Work Text:
“You know that you’re kinda annoying, right?”
Spencer glances up from his notes. The entire group is looking at him, but no one seems to have listened to the research he did for the project.
“I was discussing the way the medium of statistics can be used in artistic careers since that was the focus of our project.”
Freddy sighs, dragging a hand down his face. He’s mouthing something quietly, but it’s not visible enough for Spencer to try to lip-read.
“Jane, you’re not going to get through to him. He’s a kid.
Swallowing around a quickly forming lump in his throat, he grips his notes tighter. “I was under the impression we were meeting to work on the project. Is that not the case?”
Jane scowls, her eyebrows furrowed. She nudges Karl, who crosses his arms like some sort of cop. He looks over, glances down at the notes, and then back up at Spencer.
“We’re meeting about the project. You don’t make sense to anyone, so just let us handle it.”
He looks between the three twenty-year-olds and bites his lip to prevent a more embarrassing reaction. His notes begin to crinkle, his grip pulling at the sides of the pages. His mom had been excited for him to work with some other sophomores. She said they’d make for some friends, and with how they didn’t immediately shove him in a locker somewhere, he’d gotten hopeful that they actually might get along.
“I can rewrite it in a different format if the current one is hard to understand,” he offers.
She groans, but Freddy speaks over her: “Listen, kid, we’re sure you wanna learn something, so why don’t you practice for the presentation. We all have to present part of it, and you’re not… very good at that yet.”
“Stop coddling him. He’s, what, sixteen? He can handle some harsh realities,” Jane says (he’s actually fourteen, but he’ll take the error as a compliment). Her eyes set on Spencer like a predator hunting its prey. “You’re weird, okay? I know you’re some super genius that’s skipped all of high school or something, but it’s kind of really hard to like you when you just start talking like that.”
Karl nods, “You didn’t make eye contact either. Practice that, maybe. At this point, it’s kind of hard to work with you, so maybe you can just do whatever we assign you by yourself.”
Freddy points at him with a nod, looking at Spencer like his high school teachers would. His expression is prudent, and it’s completely void of respect. “That’s a great idea! You can do that, right?”
Spencer stares at them all, cheeks inflamed from the utter infantilization. He loosens his hold on his notes, and his eyes fall to the edge of the table. Slowly, he nods.
“Yes.”
“Great!” Freddy says it like a parent giving a gold star. It’s horrifying.
“Oh, thank god.”
Later that night and then that next week and far after the group project is finished, Spencer can’t stop thinking about how much worse it is to think someone is your friend only to learn they don’t like you much at all.
Though he supposes he doesn’t really know what it truly means to be friends with someone.
—-
Derek doesn’t notice it until he says:
“Is it really that hard for you to be normal just one time?”
Reid, who’d been almost smiling from reading through file after file (Derek found the content mind-numbing), didn’t look at him. His eyes, still on the file in his hands as he flipped through it lightning fast, paused for barely a second before continuing to scan rapidly across the page. The quirk to his lips flattened out, and he waited till Hotch came into the room to speak again.
Weirder is that Hotch asks what caused the long stint in San Diego, as Reid’d brought up, and he didn’t respond at all. He almost always, whether certain or not, will bring up any possibility his mind can conceive. It’s always a stream of thoughts and ideas, often helping them to think through obvious solutions to narrow them down or pinpoint the correct answer. Most of the time, it helps Derek to brainstorm alongside him (though he’ll never admit to something so embarrassing; it’s not like he needs Reid to ramble to think). Instead, he’d been quiet as a stone.
That’s odd.
Derek hadn’t been trying to upset the man. If anything, he’d been jealous that something that chokes his brain like a parasite could be an enjoyable act for Reid. Did that not come across as lighthearted? They all joke like that with each other, and Reid’s a genius… he must know. Whether his comment offended or not, though, he can’t let go of the visceral change after he’d said what he did.
Silence. Complete and utter nothing.
It’s awful.
After that, it becomes almost a curse that Derek can’t stop noticing: Dr. Spencer Reid is clamping up and closing off.
That’s what it feels like, and the second he realizes it, he feels like an idiot for not noticing sooner.
I of all people should recognize the signs, so why couldn’t I?
