Disclaimer: Criminal Minds belongs to CBS, not me.

we start with stars in our eyes

"I don't know what to tell you, son. You failed."

Spencer stared blankly at the instructor. He had never failed a test before. Not once. A few risky Bs, sure, but he had never failed. "Are...are you sure?" he squeaked.

The instructor sighed heavily. "The fitness test requires situps, pullups, pushups, the sprint, and the mile and a half run," he said. "You couldn't meet the minimum on any of them."

"The sprint wasn't bad," he offered.

"Son, you run like a baby giraffe."

Spencer dropped his gaze. "Do...do I have to drop out?" he asked.

The instructor turned pages through Spencer's file, slowly, deliberately. This was it. He was going to get kicked out of the academy before he even started. His career in the FBI was over before it even began. Maybe he could go back to school. Get another PhD. Get his medical degree. He had never made a plan B, he never thought he needed to, but oh god, he wasn't going to make it in the FBI…

"With these fitness test scores, yeah, you ought to be sent home," the instructor said at last. "Hell, I'm not sure how you made it into the academy in the first place, you're still a year too young to enroll."

"I've skipped a lot of grades," Spencer said.

"Well, you're in luck," he said. "It seems that someone with a little more power than me has personally requested that not only you stay in the academy and finish your training, but you're going to be fast-tracked to the Behavioral Analysis Unit once you've graduated."

Spencer's heart stopped beating for a split second. "I...I am?" he said.

"If Agent Jason Gideon requests it, it's going to be done," he said. He shook his head. "Can't do more than twenty situps, and starting with the BAU right out of the gate." He slid the papers back into Spencer's file. "We'll have to make some...allowances, but as of right now, welcome to the academy, Mr. Reid."

Spencer didn't even bother to correct him. "Thank you, thank you so much," he said, sliding down in his chair in relief. "I know that physically I may be under par, but I've selected all five of my degrees with the eventual goal of joining the FBI, so I've-"

"I get it, kid, I get it. Go on, get out of here."

Spencer scrambled out of the office, nearly tripping over his shoes in his haste. For a brief terrifying moment he had pictured himself having to choose another career; it hadn't been until that second he realized just how badly he wanted to work in the FBI.

"Spencer? Spencer Reid?"

He turned around, following the sound of the voice. "Ethan?" he said, surprised.

"I haven't seen you in ten years, man," Ethan said with a grin. He looked him up and down. "Last time I saw you, they had to give you a box to stand on for your valedictorian's speech. Guess that growth spurt finally kicked in."

"Yeah, finally," Spencer said. "I didn't know you were here! I mean, we both talked about going into the academy when we were kids in high school, but I didn't realize we'd end up here at the same time."

"Yeah, yeah, what are the odds?" Ethan said. "You just finish your fitness test? How'd you do?"

"I failed!"

Ethan frowned. "Okay," he said. "You sound surprisingly chipper for someone who just flunked out of FBI school."

"No, no, it's fine, they're going to waive some things, I think," Spencer said.

"Of course they did," Ethan said wryly, and Spencer was hit with the reminder of Ethan at their high school graduation, sitting next to him on the platform, jiggling his leg as he waited to deliver the salutatorian speech. "It's good to see you, Reid. See you around."

Spencer threw himself into training. He had never worked so hard in his life. Classwork was no problem- he could answer any question, explain the reasoning behind any scenario, recite a thousand different past cases- but he had never been so tired before. Even with the relaxed standards, he had trouble keeping up with his peers. A lot of the other students were former athletes, or at least had gotten in shape before starting. And then there he was- a skinny, weedy kid, only accustomed to riding his bicycle across his college campus. Running was out of the question. The idea of doing pullups nearly made him break out in hives. But he tried. He had never had to study so hard for a class before in his life.

Firearms training wasn't that great either. And he thought he was prepared for that, but he certainly wasn't. He already knew different classifications of firearms used by the bureau, knew how to disassemble them and put them back together, could recite gun safety rules and regulations backwards and forwards. But he couldn't fire them damn things. At least not reliably.

After every session his arm ached from hoisting the weight over and over again, his fingers numb and clumsy. If he had time, he could do okay. But firing repeatedly, trying to aim at the target, was a lot to handle. He knew a profiler wasn't required to carry, and he briefly considered the option of going into the field without one, but he dismissed that quickly. If all the profilers on the team were going to carry a weapon, he would too.

