In confusion breeds understanding. [OTA]
When Spencer didn't understand things he tried to figure them out.
He wouldn't sleep, he wouldn't eat, and he'd barely move until he had things figured out.
This was proving to be a lot harder then expected however.
He'd spent days buried in books in the library. Trying to figure out exactly where he was. So far he'd found a lot of interesting books. Books about the island itself, the events, some people who had come and gone. But nothing in detail. Everything was vague, and it was getting annoying.
He groaned and half slammed his head down on the table in a pile of notes he'd written up in front of him. At least his table he'd commended in the library was cleaner then his hotel room. His hotel room was an absolute disaster of books and papers, news articles and everything else he'd managed to collect about the island thus far. Which while it may seem like a lot, it wasn't. He'd never had so much trouble trying to figure things out.
Okay he needed coffee or something. His eyes were killing him and he was struggling to keep them open. Really he should probably go back to the hotel room. But not right now, he still wasn't nearly as close as he wanted to be, so there was no giving up now. Thankfully if the FBI left him with anything it was the ability to replace needed sleep with coffee.
He wouldn't sleep, he wouldn't eat, and he'd barely move until he had things figured out.
This was proving to be a lot harder then expected however.
He'd spent days buried in books in the library. Trying to figure out exactly where he was. So far he'd found a lot of interesting books. Books about the island itself, the events, some people who had come and gone. But nothing in detail. Everything was vague, and it was getting annoying.
He groaned and half slammed his head down on the table in a pile of notes he'd written up in front of him. At least his table he'd commended in the library was cleaner then his hotel room. His hotel room was an absolute disaster of books and papers, news articles and everything else he'd managed to collect about the island thus far. Which while it may seem like a lot, it wasn't. He'd never had so much trouble trying to figure things out.
Okay he needed coffee or something. His eyes were killing him and he was struggling to keep them open. Really he should probably go back to the hotel room. But not right now, he still wasn't nearly as close as he wanted to be, so there was no giving up now. Thankfully if the FBI left him with anything it was the ability to replace needed sleep with coffee.