The Story That Didn't Want To Be Written | Spencer Reid x Reader

Masking

"Wheels up in 30"

Before you know it, the others are pushing themselves away from the table and using their momentum to stand themselves up. Hotch's classic line ringing through the air never fails to set in the mood for the case- you feel the anticipation and excitement radiating off your teammates, but you also know the pressure of saving these people is hitting them as hard as it is hitting you. It's a good job, but no one likes feeling like they have the world on their shoulders.

You had a feeling Hotch would want to talk to you. You made some great comments during the briefing and you know you helped the team figure out the unsub is most likely a scorned middle aged white man who is recovering from a particularly nasty breakup, but you don't know if that will be enough to save you from his scrutiny. You look around and see others standing up, purposefully not turning your head the full 180 degrees at the risk of catching Hotch's glance.

You push back on the table, sending your chair moving backwards a few inches before you use the momentum and push up on your knees, straightening out your posture and popping up to stand with a little bounce. As you stretch out your back, you feel that burn in your spine from sitting too long and opt to turn your shoulders to the left and right in order to crack your back.

Although unknown to you, your back, unlike the rest of your 24 year old body, is apparently 80 years old and simply refuses to work. As you turn your shoulders to the left, placing your hands on the table to make sure you are twisting the furthest you can, you hear an embarrassingly loud succession of cracks come from your back. You freeze, as the room stills and you can feel eyes on you. You can't resist any longer, turning your head to the left and meeting Hotch's gaze.

It might be an understatement to say that you were terrified. It was only a moment that you made eye contact before he turned his head away from you and elected to show the goon squad back to the main part of the bullpen. They wanted to observe you all working, but because they weren't trained profilers, the Bureau didn't want them accompanying you into the field- which was completely fine with you.

Before Hotch had walked completely out of the room, you could feel him look at you as he turned around to close the door, leaving you in the room with your coworkers, who had payed the exchange little mind and were making their way out of the room through the other door, in the direction of the tarmac.

You gave a little sigh that was barely audible to yourself, much less your coworkers. Turning to follow them out the door, you found Spencer looking at you, making intense eye contact with you as soon as you turned around.

The others probably assumed you two were following them out the door and paid you no mind. You looked from him to the door and then back at him again, his gaze never leaving yours. His eyes- they looked sad- but his body language resembled something you'd see in someone who was being protective. His shoulders were squared and his stance was open to you, he was paying complete attention to you and what you were doing.

Profiling. He was profiling you.

In all fairness, you were profiling him right back.

You didn't move, waiting to see why the hell he was staring at you. You quickly tried to analyze your actions. Were you standing weird? Was your hair a mess? Did you say something wrong? Why is he staring at you?!

His eyes began to change and you were growing more confused. Eyebrows furrowing, eyes squinting out of concern, and your head turning ever so slightly as to beg him to start talking before things got even more awkward. 

You really took in his face now. His eyes had something strong behind them- fear. That confused you beyond belief, you could tell he was afraid of something and that he was trying really hard to hide it- but you couldn't tell what he was afraid of. Was he afraid of you? No, that doesn't make any sense. Was he afraid for you?

That did seem to make the most sense. Hotch wasn't exactly subtle about not being happy with you being late, but that would be a stern conversation at most with him later and it certainly did not warrant this level of concern from Spencer.

Sure, you were friends and you had grown close ever since you met him on your first day at the BAU. Sure, it had always been easier for you to talk to each other since you were the same age and you both had some of the same issues with overthinking and were notorious introverts, but this was by no means a normal interaction for you two. It was hard to explain though, what exactly about it was so weird. It was just too much-

There were too many feelings

Which made you wildly uncomfortable, but that's understandable. This interaction had been going on for way too long. But for some reason, you quite literally couldn't make yourself look away. You were forced into this moment and trapped in this room that suddenly felt all too small for the two of you.

He opened his mouth

"How are you?" He asked like it was the most natural thing in the world. Okay- not what you were expecting. You were confused and he could tell. Now he was uncomfortable. You could tell by the way his feet started to move for the first time in what seemed like years and his hands started to wring together as he appeared to be trying to physically pull words out of thin air. "I-I just mean- You aren't usually- why were you late?" He stutters before looking away from you suddenly.

The poor awkward genius in front of you was just wondering why you were late. That's all. Or at least that what you were telling yourself because let's be honest, you're not stupid. Yes, he's a profiler but you're one too and you can tell that's not what he really wants to ask. At the same time, the only thing you can imagine being worse than this situation, you imagine, is him working up the nerve to ask what it is you suspect he actually wants to say.

So you play along.

"I just slept in, and then when I got here Penny pulled me into her office and asked me for my opinion on her search" You internally kicked yourself. You knew it sounded rehearsed because you had been going over the sentence in your head for the past hour in preparation for your confrontation with Hotch.

He nodded. He knew you were lying but he knew better than to pry.

"Okay!" He lets out an awkward laugh that lets you know his next statement was going to be a confession of some sort. "I was worried about you, you-you're normally almost as punctual as I am!" He laughs again, though there's no humor in it. He's nervous- rubbing the back of his neck. It's endearing actually. You know Spencer can control his display of nervousness- masking, it's called. You do it too, it's actually something you two had bonded over before. Intentionally hiding your feelings from another person and acting one way when you felt another. You'd agreed not to intentionally mask in front of each other, as well as not to profile each other. It made you feel close to him, and it meant a lot to you that he felt he could be himself around you.

People teased the poor boy too much. His spontaneous facts, the way he could talk endlessly about his interests, the way he saw the world. It was all so fascinating to you, but you saw all the times the child-like wonder left his eyes in favor of a look of embarrassment and shame after he was interrupted or told he should 'try being normal'. You just didn't ever want to make him feel that way.

But you also knew you had both broken that agreement in this exchange, and that you were both choosing to ignore it.

You nodded, realizing you should probably continue the conversation instead of just standing there like an idiot. You let out an insincere chuckle "Well I appreciate that Spence, but I'm all good." You tried to sound cheery, and maybe, maybe if it were anyone else it might have worked. But knowing Reid, he definitely picked up the deceit in your voice.

Still he ignored it, instead opting to move toward the door and walk through it, turning to you and mumbling "See you on the jet then" as you waved to him.

And then you were alone again.