Some of the dialogue is taken from Season 4, Episode 9: '52 Pickup'.
Short summary of the episode: A sadistic killer picks up women in bars to kill them, forcing them to clean up before disemboweling them. The team hits different bars to spread his sketch and Spencer talks to Austin, a young bartender.

I always thought the chemistry between Spencer and Austin in that one episode was one of the best, there was so much potential for their relationship that was never explored — so I decided to do it myself.
For now this is simply a completed two-shot, but if there is enough interest I'm considering mapping out more of their relationship.

Also, I love Spencer Reid in all his forms but I just adore him in the early seasons, when he was geeky and clueless.

For now enjoy some porn with plot ;)

When someone came up to her bar, Austin always looked at their hands.

They told her more than any smile, any shouted words or thrown winks. If the hands were shaking and searching for stability on her stained counter, she put as little booze as possible into the desired cocktail. If they were reaching too far into her space, she slapped them away. If they were balled, the tendons straining, she would signal Dave, their bouncer. If they were wandering onto another person who didn't appreciate it, she signaled Dave.

If they lingered over a drink that didn't belong to them, she told Dave to call the cops.

It was simple really, a quick glance down that became so repetitive she barely even registered doing it.

"Excuse me, sweetheart. Whenever you get a chance."

Austin looked up from the spill on the counter, quickly cataloging the man who had spoken to her. Tall, shaved head, buff, handsome but with a glint in his eye that didn't speak of flirting but of something sharper, just as calculating as hers. His hands were in his back pocket, opening up his chest, gray fabric stretched tight across impressive pectorals but his posture was non-threatening and neutral, keeping himself restrained to appear tame.

"What can I get you?"

The man at his side couldn't have been a bigger contrast. Slender and long-limbed he was clothed in a button-up shirt and sweater vest, his light brown hair long enough to brush his chin. He looked like an artist, a dreamer, a poet, while his companion was the muscle, the jock, the lady's man.

It was the artist who answered her, flipping a badge open and holding it close to his chest.

"We're with the FBI, we're looking for this man. Does he look at all familiar to you?"

Austin's gaze focused on his hands. Long fingers with fine bones and pronounced knuckles, holding a flimsy paper with care. Pianist hands, beautiful and unappreciated.

It took her a second longer to actually focus on the poor sketch on the paper.

"It's not much of a picture."

Muscle patted the other man's shoulder (broad palms, calluses that spoke of regular exercise) and turned, surveying the room before prowling back onto the floor.

Definitely not here for fun, Austin thought.

"I know."

Her attention refocused on the slimmer man as he took a pen from his pocket, taking the paper up again.

"You know what might help, actually, is he has a scar above his eye right about … " His pen pierced the paper without warning. "… there."

Austin felt a sliver of intrigue.

The paper turned between his elegant, careful fingers, showing her where the pen had stabbed clear through, his voice washing over her, somehow combating the deep bass from the speakers easily. "We also know that he's taken classes where he's learned how to distract and charm his victim."

Suddenly he moved the pen with one abrupt motion holding it next to – the undamaged paper.

Austin laughed and took the sketch, finding no trace that anything had ever happened to it.

"Okay. How did you do that?"

He smiled. "That's privileged information."

"Huh."

Austin leaned forward with a smile, watching as his eye darted to her glossy lips, his own twitching nervously.

Cute.

"So what do I do if I see him?"

"You should call us." He nodded. "Even if you just think you see him, you should definitely call us."

"And if I don't see him … Can I still call you?"

His brows twitched, his hazel eyes holding her own. "Yeah. Yeah. You can call me. If you … Yeah."

"Okay. Cool."

Her smile widened but then he turned, intending to walk away.

"Wait!" She leaned further forward. "I don't have your number."

He paused and lifted one hand to indicate his ear. "Oh, it's behind your barrette."

Austin blinked and mirrored his action without conscious thought, feeling the edge of a card when the tips of her fingers brushed over the silky texture of her hair.

How?

"Bye."

Lost for words Austin simply watched as he gave an awkward little wave before rejoining Muscle, who slung a heavy arm across his shoulders and led him further into the crowd, away from her domain behind the bar.

Austin's gaze trailed them until she lost sight of him, standing out from the other patrons with his brown messenger bag and closed-off body language, all his limbs kept close to his torso.

Austin hadn't even noticed that she had lifted the card to her curved lips while watching, leaving a trace of amber gloss on its corner. Flipping it she read his name.

Dr. Spencer Reid, Supervisory Special Agent, Behavioural Analysis Unit, Federal Bureau of Investigations.

