Hi all! I genuinely thought everyone lost interest in this story but recently it seems to have gotten some new readers, so I thought it would be a good time to finally post the next chapter. Thanks for sticking with me!

Alma felt overdressed, or underdressed, her mind flipping quickly and abruptly from one to the next. From the burning looks she was receiving she assumed that none of the men, and maybe even some of the women, had never seen a bare collar bone before. That morning after struggling for nearly an hour to find her one good blazer she had dug out an old pair of black jeans and an off-the-shoulder white top with long bell sleeves and called it a day. But standing at reception and receiving stares from the FBI agents around her made her wish she had simply stolen one of her dad's suit jackets, which she had oddly considered in her desperate search for an "appropriate" outfit. The thought made her fondly remember a time where dress up consisted of a frilly princess gown and her dad's button-up blazer, which in itself fit her like a dress.

"Miss…Rossi, is it?" A voice called, snapping her out of her memories.

Alma looked up from the carpet at the receptionist and nodded.

"You're all set."

"Thank you."

Alma accepted the nametag and begrudgingly stuck it on the left side of her blouse. She took her small white box from the countertop but didn't quite turn away.

"Excuse me…would you be able to point me in the right direction"

"Take the elevator across the hall up to ten, then down the hall, make a right and then a left."

"Right, left," Alma muttered and put on a confident smile and flipped her hair over her left shoulder, "got it."

Right, left. I did that already, didn't I? Or was it left, right?

Alma had been wandering for a few minutes, becoming uncomfortable holding the box while the strap of her bag dug into her shoulder. It made her feel weak, and that weakness quickly gave way to frustration, but the truth was that she was feeling more and more exhausted these days. A few people had seen her plight and attempted to offer her a hand, but Alma got her pride from her father, so she assured them she was exactly where she was supposed to be and continued aimlessly walking the halls.

The room she ended up in was all empty. There were desks, of course, all with their own small decorations but mostly filled with stacks and stacks of papers and manila folders, but her father was nowhere in sight. Alma let out a huff of air, believing this to be another dead end, and awkwardly adjusted the box in her hands.

"Hi," a voice interrupted her thoughts, "are you lost?"

"I uhm… that depends I guess," Alma said, turning to face the blonde woman behind her. "Is this the BAU?"

Maybe I'm in the wrong building, Alma thought, possibly the wrong planet. The woman in front of her did not look at all what she was expecting of an FBI agent. Although, she really had only her father and Hotch to go off of for reference, and now Spencer as well. But this woman was all kinds of unique, her magenta patterned dress and small blue artificial flowers pinned up in her hair catching Alma's eyes immediately.

"Sure is sweetie, what can I do for you…"

"Oh, Alma, my name's Alma. It's nice to meet you"

"Penelope," she introduced, sticking her hand out and smiling brightly at her, "Oh it's so good to finally meet you!" she blurted out with so much excitement and energy bubbling out of her that Alma wondered how she had ever managed to contain it in a mere human body. "And look at you, like a little Snow White in the flesh," Penelope exclaimed, playfully tapping her shoulder.

"Right well," Alma laughed, unsure of how to take her last statement. As well as feeling extra tired, she knew her once olive skin had been growing paler and paler, although the Snow White comment hopefully had more to do with her dark hair than anything else.

It was hard, however, for her to focus on the comment from Penelope on her looks. Alma was just relieved that the woman in front of her obviously knew who she was. She was a little afraid, if she was being honest, that her father had told them nothing of her and she was about to show up and with her presence drop some kind of bomb. She knew that sometimes he could be too stubborn for his own good, and after pushing off a formal introduction Alma had decided that she would simply show up and bribe her way into their good graces with pastries.

It seemed to be working so far.

"I was just coming by to drop these off, but I can see that I came at a bad time and-"

"Oh nonsense," she said placing her arm around Alma's shoulder and leading her to start walking out of the room. "They're being briefed upstairs, shouldn't be too much longer. Plus, I never get to have girl time here, and I've heard so much about you but not enough! You can wait in my office downstairs."

Alma had her legs tucked under her and was absentmindedly swinging back in forth in a black leather swivel chair across from Penelope, who was sitting across from her elbows propped up and her chin resting in her hands.

"So, he tells me you paint."

"I do," Alma nodded with a smile, "I hope he hasn't bugged you all with too many pictures I know he likes to do that."

"He hasn't, but I would seriously love to see them!"