The worst- and best- was his first session in Hogan's Alley. It reminded him of the safety city his second grade class visited on a field trip, a fake town with toy cars where kids could practice being grownups, but in this case Hogan's Alley was a ten-acre fake town filled with actors ready to throw him into practice situations.

The first Hogan's Alley session was the last time he saw Ethan. He went to a local bar with a bunch of other students (and, unlike his college experiences, not only was he allowed to stay at the bar past ten, but he was finally able to drink). Ethan sat alone, steadily drinking his way through several rounds of Jack Daniels. Spencer tried to talk to him, but it was loud and Ethan wouldn't respond to his questions, and after a while he left abruptly, throwing down money to close out his tab. And Spencer didn't see him again after that.

His time at the academy spanned eight hundred hours- twenty weeks of hard work. His mother didn't attend his graduation, but he didn't expect her to. She was doing well at Bennington, all things considered, trying new medications and therapies. He wrote her daily. Sometimes she wrote back.

Most of his classmates were heading into entry-level work after their graduations, starting their tracks at the bottom of the rank. He got his starting paperwork before he even graduated, and it wasn't until he saw the letter in his hand that he believed it. He was really going to the BAU.

He didn't sleep the night before he started work, vacillating wildly from excited to nervous to apprehensive. There was nothing else that he could to prepare, he'd done everything he could. He gave up around three in the morning and ended up lying on the floor rereading. Les Miserables, in the original French. In retrospect it might have been a poor choice; Javert wasn't exactly an ideal role model for ideal law enforcement.

He dressed carefully for his first day at Quantico. It was probably a lost cause, since at twenty-two he was the youngest agent accepted and he looked younger than that. But he did his best.

He skipped coffee in favor for getting to the metro earlier. Maybe too early, but even though he had mapped out his route and stops well in advance, he didn't want the chance of being late for his first day.

He walked into the building holding tight to the strap of his new messenger bag, his heart thumping with happy anxiety. The reception area buzzed with noise; he held out his brand new ID for the security guard to check and walked towards the bank of elevators.

"Oh, hi!" a voice said cheerfully, and it took him a minute to realize she was addressing him. He turned around to see a blonde woman beaming at him, wearing chunky neon blue glasses, bold red lipstick, and a dress in a bright floral print. "Sweetie, are you lost? Where's the rest of your school group? I didn't think we had any field trips scheduled for today, but-"

He blushed red up to his ears. "I'm not a high schooler," he said, but his voice came out sounding a little too high pitched to be believable. She tilted her head like an inquisitive Jack Russell terrier and he held out his new ID badge for her to see. "It's my first day, I'm starting with the BAU-"

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, nearly dropping the venti iced latte in her hand, and Spencer jumped. "Oh my god, I am so sorry, I'm still new here too, and you just- you look like a baby and I assumed…" The elevator opened with a gentle beep and she ushered him inside, pushing a button. "That's your floor, I'm going to take another elevator where I can die quietly of embarrassment alone." She stepped out of the elevator and smiled at him. "I'm so sorry, kiddo. Have a great first day."

The doors closed before he could get a word in edgewise and he could only blink in confusion.

The elevator dropped him on the sixth floor and he stepped out, uncertain how to proceed. At least they gave him a map when he was a twelve-year-old starting at Caltech.

"Dr. Reid?"

He jumped again. He had to stop doing that, it was extremely unprofessional. A man in a crisp suit held out his hand. "I'm Agent Aaron Hotchner," he said. "Gideon sent me to find you."

"Hi," Spencer said. Agent Hotchner's handshake was firm, confident. His face looked like it might crack if he smiled.

"Follow me. I'll show you your desk."

Spencer obeyed, holding onto the strap of his bag and hoping he looked like an FBI agent instead of a lost puppy.

"Dr. Reid, here are two of your team members," Agent Hotchner said. "Agent Elle Greenaway, Agent Derek Morgan. This is Dr. Spencer Reid."

He could sense both of the agents sizing him up, profiling him on the spot. "Nice to meet you," Agent Greenaway said.

"Yeah, welcome to the team," Agent Morgan said.

"We're not on an active case at the moment," Agent Hotchner said. "Get settled while you can. Agent Greenaway can give you a hand if you need it."

Five academic degrees, and he didn't have the social skills to talk to his new coworkers. "Thank you," he said, and he privately hoped that they'd get a case soon so he could prove he wasn't quite so useless.