Not only cute but interesting.

"Last call, people! Last call!"

How much Austin loved to say these words at the end of every grueling shift, her palms sticky with the distilled sugar of spilled alcohol, her feet smarting and her ears ringing from loud music and people yelling at her way too closely. She wanted a shower, maybe some ice cream and her bed.

The bar was only filled with stragglers at this hour, a few too drunk to get up, a few determined to milk the last minute out of their careless evening and others trying to score at the last second.

One such couple lingered right at her counter, the girl wearing a spring-green dress that complimented her tanned skin and slim stomach, one of her hands (no ring, manicured) slipping strands of her blonde hair behind her ear. The guy was holding onto her other hand, his clasped around hers in a way that made Austin glance up, his grip somehow placating, controlling.

"See, your loveline's broken up, which means you haven't found your soul mate yet."

"Well, that's true."

"It's really amazing. You see it in these couples that are together forever. The lines on their palms change, so they become mirror images of each other."

"Really?"

"Really."

He looked average, a bit too much product in his hair, his clothes too young for his age but – Austin spotted a scar on his brow.

He has a scar above his eye.

Well, shit.

The girl seemed taken in by the crap he was selling, smiling and toying with her hair.

"Why don't we get out of here?" he asked her. "And I can tell you more about it."

Shit, shit, shit.

Austin acted quickly, grabbing a half-finished drink where the ice cubes hadn't even had time to melt yet, and spilled it over the counter.

"What the hell?"

The girl jumped up, wanting to save herself from the cold mess.

"I'm sorry," Austin quickly apologized and tried to catch her eye.

But the girl's attention zeroed back onto the guy – who was staring at Austin.

"Hey, you're holding onto me kind of tight."

His stare was unwavering, a challenge. He didn't even look at the blonde girl. "We're leaving."

Austin took a deep breath. "You know what? I have some club soda in the back if you want to clean that up."

The girl swallowed and tugged her hand free. "Yeah. Yeah. Why don't you let me do that?"

Something twisted in the man's features, something small that sent a shiver down Austin's back. She clung to her calm like a shield, forcing her smile to stay unchanged until the girl crossed into her space, the space she ruled over every other night, the space she was safe in and no customer was allowed.

"Just right back here." Austin guarded the girl's retreat, bringing her to the door that led to their storage room and only felt her stomach unclench when she closed it behind them.

"I need you to stay right here, okay?"

"Who is that guy?" The girl was staring at Austin in confusion, her voice pitched high. Gone were the hair-twirling fingers and fluttering lashes.

Austin didn't have time to explain everything, she needed to call Dr Reid, she needed to keep an eye on the suspicious guy so he couldn't grab anyone else –

The space at her counter was empty.

Shit on a stick.

Reception sucked inside the club, too far underground to get a decent signal and Austin took a deep breath of the frigid night air as soon as she stepped outside, hoping it would clear some of the tension from her head. She usually came out here to check her messages and smoke, the nicotine relaxing her on those strenuous shifts where people just seemed determined to be obnoxious assholes.

Though she knew that no amount of nicotine would be enough to calm her now.

Choosing the number she had already saved in her phone but never dialed, she pressed it against her ear only now hearing how loud and harsh her breathing sounded in the still air when it was contrasted with the steady beep as Dr Reid's phone must be ringing.

"Come on, come on, come on."

Closing her eyes for just a second, she missed the fist coming right at her face. Pain exploded across her cheek, so suddenly that it wrenched her from her feet, rough dirt digging into her palms.

Too late.

Austin had never fantasized about a knight in shining armor riding to her rescue, she had never wanted to be the helpless princess held by a villain and waiting for a savior. She had always thought it portrayed weakness, failure and a lack of imagination …

But when Dr Reid ripped the tape from her mouth, his motions careful and his other hand running over her back, steady and calming, she suddenly understood the appeal. Her chest was heaving even though her nose hadn't been restricted and when she inhaled the cologne on his neck instead of the sharp scent of bleach – bleach that was still burning her skin, soaked under her nails, into her memories – she couldn't suppress a sob.

Some part of her realized that she was babbling (Get this off. Get it off. Get it off.) but she didn't care, she didn't care about anything but his steady grip on her wrist as he peeled the black tape away, his voice penetrating the layers of her panic.

"It's okay. You're okay."

I'm okay.

"I called you."

Somehow it was important that he knew this, she had to tell him, she hadn't wanted to do this alone, she hadn't been stupid or foolhardy …

"I called you."

"I know. I know."

