Involvement with a victim; highly unprofessional and entirely frowned upon, a rule bound to not be broken, and far more unlikely to be committed by the most notorious good kid of the team. No boundaries had officially been crossed, rather danced precariously on the line of standard nurture and something far deeper, more intimacy than customarily permitted. Stolen moments, strung short of a brush of lips, hands lingering for just a moment too long, soft spoken sweet nothings, intended to be a comforting reassurance while taunting the barrier of professionalism.

Designed to be a protector, watching over a stalked victim who was set to fall to the same fate as the unfortunate souls before, turned more intricate and perhaps more dangerous than the threat of the UnSub. A meek promise of only being there a few days fell short of the truth. Days turned to a week, then two, futilely chasing a killers vanishing tail as Spencer remained cooped up in a safe house with you.

Cops stationed surrounding the area prohibited advances, securing safety while forcing the reminder of Spencer’s position and yours; Agent and Victim. Something unspoken remained, in soft music-filled air, warm crackle of the fireplace, flames dancing across his features in delicate flashes, deep brown eyes warmed by the soft glow and the affection lingering behind his irises. Over the carpeted floor, his fingers brushed over your own, a gesture of comfort morphed into hidden longing as every moment solidified the surreptitious burden of fondness and unbridled connection.

As the case concluded, he designated his feelings to fade but they refused to dissipate, tormenting his mind with restless worry and desire to encase you in his grasp once more. His thoughts strayed, falling back to the untimely affection forged amidst the horrors of what chased you.

Slumped against the headboard of his bed, clock steadily ticking towards midnight as thoughts demanded his eyes to remain open. Questioning and cautious fingers hovered over the dial button, staring at the number printed on the screen. Yours.

Against reasonable logic, his thumb pressed into the button, quiet ringing filling the otherwise vacant silence as he brought the phone to his ear. A few agonizing rings before it abruptly cut off, your questioning voice speaking from the other line.

"Hi-" Soft voice faltered in disbelief of your acceptance to his midnight endeavor. "Hey, it’s Spencer. Spencer Reid?" His words nearly posed a question as though he could so easily be forgotten. "The FBI Agent who, uh, was there when the whole… I’m sure you remember me, it’s uhm," his eyes shut, praying the useless stutters could relent, "it’s only been a couple of days. Well, of course you know that, that’s how the concept of time works," he mumbled with a sheepishly breathless laugh, embarrassment coating his cheeks in a flush, wishing for an invisible hand to smack him upside the head for poor smooth talking.

"I know that perhaps this is a little unorthodox and I- I really shouldn’t be calling you but I wanted to check in." A pause, a fleetingly hesitant moment before his lips parted again. "How are you? After the whole…" He sighed, mulling over the proper words to harmlessly articulate the brutality faced prior. "After everything, I suppose," he settled for. "I can’t imagine it’s easy, the stalker being a close friend."