Derek is not only a profiler, but he was there when the young, speedy Dr. Reid joined their team years ago. He’s seen his silent transformation, the confidence that’s grown and the comfort he’s gained with the BAU. They’re all comfortable (even Hotch is, now that some time has passed), and it’s normal.
Except that, Reid has started acting more like he did at the beginning lately. He talks less, his face is consistently more neutral or blank, and he is much more strictly case-oriented. Even his desk feels different, with the couple of decorative trinkets that used to be on there suddenly missing. It’s like he’s reverting.
The worst part… (though Derek can’t pinpoint why it even bothers him the most) is that he’s doing it around everyone, even Derek. When Reid was adjusting to the BAU after his arrival years back, Derek was the first person to break through his shell:
It’d been the night after a particularly draining case, and Derek was aiming to head home when he’d seen Reid still at his desk. The kid had been sitting there with stacks of files in front of him. The files were BAU ones. Even Derek could tell easily that it was old BAU cases, ones dating back to before the digital age. His head was tucked low, face empty of emotion as he scanned through each at the pace of an Olympic gold medalist. On occasion, he’d pause to jot down a note to his side before continuing.
It tugged on Derek’s chest in a weird way, and he’d approached with an offer of drinks.
‘I don’t drink alcohol very much,’ Reid had replied, eyes never leaving the files in front of him.
‘What do you drink then?’
‘Coffee mostly. Tea as well, but it’s less effective as a stimulant. Water for survival, but I don’t much like the taste.’
While not something Derek would ever usually do so late, he’d grinned with an idea—his own personal olive branch of friendship.
‘Let’s go get coffee then. I’ve got some old cop stories that are way more interesting than these cases.’
Reid’s pace with the files slowed, and he looked up at Derek with his big hazel eyes like an artist’s most personal painting. The barest hint of a smile played across his face, and he’d set the file in his hand down.
‘You want me to get coffee with you? Right now?’
Derek had shrugged. ‘Yeah, why not?’
After a moment of hesitation, Reid had agreed. ‘Alright, let me organize my station and gather my bag.’
The two of them had gone to some coffee shop that Reid liked that was somehow open at 9 on a weekday. They’d been the only ones there besides two baristas and some college student in the corner, but the coffee was excellent, so it wasn’t as awkward as Derek expected. In the dim light, Reid had shaken off some of the hesitation surrounding him.
Derek told him about Chicago and some of his stories there. Reid listened with a nod, but when one story brought up the novel Catcher in the Rye, he snapped into place like someone turned his batteries on.
‘Catcher in the Rye actually has a large history of attracting killers. The novel’s perspective puts readers in a place of responsibility. They have to work to understand Caulfield’s unreliability, but since sociopaths instead identify with their own twisted version of-‘
His eyes widened minutely, and he closed his mouth with a start. A bit of red had flustered his cheeks, and he’d looked awfully cute as he seemed to realize his own chattiness. (Not that Derek had noticed or even thought about Reid as cute, because what sort of ladies' man has time to do that?)
‘I am, well, informed on the matter.’
‘Mhm. Big fan of literature, are you?’
And a small comment like that pulled at the corners of Reid’s mouth. His lips curled up, and for the first time in months of working with him, Dr. Spencer Reid smiled. His sharp cheekbones and smooth jaw framed it, and the small freckle low on his cheek seemed to guide attention from the line of his face down to his lips, which were pulled into a proper little grin.
‘I’m one of the biggest fans.’
He’d seemed to be an embodiment of mirth in that moment, and Derek’s first and only true thought had been: Pretty.
After that, Derek was able to be something of importance to Reid, and he felt the affection from the man wash over him in ways that were far more comforting than the company of Hotch or Gideon. They became some semblance of friends.
Reid stopped hesitating like that from saying things to Derek after their time at the coffee shop.
Until now.
“Well they actually—“
“It’s interesting, because—or, well it’s not relevant.”
Currently:
“There’s—that’s all there is, yes.”
Derek frowns, watching as the rest of the team begins to talk about the geographical profile that Reid made. They don’t seem focused on the way he slinks off just barely to the side like he doesn’t want to be seen.
The others shuffle from the room with their new orders, and Reid slinks around the walls to the exit so slowly that he’s conveniently reaching it long after everyone else has left. His eyes are on the floor, wooden bird cane in hand. He’d been excited to rid himself of the crutches, and yet he hasn’t mentioned much lately about his cane—no lengthy explanations of why he chose that bird or the history of woodcarving.