Derek knocked on Gideon's door, barely waiting for the faint "come in." He closed the door behind him. "Can I help you?" Gideon asked, not looking up from his paperwork.

"Yeah," Derek said. "What's with the kid?"

Gideon put his pen down. "Excuse me?"

"Why the hell did you put a baby in the bullpen, Gideon?" Derek said flatly. "He's not old enough to even start at the academy, much less join the BAU."

Gideon smiled. "I take it Dr. Reid arrived," he said.

Derek paced back and forth. "You didn't think to talk to the rest of us before you added a new member to the team?" he said. "We have to work together. We have to trust each other. How can we rely on a little kid like that?"

"He has three PhDs," Gideon said mildly.

"He looks like a strong enough wind could knock him over," Derek said. "Can he even hold a gun?"

"They did have to issue a few waivers for the physical exams, but-" Derek huffed loudly. "I think you'll find, after some time, he'll be a great asset to our team."

"What makes you so sure?" Derek asked.

Gideon was quiet for a moment. "I met Spencer when he was fifteen years old," he said. "He was already getting his first doctorate, was already a teaching assistant for students five or six years older than himself. A brilliant child, mature for his age. I saw a lot of promise in him even then. I see that promise even more now. He's ready to prove himself. Eager for approval from the people he respects and admires." He picked up his pen again. "Give him a little time. Let him get settled, work on his first case. I think he'll surprise you."

"I hope you're right," Derek said. "But I'm not babysitting. No matter what happens."

Hotch knocked on the door. "We've got an update on the Blue Ridge Strangler," he said. "Elle's getting set up in the conference room right now."

"No time like the the present, I suppose," Gideon said.

Derek watched the new kid like a hawk during the debriefing, trying to see what Gideon possibly saw in him. Dr. Reid was skinny- gangly, even, all arms and legs- his cheekbones sharp and his mouth a little too wide in his delicate face. His hair was a little long, hanging by his jawline, and every so often he would pause to tuck it back behind his ears. His clothes were slightly ill-fitting, a little too baggy. He listened intently to the discussion of the case, bright hazel eyes darting from one person to the next, Clearly he wanted to speak, but he seemed a little too nervous to add to the conversation.

He felt a tiny bit guilty for his snap judgement. Gideon was right, Reid was eager for approval. If he was a doctoral candidate at fifteen years old, he had to have started high school young. That would be tough on any kid. Most likely he'd spent his adolescence trying to prove to everyone that he was capable, he was worthy, he belonged. He was only twenty-two, Gideon said. Morgan remembered twenty-two. He was fresh out of college, reconsidering his career path after his football dreams were dashed. It did say something about Reid, then, if he was already in the BAU.

Then again, he probably should be focusing on the case and not profiling the new kid.

They'd already checked in on the Blue Ridge Strangler before, after the second murder. The case was out in Roanoke, Virginia, off the Blue Ridge Parkway. This was the third murder so far- all young women, all brunettes, all joggers.

"I guess we're heading to Virginia," Hotch said, flipping the file folder closed. "Wheels up in thirty." He looked straight at Spencer. "You have your go-bag ready?"

"Um, yes, sir," Spencer said. "I didn't think I'd need it so soon."

"Oh, you'll see," Elle said. "You never know when a case will pop up."

"Roanoke isn't that far from Quantico, is it?" Derek said. "Can't we just drive?"

"It's about a four and a half hour drive," Reid said quickly. "Traveling by plane would reduce travel time to about an hour or less."

Derek blinked. "You know that off the top of your head?

Gideon shrugged. "He's not wrong," he said. "Let's go."

For Derek, the brief plane ride was mostly uneventful. He spent most of it nursing a cup of coffee and watching the kid. Reid busied himself with reading through all the information in the file, closing it, reading it again.

"How fast can you read?" Derek asked.

Reid looked up. "Twenty thousand words per minute," he said. "The average adult reads around two hundred to two hundred and fifty words per minute, so I'm considered above average."

"Slightly," Derek snorted into his coffee cup.

"Sometimes so-called 'speed readers' sacrifice comprehension for speed, but according to the last time I was tested I scored up to 98% comprehension," Reid said eagerly. "With adults that can usually drop to around sixty or seventy percent, but-

"All right, kid, I get it," Derek said. Reid clamped his mouth shut, but he didn't seem upset. Derek wondered if people frequently told him to shut up. The plane hit a patch of turbulence, and Reid grabbed at his armrests, dropping the file on his lap. Derek raised an eyebrow.

