Surrounded by pictures of her old life, Melyssa sat cross-legged on the cold, varnished hardwood floor of her bedroom.

Her eyes darted from picture to picture and read over old journal entries. She made it a point to keep all of these things in the beginning of her eighth grade year of schooling, just a matter of weeks after her oldest and truest best friend hung herself.

Looking through everything was supposed to bring back a good memory, that's what everyone said. And they were right, it did.

Back then she had friends.

Back then she was loved.

Back then she wasn't unhappy.

Now, she didn't have any of that. Her parents always disdained her for whatever reason, her friends all moved past her and she has discovered that her new job at the BAU has made at least one particular person very unhappy.

There was a point in her life, mind you, when Melyssa possessed the aspect of 'if you don't like me, that's your problem'. With a scoff, she came to the realization that she still carried that outlook on life, only altered for one specific person.

Everyday this man would show unforgettable hostility towards for reasons unknown to her or anyone else on the team. They all kept offering to ask him about it, but she kept refusing, telling them that she had to do it if she wanted to maintain any self-respect.

So today in the bullpen, she confronted him as he gathered his things to head home.

Melyssa slapped on her confident costume-one she had come rather familiar with throughout her teen years- and sauntered over to his desk.

With her back start and her shoulders back, she emanated a force that held to ability to make a Marine quiver in fear.

"Why do you hate me?" She inquired in a small, yet stipulating voice.

Anybody on this planet, whether it be the Marine from earlier or a Comi-Con junkie, would have been too scared not to answer.

And, for a moment, Spencer was. However, the moment he spun around and saw the look in her eyes, all hatred came flooding back.

Her voice was demanding, but her eyes were pleading and on the verge of tears.

Well aware he couldn't give her a descent answer, Spencer simply gave her a look and left, not even bothering to look back.

Spencer now sat on his couch, whiskey in hand.

He had discarded his sweater vest and tie among entering his apartment, and now his long-sleeved white shirt had the first three buttons undone. This had become a nightly ritual for him within the past few months.

Everyday he'd see her, and everyday he'd fall harder for her.

And everyday he covered it up with hatred.

Every single day it was disguising admiring glances with loathing glares and fighting a blush after bumping into her while yelling at her. Only this time was different.

Usually, she'd pick herself up and move on. But today, she didn't do that. Today, according to the angry voices of his co-workers over the phone, she had turned back to her desk, keeping her front on as best she could, and whispered a 'Goodnight' before dragging her feet out of the bullpen.

He hurt her.

Bad.

Annoyed, Spencer let out a sigh.

He didn't want to hurt her, the opposite actually. He wanted to hold her at night and kiss during the day and...well... kiss her a lot more later in the night.

He was almost absolutely positive he loved her. He couldn't decide whether it was her chocolate brown hair that seemed to shine brighter than the moon, or her greenish- turquoise eyes that he could swear changes color slightly with her mood maybe it was just her. She, as a person, was impossible to profile, not one profile worked with her entire personality.

Spencer knew it was slightly odd, the way he treated the woman he was in love with, but that's only because he's an idiot.

He treats her horridly because she changed everything. Everything he had planned for his life did a complete 180 when he met her.

Within their first week of working together, he could all ready imagine being married with little kids hyped up on those Pixie Sticks things sprinting around the house while he and Melyssa scolded them but mentally laughed.

'Now you'll probably never have that, Genius.' his psyche bitched.

Taking the last few sips of his drink like a shot, Spencer got off the couch and walked out the door, ready to walk the half mile to Melyssa's apartment and try to explain and start over, if she would let him.

She had gone through this before.
This feeling.

It had only happened once, not counting right now.

When she was a teenager, 8th grade to be exact, she became so suicidal she could literally taste the barrel of a gun in her mouth. She could feel the gun ricochet once she pulled the trigger, feel a tingling sensation when the bullet went through her brain and out the back top of her skull.

She felt that again, only this time something was different, something that would drastically change the entire situation.

This time, she had a gun.

This was her apartment.

4C, third building on Shadow Ridge Crossing.

Weird name.

Shaking the thought from his head, Spencer reached out and knocked on the door.

No going back now.

He waited for a couple of seconds before knocking again.

Nothing.

He knew Melyssa, she wouldn't not answer her door, epically with their job. Something was wrong.

Drawing the gun he naturally took with him everywhere, Spencer turned the knob and thanked whatever force there was that the door opened. He really didn't want to buy Melyssa a new door because he kicked down this one.

"Melyssa?" He called out as he stalked through the apartment.

He came across a slightly opened door and peeked in what he noticed was her bedroom.

On the floor, he saw pictures of a young Melyssa. One in a tree, one at Christmas and one with her on an Ariel bike.

Slowly, he nudged the door open and was greeted by a mess of memories.

Polaroids, old journals and random letters were scattered on the floor, Melyssa sitting Indian style in the middle of it all.

Turning her head so slowly it chilled Spencer to his very core, Melyssa looked up at him through tear-strained eyes.

"Don't you hate it when you're so damned logical your mind won't let you do something you really wanna do?" She asked with a pathetic smile.

At that moment, Spencer saw the gun in her right hand.

"Milly." He whispered as he sauntered over to her.

Down on one knee, Spencer took the gun- which she gave willingly-, turned the safety on, and tossed the offensive object across the room.

After which, he looked at her.

His eyes were still wide and searching for answers in her own, his mind couldn't wrap around the idea of what she was saying.

In her eyes, he saw want. He knew that kind of want, the want to be loved and accepted.

Before he could fully think about what he was doing, Spencer's hands went to the sides of her face and he pulled her to meet him in a passionate kiss. To which- Spencer was grateful- she didn't object.