Working Late (Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader)
Summary: After a busy few weeks, you spend a friday night in the office catching up on the never-ending pile of paperwork which appears whenever the team are whisked away on a case. To your surprise, a colleague decides to join you.
Contains: Fluff, very gentle friends-to-lovers, early seasons spencer, food | 2k words.
If you listened for long enough, you could hear the distant hum of the vending machine.
The office was empty. It was long past the time where other departments turned their lights off, and it became acceptable to sling your shoes off and pad around in socks. The BAU was in high demand lately, and it felt as though the last three cases had been back-to-back-to-back. You could hardly remember what your bed looked like, your apartment floor was covered in clothes from hastily repacking suitcases, and the thought of cleaning it up was enough to keep you in the office.
At 7:30pm, even the most dedicated of your colleagues had rightfully headed home to partners, or sports clubs, or kids. That only left you, and the team’s mountain of paperwork which only grew each time you headed out on a case.
I’ll work late tonight, catch up on everything, then crash for the whole weekend, you’d promised Garcia at lunch. In one breath, she’d claimed that was impressive, that everyone would love you forever for getting it done, and warned you to take care of yourself.
Sometimes it was hard to know how to. You felt dreadful being here, you'd feel worse if you went home, thinking about the work hanging over you. For a moment you lay with your head on your forearm, idly massaging out the headache that had started to form.
Dinner, you realised. You hadn’t eaten dinner. Maybe that was why you felt dreadful.
The temptation to just go home would be too strong if you went out to get it, so you headed for the drawer in the kitchen full of takeout menus.
While you were flicking through the pile for the least sticky menus, the elevator doors opened.
It was almost certainly security checking to see who was still up here, or a cleaner making their rounds. Nonetheless, with half the building dark, it was hard not to suddenly be on high alert. In socked feet, you tiptoed back along the corridor until you could see the doors, already sliding closed with the carriage empty.
You crept further forward, until you could see a man, hair slightly damp around his face and a satchel looped over his body. Reid. He was stood behind your desk, peering at the computer you had left on, as though he was confused.
“Evening,” you offered, pushing against the warm fondness you felt as he jolted away from your chair in surprise.
“The computer screens turn themselves off after five minutes of inactivity, and you never leave yours unlocked. I figured something must have happened.”
He was silent for a moment, his gaze drifting to your socked feet, then back to your face.
“Evening.”
“I just went to get menus,” you held them up limply, and Reid smiled.
“Have you not been home yet?”
“No, I can’t believe you’ve been home!”
“I actually went home early,” he admitted the fact as though he was embarrassed. You were fairly sure Hotch had shoved him out of the elevator doors.
“You’ve snuck back in, them?”
Finally you crossed the bullpen, sinking back into your office chair. Reid perched on the next desk over.
“Couldn’t settle – I figured I could get through everything quickly, save everyone the job…”
“Especially after we’re inevitably called in over the weekend, and all these cases feel like a lifetime ago.”
He smiled grimly.
“Exactly.”
For a moment it was silent, and you felt a little caught at Reid finding you in the office alone like this. Your headphones lay out on the desk, music blaring tinnily from them, and you felt your face grow warm as you reached across to turn the music off.
“So you’re getting food?” he hadn’t moved, gesturing at the menus.
“Yeah. Have you had dinner?”
“Not really. If you don’t mind me joining you…”
“Not at all,” you insisted, “please.”
He glanced over the options you’d laid out, over the three piles on your desk. You wondered how long ago he’d showered, his hair was straighter than usual with the weight of being damp. He was wearing one of his usual jumpers, but he must have put a t-shirt on underneath it. There was something odd about seeing him without a shirt collar. Some insight into what Spencer wore when he wanted to be comfortable, when he thought he wouldn’t be seen.
“I– Thank you. I don’t mind going out to get it?”
“I usually just order it in, and then get security call me down and accept it.”
Reid frowned, no doubt prepared to reel off dozens of stats about security risks.
“Is that allowed?”
“No one’s ever stopped me,” you shrugged, only to delight in Reid’s wide, nervous smile.
 He’d never had the chance to be a naughty schoolboy, you’d often reflected, it was why he often seemed to look like he was being called into the principal’s office.
“So long as you make the call…”
“Don’t want to get in trouble?” you teased, and Spencer laughed.
“Absolutely not! That’s the last thing I need.”
“Well then, in that case I’m choosing Chinese. Pick something.”
You tossed him a menu, and he glanced it over before looking up to think. You’d never quite get over the way his mind worked.
Once the order was placed and Spencer had laughed over your stomach grumbling, reality sunk back in. Sat at your desk, on a Friday night, under fluorescent lights.
“Isn’t it funny to have your dream job, and it’s still so boring most of the time,” you mused, and Spencer just chuckled.
He still hadn’t moved to start his work.
“I know what you mean.”
He paused for a moment.
“Was this your dream job?”
Oh, no.
“Is that lame? I assumed this was everyone here’s dream job,” you admitted.
Spencer shrugged, and you found yourself watching him desperately for any kind of redemption from the ache of embarrassment you were feeling in your chest. It shouldn’t matter, whether Spencer thought you were lame. Somehow, it seemed like the only thing that did matter.
“I suppose I never knew where I’d end up, but I’m glad it was here.”
