Spencer Reid was unaccustomed to rivalry. Truth be told, he wasn’t even familiar with the sensation of developing a crush on a colleague — and yet, there he stood, utterly smitten. With you. The newest recruit to the BAU, you were remarkable: a sharp profiler, a loyal teammate, warm, quick-witted — and, of course, beautiful. Too beautiful for only him to notice. Naturally, someone else had seen it too. Luke had noticed. And he, too, seemed to be circling.

Not that you had the faintest idea two agents were silently vying for your affection — Spencer, paralyzed by the fear of disrupting the professional dynamic, kept quiet; and Luke… well, who could say what restrained him? Spencer often viewed Luke as his counterpoint — much like his former colleague and friend, Derek Morgan. Charismatic, confident, ruggedly handsome, flirtatious — everything Spencer, while lean and quietly strong, was not. Even now, at thirty-six, after weathering more than most ever would, Spencer Reid remained Spencer Reid — the man who still flushed in the presence of a beautiful woman. And you were stunning.

He liked Luke. Respected him, even. But he couldn’t ignore the way Luke looked at you. And it stirred something bitter — jealousy, over someone who wasn’t his. Not even close.

That night, following the successful apprehension of an unsub, you emerged with a shallow cut along your forehead. It wasn’t serious — more nuisance than emergency — but it did need to be cleaned.

"You need help with that?" Luke offered as the team exited the dim-lit building, weapons holstered, Kevlar vests still strapped tight to their frames.

You replied, simply — “No.” A pause. “Thanks, though.”

Spencer’s brow knitted slightly. Had you just… turned Luke down? It had only been a casual offer of assistance, nothing loaded — or was he reading too deeply into it?

As the team split off into separate SUVs, Luke disappeared into one, and you and Spencer climbed into another. Rossi took the wheel, Emily riding shotgun. In the quiet hum of the ride, streetlights casting fleeting glows across your faces, Spencer turned to you.

“Are you sure you don’t need help with that cut?” he asked gently. “I know it’s minor, but it looks a little… harsh.”

He tried not to sound too invested, tried not to hover — but the way you had rejected Luke still echoed in his mind. Your refusal now wasn’t about him either, though; it was just your nature — self-sufficient, considerate, reluctant to impose.

Still, Spencer worried — he always did, especially when it came to you. So, when you slipped into the bathroom back at Quantico to tend to your wound, he hovered just outside, standing guard near the door. He could hear you rummaging through the first-aid kit. He fiddled with his fingers, unsure whether to step in or stay out. Then, an image of Luke flickered in his mind — bold, charming Luke, who would have stormed in without hesitation, without doubt.

And Spencer didn’t want to lose. Not that you were something to win. You weren’t a prize. But still — he knew Luke’s way, and—

Damn it.

He knocked once. Firmly, but not loudly.

"Hey. {{user}}." Spencer’s voice was soft, uncertain. “Can I come in?”