Hours passed like that. Spencer working on the case, papers spread out in an organized chaos across the desk, with words scrawled all over the whiteboard in a manner which only he could understand. She had set up an air mattress in the living room as well so that one of them wouldn't have to sleep on the floor. She had brought out pillows and blankets for both of them, almost in a doting manner. Occaisionally, he'd glance over his right shoulder and find Jo with her hand tangled in her hair, or biting her lip in confusion. He would never allow himself more than a glance though, as she appeared to be very observant. The profiler in him began to go to work. She seemed completely at ease with them, spreading herself across the floor in a very relaxed manner. She had showered shortly after dinner and her perfume smelled of mangos and hibiscus. To Spencer it was a very distinct scent. Judging by her mannerisms and etiquette, she had been raised in a loosely traditional family, with a focus on hospitality. She was very focused on her physical health, as muscles could be seen rippling throughout her lean frame. Looking at her book shelf, he couldn't help but notice that nothing existed except textbooks and the occaisional Crichton novel. No photos. None of family or friends, not even a dog. Spencer frowned. She was consumed by her studies, almost obsessively so. In a way, Spencer found himself very attracted to this part of her, this part that resembled him.

In fact, it seemed as though she resembled him in many ways. They were both judged on outwards appearances, both dealt with the every day struggle of stereotypes. The only difference was that she seemed to have overcome it. In a way, he wondered if he too could overcome the stereotypical image given to him, perhaps become as charming as Morgan or as social as Garcia. He was certain that Jo would like that. With that thought he froze, and glanced towards her yet again. She was a mystery to him, not in the profiler sense though. "Spencer?" Both Morgan and Spencer snapped their heads in different directions, Spencer towards Jo, and Morgan's towards Spencer. Morgan cocked an eyebrow and offered a knowing smirk, but Spencer paid no mind. "You wouldn't happen to know much about antibiotic resistant bacteria would you?" The genuine curiousity in her voice was attention grabbing, but it was that hope that captivated him. The hope that he did know something about what she was asking, not the automatic assumption that he did. "Can you narrow it down for me?" he asked, walking over to her and sitting down on the floor. "Cellular efflux pumps." She said pointing at a diagram. And just like that, they were off. It was as though they naturally flowed together, slipping and sliding through the paragraphs and diagrams of her textbook. Occasionally, her fingertips would brush his, or he would catch a whiff of her shampoo. It was maddening. She was his next puzzle. What did she like? What made her different? What did she think of him? He wanted to know everything about her. More than what the background check had revealed. The gasp of excitement as comprehension set in brought a smile to his face. He had helped her conquer her studies. Now it was time to help her conquer her stalker. With a brief thank you she stood up and walked over to his (or rather her) desk. Sitting down in front of it she stared at the pictures of the victims, her eyes taking in every detail. Morgan sat up straighter, and Spencer found himself tensing as well. So far she hadn't cried, hadn't had any panic attacks, there were only small signs of fear here and there. No one knew how emotionally stable she was, or wasn't.

Suddenly, it seemed as though something within her snapped. She didn't lash out in anger, she didn't lash out in fear. Instead, she sat herself on the desk, on Spencer's papers, and began to reorganize the pictures of the girls. "Where were they all found?" She asked, carrying on with her activities. Spencer hesitated, but she answered for him, "Let me guess, in a meadow, or clearing of some kind arranged with white gerber daisies?" Spencer froze. None of the pictures revealed that, only the map behind them revealed where they had been found: Parks across Virginia. Openining her desk draw, she pulled out a photo binder and flipped to a specific photo. It was her, laying in a field, one hand laid lazily next to her head with a white gerber daisy in it. Around her, small white flowers sprouted everywhere, almost blending into the pure white, cotton lingerie she wore. She laid it in front of Agent Morgan, much to Spencer's disappointment, but he met them both at the couch. "My junior year at ODU I did a small modeling gig, and I got to pick my favorite flower. I chose a white gerber daisy." She said softly, losing color in her face, "No one in my school let me live it down after it someone posted it all over the campus… I almost lost my scholarship." She said softly. Spencer swallowed hard. In the picture she looked so innocent, the white accentuating that, but the way her legs had been splayed helplessly beneath her, with the subtle arch in her back, said otherwise. Morgan flipped open his phone and immediately began dialing, "Hotch, we've got a break through." He said, stepping outside. This left her and Spencer alone on the couch, her sitting on the arm, slightly looming above him. Even in this position she seemed vulnerable, pulling her arms around her tightly she looked down at the photo, pursing her lips.

Jo trembled slightly, before abruptly rising to her feet and heading towards the back door to her patio. Spencer stood to stop her but she was already out the door, in nothing but her bare feet, shorts and long sweater. He quickly followed after her, analyzing the situation. She ran out with her arms wrapped around her, she was afraid. She ran out barefoot, she was irrationally afraid now. They were on the third story. As he opened the door, the fear disappated and was replaced by the familiar pang in his chest. She was sitting on the ground, knees pulled tightly to her chest in a desperate embrace, and there were tears strolling down her face. "Can you just leave me for a minute? Please?" She asked in a trembling voice. "I'm sorry, I wouldn't feel comfortable doing that." Spencer said, standing awkwardly behind her. Should he sit down next to her? Should he leave and watch from the window? He didn't know how to deal with women on a normal basis, let alone when they were distraught because some serial killer was pursuing them. She let out a cynical laugh, before collapsing her forehead on her knees, "I guess that wouldn't be the best idea." She murmured through her tears, "Will it ever get better-"

