Title: Thunderstruck
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Spencer Reid
Fandom: Doctor Who/Criminal Minds
Rating: PG
Table: 100_tales
Prompt: 1, Thunder
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor or Spencer Reid, unfortunately. Please do not sue.

***

The Doctor looked up at the sky; dark clouds were scudding across the sun, obscuring the day that had been so bright only a few moments before. A storm was on its way -- a torrential downpour, from the looks of it.

He hurried across the street, cursing himself for being too far from the Tardis to just head back to his ship. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate being around humans, but at the moment, he'd really rather be safely in a place that he knew was warm and dry.

In spite of his dislike of cats, he couldn't help being like one sometimes, he thought with a wry smile. He hated being caught in the rain; getting wet wasn't all that bad, but having damp clothes stick to his skin wasn't a pleasant sensation.

The rain was starting to fall now, large drops that splattered on the windows around him. There were people hurrying into shops to escape the rain that was threatening to break into a storm at any moment, and he joined them, ducking into a doorway.

Ah, it was a café. That would have been the perfect place if he'd had a bit of money with him, but of course, that was something he never carried. He usually had no need of it -- except when he was here on Earth.

Maybe he could just sit there, pick up a discarded newspaper and hide behind it until the downpour stopped. That would be the best thing to do.

It shouldn't be too long before he could head back to the Tardis, the Doctor reasoned as he looked around for a chair. After all, storms that started out fiercely seemed to burn out rather quickly. He wouldn't have to sit here for more than a short while, he was sure.

Of course, there were no single chairs free; too many people had done the same thing he had and come into the place to escape the rain. But there was an unoccupied chair at a table near the front window, and he made a beeline for it.

There was a young man sitting in the other chair at the table, looking out at the downpour of rain on the street outside. He turned his head when the Doctor slid into the chair next to him, giving the Time Lord a friendly smile and a nod.

"Hi," he said, his eyes appraising the Doctor. "Looks like you made it in here just in time." He gestured at the view, the rain now falling in sheets that almost obscured the cars parked at the curb only a few feet away.

The Doctor nodded, settling into the chair and following the young man's gesture. "I definitely did!" he exclaimed, running a hand through his unruly hair. "I'm like a cat when it comes to rain," he confessed with a smile. "I don't like getting wet."

"Then we'd have that in common," the young man remarked with another smile. "I hate the way it makes my clothes stick to me. That's one of the most uncomfortable feelings ever."

The Doctor blinked in surprise, his mouth almost falling open. Now, that was a strange circumstance. Hadn't he been thinking that very thing only a few moments ago, before he'd come into the café?

Somehow, this young man seemed to be on the same wavelength that he was -- and that wasn't something that often happened with humans. Maybe it would be interesting to have a conversation with him, get to know him a bit better. He certainly seemed interesting.

The interesting you man held out a hand to him across the table. "I should introduce myself. I'm Spencer Reid. Dr. Spencer Reid," he added, his voice firm, with a slight emphasis on the title as he spoke.

Doctor? This young man was a doctor? He certainly didn't look old enough, the Doctor thought with some amusement. Still, if he said that he was a doctor, then he more than likely was. Perhaps he was an intern in some nearby hospital.

"You look awfully young to be a doctor," he said, raising his eyebrows. He felt a little odd telling Spencer that he was called "the Doctor" -- that would probably raise all sorts of questions about what kind of doctor he was, questions that he didn't want to answer.

"I'm .... what people call a wunderkind," Spencer said, looking down at the table, sounding a little embarrassed. "I graduated from high school when I was twelve. College a few years later."

"What do you do now?" The Doctor was interested in spite of himself; he really should probably make a polite excuse to get up and walk away, but he was drawn to this young man, even though Spencer could very likely pose a danger to him.

After all, if he was as intelligent as he appeared, he wouldn't be easily fobbed off with the usual airy explanations of who the Doctor was. He'd want to dig deeper -- and the Time Lord had the sneaking suspicion that it would be hard to deny Spencer any answers he might seek.

Spencer's answer surprised him. "I work for the FBI," he said, his voice soft, his eyes seeming to dart around the café as though he didn't want people to hear him. "I'm a criminal profiler -- been doing it for a while now."