Before he can slip away quicker than a rabbit, Derek approaches him and blocks his exit.
“Hey there.”
Reid tenses for half a second before his body relaxes perfectly. His eyes dart up to meet Derek’s for a moment before glancing at the exit.
“Hello?” His voice is calm, confused compellingly, like an actor performing a well-practiced role. “Did you need something? I need to finish connecting the drop-off sites to victimology like Hotch said.”
“Depends. What’s up?”
His poker face is definitely up to Vegas standards, and Derek can’t help but feel almost dissuaded.
“Huh? With you? I’m not exactly a mind reader, but you did seem distracted a moment ago.” his body tilts towards him finally, eyes darker and walled off.
“Listen, kid, I can tell something is wrong with you,” and he feels bile in his throat at the frustrated frown that washes over Reid.
“Has my work performance been lackluster or sloppy? Perhaps I haven’t been meeting expectations as an agent?” Reid’s voice gets cold, his stance straightening up. His hand on the cane holds him steady.
Derek frowns and shakes his head. The honesty is easy, not something he’d need to hide anyway.
“No. Reid, you’ve been doing great work. What are you talking about?”
Hazel-doe eyes turn into eyes of something scarier, something that bites back. It makes Reid look older and vacant.
“I’m talking about how unless my work is appearing to suffer negatively, any ‘something’ that is or is not wrong with me should have zero reason to impact you. Now we both need to get back to working on the case at hand.”
Despite his size, he worms his way around Derek through to disappear somewhere into the station.
‘Zero reason to impact me?’
Normally, Derek prides himself on leaving things alone. He’s better than anyone at not getting too invested in cases, and he’s not afraid to come off like an asshole if it means his team is throwing themselves into the right cases. Work is work is work. That’s what he’d tell anyone, if asked, but… his team isn’t a case. His team is his team. He sees Emily get hurt, and he thinks of his sisters getting roughed up. He sees Hotch pull another all-nighter even though he’s only barely recovering from Foyet, and he remembers the way his mother would sit in the kitchen late at night holding his father’s wedding ring. He sees Spencer getting quiet or closing off, and he thinks of himself. Cold and sitting on the floor in the Chicago PD with accusations of dead kids that he’d mourned, Derek had been quiet. Like a teen boy, refusing to be seen as weak again, he didn’t trust anyone not to hurt him. He’d shut down so often, back when he was going through training, because someone would rub his arm the wrong way on a bad day.
Derek just wishes he knew what Spencer was brushing away from.
—-
“I just keep getting Ph.d’s.”
It’s his own voice that says it, and yet Spencer barely registers if the words actually leave his mouth or if he’s hallucinating them.
Nobody glances in his direction, and the conversation never remotely acknowledges the statement. Not even a single laugh reverberates back to him, and he wonders if he’s losing it.
‘I heard you, I just didn’t want to,’ a girl told him once, back in high school. It had been the first time that he had an explanation for why people ignored him so often, but it didn’t make him feel less crazy when someone acknowledged everyone in the room except for him.
Spencer didn’t often think about his own place in the team or what the team’s opinion was of him. It’d been easy, once he’d gotten comfortable around Morgan, to adjust well enough to the team even when Elle left or Rossi rejoined (he tries not to think about Gideon if he can help it, though lately the man clings to his memory).
Except there’d been this moment about a month and a half ago. They’d all wrapped up the case with the choking teenagers, and Christopher was alive. It’d been nice getting onto the jet and knowing that they’d saved a kid for once.
‘There’s a lot to hate about you, Dr. Reid.’
Emily said it with an abstruse tone that slides right past him. He frowns, but before he can ask about it, everyone else seems to find something to pipe up with. He’d only been trying to help her finish the puzzle.
‘Play poker with him sometime.’ Poker was something familiar enough for him to bond with Rossi after he joined. He’d warned him that he was banned from the Las Vegas Strip, but he’d not believed him until he’d lost five times in a row.
‘Try playing chess with him,’ Morgan laughed. After Gideon left, he’d played through so many different variations of chess by himself until Morgan offered to play a couple with him. He’d been so quiet, focusing on checking off each set of moves, that Morgan got bored and stopped playing. Spencer enjoyed the company, but Morgan offered, so it was his decision to rescind said offer.
