spencer reid being cute

statistically | fluff

You and Spencer Reid — sorry, Dr. Spencer Reid, as he adorably introduced himself to you on your first day at the BAU (and scrambled to say, "S-Sorry, it's Spencer. Just Spencer Reid," immediately after).

The two of you have quite the bond.

You also have quite the crush on him.

You're no genius, not in the way Spencer is. Your memory is nowhere near eidetic, it more resembles Dory from Finding Nemo, but you don't make that joke anymore. Hotch gave you quite a worried look and called you into his office an hour later to ask if you were alright that day.

But you digress.

Before you met Spencer, Google was your best friend. You ask a lot of questions, and by a lot– well, just ask Morgan.

On your first day, Morgan said, and you quote, "Oh, God. There's two of them."

Whenever you had a question, you Googled it. You researched, you found literary journals and universities that studied what you wanted to know. You found your answers, and sometimes more questions along the way.

But when you started at the BAU, Google was child's play. Especially when Spencer could give you the answer faster than you could type in the question and hit enter on Google.

It's one of the things you love most about him. At first, he only answered you because you have a bad habit of asking questions aloud when meaning to just speak to yourself. Spencer didn't know you were mainly asking yourself, and he launched into a full explanation. You were too mesmerised to stop him, and started asking further questions. It went on and on until you were dazed and he was smiling, and the rest of the team was staring at the two of you like you'd gone insane.

So now, you ask him anything and everything.

Like...

Recently, you called him at almost ten at night. It was storming, but you really needed to take a shower. It had been two days since your last, and you couldn't take it anymore.

"Hey Spence," you said when he picks up. "Statistically speaking, how likely am I to get struck by lightning?"

"What? Y/N, what are you doing?"

"I need to shower and it's storming. How do I look statistically?"

"Not good! Don't take a shower!"

"Spencer," you groaned, flopping down on your bed.

"Y/N, showering increases your likelihood of being electrocuted. Ten to twenty people on average are struck by lighting when bathing."

"There's the stats," you chuckled. "Fine, genius. I'll wait it out."

"Good," he sounded genuinely relieved.

His concern made you smile. "What are you up to?"

"Talking you out of electrocuting yourself."

"I wouldn't be electrocuting myself. The lightning is what would do it."

"Yes, I know."

"Are you tired of me yet?"

Spencer laughed airily before he replied in a soft voice, "No. Never."

As strange as it sounds, things changed that night. Spencer stayed on the phone with you until the storm passed – you were getting scared after a particularly loud boom of thunder, but you'd never admit that to him. Once it passed and once Spencer checked the weather radar to be sure it was gone, he let you shower.

The next morning at the BAU, you fixed a cup of coffee for him as a thank you for the night before. You were expecting him to take it and move on, but he pulled you into a hug instead.