His arms banded around her waist, gentle but firm and he tugged her upwards, allowing her to lean against him, the hard material of his bulletproof vest scraping across her raw cheek. The salt of her sweat and tears had started itching on her skin and scalp, her mouth felt dry, the taste of glue still clinging to her lips, she wanted to get out of here, she wanted to shower and feel clean – 'You made a mess, and now you're gonna clean it up. Clean it up. Clean it up!'

She shuddered and pressed just that bit closer to Dr Reid.

"Let's get out of here."

"Please …" don't leave me here.

They exited the apartment, his arms unwavering around her, stronger than he had looked, a shelter she gladly accepted.

His voice was low, his face pressed close to her messy hair, murmuring a litany of reassurances, each one a drop of cooling balm on the blistering edge of her fear.

"I have you. You're okay, you're safe. I'm with you. I have you."

You have me.

Austin closed her eyes and allowed herself to believe him.

Austin had never thought she would find the sharp, antiseptic smell of a hospital corridor soothing, but everything smelled better than that room she'd left behind, with a madman screaming at her and her nose burning with fumes.

Though she had vastly preferred Dr Reid's cologne as an olfactory distraction.

Sadly the scent in question was too far away, Dr Reid no longer half-carrying her but walking beside her, an appropriate space left between them.

Austin wanted to bridge it.

"You're sure you can bring me home?"

"Yeah, my team can do the rest without me."

Austin looked at her hands, at the small scattered band aids covering her palm, a bit like she had given them to a child and told them to apply them wherever they wanted. It was the only 'injury' that they had been able to treat, cleaning the abrasions on her skin, which were worse thanks to the bleach that had eaten into the fresh wounds but were not really emergency room worthy – that was until Dr Reid had flashed his badge at the nurse.

There was nothing they could do for the shiner Austin could feel swelling on her cheek.

And now they were leaving, nothing more to keep them here, nothing that forced him to stay at her side …

"Are you here out of pity? Duty?"

Dr Reid blinked. "No, I – actually, I just wanted to make sure you're alright."

"Why?"

He adjusted his fitted vest, a nervous tick. "For myself."

Austin smiled. "Alright, you can take me home, Dr Reid."

"Call me Spencer."

"Austin."

"I know, David Martinez told me."

"Oh? What else did Dave tell you about me?"

"That you take regular smoke breaks, don't take attitude from anyone, that you agreed on a signal with him if you need help or think someone needs to be escorted out, that he regrets that he wasn't there when our Unsub showed up, that the signal is something you came up with after watching some movie, though he forgot which one – "

"The Darkest Night."

He frowned. "The Dark Knight?"

"No, it's stupid, a low-budget spy movie that never gained any traction. Whenever the main character, Agent Night, wants to signal his team – who are watching him through surveillance cameras – he would hold up two fingers like this and slowly stroke his chin."

Austin demonstrated, smelling the antibacterial balm the nurse had applied when her hand lifted to her face. Dr Reid – Spencer – smiled.

"We should watch it – if you want to, I mean, some day …"

"Sure."

He adjusted his vest again and Austin couldn't mistake the happy blush on his face.

"You like movies then?"

"I – yes, some."

Austin waited for him to continue and her patience was rewarded after a few seconds where he was obviously debating with himself.

"Star Wars, for example, or 2001: A Space Odyssey, of course The Time Machine from 1960 …"

He cut himself off and Austin decided to redirect the attention to herself.

"Science fiction, huh? For me it's action, I'm on board whenever there are ridiculous stunts, exploding cars, espionage and femme fatales, the James Bond package deal if you will."

His shoulders relaxed. "James Bond – high stakes to live up to."

Austin remembered his calm voice, his touch grounding her in reality, the care and consideration he had shown her back in the creep's apartment. Then she glanced at the Smith & Wesson 65 he carried in a hip-holster, the easy confidence with which he adjusted his strides to always walk just that inch in front of her, shielding her from anyone coming their way.

He looked harmless at first glance, people would maybe think of him as a student – she remembered her own assessment: dreamer, poet, artist – but something told her that he would use that revolver if he had to. Had probably been in a position to use it before.

"Actually, I think you're a lot more interesting than Bond."

Spencer glanced at her in surprise. "Interesting? Why?"

"Call it intuition. And if we're talking about living up to someone, I was the one who failed. The women in those movies usually have knives strapped to their thighs, perfect lipstick that never smears and wouldn't allow themselves to just be taken by some guy."

Her throat had gotten strangely tight at that last sentence and Austin inhaled deeply, willing the strangled feeling away.

