Okay, I don't own anything to do with the perfection that is CM or any of its affiliations. I do, however, have the pleasure of owning my OC, Charlotte. Hope you enjoy the story - and have a great day!

Charlotte POV

The hours following the briefing were crucial, to say the least. Within minutes, there were tens of men arriving, by the bundle. Thick-tired trucks came barrelling through the borders, bringing with them the fury and the blistering anger of middle-aged men, ready to kill the perpetrator on sight. But something felt wrong. Out of place. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was there, and I knew it was. I just had to find it. There was something deeply wrong with this young man, but I couldn't find out what it was.

The most obvious route would be some kind of psychotic disorder or social deficiency, like schizophrenia or a psychological break, but the crime scenes were far too.. Neat. Too precise for them to be the handiwork of someone suffering from a disorder that would make them so edgy and restless. Almost immediately, I disregarded those theories, with nothing but annoyance shining in my eyes.

Besides that, I was using this time to avoid Ledger and Cade.. Not that I'd admit to that, anyway. I was even avoiding Spencer because I know he'd sense something was wrong with me, and it made me uncomfortable, to say the least.

He was a behavioural psychoanalyst at heart, and even more than that, he was the smartest bastard I would ever have the pleasure of meeting, and I couldn't chance him profiling me. His eyes were so.. Intense, they made my stomach churn, and I didn't even need to be looking at him. He was beautiful. Oh, God, he was so handsome. Curly hair, perfect lashes, and a bright, beautiful smile. It made my heart ache, and we didn't even have a label yet.

Oh God.

A label.

What are we? What could we be? Where could this go? What if we didn't work out? It would be so awkward in this office! I wouldn't be able to work here any more. I'd have to leave. I couldn't stay here.

"Hey.."

I jumped, slightly, shocked at the deep tenor that rode on the wind, and as I turned my head to face the now-open sliding porch doors, leading out onto the picturesque, scenic, winter wonderland before me, I saw those warm hazel eyes, and that charming, half-smile that made my heart thunder in my chest.

Rubbing the back of my neck, feeling the soft pale pink cotton of my snood, and grinned, embarrassed at my actions, and murmured, softly, "Hi.."

My breath puffed out in front of me, and I knew my nose was a dull red colour, due to the chill, and I found myself internally sighing at the total awkwardness on my behalf.

He dipped his head in the direction of the open space besides me on the pine swinging loveseat, and asked, "Mind if I join you?"

Scooting over a little, and stuttered, "S-Sure."

He sat down, and I wasn't sure if it was on purpose or not, but we were touching, from the top of our waists to our ankles, and I blushed, heavily, at the contact. Glancing away, I tried to hide the smile that echoed on my features, and scratched at the base of my palm in anxiousness.

He grasped my hands in his larger, much warmer ones, and said, disapprovingly, "You should have worn gloves. It's going to be a little cold out tonight. Minus-two-point-seven-eight, if I remember correctly."

My eyes zeroed in on our joined hands, and blushed, harder, barely able to articulate myself without tripping over my own tongue.

"I-I.. My mistake."

He released my hands, noticing my anxiety, and asked, resignedly, "Why are you out here, alone?"

I shrugged, slightly, and tucked some hair behind my reddened ear, and replied, "I like the snow. It's a little stereotypical, but I think its so pretty."

I leaned down, and clenched my fingers in the fluffy blanket of white that coated the lawn, the wood of the porch, the brick wall encompassing the cabin, as well as the towering trees and all else in sight. It was untouched; pure and innocent, like the stigma of a chaste blossom.

He frowned, deeply, and exclaimed, "You seem.. Distracted. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really.. It's.. Difficult to talk about."

He bumped his shoulder with my own, and said, "I understand that."

The silence that spread between us wasn't awkward. It was more comfortable. Warm, even. As a matter of fact, I felt warmer, in that moment, by his side, than I did on my own, and, without thinking, I nuzzled the side of my face on his shoulder. He scoffed, silently, and said, nonchalantly, "Come here."

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and tucked me closer to him. My eyes widened, and I felt my lips fall apart, however I said nothing. I couldn't say anything, anyway, because he was kissing me. His fingers locked in my hair on either side of my face, and pulled me close. His lips collided with my own, and I clenched my fingers in his crisp, white shirt, unable to help myself. It was like he was my lifeboat, in the middle of the ocean.

The heat between us was so fierce - so real - that it made my eyes close on their own volition, and I sighed into his mouth. His tongue swept through my mouth, colliding with my own, in sweet, passionate defiance, and I found myself locking my own body further in his arms.

He pulled away, if only for a moment, to rest his forehead against my own, and laughed, "If that's what I have to do to keep you relaxed, then I don't mind it one bit."

I couldn't even chuckle with him because he was back with the kissing, and I couldn't see. My eyes had long rolled into the back of my skull, and as soon as his blunt nails raked through my hair, and ran through my scalp, I was a goner. I was done for. I was completely, and utterly, infatuated, and I already knew it was going to end badly.

I didn't care - not in that moment, at least - because we were together. He was kissing me, so passionately, that I allowed myself, for a while, to just let go. It was appropriate, nor was it right, in the slightest. We were on a murder investigation, and here I was, getting my rocks off outside for a sneaky kiss with my not-quite-boyfriend. If we were caught by Hotch, I knew I'd be in for a whole world of trouble, but no matter how hard I thought about the consequences, I couldn't force myself to release him. I couldn't let him go, and it would be my downfall.

Why did I fall for him so easily? Ever since I saw him, ever since I heard him speak for the first time - that awkwardness that he couldn't hide, and that adorable intelligence that shocked me to my core - I was hooked. Those few months I was in hospital, I would find myself thinking of him, and all that he must be doing while I was away, and I very well nearly drove myself insane. He was all that I wanted to be, and I hoped he saw the same in me, even though I couldn't imagine why.

"You're still thinking too hard."

And he pressed his lips tighter against my own, successfully forcing away any more treacherous thoughts from my mind.