The team had been called to Wyoming to investigate the disappearance of five young men, all within the space of a month. One of them - a graduate student - had washed up among the reeds of a local river not far from his family home, mutilated. Everyone feared that the others had met - or would meet - a similar fate.

For Reid it was a simple solve. The killer was taking them somewhere out of town, forcing them to do hard labour, as the soft tissue damage shown in the victim's hands indicated, and then disposing of them when they were no longer of use. Poor Marcus Dobson had broken his ankle just a few days prior to his demise, and promptly been put down with a bullet.

As the others sifted through their papers, he flipped through pages. He had already told them what he thought, so now they were just preparing to present their case to the police. He knew what he was going to say and there was no point in -

"Hey! Genius!" Morgan threw a crumpled-up wad of paper at him. "What are you reading that's so much more interesting than our case?"

Prentiss prodded the slim book up with her pen. "In a Glass, Darkly by J. Sheridan Le Fanu… I didn't think you were into ghost stories, Reid."

He shrugged. "Someone from my Trek club let me borrow it."

"Sure they're not too scary for you?" Morgan jeered.

"Actually, they provide an interesting insight into 19th century European folklore."

"You say that now, but don't you come crawling into bed with me when you can't sleep tonight."

Reid paused mid-flick to eye him. "Nothing is more horrific than your snoring."

This time, it was an elastic band that shot through the air to hit him in the hand. He hissed and threw the book down. "Fine, I'll help!"

He had been right, of course. After the second (or first) victim was found at the bottom of a lake, they traced the river upstream until they found a cluster of farms. A bit of poking around led them to the highly-unstable and wheelchair-bound Dennis Smith, who still had the remaining three men working in his fields in their underwear when Hotch and JJ knocked at 10p.m. The farmer was taken in and admitted without coercion to 'recruiting' the others, and the BAU were sent home. Reports were filed, the rest of the week sailed past, and they were invited to Garcia's for dinner Friday evening. The hefty helping of Mexican food and tequila pushed onto him by Morgan left him bedridden all of Saturday morning, but he managed to surface in time to make it to Marty's for that week's viewing of the finale of Deep Space Nine and subsequent quiz. He stumbled in the door as the opening credits ended, and found himself faced with a difficult decision. Two people had saved seats for him: Marty and Roisin. Spencer wavered for just a few seconds before making his decision.

Marty was not pleased with him. The glares he shot from his armchair did not take a genius to read. At one point he pulled out the question cards and, as Spencer watched, made several adjustments. Determined not to be phased, he focused fixatedly on the screen.

Sure enough, when the time came to compete, Marty chose the teams. Spencer was inevitably paired with Roisin, who he smiled encouragingly at, only to find that she had deduced the older man's intentions as well. She did not look impressed.

"I have chosen a specific topic for each team to be questioned on," Marty announced. "For Jake and Marlene: Federation ships. For Bret and Mike: Klingon customs. Hannah and Cal: The Dominion War. And finally… Spencer and Roisin: Cardassia."

Spencer swore internally. Not only had they been given the toughest topic, but he was certain Marty had tailored the topic to ensure their defeat. Only people who had read the novels really knew anything about the show's xenophobic reptilian race. He glanced at Roisin again.

"Why are you smiling?"

She winked. "I got this."

She did indeed, have it. They won by five points, and Marty was forced to present each of them with a $20 gift card for Barnes and Noble, and Spencer was delighted to see that Roisin was not above gloating, albeit silently.

After saying his goodbyes to the other members, he found her loitering in the hall. She had her coat on and her phone out, despite not having said a word to any of the other members.

"You're leaving?"

Her head snapped up. "Spencer! Yeah I… I thought I'd give them a traditional Irish Goodbye."

"What's that?"

"Leaving without saying anything."

He didn't need to ask why. "What are you Googling?"

"How did you -"

"You were glancing between the card and your phone and mouthing some words."

"I think Bret mentioned you were a psychiatrist."

"Psychologist."

"Right. Do you know where I can find one of these?" She pushed the gift card toward him.

He laughed. "They're everywhere!"

The card disappeared into her pocket. "Oh."

And how was she supposed to know that? He scolded himself. "There's um… there's one just on Georgia Avenue."

Roisin blinked up at him.

"It's on the way to my place." It was not. "I'm going that way anyway." He was not. "I could give you a ride if you want?"

He saw the blush creep into her cheeks, and shuffled his feet.

"That'd be great, thanks."