The Doctor felt a bit uneasy at Spencer's words; that would complicate things even more if he kept talking to this young man and letting bits of information about himself escape. He'd have to be careful about what he said, how much he let slip through.

"What do you do?" Spencer asked him, those dark eyes regarding him thoughtfully across the table. "And what's your name?" That gaze was so clear and direct; there didn't seem to be any motive behind it other than having a name to go with the face he was staring into.

The Doctor thought quickly; he'd just have to use his alias. But instead, he found the words that he hadn't wanted to say slipping out, almost against his will.

"I'm the Doctor," he said, his voice low-pitched, soft enough not to carry any further than their table and the very near vicinity. "Errr .... John Smith. Really," he added with a slightly nervous smile. "I know it's an innocuous name, but everyone can't have a moniker that stands out."

To his relief, Spencer laughed and nodded, settling back in his chair. "You're right about that. I'd like to have a name that blends into the background. I've always hated my name. 'Spencer' always seemed like it never quite fit me."

He jumped as a crack of thunder exploded through the sky, sounding as though it was right outside the window. His face went pale, and he gripped the edge of the table with one slender hand so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"Sorry," Spencer murmured, his eyes meeting the Doctor's again. "I've .... always been nervous about thunder. It scared the hell out of me when I was a kid -- I don't know why. I've kind of gotten over it, but loud thunder still makes me jump."

"I've never been really fond of it, either," the Doctor murmured, letting himself relax. Spencer seemed to be just what he appeared, a friendly person who he'd like to get to know better. His association with the FBI didn't need to come into things.

But still, he'd have to be careful. He didn't want anyone trying to find out any information about him -- prying into a background that wouldn't be there.

"What brings you here, anyway, other than getting out of the rain?" Spencer asked him, leaning forward and propping his elbows on the table, a questioning look on his face. "Your accent tells me that you're British. Why are you in New York?"

"Oh .... I travel a good deal," the Doctor said, hoping that this vague answer would appease Spencer. "Really, I haven't been here much. I just ducked in to keep from getting rained on -- and I'm glad I did," he added, his tone softer than it had been.

"You should come here more often," Spencer said, his voice equally soft, his dark eyes not leaving the Time Lord's. "I'd like to spend some time with you -- if you're not busy while you're here. I've got some free time for a while, if you're not doing anything important."

"Not a thing," the Doctor answered, a smile spreading across his features. So, it seemed that Spencer was thinking along the same lines he was. Funny how they seemed to have a connection, an unspoken understanding that seemed to flow between them.

"Well then -- if you're not doing anything, when it stops raining, would you like a guide around the city?" Spencer said, picking up one of the napkins on the table and crumpling it in his fingers. "And maybe company for dinner tonight?"

The Doctor did a bit of quick thinking; he had nowhere to go, not really. And if Spencer's mind was traveling along the same paths that his own was ....

The Doctor nodded slowly, his eyes meeting Spencer's and hoping what he thought he read in those dark depths was correct. "I certainly would," he answered, his voice slightly breathless with the anticipation of what the next few hours could possibly bring.

After all, he told himself, there couldn't be any harm in getting to know this young man -- even though it was fairly obvious that he couldn't take Spencer along with him as a companion when he left. He'd have to be careful not to let himself become too emotionally involved.

There was something about Spencer that invited confidences, an air of innocence combined with a sense of darkness, some sort of trauma or secret that hovered just beneath the surface. The Doctor was sure that there was much more to Spencer than was apparent on the outside.

He'd been thunderstruck from the moment he'd met this young man, and he had no intention of letting Spencer slip away from him. He wanted to get Spencer to open up, to understand just what was going on in that obviously brilliant mind.

Of course, it might not be easy. But he'd always been a man who'd accepted challenges, hadn't he? He had the feeling that Spencer was the same way -- and that the two of them colliding had been inevitable, something that was destined to happen.

Looking across the table at the handsome young man sitting opposite him, the Doctor couldn't help but feel that not becoming involved might be much more easily said than done.

***

Next story in series - Who We Are.