"First time on a plane," Reid said, offering a brief nervous smile.

"Don't worry," Derek said. "You'll get used to it."

They landed a little bit after noon; Gideon sent Derek along with Reid and Hotch to the newest crime scene while he stayed behind with Elle at the station. Hotch drove and Derek took shotgun, leaving Reid to sit in the backseat. He seemed even more like a schoolkid, his long legs folded up and jiggling nervously.

Hotch pulled off the side of the road and parked on the shoulder. "Let's go," he said. He paused, then rummaged through his go-bag. "Reid, wear this."

Reid caught the dark blue FBI jacket and frowned. "Why?" he said. "I'm not cold."

Derek clapped him on the shoulder. "You look like you escaped from Sesame Street in that sweater, kid," he said. "We gotta make you look like a grownup." Reid frowned, but obeyed.

They tramped through the grass towards the swarm of CSI and police. Reid trailed behind them, hands in his pockets, as Hotch led the way towards the crime scene. A man in a suit turned to acknowledge them.

"Detective," Hotch greeted, shaking the man's hand and reaching to accept a pair of blue latex gloves from the CSI agent kneeling by the body.

"Wish I could say it was good to see you again," the detective said. He nodded towards Derek in lieu of a greeting.

Hotch busied himself with pulling on the gloves as he knelt beside the body- a young woman, lying face down, dirt smeared on her orange tee shirt and leaves in her dark hair. "This is our newest agent, Dr. Spencer Reid," he said.

"Ted Jarvis," the detective said with a frown. "A little young, aren't you? No offense."

"None taken," Reid said. He stared at the body of Darci Corbett in the ditch as if he had never seen a corpse before. Probably, Derek realized, he hadn't seen one in in the field yet, out of the sterile silence of a medical examiner's office. "In fact, neural processing speeds reach their maximum at around age fifteen, so when it comes to being affected by crime scenes and other graphic visual input, we're all really the same age."

"Reid," Hotch said. Derek saw him swallow hard. "Tell me what you see."

Reid got closer, kneeling down without flinching. "Ligature marks seem to match that of the previous two victims," he said. "He uses a belt. It's his signature. Tan line on the wrist means her watch is missing. He takes trophies."

All right. It was starting to make sense now. He could see why Gideon was willing to take a risk on the kid. "They're always buried facedown," Derek pointed out.

"It's a sign of remorse," Reid said. "He can't bear looking them in the face."

"So he knows them personally?" Derek asked.

"You don't have to know somebody to regret killing them," Reid said. He stood up, squinting. "No, he picks these women because he can. He's opportunistic."

Hotch straightened up, plucking at the wrist of his right glove. "These victims happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said.

Detective Jarvis nodded towards the treeline. "Bogey coming in," he said in a low voice.

Derek looked out and saw a disheveled man in a brown polo shirt stumbling their way. "The father?" he said.

"Don't suppose you guys want to rochambeau for the privilege?" Detective Jarvis said.

There was a moment of hesitation. Derek had told countless people that their partner, child, friend was never coming back, but it certainly wasn't something he looked forward to.

"I'll go," Reid blurted out, and before anyone could chime in he tramped through the tall grass towards the victim's father.

"Go get 'em, tiger," Jarvis said.

Derek caught Hotch's eye- he was just as surprised, apparently. Reid walked over to the father, hands in his pockets. "It's her, isn't it?" Mr. Corbett said, his voice raspy. "It's my Darci."

He started towards the body on the ground but Reid blocked him gently. "It might be, sir, but if it is…you don't want to see her," he said. "This isn't a memory you want." He managed to turn Mr. Corbett away from the grisly site and walk him back, briefly holding onto his upper arm in a sympathetic gesture.

Jarvis sighed. "At least that's taken care of," he said. "Excuse me, I'll be right back."

Hotch waited for him to get out of earshot. "Reid handled that well," he commented.

Derek frowned. "You're watching him to give a report back to Gideon, aren't you?"

Hotch's frown deepened. "He's asked me to observe him, yes," he said. "That went all right, don't you think?"

"Still don't know how I feel about putting a kindergartner in the FBI," Derek grumbled. He sighed. "But yeah. He's doing okay. I guess."

"Don't give me that look," Gideon said gently.

