Spencer Reid | Oneshots

Dead Air ☁️ (PG)

Summary: Professor Reid is hesitant to be a guest on his old student's true crime video series, but is surprised to find it's not so bad.

Rating: PG

Content Warning: True crime production references, kissing, (graduated)Student/Professor relationship

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No matter how long I taught, the first day never got any easier. Perhaps it was just because I hadn't yet made a fool out of myself, so the potential for disappointment grew the longer it took for me to make a mistake. Regardless of the reason, I was always very grateful for the fact that I never shook hands, because the idea of everyone knowing just how sweaty my palms were was mortifying.

Then again, my shaky voice and awkward demeanor probably gave it away, anyway. That was okay, too, because it meant that everyone's standards would drop to nothing immediately. Just where I liked them.

Normally. She was the exception.

I don't know why she stuck out in my mind, but she did. She was fairly unassuming. Quiet, attentive, intriguing. While the line of students hoping to speak to me after class dwindled down, she remained, leaned against the stage and waiting for me to step down to her level once the crowd was gone.

She looked so serene as she inspected the auditorium like the stars were scrawled on the ceiling, that I'd almost convinced myself that she wasn't waiting for someone like me. But, sure enough, as soon as we were level, she bounced forward with an undeniable enthusiasm.

"Hello Dr. Reid, I'm so glad to have a chance to meet you!"

"Oh, thank you so much," I chuckled, hoping to hear return a similar sound, "I don't hear that very often."

And she did return it, with laughter like faded summer memories of rustling wind-chimes offering respite from the heat.

"Well, you should. You're very impressive."

"Wow, thanks," I repeated, unsure of what else I could say. She didn't seem to notice how I begged her to carry the conversation away from me, because she just continued to stare at me with a wide-eyed innocence that caused me physical pain.

"I'm not really used to this, sorry."

I wasn't sure if I was referring to my general awkwardness over being praised or the sinking feeling in my chest that grew exponentially heavier with each mental image I took of her smile. But just as I thought that the discomfort was worth her laughter, the sound flipped to a shy, dejected mutter.

"I'm sorry, I'm probably making you uncomfortable."

"No, you're fine!" I urged, only to immediately correct myself with a graceless rambling, "I mean — you're right. I am very uncomfortable, but it's not your fault. It's not a bad uncomfortable, it's just..."

The fallen smile had started to return, hidden behind a sneaky snark that I saw bubbling just beneath the surface of crystalline eyes. Eyes that I wanted to get lost in but didn't trust myself to look at too deeply.

I cleared my throat and my mind of any impurities before asking in a pathetically high and sharp octave, "Did you have a question?"

Nothing could have prepared me for the provocative sound that followed.

"No," she purred, "I just wanted to shower you with praise."

Unable to come up with anything else to say, and certainly not trusting myself to not sound like a fool with even just a few words, I squeaked back, "I see. Thank you."