Kitty takes a seat in the back of the room and off to the side. She'll be less noticed over there munching on popcorn and taking swigs of Mt. Dew. Sure, it's a conference on violent crime and not a movie, but it's still her idea of entertainment, so why not? Maybe this isn't what the average nearly twenty-year-old girl does for fun in her free time, but she's always had trouble focusing her interests.

There was that time when she was going to be a ballerina. Then there was that new computer hardware company she was going to start. Oh, and then she was going to be a pilot, but not before trying her hand as a multilingual diplomat. She didn't get very far with that one. It called for a little more refinement—or stuck up bullshit—as she called it than she could stomach. She even entered the police academy for awhile. And of course all this was after graduating college at fifteen with double degree in physics and computer science and then spending a year bumming around Europe and Asia. It's really hard to tell which of these potential career paths had her parents most hopeful or most discouraged. They are always supportive of their little girl, but they are not unwilling to voice their concerns about her lack of direction. Or her plethora of directions as the case may be.

So, today might just be interest 237 on the list, but it didn't bug her. She had an apartment, a cat ironically named Doggy, a few friends, and a job as a bartender at nights to pay the bills. The academy thing hadn't held her interest, but she had read a few books on profiling and that was something, so when she heard a few of the FBI's profilers were going to be at a conference, she had to check it out, right? The first part with the blond is pretty lame, but Dr. Reid takes the podium and suddenly there are tree fetishes. She has to cough to cover a laugh at the way the audience reacts to him. He's definitely kind of dweeb. Also, kind of cute, but maybe that's the sea of bad hair gel and off-the-rack suits around him making him look better.

When the conference breaks, she notices the way he looks like he doesn't know what to do with himself and she circles around.

"I'm never going to look at trees the same way again." She smiles, waiting for him to acknowledge her. What she wasn't expecting was the way his already large eyes widened even further like he was seeing a ghost or the way he dropped his better bottle—cap off. The splash of water against her sandal-wearing foot draws her attention down. He still looks a little word-impaired so she tries again. "You know they usually warn you if you're sitting in a splash zone at a show."

"I..." His voice stutters it's way out of his mouth finally and he puts an arm out as if to catch the bottle that dropped second ago. It looks like his face is struggling between emotions. Frown. Smile. Whatever comes with being perplexed. The last one, she definitely reads as hope, and it's her turn to be surprised when she hears him whisper her name. "Kitty?"

"...That's a hell of a trick you've got there." She's amazed actually. Confused. Even a little suspicious. "You didn't mention that as part of the profiling thing. Have we met?"