𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 [spencer reid]

11. that look

          "𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐍. 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐄 ring to it."

With the case ending earlier than expected, Francesca luckily had another day she'd taken off from work to regroup. Following her stay at JJ's, she drove back to Georgetown to find Jasmine and Ingrid standing in her kitchen, putting what seemed to be cookies into the oven. Before she could even ask why the two were there, Jasmine heard the door open and greeted Francesca with a reference to her experience.

Francesca lugged her bags to the kitchen, dropping them by the island. "I'm not an agent, Jas," she sighed, taking a seat at the countertop. "You invited yourselves into my home why?"

Ingrid turned around from facing the oven, wiping her hands on her apron. "You gave us a key, we utilized it to give you an nice surprise," she said frankly.

"Yeah, and if you're going to be ungrateful that we're making you chocolate chip cookies, then we'll just pack our things," Jasmine crossed her arms.

"You have no things," Francesca rolled her eyes, pulling the bag of chocolate chips towards her. "But I appreciate you guys. Thanks." She shook a portion size of the chocolate into her hand.

"Well, are you gonna tell us about your trip?" Ingrid urged, resting her elbows on the granite.

Francesca practically tossed the chocolate chips down her throat. "It was really cool. Obviously not that these girls were killing people, but it was interesting to see how the B.A.U. works."

"What did they have you do?" Jasmine asked, taking a handful of morsels for herself. "Did they send you out to catch the killer?"

"I didn't do too much," Francesca explained. "Hotch, JJ's unit chief, basically paired me with Reid and I tagged along with him to some places. I also just observed as they came up with the profile and all."

"Hold up. Reid?" Jasmine held her hand in the air. "You didn't object to that?"

Francesca's eyes bashfully lingered downward. "Why would I?"

"I don't know," Ingrid began, "but you did walk in on him taking a piss. I'd imagine working with him would've been embarrassing."

"It wasn't, actually," Francesca admitted, a smile making its way on her face. "When he's not spitting out random facts, he's kind of chill."

Jasmine and Ingrid whipped their heads in each other's directions; they wore smirks. Francesca picked up on this, furrowing her eyebrows. "What is wrong with you two?"

Ingrid faced Francesca again. "That look. I know that look."

"What look?" Francesca scoffed, realizing she may have given herself away. "There was no look. The only look I'm giving is a stop-profiling-me look."