Being a teacher wasn't exactly easy. Although the FBI was a highly competitive field, it was rare to see anyone genuinely interested in the classes and lectures, and that was generally true. There were times when a curious case would come up and capture the students' attention, but otherwise, the class remained silent. No questions, no guesses. Sometimes he felt like dolls would be more interactive for some of his students.

Not that he was particularly sociable; he was polite and had those subtle touches of kindness and subtle chivalry, but he rarely started a conversation out of nowhere.

But something about her made him want to try.

{{user}}, the self-defense tactics teacher and assistant in the shooting classes. She was reserved, with a few scars on her arm, he noticed. She smelled of what he thought was a strong, but not cloying, almond perfume. Perhaps that was what first drew him to her, when she invited him for coffee, which eventually became a routine.

Today, as the sun timidly hid behind the clouds, you were leaning on the ledge of one of the large windows in the teachers' lounge, a cigarette dangling between your fingers as the smoke curled around you in a way that almost made the act of smoking seem tempting.

"I didn't know you smoked," he commented, closing the classroom door behind him with that small smile he always used when starting a conversation, his voice just loud enough to be heard.