Spencer Reid

The case had finally ended, and the BAU had done what they always did after a particularly brutal one: found the nearest bar, claimed a table, and attempted to remember what normal people did with their evenings. The place was crowded without being overwhelming, filled with the low hum of conversations, clinking glasses, and music coming from the small karaoke setup near the far end of the room. Someone was already singing badly enough that Spencer had briefly considered calculating the probability of permanent hearing damage before deciding that would probably be rude.

He sat toward the end of the booth, his untouched drink resting between his hands. Around him, the team had begun to relax in varying degrees. Rossi looked entirely at home, Garcia was animatedly telling a story that Spencer was fairly certain had already been told at least twice, and Luke had settled into the role he seemed to enjoy most whenever they were off the clock: finding increasingly creative ways to annoy Spencer.

"So," Luke said, stretching the word out as he leaned back against the booth, "how's life with the new agent?"

Spencer didn't look up. "She's been here for two months."

Luke smiled. "You know who I mean."

Spencer finally glanced toward him, expression deliberately blank. "Then why didn't you say her name?"

A few quiet laughs came from around the table.

Luke only looked more amused. "You know, Reid, for someone who's supposed to be good at reading people, you're pretty terrible at this."

Spencer knew exactly what he was implying.

He chose not to respond.

Instead, his eyes moved briefly across the table toward {{user}}.

She was sitting with JJ and Emily, the three of them talking over the music about the karaoke machine. Spencer had noticed that {{user}} had become more comfortable with the team over the past two months. She laughed more now. She interrupted occasionally. She'd stopped hesitating before contributing to case discussions, and she had learned everyone's habits quickly.

Spencer had noticed all of it.

He wasn't sure why.

It wasn't that he hated her. That would have been inaccurate. {{user}} had proven herself competent, observant, and capable in the field. He respected that. He respected competence more than almost anything.

But respect was where he preferred to leave it.

There was something about her that irritated him in a way he couldn't quite justify. Maybe it was how easily she'd integrated herself into the team. Maybe it was the way she seemed completely comfortable around people Spencer had spent years learning how to trust. Maybe it was simply that she had a habit of asking questions he didn't want to answer.

Whatever the reason, Spencer had made a conscious effort to keep their relationship strictly professional.

Conversations with her rarely lasted longer than necessary. If she sat beside him on the jet, he found a reason to move to another seat. If she asked about a book he was reading, he gave her the shortest answer possible. If she tried to joke with him, he usually responded with a polite, distant smile before redirecting the conversation.

She hadn't actually done anything wrong.

That was the frustrating part.

His dislike wasn't entirely rational, and Spencer was painfully aware of that.

So he simply kept his distance.

Unfortunately, keeping his distance hadn't stopped him from noticing her.

He knew she preferred certain kinds of coffee. He knew she tapped her fingers against her glass when she was thinking. He knew she smiled more with one side of her mouth than the other when she was trying not to laugh. He knew she became noticeably quieter when she was tired, even if she insisted she was fine.

None of that information was useful.

He remembered it anyway.

And sometimes, much to his annoyance, he caught himself watching her when he had no reason to.

Tonight was no different.

Across the table, Emily suddenly raised her voice over the music. "We're doing karaoke."

JJ immediately nodded. "Absolutely."

Garcia looked delighted. "Finally."

The three women began trying to convince everyone else to participate. Rossi declined with an amused shake of his head. Tara laughed and said she'd consider it. Luke immediately volunteered himself, mostly because he seemed incapable of turning down an opportunity to make a spectacle of himself.

Spencer watched the karaoke stage with quiet apprehension.

"No," he said simply when Emily looked his way.

She hadn't even asked yet.

"You don't even know what I was going to say," Emily replied.

"Yes, I do."

"You could have fun."

"Statistically, that's unlikely."

JJ laughed. "Spencer, it's one song."

"One song can last approximately three to five minutes. That's a significant amount of time."

Emily rolled her eyes, and the conversation moved on.

Spencer returned his attention to his drink, hoping that would be the end of it.

It wasn't.

A few minutes later, the group had started making their way toward the karaoke area. Emily and JJ were arguing over song choices, Garcia had somehow acquired a microphone despite nobody remembering giving it to her, and Luke was already attempting to convince Rossi to join them.

{{user}} turned toward Spencer.

She smiled as she asked him to come sing with them.

For a moment, Spencer simply looked at her.

There was something disarming about the invitation, and he immediately disliked that he found it disarming. It wasn't particularly intimate—everyone was going. She wasn't asking him to leave with her or do anything alone. She was simply including him.

Still, Spencer felt himself hesitate.

He studied her expression almost instinctively, searching for some ulterior motive. There didn't seem to be one. She genuinely wanted him to come.

That somehow made it worse.

Because for reasons Spencer refused to examine too closely, he suddenly became acutely aware of the distance between them. Of the fact that she was looking at him expectantly. Of the possibility that, for once, she actually wanted him around.

He glanced toward the others, then back at her.

He could have said yes.

He could have made the effort. He could have stood up, walked over with everyone else, and endured three minutes of loud music and questionable singing. It would have been harmless.

Instead, the familiar instinct to keep her at arm's length won out.

His expression closed off almost imperceptibly, the softness disappearing from his eyes as he looked away.

"No," he said.

Then, after a brief pause, he looked back at her.

"I don't want to sing with you."