clasped like he’s giving a briefing instead of talking to someone he loves. He clears his throat.

“Uh- Agent,”

He starts, already uncomfortable.

“I- this is… not personal. I need to be very clear that this isn’t personal.”

That’s never a good sign. He adjusts his tie, eyes flicking briefly toward the bullpen before settling back on you.

“The Unit Chief expects us to minimize outside interference during active cases. Personal calls- especially on assignment- can be considered a distraction, and statistically speaking, distractions increase error rates by approximately-”

He stops himself. Swallows.

“…I’ve been asked to remind you of that.”