They met on January third, 2004. Downtown, on an empty sidewalk, under a precariously flickering street lamp.

Derek Morgan was on the way home after a long day at work on a Saturday, no less. He was already pulling his jacket off before he got to the parking deck. A day full of obnoxious coworkers and an exhaustingly boring case was a recipe for disaster, no matter who you were.

He heard the faint sound of hurried footsteps behind him on the concrete. Trying to assure himself that his tired ears were playing tricks on him, he kept walking, loosening his tie. Eventually, the footsteps were so close that he had to turn around.

Dr. Spencer Reid was on his way back from his own work at a clinic that was two floors below the Behavioral Analysis Unit. He didn't know anyone in the unit, mind you. He hardly knew anyone in the building, all he was to do was take the Labs and clean up the hazardous materials after every night. The fact that a figure was walking in front of him on the sidewalk was just a random detail; he was focused on getting to the parking deck as quickly as possible.

He was sprinting as fast as his body could carry him, his messenger bag knocking against his hip with each hurried step. He was looking ahead, but as he neared the figure, he realized it was a man, and that the man had a gun directly pointing at him.

"FBI," the figure said, half-hidden by the dim light of the lamp above them. Reid halted as quickly as he could, stepping cautiously into the spotlight and dropping onto one of his knees with his hands up by his ears. "Drop any and all weapons on you and put your hands over your head."

"I don't have any weapons!" The small voice called back, cracking with fear. "I just want to get to my car, man. Don't shoot!"

Morgan slowly let his arms fall to his sides, "What are you doing running at federal agents at night time on dilapidated streets?"

"Hate the dark," Reid answered, his head still down on his knee and his hands shaking where they were held above his shoulders, "Please don't shoot me."

"My gun's already holstered," Morgan said quietly, walking over to the cowering man and tapping his head. "You're fine. You can stand up."

"I'm going to need some help..." Reid said, out of breath as he glanced up. "I don't work out ever. My legs hurt."

Morgan laughed and held out his hand, pulling the skinny man to his feet. "You shouldn't be sprinting, then. You're scared of the dark, you said?"

Reid nodded, embarrassed, "Usually I get out of work about an hour ago, but the guy working before me just made a mess, and I had to clean it up and I..."

"It's fine," the other man patted him on his shoulder. "I have a flashlight you can use. You wouldn't have to return it."

Reid tucked his hair behind his ear and smiled shyly, "Yes please."

They exchanged goodbyes, and Reid took off running in the direction of the parking garage with a beam of light ahead of him, more in a jog-like fashion, leaving Morgan in the dust with a goofy smile on his face and a better outlook on life.

In the morning, Morgan was running to work late and Reid was coming in early. They reached for the door handle simultaneously before making eye contact.

A year later, Reid was initiated into the BAU program, and Morgan smiled as he was gifted with his very own FBI flashlight. After the ceremony, the lanky brunette ran up to him and handed him the flashlight he'd gotten on the night they met. Morgan took it, but never planned to use it. No, he planned to frame it on his wall.