‘Or Go.’ He did ask Garcia to play Go with him, but only because he thought maybe it would be fun to pick her brain. With someone as smart as her, he had no way to know that he’d win each time. Apparently, losing one too many times makes the game less exciting.
He’d enjoyed playing with each of them, but maybe his understanding of it wasn’t mutual.
Maybe our friendship isn’t mutual.
Since then… he notices stuff. People in high school would call him oblivious or stupid with others, but he’s been studying people long enough to know better.
‘Practice that maybe.'
Comforting locations aren’t comfortable anymore. He notices slowly as the BAU stops reminding him of his apartment and starts to mimic his college classrooms as a sixteen-year-old about to earn his first degree. The roar of the jet engine morphs from white noise to the banging of someone’s fist. Even his own desk… it doesn’t feel right anymore. He takes his books home from it, suddenly nervous that his choices only serve to make others put off by him.
He tells Sarah that he’s been working at the BAU for 5 years, 7 months, and 19 days. It’s the truth, but he feels sort of conflicted when he thinks about it. He’s solved so many cases with this team. That’s gotta account for some love, doesn’t it?
Does it?
The door to his apartment gets stuck when he tries to open it, and he kicks it with his good leg more than once before it creaks open.
Home sweet home, I suppose.
The lights are off, and he stares at the silhouettes of his couch and his bookshelves in the dark. His apartment feels familiar even in the low light, but he can’t tell where the cold of the outside air behind him stops and the stillness of his apartment begins.
It shouldn’t startle him when his phone rings, but it does.
“Hello, this is Dr. Spencer Reid.”
“Reid! Where are you?” He settles at the familiar voice, though he’s not sure where Emily is. There’s lots of noise behind her voice, the hum of human conversation mixed with music. A bar, maybe?
“I’m at home,” he responds, though he can’t help hiding the bit of confusion from the question.
She makes a noise between a frown and a sigh. “Did JJ forget to ask you? We’re all out for drinks after the case… or most of us. Hotch went home to Jack, of course.”
A bar, then. I was correct.
He considers the available information. JJ was supposed to ask him, hypothetically, to join the others for drinks. The group has gone to the bar not knowing his location or response, and Hotch is the only member of the team absent to this. They did not send him any address, nor did they offer or ask about rides—though this is likely a consequence of the bigger issue that they forgot to invite him.
His apartment suddenly feels multiple degrees colder, but he doesn’t move from his spot in the doorway. His feet are too confused about whether he should enter or go back down the steps towards the bus stop.
A weight settles in his throat, and he bites his lip to prevent a greater emotion from overcoming him.
“I was not made aware of that plan,” he states. It takes another moment for him to quickly force out the rest. “As I believe you know, I take public transportation, and I’m not certain when the next bus to this mystery bar might be… so I’ll wish you all a productive… partying.”
“Oh, Spence—“
“Good night, Emily.”
With a squeeze of the doorframe, he hangs up and finally crosses the threshold into his apartment.
Something gets left behind outside, though. Something gets lost the second he hangs up the phone.
—-
He is so quiet.
Derek watches Reid like the man is his favorite action flick (not in a romantic way, but a friendly way), and he still has zero clue what’s going on with him.
Reid sits at his desk, reading a book that, from a distance, looks like both The Help and some sort of flower non-fiction. He’s flipping through pages at his regular speed of enjoyment (he goes faster when it’s for the case), making significant progress within a few minutes.
“New case, wheels up in twenty!” Hotch calls as he appears out of thin air.
Everyone shuffles about immediately, like dogs responding to a whistle. Derek grabs his go-bag, but rushes after Emily before he loses the chance.
She spots him and slows down her pace towards the jet to accommodate, like the saint she is. He falls into step beside her, lowering his voice to avoid those soon to be following them from hearing.
“Hello, Emily,” he grins, and she rolls her eyes at his emphasis on the latter half of the word ‘hello’. “We need to talk.”
Her voice lilts up as she whispers back through a chuckle. “Hello to you too, Morgan. You sound like you’re about to break up with me.”
He laughs, and her smile grows at a successful tease.
“Not quite. Have you noticed anything weird about Reid lately?”
