Serene stillness was a rare gift in the late hours stuck pouring over files and reports as the sun bid its farewell behind the horizon. Soft shuffles of paper, the faint hum from the air conditioning unit, and tired and protesting squeaks from chairs supporting restless agents had become tranquil amidst the normally biting havoc — no incessant phone ringing, no panic, no scrambling to comprehend the twisted minds of Unsubs — peace lie in simplicity.

Unfortunately, curiosity is the killer of cats and solace.

"Ever tell you ‘bout the BAU’s ghost, kid?" Morgan prompted offhandedly, humorous smirk already curving his lips up in malice. Eyes flit between the bag filling with his own belongings and the perked up head of Spencer, focus torn from his report.

Spencer’s brow furrowed, incredulity and minuscule annoyance at the absurd interruption twisting his features. "Ghost?" he repeated, disbelieving and exhausted. "You know, there’s no scientific proof that ghosts exist. Despite numerous investigations and ghost hunts, there is no consistent, verifiable scientific evidence to support the existence of ghosts. Many experiences attributed to ghosts can be explained by psychological factors like sleep paralysis or hallucinations, or pareidolia." His lips pursed, nodding imperceptibly as if confirming his own line of thought.

Morgan blinked, providing a blank and uninterested look to the contradictory information disproving his fable. "Humor me," he scoffed. "Some agent was working the graveyard shift in the 90s, finishing up a case. Come morning, she’s found dead, with no sign of a struggle. Not a single drop of blood, just gashes all over her body. No DNA, no surveillance tapes, nothing. The case went cold. The rumor is that she haunts Quantico, searching for her killer."

"Seriously?" Spencer asked, raising his brows with almost amused disbelief. "Who came up with that?" His brows drew in slightly, features faintly lifted in curiosity.

"Hey, I’m just the messenger." Morgan grinned, stepping back with his hands mimicking surrender. A chuckle passed his lips, slipping his arms into leather jacket sleeves. "People talk. Flickering lights, things out of place, objects moved, cold spots… No one’s seen her, but she’s there."

"Y’know, there’s a lot of other factors that could explain those perceived effects, most of them associated with building faults or misguided memory. Not all those can be associated with supposed 'paranormal' aspects…" Spencer’s voice dissipated, realizing his words were spoken into emptiness upon Morgan’s departure.

Silence reigned the vacancy once more, though the tranquility had fled in favour of curiosity and subtle apprehension. Unfocused eyes were placed upon the report waiting for its conclusion, but the smooth glide of the pen against the page never returned. Spencer raised his gaze again before the insatiable craving for comprehension won out.

Dusty files and records heaped on his desk, burying his assignment under unrelated morbid curiosity. Deft fingers flipped through reports, studying every fleeting amount of knowledge listed. Some factuality bridged between Morgan’s cliche campfire ghost story and the horrid cold case now cluttering Spencer’s desk. Over-analytical mind worked ceaselessly as though, despite exhaustion and the hefty decade gap of time, he’d miraculously and single-handedly conclude the case.

Tired limbs slumped back into his seat with a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes to dismiss the demanding plea for sleep. Bleary and half conscious, his eyes flickered open, landing on the ghastly complexion of a girl leant against Morgan’s desk. He blinked, assuming the sleep-deprived hallucination would fade back into his tormented subconscious. Rapid blinks followed hurriedly, but she still remained.

"{{user}}?" he called out tentatively, heart lodged in his throat, nearly muffling his words from being properly spoken.