A/N: All of these take place pre-Spirit of the Goat. Though it's possible that they met for the first time in that episode, it seems that they could have had some history between them, so that's the assumption I'm working with for this story.

I. There was new file clerk on staff, and her name was Kristen Kringle. When Edward first heard his co-workers talking about it he couldn't keep a grin from his face. What were the odds of someone having a name like that? There were so many interesting things you could infer about someone from their name.

For instance, was she teased about it at school? If she was, how did it affect her? Did it make her bitter and angry, or did it give her a tough skin and a laugh she used to brush off the comments?

So many possibilities that couldn't be confirmed until he met her.

That wish came true two days later.

Edward was in the break room, shaking his hand, trying to relieve his fingers from the sting that the steam from the coffee maker had inflicted upon them. Someone should really adjust that. Maybe he would do it later; it really would save someone else a lot of time.

The break room door squeaked open and a blonde streak flashed in the corner of his eye. Edward took a sip of coffee that stuck in his throat when he turned around. There, leaning against the opposite counter, was the second person that had entered the room. It was a blonde woman with a white blouse and smart black skirt, head bent over a piece of paper she held in her hand.

She brushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear and readjusted her glasses. As she shifted, he saw that her name tag read Kristen Kringle.

Edward swallowed the coffee that had begun to feel like a burning coal in his throat. "Hello!" he said with a small wave of his hand.

The woman jumped and looked around before her eyes landed on him. Oh, and they were green. She gave him a flicker of a smile. "Hello," she said, before going back to looking at her paper.

"I don't believe we've met," Edward continued. She did seem interested in her file, but she surely wouldn't mind talking to a co-worker. After all, this was the break room, an inherently casual place.

"I don't think we have." She stood up from the counter and walked over to him with an out stretched hand. Edward swallowed, put down his mug, and shook it. His hand wasn't trembling, was it? "I'm Kristen Kringle."

"I know," he said nodding, releasing her hand.

Kristen blinked, the line of her shoulders went stiff, and her brows knitted together. "You do? How did you-"

"Oh, I just heard others mentioning a new file clerk and your name in the same breath."

Her shoulders relaxed a bit. "I'm just surprised anyone would talk about me, is all."

"Ah, may I ask what the paper you're reading is about?" Edward pointed at the paper still held limply in her hand.

"I'm just reading up on the case details about the recent murder of a local writer known as Scott Roberts. We think it might've been a mob hit." She was looking at the paper again, squinting as if she could tease out whatever information she was looking for through that action alone.

The murder of a writer by the mob? Edward's fingers twitched. The humor in this scenario was just begging to be recognized.

"So the mob sentenced a writer to death?" he asked with a grin.

Kristen's mouth pulled down into a frown and she looked away from him to the suddenly fascinating blank table beside them. "Um, yes, I suppose so."

She started to turn around and head for the door. Well, that had gone all right but she still didn't know his name.

"It was nice meeting you, Kristen," he said, leaning back against the counter near the coffee machine.

"Er, yes, it was nice to meet you too, Mr...?" Kristen waved her fingers as if she could pluck the answer out of the air.

"Nygma."

"Ah," was all she said as she tugged the door closed.

Edward nodded at her and raised his eyebrows. He picked up his cold cup of coffee and with a glance downward he saw a line of wrinkles on his tie.

As tried to smooth them out with his hand, he hoped that Kristen hadn't noticed.

II. One day he was told Kristen was going to come by his desk soon for some reports that he had written up. He found himself rearranging all the stacks of papers and tilting the angle of his desk lamp several degrees back and forth.

He then reorganized his pens by color and height. When she came by, he was clicking a pen, staring into his computer monitor. He started when he saw the blonde of her hair hovering above the brick-like form of his computer.

"Oh, Kristen! You're here about the report, right?" He began rifling through the papers. It was there just a moment ago before he reorganized the case reports alphabetically by crime scene location names.

"Yes, I am. I'm on a bit of a time crunch here, so if you could-"

"Yes, yes, certainly. Ah, here it is!" He whipped out the stapled report and thrust it beneath her nose. She scooted it down with a pink finger nail.

"Thank you," she said, voice flat.

"You know, at first they thought the victim died of a heart attack," he said, as she took the file from him.

"Well, I'm not surprised." She flicked through the papers, scanning the report. "Most of the symptoms would've lined up with that diagnosis if cause of death hadn't been looked at more closely."