"We'll catch him. You'll go back to living your life as if nothing happened." Spencer assured her, slowly moving closer to her. She scoffed, "Like what? Like three girls aren't dead because of me? Or will it be four?" Spencer froze for a moment. Did she not have faith in them? Didn't she think they would catch him? Her comment almost felt like a stab against him personally. "We will catch him." He said, this time more confidently. She looked up at him, eyes red and glazed, and simply sat there for a moment before standing up and touching his hand lightly, "Thank you…" was all she said, before she headed inside and back into her bedroom for the night. That single touch had put Spencer on edge, jolting him back to his senses and he found himself sitting at his desk once more. Morgan eyed him warily from the couch, but didn't disturb him. Spencer was on a mission. By morning he would have this figured out.

It was 5 a.m. when she came into the living room, dressed in nothing but yoga pants and a sports bra. "Good morning Spencer, good morning Agent Morgan." She said happily. Morgan glared at the light, and looked at her, "Are you always this much of a morning person?" he asked in astonishment. She laughed lightly, "Always." She chimed brightly, before pulling out a skillet and cooking supplies. Spencer had yet to acknowledge her, he was finishing up the final touches on who the unsub might be. All the parks were within a Northeast bound line, starting in Georgia, working their way towards Virginia. This would imply that the unsub was from her hometown of Thomaston, Georgia and that he probably knew her from high school. The pattern of killings was consistent, each of the victims had been sexually assaulted, beaten, and bled out arterially. The arteries were cut with incredible precision, as if the person had some sort of medical knowledge. He had Penelope do a search for anyone from Jo's high school who would have any sort of medical training, and fit the profile of a relatively charismatic and attractive unsub. One person came up: Allen Lockwood, graduated the class below Jo and became a mortician. Intended to go to medical school, but couldn't afford to. He was big, muscular, with mousy brown hair and blue eyes. His jawline could cut diamonds, and he had a smile that rivaled Morgan's as well as no criminal record. Everything fit.

About a half hour later, a large batch of buttermilk pancakes with scrambled eggs and bacon was on Jo's kitchen table. "Alright, come and get it." She said happily, "That means you too Spencer. Peel yourself off the whiteboard, I made some coffee too." Morgan laughed as he set down the stack of papers he was working with, "A woman after my own heart." He said with a chuckle, before helping himself. Spencer had to do a double take as he looked at Jo's plate, there was at least 4 pancakes, a large serving of eggs, and 4 strips of bacon. "Good grief girl, where do you put all that?" Morgan asked, with just as much astonishment. Jo smiled sheepishly, "I have a pretty high metabolism from all the stuff I do for cheerleading so… I eat a lot." She replied, before grabbing a cup of coffee and sitting down at the table and opening up a day planner, "There's enough for everyone if you boys wanna tell your team to come on over." She said taking a sip and sighing. Her hair was up in a long ponytail and there were bags under her eyes, which told Spencer she hadn't slept very well. Of course he had no room to talk, but still. It concerned him. After calling Hotch, Morgan told them that the team would be there in approximately an hour and not to wait up for them on breakfast. "So Jo," He started, sipping on his own coffee, "What did you do in high school? Your records didn't say much other than you were a cheerleader." She stiffened slightly, but replied, "I was pretty unremarkable in high school honestly. I got good grades, sang in the church choir, cheered my senior year but not much else. I didn't really have the time to. I had to help around the house a lot." Spencer couldn't help but snap to attention, "But you did have prior knowledge of the sport, right?" he asked. She shrugged, "I was into dance, but not the kind that would get me a scholarship to ODU. Cheerleading was a much more viable option." She ended the conversation by picking up her plate, and heading to the kitchen to do dishes.

Morgan cocked an eyebrow at this, there was something they were missing from her history and they both knew it. For now though, both the men brought their plates into the kitchen and helped silently with clean up. During this time, Spencer brooded. It was frustrating to him that she wouldn't share more, to be more open. He wanted her to trust him. By the time the kitchen was clean again, he was in a sour mood. Jo, on the other hand was humming lightly as she put away the last pan before her eyes scoured the kitchen for anything left out of place. She had a place for everything in the home and appeared to be a minimalist as a whole, preferring open space to decorations or "organized chaos". Spencer appreciated this, as it made things easier for him to think, but wondered what her reasons were.

"I'm going on the porch to do yoga if either of you need me." She said, shouldering a yoga mat and heading out to greet the dawn. The apartment she had chosen faced east, something she specifically searched for so as to be able to watch the sun rise in the mornings. With several breathing exercises beneath her, she started her routine, focusing mainly on her legs and shoulders this morning.

Inside Morgan chuckled, "You got it bad, pretty boy." He said while sorting through some papers, "Although from what I've seen, I approve." Spencer's head whipped around, "I'm not interested in her, and she isn't interested in me." He said simply, peering outside. She had her sight set forward, eyes slightly glazed, with one leg behind her straight in the air, and one arm pointing forward. Morgan shook his head again, "I don't see anything wrong with being interested. I mean, I certainly would be if you aren't."

"She's a victim Morgan, she-"

"She doesn't define herself that way, why should we treat her that way?" Morgan asked before dropping the conversation. This silenced Spencer. One of the greatest setbacks in his ability to allow himself to get closer to her was the fact that she was strictly a victim. She couldn't be more than that, due to his strict professionalism. Could she?