"You were brave today, Austin." Spencer's voice was low when he spoke, the nervousness that had colored his tone absent. "You saved a young woman – without you looking out for her, she might no longer be alive and Robert Parker would be looking for his next victim."

Austin swallowed.

"Those James Bond women can't compare to you. Neither in courage nor in beauty."

This time it was Austin who blushed. It was the sweetest compliment she had ever received – and he sounded completely genuine.

Cool night air embraced them when they stepped outside the hospital and Spencer led Austin to his car, something she could easily imagine a government agent driving, a 2000 Chevrolet Suburban painted a shining black.

It didn't really fit Spencer, though he seemed at ease behind the wheel after holding Austin's door for her and helping her into the passenger seat.

"I'm not actually hurt, you know."

Spencer shrugged, taking a left when they rolled from the parking lot. Either Dave had spilled her employment record and address along with everything else or Spencer had looked her up when she'd gone missing.

Maybe even before.

"I know."

When nothing more was forthcoming, Austin allowed the silence to settle between them, focusing on the hum of the engine and the vibrations of the tires running over the street.

She must have dozed off, the exhaustion of waning fear pulling her under, because the next thing she knew, careful fingers were unbuckling her belt, a steading hand holding her shoulder.

She blinked her eyes open, reading white block letters that spelled 'FBI' on blue-black fabric.

Dr Reid. Spencer.

"I got you, it's alright. We're at your home."

He had parked at the curb in front of the multistory apartment complex, which was illegal but maybe his license plate read 'FBI' as well so no one would mind. Austin allowed him to help her from the car and couldn't stop herself from taking a deep breath now that he was close again, inhaling his scent.

"Should I escort you upstairs?"

Emboldened by a strange mixture of sleepy honesty and his smell, Austin hooked a finger through one of his belt loops, leaning closer to his ear.

"You should escort me inside, Agent."

Spencer blinked once. Twice.

"Did you know that there is an increased drive to reproduce after surviving danger? Our brains are flooded with hormones as the adrenaline leaves our system, causing a rush of desire and an urge to 'celebrate life', as popular culture puts it. There are studies that show that not only do birth rates surge drastically after wars, actually more boys are being born after large-scale conflicts end. It's called the Returning Soldier Effect, though it is still unclear why it happens. There are different theories, Davenport hypothesize that the cause is the difference between the comparative ill-health of the returning troops compared to the good health of their partners, while others claim that the women play a big part in this, the changing levels of stress in their environment contributing to the health and sex of the fetus. There's even one research by Satoshi Kanazawa that claimed it was in correlation with the height of the returning soldiers, who tended to be more than one inch taller than their fallen comrades."

As interesting as that was … "Spencer – I'm not looking to increase any birthrates. And I'm not being controlled by evil hormones."

He opened his mouth and Austin quickly continued before he could correct her.

"I was already planning on asking you out before tonight."

That seemed to stump him. "You … were?"

"I should have called you immediately after you left me your card."

She was still holding onto his belt loop, keeping him close and she easily saw his fingers twitch at his side, one of them brushing her hip. Her lips curved into a smile.

"Let's go upstairs."

This time he simply nodded, following behind her and sticking close as they rode the elevator to her floor. She fumbled her keys into the lock of her apartment, the white of the band aids flashing in her peripheral vision. Austin resolved to rip them off as soon as she was in the shower.

Her first steps into her apartment were guided by familiarity, dropping her keys into the small bowl on her dresser, tugging off her shoes with her toes and hanging her jacket on one of the knobs next to her mirror.

Only once she was finished did she realize that she held Spencer's full attention as if there was anything at all fascinating about her easy domestic gestures. He was carrying his revolver and wearing the kevlar west and though both suited him quite well, Austin would love to see him in less.

"Make yourself at home. I'm going to freshen up for a second – there's Dr Pepper in the fridge and I still have some black tea in that tin if you're in the mood for something warm."

Austin walked towards her bathroom, her desire for a shower beating her other urges back and it took a second before she picked up on the fact that Spencer hadn't answered her.

Turning around she saw that he had put his revolver next to her key-bowl and gotten rid of his shoes, standing where she had left him.

He looked so lost that something twinged inside her chest.

"Come here."

He obeyed almost immediately, stepping so close Austin had to lean her head back to look at his face. It was the first time she truly noticed how tall he was – somehow it had never really registered, maybe because of the understated way he dressed himself or his compressed body language.

"Want to give me a hand?"

His eyes darkened and something hot curled in her stomach.

"Yes."