Alma tried to will her cheeks to stop warming, but she always seemed to be at the mercy of her body when it came to her emotions. Sometimes she wondered if she would ever be able to speak about it calmly or not be nervous about people's reactions when they saw her art. But for now Alma accepted she couldn't help it, and obliged Penelope's request and handed over her phone.

"Wow," Penelope said, and it was the first time her voice had seemed serious to Alma. "This is really amazing, how long have you been painting?"

"Ever since I could hold a brush," Alma stated honestly. "So what else did he tell you about me? Nothing too horribly embarrassing I hope. Although I know how private he can be sometimes...I've barely gotten to hear about all of you," she confessed.

"Ah—that's just how our boy genius is, don't take it too personally."

Boy genius? Alma questioned. She knew her father was intelligent, but he certainly was no boy.

"Oh," Alma stated, her tone laced in confusion, "do you all have nicknames here?"

If this girl had spent any time at all around Spencer, which she most certainly had if Spencer's unusual behavior was anything to go by, the nickname was self-explanatory.

"No," Penelope started to say but quickly backtracked, "well actually I have a lot of nicknames for Hotch, none that I'd say to his face of course, and even more for Derek: chocolate Adonis, my future-"

"Oh Derek, that's not a name I've heard before."

"Oh strap in, girl," Penelope said with a devious smile, "let me start from the beginning. So, on my first day here…"

They had been sitting in the lair that was Penelope's office for nearly thirty minutes still with no interruption from her father or any other of his team members. Alma always trusted her feelings, or her gut as her father liked to say. So she knew, even without having to spend much time together, that she and Penelope would become fast friends. There was just something about her, maybe her punky style or her blunt honesty, that Alma found endearing.

"Ugh," Penelope sighed and attempted to wipe sweet ricotta filling from the corner of her lips. "These are just amazing, where has he been hiding you and why?"

"I've been wondering the same thing," Alma said with a smile, glad that the women in front of her appreciated, if nothing else, a good cannoli.

"You know you have to either teach him to make these or I'm going to just steal you away from him."

Alma knitted her eyebrows together, "Who do you think taught me how to make them?"

Penelope nearly choked when she heard her, "What! You're telling me this whole time he can cook, and I could have been getting these every day?"

"Of course he can cook, I thought everyone knew that...You say that liked you've known him for years." Alma observed.

"Well, as long as I've known Spencer-"

Alma coughed, it came out as an ugly, startling sound that made the woman in front of her fear for a brief moment that she was actually choking on air.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Alma assured her, "It's just for a second I thought you said Spencer."

"I did," Penelope said, tilting her head in confusion. At that moment Alma felt the blood drain from her face and her whole body tense up. Penelope did know exactly who she was, she had recognized her by name.

And it wasn't because of her father.

She was in the right place, the BAU after all, and so was her father and so was Spencer.

In her panic, she wondered if he would even want to see her again once he realized who she was. And it wasn't just her last name, once Spencer realized who her father was she was afraid her whole life story would be out there without her getting to tell him herself. He would know about how her parents died, her childhood spent in and out of doctors offices and hospitals, and maybe even what's wrong with her now. Hell, he already knew her overprotective father. And no one, not even Alma, could expect someone to stay for all that.

So much for being normal.

"I am so sorry," Alma said, quickly standing up from her seat and gripping the armrest to regain her balance after a brief dizzy spell. "I think I actually am in the wrong place."

"What? But-"

"So nice to meet you, Penelope, but I really should go."

Alma may have been able to make her exit successfully if she had not tucked her hair behind her ear and turned so suddenly on her way out, exposing the left side of her shoulder and her name tag: Rossi scrawled in elegant cursive in blue ink.

Later, when the team did eventually return to their respective desks, Penelope was doing everything in her power to not look directly at Spencer. He had been handing her files, requesting information, and Penelope stared at the floor and enthusiastically gave an "uh-huh" and "of course" when appropriate.

She knew more than Spencer did, without a doubt, about the woman he had been seeing. It may have been slightly unethical, but so was lying, so Penelope justified her deep dive into just who Alma was.

Unbeknownst to her, she probably knew more about Alma than Alma knew about herself.

"Are you okay, Penelope? You seem a little quiet today."

When Penelope finally looked up to meet Reid's eyes, she noticed something very off about their resident genius.

"Is that paint?"

"Paint?"

"On your jacket."

"Oh," Spencer looked down to inspect the sleeve of his plaid blazer and noticed indeed spots of green paint sticking out from the plaid pattern. "I guess it is," he said softly, and his cheeks and ears turned a light pink in response.

Oh Reid, what have you gotten yourself into?