Just as fast as her smile had grown and settled over her face, it falls and turns into a frown.
“Yes, of course. He’s getting more avoidant, and I don’t know… it was odd.”
“Odd?”
“Y’know how we went to drinks last week?”
It’d been fun, and he remembers Garcia’s rambling as her drink count went up. He’d kept missing the presence of a certain genius, though, and JJ prodded him more than once about drifting off into thought. Reid never really drinks when they go out as a group, and when he’d asked once, two years ago, Reid hadn’t said much:
‘I don’t like the taste enough to enjoy it.’
‘I don’t drink alcohol much,’ he’d said that night years ago. He wondered what made him partake in the rare moments he drank.
Does he ever drink by himself?
Derek had just nodded, even though he wondered so much about the deciding factors for him drinking or not.
“I remember. He wasn’t there.” His voice sounds more whiny than he’d meant it to. I’d miss anyone who wasn’t there.
She gives him a look that’s two parts confusing and three parts knowing. “I called him, and he’d not even known about it. JJ had forgotten to ask him, but you know him. He usually says his goodbyes before leaving, especially after a case like that. JJ didn’t even realize he’d left until she went to try and ask him.”
The information washes over him, and he feels his heart plummet. “He didn’t say goodbye when he joined. Reid started doing that after Elle left. I’d always assumed it was because he never got a proper goodbye with her.”
Emily nods, and they reach the jet, though neither climbs the steps up to it yet.
“So he’s reverting to old behaviors? Why? I thought he was comfortable around all of us. It’s not as if he’s acting snappy like he did back after Hankel.”
He shrugs, “Something must’ve changed that, but I don’t know what.”
“Changed what?” Rossi pipes up from behind them.
They both startle and glance at him.
Reid and JJ are further away, not yet within listening range. Derek subtly motions to Reid.
“Pretty boy.”
Rossi nods in immediate understanding, and he whispers as he passes them. “I’d like to know myself.”
So everyone has noticed? Then… none of us know why?
—-
“Babygirl.”
“Hello, handsome, what can I do you for?”
He smiles and steals a glance around. Reid isn’t anywhere. Oddly enough, the man seems more interested in hanging around the other BAU team right now than his own, though Derek is trying not to let it spur jealousy in him.
“It’s not related to the case, actually. I know-“
She shushes him. “It’s important if it’s distracting you, and I’m not busy yet. What’s got your whiskers twisted?”
“It’s Reid,” he sighs. He feels so weak in saying it, because as close as he prides himself on being with the man… he can’t help but feel that he’s the one with the least understanding of the situation at hand. Is he simply a bad friend? Is he not someone Reid enjoys being around anymore? He can’t handle Reid not wanting to spend time with him. That’s normal, isn’t it?
“He’s been distant, different.”
Her voice loses the spark of amusement it started with. “Yeah, he has. He’s stopped wearing purple.”
Purple?
“Purple? What are you—“
“Not as perceptive this time, Chocolate Thunder,” she chides with a friendly edge. “Purple is his confident color, he wears it like a self-love routine.” Her voice turns sad. “And he hasn’t worn any purple in weeks.”
“Ah, I just—I assumed he just liked purple.” And it looks good on him, he doesn’t say.
“He does, but there’s clearly more to it. I can recognize a wardrobe color association like that from miles away, super genius or not.”
“I see,” he offers. He didn’t know about the purple or the confidence. What kind of friend does that make him? Why does it matter so much that it’s Reid he keeps missing stuff about?
“Do you know what’s going on with him?” He asks.
“Not a bit. He hasn’t talked to me at all. I even offered for us to go watch Dr. Who this last weekend, and he told me he had plans. He doesn’t ever have plans, especially not ‘skip-Dr-Who’ level plans,” she frowns.
Derek sighs and resolves himself to never knowing unless he can squeeze it out of Reid himself. The man has made himself a powder keg, lid locked on tight, and Derek can feel the trepidation coming off of him. A confession won’t come smoothly.
“Alright, thank you, Sweetheart.”
“Anytime, my sugar plum.”
He hangs up and glances around the corner at Reid. The man is far off in a corner, working on the profile write-up. Alone.
What is going on with my Pretty Boy?
—-
Reid is going insane, probably.