Spencer clamped his mouth shut. He wasn't aware he was giving a look. "Sir, I know I can be useful here, if I can-"

Gideon shook his head. "There's not enough work for the whole team here," he said. "I'm staying here with Elle and Hotch to keep conducting interviews. I want you and Morgan to hold down the fort in Quantico. There's work to be done there still, and besides, if I need you here it's a short plane ride."

"Okay," Spencer said. He folded his arms across his chest. "Okay, I- okay."

"Your work has been outstanding for a new agent," Gideon said. "Don't worry about that. I'm not sending you back as a punishment. I know that's what you're worrying about."

"I'm not…"

"You're worried, and you don't need to be," Gideon said. "You're doing fine. Go back to Quantico, get a little more used to the office before we get called away on our next case." Spencer nodded. "And get some rest, will you? At least sleep on the plane. No need to run yourself into the ground this early on in your career." He stood up and patted Spencer's arm. "Plane's leaving in an hour."

Once he was sure he wasn't in trouble, he didn't mind heading back. He was the low man on the totem pole, he knew that. And he didn't mind paperwork. Plus he could spend his lunch breaks reading all the case files that were suddenly available to him, cases he'd always wondered about.

Agent Morgan, however, did not seem so pleased. Agent Morgan was very grumpy and didn't seem to want to speak to him unless he had to. Agent Morgan seemed to think he was babysitting- which Spencer knew for sure because more than once he caught Agent Morgan mumbling "I told Gideon I wasn't gonna babysit." Spencer gave him a wide berth. As long as they could work together well, that was all that mattered. They didn't need to be friends.

Luckily Agent Hotchner was sent back shortly as well. As soon as he arrived back at Quantico he strode into the bullpen and started pinning photos and maps up on the board. "I need all hands on deck while Gideon and Elle are still in Roanoke," he said.

"We got a lead?" Agent Morgan asked.

"Not yet," Agent Hotchner said. "We need to generate a suspect pool." He picked up papers and photos in each hand. "He hunts two hundred thousand acres like it's his own backyard. He attacks high-risk victims- young, strong, female joggers. But in low risk locations."

"Like David Carpenter, the trailside killer," Agent Morgan said. "Are there other parallels?"

Spencer scrunched his nose. He'd studied David Carpenter. There were similarities, but- "This guy's different," he said. "Carpenter used a blitz attack. This unsub insinuates himself, disarms the victims."

"Maybe he uses a con," Agent Morgan said. "Playing the injured hiker. Lost dog?

"Too many variables," Agent Hotchner said with a slight shake of his head. "She could run for help, or call 911 on her cell phone before he gains control."

Agent Morgan got up and crossed to the board. "Control," he repeated.

"He's in a position of authority," Spencer said.

"But not law enforcement," Agent Morgan said. "A cop would know better than to bury a body in two feet of dirt."

"The forest service would give him access to service roads," Agent Hotchner said.

Spencer sat up straighter. "And by burying his victims in the park, he could revisit the scene and relive the acts over and over again," he said.

"It could definitely be someone who works for the forest service," Agent Hotchner said. "Reid, can you check how many are employed in Virginia?"

Spencer turned to his computer and typed in the information quickly as Agent Hotchner leaned over his shoulder. "1,718 employees," he read, highlighting the relevant info. Agent Morgan crossed to stand behind him.

"He won't be a new employee," Agent Hotchner said, his brow furrowing. "He's cautious, he's organized. He leaves behind no trace evidence."

"He's bordering on paranoid," Agent Morgan commented. Spencer nodded. "He's the kind of guy who needs to know exactly what the cops know. Probably inserted himself into the investigation already." He straightened up and looked back at an agent busying herself with files in the back of the room, then nudged Spencer's shoulder. "Hey, what's that new tech girl's name?"

Spencer frowned. It was the blonde woman who thought he was an escaped high schooler on his first day. He'd only caught a partial glimpse of her ID badge. "Uh...Gomez, I think?" he said.

He turned back to the computer as Agent Morgan crossed towards the tech analyst. "Excuse me, Gomez," he said. She didn't answer. "Hey, baby girl."

She stopped and straightened up, turned around slowly. Spencer looked up from the keyboard. "Baby girl?" she said.

"Uh, forgive me," Agent Morgan stammered. Spencer hadn't seen him flustered before, and it was honestly a little amusing. "I just didn't know the real-"

She grinned. Today her chunky plastic glasses were a sensible black but she had a lime green headband in her hair to match her top. "I've been called worse," she said. "What can I do for you?"