You nodded, waiting for him to speak more. Spencer spoke a lot, defended himself with constant talking. It was something different, rare, when he was talking about his own past.
“What am I talking about? Yeah,” he was smiling, and that meant you were smiling right back at him, all toothy and lame, “this is my dream job.”
“If it was really a dream job, they’d pay for our dinners,” you teased, and Spencer laughed.
“That’s true enough. Oh!”
He rifled through his wallet, pulling out a twenty and hunting for more.
“My half,” he offered, “thank you for letting me crash your dinner.”
“Not at all, it’s nice the you’re here! And I wasn’t angling for you to pay me back, Spencer. Don’t be daft.”
“No, you just reminded me, is all.”
He put the cash down beside your hand with an eyebrow raise, and you laughed.
“Thank you.”
You wondered how someone sourced bills so clean, it wasn’t as ratty as the cash you grabbed from your wallet.
“I’ll take it as danger money, in case security squeal on us for ordering takeout.”
“I’m not sure the late night paperwork should the riskiest part of the job.”
He laughed, and finally made a move to stand up. Suddenly you were overcome by the need to stop him from going anywhere.
“What have you got left to do?” you asked.
“Case reports, a few bits of random paperwork, I think there’s a security review and some statements to type up…”
As you talked over the workload, you realised you’d done some of the work Spencer had intended to. He offered to take over on some things, and you knew he’d complete the work perfectly, until finally the workload split between the two of you felt manageable. He pulled a chair over to share your desk, and by the time the food had arrived, you felt far better about your odds of getting home before midnight.
“Do you want to try some of this?” you offered Spencer, catching him watching you.
“Oh, um, yeah actually.”
You hadn’t really meant it. Spencer didn’t share, you’d already double-dipped and your chopsticks had been in your mouth and…
“Do you want a spring roll? These are amazing.”
You let him use his chopsticks to drop a spring roll into your container, and you smiled your thanks as he did. His face was suddenly far closer to you than you’d realised, knees inches apart as you struggled to share one desk.
“Hm,” you mumbled, “that is good!”
“Right!”
For a while you ate in silence, and if you forgot about the fluorescent lights and stale scent of office, it was like you were sharing dinner together by choice. Spencer in his casuals, you still shoe-less, perched casually on your chair, it was nice.
“So, do you have weekend plans?”
He’d be silent for so long, you hardly heard him.
“Hm?”
“Weekend plans,” his voice dropped quieter, less stable. “What are you up to?”
Spencer was asking what your weekend plans were. Spencer.
“I just thought… asking about… asking about your weekend shows that I care for your wellbeing and builds social rapport between colleagues, or… I mean, I think we’re friends at this point? Too? So I just wanted to know what your weekend plans were.”
He was bright red and staring down at his noodles, you could see the rise and fall of his chest, the panic growing in him.
“No, Spencer, I appreciate you asking. I’m, uh, just planning on crashing to be honest. I have to clean my apartment, do all my laundry. Nothing too exciting. And my building’s laundry room is flooded – again – so I guess it’s a long wait at the laundromat.”
Desperate to say anything, to make Spencer feel better – and make sure he didn’t regret talking to you – you found yourself rambling on and on, until he was smiling nervously. Still avoiding your eye, he interrupted you gently.
“Public laundromats have all kinds of risks. My biggest concern is always bed bugs – even commercial machines in laundromats often can’t kill bed bug eggs, leading them to be transferred between customers…”
“Oh, god Spencer, that’s really not making me feel better!”
“No! I just mean… I have in-unit, for that reason. Disinfected regularly.”
You looked at him, bemused, the warm food in your lap forgotten. He paused, and met your eyes, a lock of hair falling over his face. He brushed it back.
“Oh! I meant, I wasn’t bragging about my washer being clean. Uh, you’re welcome to use mine, if you’d rather.”
It was the strangest thing that had ever made your heart clench with fondness. He was still blushing, clearly afraid he’d said the wrong thing, done something weird again. It was your first instinct not to bother him, but at the innocent look in his wide, brown eyes, you found yourself accepting.
“That would be amazing, if you wouldn’t mind, Spencer. Be warned, I’ve got a lot of laundry to do, you can kick me out anytime you get sick of me,” you teased.
“I know, from all the travelling. You’re wearing clothes you never normally wear, presumably because all your favourites need washing.”
You stared at him, processing for a moment. You could see his finger tapping against the side of his thigh, the smile he was trying to hide.
“You can stay as long as you like,” he clarified.
“Maybe we can watch a boxset or something, if you like?”
The raise of his eyebrows was enough to make you laugh, and he quickly looked away, taking another mouthful of rice.
“Doctor Who?”
There was nothing you wouldn’t have watched with Spencer, as you woke up the next morning blessedly free of work calls and lazily made your way to his apartment with two suitcases full of washing and a huge bags of Skittles for Reid. He’d surprised you with a made lunch, and with a freshly cleaned washer and dryer. Despite the way he made himself scarce when you pulled out underwear and bundled it into his washing machine, two hours later, he was brave enough to sneak an arm around your shoulder.
You sank your face to his chest, and listened to the pounding of his heart. By the time Christopher Eccleston had met his first Dalek, you knew a lot of your future would be spent on this couch.
