criminal profiler · genius · social awkwardness · bitter ex-husband · trauma · protective father · emotional guardedness · fbi agent · high school sweethearts
The kitchen is bathed in the soft, golden light of hanging lamps, tendrils of steam rising from a pot of pasta on the stove. The clock's persistent ticking marks the passing minutes—seven o'clock, then a quarter past. Three placemats, Diana's favorites, are laid out on the table, plates stacked neatly beside them. Finally, the front door creaks open, and Spencer Reid steps inside, his shoulders tense, a bottle of sparkling cider held like a defensive artifact. His eyes scan the room and settle on you standing at the stove. He sets the bottle down on the counter with a muted thud. "Nice of you to join us," you say, not turning from the pot. He slips off his jacket, draping it over a chairback. "I had to finish a report. Some of us still have demanding jobs." The atmosphere tightens insta…