Imagine: You’re a bartender working your same bland job when suddenly a brown-haired cutie approaches you. Chatting briefly, he manages to slip you a piece of paper with his phone number written on it - in Roman Numerals. You call him as soon as your shift is over and he is shocked.
Good with Numbers// Fluff Requested by mentallydatingspencerreid
You sigh as you pour yet another concoction of various alcoholic beverages into a glass and hand it over to a sleazy, drunken dirtbag who replies with a slurred, “Thanks beautiful.” You ignore his comment, flashing him a brief smile before peering up at the clock. Just another twenty minutes until the shift is over, and you couldn’t be happier. It’s not that you didn’t enjoy being hit on constantly by every member of the male population, you just know well enough by now than to associate your job with your personal relationships. The flashing lights burn your eyes and you find yourself peering over at the dance floor - a mess of sweaty, seemingly conjoined bodies - and just counting the seconds until you get to go home to your nice warm bed. Out of the corner of your eye you can see two men approaching you. The way they carry themselves is almost foreign in a place like this. They have a certain authority to their step that makes you a little nervous, and suddenly your stomach is in knots. “What can I get for you two gentlemen?” you ask, placing a hand on the bar and meeting eyes with the lankier brunette. “Just a moment of your time, sweetheart.” the darker man answers. You immediately tilt your head in confusion. “Do you recognize this man?” the handsome brunette asks, handing you a piece of paper. Your eyes float from one man to the next, still wondering why they are looking for this man. “Why are you looking for him?” “Oh I’m sorry, “ the other man starts, reading into his pocket to pull out a badge, “My name is S.S.A Derek Morgan, this is Dr. Spencer Reid.” “Doctor, huh?” you raise your eyebrows at him. “You can call me Spencer.” he smiles back at you, his eyes briefly flickering down to your lips as he does. “Well, I can’t say that I’ve ever seen this man around here before.” you sigh, feeling the young agent’s eyes on you, “But then again a lot of men come in here. They get drunk, throw a degrading and/or objective comment my way, and leave. I try to repress the memory of their faces.” “Call us if you hear or see anything.” Spencer nods, sliding his card onto the bar. “Will do.” you smile back, noticing how wide and brown his eyes are for the first time. ‘Thank you for your time.” Derek smiles politely at you. “Have a wonderful night.” With a final comment, the agents disappear into the colossal sea of grinding bodies and bright lights. Curiosity gets the better of you as you pick up the agent’s card on the bar, squinting your eyes when you see another small piece of paper attached to the card. Ten digits are sprawled across the white sheet of paper in messy handwriting. Immediately you recognize the strange symbols. They were Roman Numerals. A phone number, perhaps? But that wouldn’t make any sense considering the agent gave you his card,
Tilting your head to the side, you flip over the card, searching for a phone number. As expected, you find one. However, the tiny print beside the ten digits on the card are addressed to the police department tip line.
The next fifteen or so minutes feel like an eternity as you continue to serve countless strangers. With five minutes until your shift ends, you grip the sheet of paper in your hands, examining each digit once again. Finally, you grab a pencil you keep inside of your purse and write down each Roman Numeral as a number. As your shift ends, you grab your cell phone, punching in the ten digits and praying to God that the sheet of paper belonged to the handsome agent and not some vulgar excuse for a human being. After three rings, a voice answers the phone, “Hello?” You smile to yourself, relived to hear his voice. “Hello again, doctor.” you state, “Boy am I glad that this number didn’t lead to some pizza place I’ve never heard of.” “You figured it out.” he responds, you can hear the grin in his voice. “What can I say, I’m pretty good with numbers of all kinds.” you pause, “Do you give your number to all the girls you meet?” “Only the pretty ones with a hint of sass.” he laughs, “Would you be interested in grabbing a coffee sometime?” “I would love to” you start, “Spencer.”
As you hang up the phone, Spencer peers down at his own with a wide smile. “Was that her?” Morgan asks, shock crossing his face. “I told you she was smart enough to figure it out.”