Grocery shopping was pretty boring, per usual. I bought only the necessities: bread, cereal, juice, milk, ingredients for meals that week, and the occasional bottle of wine.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't only necessities.

But what can I say?

A girl needs some way to decompress.

Carrying my purchases back to my apartment was always a pain, but juggling the book with my bags added an extra challenge.

I fumbled with my keys for a few seconds once I entered the door of my apartment. I lugged my bags and practically threw them on the counter before rushing to the door and locking it tightly. Then I got to work putting all my groceries away, before remembering that envelope. I grabbed my book, flipping through the pages until I found what I was looking for. I quickly tore open the envelope and scanned over it.

It had the generic stuff that I already knew.

Name? Sarah Bennett.

Age? Twenty-nine years old.

Birth date? May 17th, 1983.

Birthplace? Whitefish, Montana.

Known living relatives? None.

College? Carroll College with BA in Communications.

Current location? Stafford, Virginia.

But there was more, in depth information now.

As of now, I had attended Whitefish High School, graduated in the top 10 in my class, getting a full ride to Carroll College. I never had any trouble with the law, never got as much as a speeding ticket. Before moving to Stafford, I worked as an editor for the small-town newspaper. There was a copy of a boring medical record, detailing a single, minor bone when I was eight, with cause listed as falling down while playing soccer in my front yard. I had no religious background, no copious amounts of money, no nothing. The more I read, the more boring I got.

At least nothing would stand out.

Grasping the paper, I walked to my room and took the generic flower picture off the wall, to see the safe. I entered the password, ignoring the pang of nostalgia that hit me.

12-05-82

I heard the beep, confirming the correct passcode, and I opened the small safe door. I looked at the few sheets of paper, confirming my history and then the small bag of IDs, passports, stacks of cash, and burner cells.

Those were just in case.

Just in case.

Shaking my head, I slid the new piece of paper in before locking the safe tightly. I quickly grabbed the picture and put it up on the wall, ensuring the safe was covered. Walking back out to the main area of my apartment, I sat down, grabbing The Mystery of Cloomber. I had made very little headway this morning at the coffee shop, as I had been too busy questioning Spencer before abandoning all thoughts of finishing my book for a so-called "adventure."

I smiled remembering how he relaxed when listing off facts, first in the car and then at the roller rink. It was almost as if academia was to him as a glass of wine was to me. It lowered his tense nature, especially in social situations. That was useful information. Shaking myself from my thoughts, I returned to my reading.

I read for a few hours, totally sucked into the book, before a ding from my phone broke me from my focus. I picked it up to see a notification from Spencer.

Sarah, it was nice to see you today. I had a good time skating. We should do it again sometime. -Spencer Reid

Even in his texts, he was formal, a huge difference from the annotated and casual style of Caroline. It was refreshing. I quickly typed out a response, rereading it before sending it.

Today was a lot of fun- thanks for entertaining me and my antics! Next adventure, you get to be the leader, okay?

Sending it, I decided that I should go ahead and make something to eat for dinner. Settling on a meatball sub, I made my way to the kitchen. It took me longer than I care to admit to make it. About an hour later, a burnt attempt of homemade meatballs sat soaking in the sink, I had a meatball sub, although not as gourmet as I had hoped. Before taking my sub to the couch to eat, I poured myself a glass of red wine.

Sitting down, I reached for the TV remote, turning on the national news. There was nothing overly interesting, other than the usual political unrest, war in third world countries, and the occasional oddity story.

Just the usual news in a usual world.

I wonder how many pyschos didn't make the 8 o'clock news because of the work the BAU did?

It was weird but the BAU had piqued my interest, likely due to the nature of their work. I mean, most of it revolved around the psyche of human behavior, the ways we interact with others, the way we exist. It was interesting. So, I did what any interested 29-year-old woman would do.

I Googled it.

I leaned and stretched to the side table to grab my laptop. It was better than getting up from my comfortable spot. Taking a bite from my sandwich, I typed in "FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit," and watched as the page loaded.

Almost instantly, results flooded the page, ranging from the FBI description page to the BAU homepage with information about each of the team members. There were even clips from news briefs they had done throughout the years. I chuckled as I saw a cover of a particular clip where Spencer had his hands held in an excited way, a mannerism that displayed his excitement of a certain fact, or just sharing knowledge.

I still did completely understand the workings of the BAU but I did have a feeling in my gut, a feeling that made my stomach turn, but not in a sick way.

In a way that felt like I was riding a rollercoaster.

I had no idea what was going to happen next.

But I was going to enjoy this ride.