Agent Morgan cleared his throat. "Can you...check names of forestry employees against a list of witnesses interviewed by the Roanoke police?" he asked. "The witness names should be in the-"

"Oh, don't trouble yourself, I can find it," the tech analyst said with a wave of her hand. She shoved the files she'd been looking back onto the shelf. "I'll let you know what I find, handsome."

Agent Hotchner hid a rare smile as she sailed out of the bullpen. "That one came back to bite you," he said, amused.

"Aw, don't pick on me in front of the kid, Hotch." Agent Morgan complained. "Maybe this'll turn out for the best. Come on, Reid. Let's see what else dig up."

They found the information they needed, but in the end they left him behind.

He wasn't completely shocked by that. If they were going to apprehend Matloff, the other agents were going to be a hell of a lot more useful than him. It made sense to let Greenaway and Morgan and Hotchner do the hard stuff. He could do the paperwork alone.

While they were chasing down Matloff, he stayed late and sat alone at his desk. At least, he thought he was alone until a coffee cup was dropped in front of him. He looked up to a pair of red glasses, blonde hair in pigtails, and a cheerfully smiling face. "Hi," she said.

"Hello?" he stammered.

"I brought a peace offering," she said. "I still feel bad about calling you a baby the other day. And then I felt bad about you getting left behind while the rest of the team fights the big baddie in person."

"Thank you?" he said.

She smiled. "I'm Penelope Garcia," she said. "You can just call me Garcia, though. Or...baby girl, as Agent Morgan christened me the other day."

"I'll stick with Garcia," he said.

"I am your new tech analyst extraordinaire," she continued. "I pride myself on finding the unknowable, and that is why I have ordered you a venti white chocolate mocha, two extra shots, no whip. Am I right, or am I right?"

He blinked. "You're right," he said, and she beamed at him. She seemed genuinely pleased at the idea of making him happy. This was an entirely new concept. "Thank you, Garcia."

"You're welcome," she said. "Now, I tend to spend most of my day in my tech-cave, but if you need anything, don't hesitate to call me, all right?"

"All right," he said. She patted his shoulder and hopped away. He smiled and took a sip of his hot latte. She really had gotten his coffee order right.

He kept working, sorting through old cases, typing up handwritten notes into the digital case files, and kept sipping his coffee. It was only around nine, he could probably head home around eleven.

"Hey. Reid."

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep. Had he fallen asleep?

"Reid. Wake up."

He'd fallen asleep at his desk. He bolted upright, blinking fast. Agent Morgan leaned over him, faintly amused. "You doing okay, kid?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, I dozed off a little bit," Spencer mumbled, dragging his hand over his face.

"You stayed here all night?"

"No, no...got here early," Spencer said. He picked up the empty coffee cup and threw it into the trash. "Really early." Agent Morgan shook his head and crossed over to his desk. "Did you get Matloff?"

Morgan sighed. "Not really," he said. "He had a bad fall. He's in a coma."

"Oh," Spencer said. "Is...is he going to recover?"

Agent Morgan shrugged. "Who knows, kid?" he said. He sank down in his chair and leaned back. "You'll see. Some cases don't end neat and pretty." He grinned. "But you know what? You survived your first case."

Spencer sat up straighter. "Oh," he said, surprised at himself. "I did."

"First of many, kid," Agent Morgan said. "First of many."

Author's Notes:

WE REACHED THE BAU.

I went back and added the stuff about the academy. It's not a lot, but everybody wanted to hear about it, so I figured a little bit would be a good transition! (Also- I watch baby giraffes all day at work, or at least I did before quarantine, and Spencer definitely runs like a baby giraffe. Like...all these other FBI agents are running, and then there's Spencer galloping along.)

I am SO excited to write the BAU characters, though! Except Elle. Luckily she only appears in this chapter and and the next one and then we'll have Emily one. Also JJ is in the next chapter!

A lot of this chapter is taken from the Tabula Rasa episode in season 3; it was supposed to be one of Spencer's early cases and I decided to make it his first one. Also, I really love writing Garcia. Funnily enough, she's the reason I started watching the show. I've had several different people on different occasions tell me that I reminded them of her, so I started watching the show and...they were extremely correct.

Special thanks to Dayanna, allieisrandom, Leriana, fishtrek, nitrogentulips, and Guest for reviewing! I adore all of y'all.

Up next: Spencer is still finding his footing, and Morgan starts to warm up to the kid