"Oh, so you're playing nurse with me now?" He raised an eyebrow.

For a moment, her face became very red. "Um...no. I'm just saying that at first glance that's how the diagnosis would seem to most people."

Why was she embarrassed? Had he said something wrong?

Oh. He hadn't meant to imply anything like that. He pressed a hand to his mouth. "I-I actually meant-"

"You know what, it's fine. Don't worry about it. I'll just...go file this." She jabbed a finger behind her and started to back up.

Edward laced his fingers. "Yes, of course."

Kristen disappeared from the maze of desks that he inhabited and back towards her cave of a filing room. Edward let out a deep breath, tugged on his collar, and straightened the reports that had been put out of place.

III. It was Valentine's Day. Normally Edward didn't care about it that much, it was just a day like any other, except with more people putting their hormones on display.

But this year, well...it was just a bit different. Seeing co-workers' greeting their significant others with smiles and tokens of affection reminded him of how somber his apartment was. He usually found his apartment blissfully empty, but now it just seemed cavernous and cold, the walls empty and clinical, the streetlights casting sick yellow streaks across the floor.

Maybe he should do something for Kristen. But what would she appreciate? Maybe something practical, nothing superfluous. She didn't seem like the sort of person that would appreciate that sort of thing.

But maybe she did? It wasn't as if he knew her terribly well, despite his efforts. But that wasn't a problem. It was just a puzzle to be solved, and one that should be fairly easy.

So three days before Valentine's Day he made an attempt at small talk in the break room where it all started. When he came in Kristen was slumped at the table with a stack of papers in the corner with dark circles under her eyes only half covered by hastily applied concealer.

"Good morning, Kristen!" Edward said, strolling into the room holding a partially dried bagel.

"Hello Mr. Nygma," she mumbled, not looking up as she twirled a pen between her fingers.

She didn't seem in a terribly good mood, but he didn't let himself frown. What she surely needed was a friendly face on Monday morning. "Any plans for Valentine's this week?" he asked, trying to keep his tone even.

"No, not really. I'm going to be working late, and then I'm probably going to just order something in when I get home," she said, jotting down something on a scrap of paper she pulled out of her jacket pocket.

She set the scrap down on the pile that she already had. She folded the corner of the pile over.

That wasn't good. All her information could get mixed up, destroying days of work. And all she really needed was a stapler to solve that problem. Oh. He knew what to get her now. But best to keep talking to see if he could glean any more information.

"You know, Valentine's actually has a deep history." He tapped his fingers along the edge of the bagel. It was probably getting harder by the minute.

"Oh, does it?" Kristen pressed the pen against her lips, gaze still lowered.

"Yes! Valentine's Day is actually derived from the ancient Roman holiday Lupercalia. It was a festival celebrating the she-wolf that nursed Romulus and Remus. They would strike women with goat skins to ensure fertility." He flicked his hand to give a visual, and tilted his head with a smile.

Kristen was looking at him now, but said nothing, just ran her finger against the edge of the table. "You know, Nygma, I think I forgot something. One of the detectives asked for this evidence..." she waved her hand vaguely behind her. "Over there."

She stood up and the chair screeched across the floor with the force of her push. As she grabbed her papers some of them slipped to the floor. Edward walked towards her, hand open to pick them up.

"No, no, it's fine." She held up a hand. "I can get them."

"O-oh, all right." Edward took a step back, hands at his sides, rubbing his fingers together.

Her shoes clicked against the hardwood floor and the door squealed closed as she pushed it shut.

Edward had spent thirty minutes at an office supply store trying to choose the right sort of stapler. Was the best option a generic desktop stapler? Or would Kristen appreciate a motorized stapler, which was handy when dealing with large stacks of paper? Or a saddle stapler?

In the end, he simply settled for a desktop stapler. It was simple, but efficient. Before she came to work he entered her abode-the dark filing room lined with dull metal cabinets that hunkered against the cream wall.

What sort of system was being used in this place? There was no order to the way the filing cabinets were lined up. It was completely unorganized. He would have to help her with that some time.

He approached her desk and nudged a few papers to make space for his gift. He didn't leave a note on it, but maybe he would make small talk with her later to see if she suspected who the stapler was from.

Scooting a few more papers out of the way, he smiled down at the small black device. Yes, it would make her job much easier.

He walked out of the room, gently shutting it and sauntering back through the hall way.

Things were looking up.