The first time she meets him, she thought nothing of it. It was a Friday, she was over working as a receptionist after she finished her archiving in the National Air Space Museum of the Smithsonian. It was September, they had extended hours, so she remembers being tired, even though it was only 7pm. She was finishing up a paper she was writing, no one was at the museum on a Friday during the school year except an elderly couple admiring one of the older model planes and him. He was staring at a blueprint for one of NASA Apollos. The reason he caught her notice was when he walked past her, she heard him mutter loudly something, the smell instantly hit her of sandalwood. Her associations were usually never that powerful and didn't typically happen suddenly. It hit her so hard and so quickly, she jumped. She then proceeded to fall, knocking over her mug of hot tea onto herself.

"aww…. Damn it! Ouch."

Shaking her hand, she looked down to her ruined skirt, why did she ever think it was ever safe to wear white? Something always happened when she wore white.

"Are you okay?" The man knelt down. His voice, now loud and clear brought another flash of a smell, stronger this time of sandalwood and old books with a hint of graphite along with something she couldn't place. "Umm... do you need help?" The man asked again. She felt like she wanted to die from embarrassment. Avoiding his eye contact, she looked for her box of Kleenex.

"Yeah, uhh sorry, it just I never had such a strong association like that." She found the Kleenex and started dabbing her skirt.

"Association… you have synesthesia?" She looked up from her nervous dabbling, eyes wide through her glasses, the smell from hearing his voice hit her again, but not as violent.

"You know about it?"

"Yeah I read about it in an article." He smiled as he helped her up

"It's predominantly a female condition, a 3:1 ratio compared to the male population, typically in left handed, 1 in 2000 people have the condition. There is some evidence to suggest that the condition helps with memorization." He smiled widen as he gazed up past her as if he was reading the article right there.

"You have an eidetic memory." She looked up at him, tilting her head.

"Yeah, IQ 187, I can read 20,000 words a minute, Dr. Spencer Reid, 23." He set back his shoulders and tried to stand taller, even when he already was a foot taller than her. She smiled. She could play this game.

"Interesting introduction, I'm Dr. Elizabeth Stocker, 18,000 words a minute, never bothered taking an IQ test, 22." She offered her hand out to shake.

"Sorry, I don't really like physical contact."

"Oh..." Her smile dropped for a quick second as she moved her hand to the back of her head. "hehehe, sorry."

An awkward silence began.

"Soo… what was the association, if you don't mind me asking"

"umm, it was your voice, it smells like sandalwood, old books, and a hint of…" She stopped and smiled up at him "something else"

"What?"

"A little mystery never hurt anybody."

He pursed his lips. She laughed, he looked sort of like a pouting dog.

"So, Dr. Reid, what are you a doctor in?"

"Mathematics, chemistry and Engineering, along with undergraduates with psychology and sociology working on my philosophy, and you Dr. Stocker?"

"Doctorate in Astronomy and Child psychology, undergraduates in English literature and French, working on my undergraduate in Art history."

"Impressive record, Dr. Stocker." He said with a smile. He looked awkward, like he wasn't entirely sure how he should continue.

"I wouldn't say you're too bad yourself, where'd you go?" As she smoothed out her skirt. she looked down, assessing the damage. She could argue that this was how the skirt came as. It looked like an ugly skirt, but she could make an argument.

"MIT and Caltech, you?"

"University of Chicago and Detroit Mercy." He's eyebrows shot up about the last one.

"Detroit Mercy? Why did you go there? you would get a lot better education at even University of Michigan?" Even though the language was a bit harsh, she smiled gently though.

"My family lives in the area, and it was easier for them having me closer in the first couple years, I don't think they wanted me to go far when I was only 13."

Then through the announcement system came the 5-minute warning of closing time.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Dr. Reid, but I've got to help close up so…"

"Ah, yes, sorry to bother you Dr. Stocker." He turned to leave, and in any normal circumstance, that would've been it. But something spurred her on, something just felt like it shouldn't just be left like this.

"umm…. Wait!" Dr. Reid turned to look back. She frantically looked around, the only thing she had was her Kleenex. She thought Fuck it, pulled out one of the pens and quickly jotted down her number and initials. E.S

"Here. If you ever want to… talk." She handed him the Kleenex. He looked down.

"Thanks." He looked awkward taking it, and She was already knocking herself for being so stupid, he doesn't want to talk to the receptionist from a museum. He turned to leave again and was almost out the door

"Your welcome." What was she saying, why would she say your welcome? She was sounding like the stupidest doctor ever. He turned, smiled gently and nodded. That's where she thought it would end.

Three Weeks later

"Hey, It's Dr. Reid, they guy who sounds like sandalwood and old books, umm… I was calling you because I, uhh... if we could talk -BEEP"

"Uhh hey, It Reid again, just wanted to apologize about the first message I tend to ramble, I do it at the office a lot, sometimes it's helpful in the sometimes I just annoy people, oh by the way I'm a profiler with the FBI uhh… anyway call me back, if you want."

"Hello Dr. Reid, it's good to hear you again! I heard both your messages and I would lov- I mean I would enjoy talking to you. FBI agent? Sounds exciting! Here I am doing restoration and curator work with occasional counseling. Do you carry a gun? Are you a field agent? I'm sure your wonderful at it… anyway call me back when you can!"