Dune Point {Spencer Reid x Reader}

• One •

His eyes raked over your hands and how they moved and settled each object, then over your face, how you pursed your lips as you tried to make everything look orderly and correct.

It was getting more and more arduous to discount the kid's long, fixed stare as he profiled you.

"It's not OCD." You finally spoke up, wishing your voice hadn't sounded as exhausted as it did.
"W-what?" Your comment jolted the kid out of his focus.
"You think that because I'm placing everything on my desk to make it look neat, that must mean I have some form of OCD." You bluntly stated, keeping your eyes fixed on where his were earlier, your hands moving your belongings around.

"Uh..." You'd obviously caught him off-guard. You decided to give him some slack, figuring his furrowed brow and pursed lips of his own were illustrations of his confusion on how to proceed.
"I just like my things to look pretty. OCD and aesthetic aren't the same thing." You said, finally looking up at him.
"I'm Y/N. I'm new." You reached your right hand out for him to shake, it was only the polite thing to do.
"Y'know, the number of pathogens passed in a handshake is staggering, it's actually safer to just kiss." You stared blankly at him.
"O-okay." What the hell were you supposed to say to that?
The kid cleared his throat and averted his eyes.
"S-sorry, I-uh, I'm Doctor Spencer R-reid. You can just call me Doc- I MEAN, Spencer. You don't... have to... call me... D-Doctor." You could see the mental face palm he just gave himself.
"Well, nice to meet you, Doctor." Playful wasn't usually your style, but the way "Doctor" just rolled off your tongue, it kinda worked.
When you called him that, he brought his eyes back up to meet yours.

And there that moment was again. The two of you, complete strangers, frozen in time while the world stood around you. You felt something you hadn't felt in a long time.
A blush.
You sensed your cheeks heating up. It was like the heat from the flame of anger inside you from before formed into something utterly dissimilar.

But that doesn't happen with you. You don't let yourself have feelings for others. You don't usually let people in, it keeps you safe. As much as you wanted to, you never let anyone in because you don't want to get your hopes up just for them to be torn down.

You quickly tore your eyes away from him finishing to set up your desk. He simply kept his eyes on you.
Wow he was good at staring.

"Good, Y/L/N, you're back. Everyone, we have a case." Agent Hotchner strutted across the catwalk to what you assumed is the briefing room. Letting Spencer and the other two agents that were in the bullpen with you go first, you followed suit.

When you entered to room, not only was Agent Hotchner in there along with the agents that were in the same area as you earlier, but you were greeted by two spritely blondes. Everyone looked at you, wondering who you were.

As you walked through the door, Agent Hotchner introduced you. "Everyone, this is Agent Y/N Y/L/N, she's coming to us from the Pentagon. Y/L/N, this is Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, Jeniffer Jareau–" "JJ's fine," she quickly spoke "–Dr. Spencer Reid, David Rossi, and our technical analyst, Penelope Garcia." You lifted your right hand to wave to everyone as they all greeted you back. You silently took the only available seat left, next to Spencer.

Spencer looked up at you, but quickly looked down at his file when you met his gaze. There was nothing special about how you looked at each other, it was just... strange. It was like he had this incessant need to figure you out, and if he didn't, he'd get a migraine or something.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You felt like you did a pretty good job during your first case, despite remaining silent for a good bit of it. But when the time came, you did inevitably figure out who the unsub was, and where they were headed last on their "mission." It was a week-long case, but suffice to say, you impressed the team. Sure it was nice to hear from Hotch when he said that to you. When he came up to your seat on the plane as you stared out the window, in his low, gruff voice and serious face telling you, "Nice job today, Y/L/N," you sort of believed it.