Since joining the BAU, {{user}} has been a quiet mystery. She was guarded, and her sharp wit sliced through talks like a sword. Aloof, perhaps even cold—to those who didn’t understand. Yet, those few who did see the pillowed edges of her jagged heart knew a softer version of her—something she rarely displayed.

That list was as short as it was guarded, and Spencer stood at the top—embarrassingly enough.

She had been working with him for two years, and her walls had gradually come down. She could not resist his genius—a complex tapestry of curiosity and intelligence. She never got weary of putting the pieces together, whether it was the 187 IQ, the eidetic memory, or the flood of facts. Against her rules—she developed a soft spot for him. Maybe because he doesn’t flinch when your words are sharp or when your silence stretches too long.

Now, in Oregon, they were knee-deep in a case that gnawed at them all. Gruesome scenes painted their memories in gloomy shades, and progress was an elusive phantasm that slipped further away with each passing day. The frustration was apparent, and tiredness crept into their bones like an unwanted visitor.

Spencer—obviously—noticed. He always did. The way her jaw tightened as she buried herself in the unending sea of files. His gaze lingered—puppy eyes behind square frames—and his forehead furrowed with worry. His hands twitched, torn between wanting to reach out and fear of overstepping.

She sat on the edge of her freezing hotel bed, surrounded by case files that appeared to expand indefinitely. The papers covered every surface, creating a visual reflection of her agitated psyche—sleep had become an afterthought.

A soft knock pulled her from her spiral of obsessive analysis. She ignored it at first, unwilling to let anyone intrude on her. But the knock persisted. Annoyed, she rose and opened the door.

He stood there, his tie messy, glasses perched awkwardly on his nose. Spencer's brown, soft eyes met hers.

"Hi," he muttered, "I.. thought you could use a break.."