He remembers what it was like to be haunted. Tobias Hankel haunted him for a year, then Ryan Phillips haunted him for months, and even his own father’s past haunted him for weeks.
Now, he feels haunted by something far harder to manage. He’s used to victims and unsubs enough to understand the coping process more intrinsically. What he doesn’t understand is the coping strategies for your closest friends and the only people in your life (besides your mother) secretly hating you.
Hate or dislike or, God forbid, tolerance, he firmly believes that he’s misinterpreted every one of his relationships within the BAU.
Every day at work, he feels the paranoia between each line of conversation. There’s a lilt to Emily’s voice sometimes; does that mean she’s lying about her interest in his life? How can he possibly know the difference between genuine and false when Rossi and Hotch’s expressions hardly shift for either? What if Derek thinks I’m a loser just like the rest?
Before, when he was adjusting to the team, he’d been so focused on finding comfort and stability in the job itself. He was adjusting to the routine, but now it’s like he’s losing the stability from the people. When did routine include specific people? When did it become fundamental to his life to see Derek Morgan everyday? Was he too caught up in the wrong thing before? Maybe he should’ve been prioritizing making himself likable first. It’s not as if anyone was ever wrong about him—he talks more than people want him to and he’s not sociable. In the end, maybe he—
“Doctor?”
He blinks into focus, noticing his silence within the conversation has been noticed.
“Yes?” Shame eats away at him, making his voice quieter. “I’m actually not certain what we’re discussing anymore.”
Jonathan Simms (he remembers one of the others calling him ‘Prophet’ which is a fascinating nickname he hasn’t yet asked about) stares at him for a moment, but doesn’t say anything.
Instead, Rossi scans him. “Reid, is everything alright?”
“I-“ He meets his eyes, and there’s concern for him there. The feeling wraps around him like a blanket, and, for a moment, he wonders if this is the worry he missed out on. The worry I wasn’t good enough to get from my real father.
Except he can’t stop thinking lately about the pain in his knee when he crawled out of that ditch all alone. He’d not minded the unimportant reasoning for him going in, but he’d felt so stupid standing by himself. It’d been so familiar, like he was ten years old again waiting in an empty doorway for a man who’d long since left. Rossi might’ve not heard his call for help, but he can’t really know—can he?
“I’m fine,” he says, and he knows his behavior isn’t entirely normal, but Rossi won’t ask him about it. Spencer can’t trust that the man doesn’t think less of him than the others, but he can trust that he won’t make him talk. That’s got to be worth something.
“Well, I’m tired, that’s for certain,” Prophet remarks. His smile distracts, pulling Rossi’s attention away from him with the way it stretches oddly tight across the man’s face.
Huh.
Did he do that for him? It’s hard to be certain, but he finds himself enjoying the distance he feels between himself and Prophet. There’s respect, but with that there are no expectations. No hopes of friendship to wind up muddled and uncertain.
I bet working with him would be easier.
As their ‘celebration party’ dies down, he finds himself frozen like a stone.
What am I thinking?
It’s like a poison he didn’t mean to swallow, but now he can’t find a way to prevent its influence. What would it be like to work with this other BAU team? What would it be like to no longer work with my team?
Employees are about efficiency. Spencer has known this since he was a kid, and he strives to be efficient (though he knows he’s messed up on that front plenty more times than a better employee would). Except… How much longer can he manage to keep up with the work of being a profiler when his brain is so focused on his personal attachments with his coworkers?
I can’t. I might not have the friends I thought I did, but I still have my job.
—-
‘Request for Transferal’
Spencer stares at the sheet of paper, knowing that most of the others have long since gone home.
Last week, he printed out the sheet to fill out.
Today, he finally started to.
Right now, his hand is tight around his pen as it hovers above where his final signature goes.
The words feel like a certain doom as if he didn’t print them out himself. How does he explain himself? Will words fail him like they always seem to? They bubble out like something fluid, and each bubble pops once other people actually hear it.
What’s the point in speaking if nobody wants to listen? He’d thought, curled up in the bathroom stall after that stupid group project in college.
Except I already made the mistake of speaking.
With a sigh, he finishes up his signature.
His eyes dart to Hotch’s office, anxiety rising in his chest at the light between the blinds. A decision pops up in his head, framed like two books on a shelf: Tell Hotch now or Tell Hotch tomorrow. Spencer isn’t certain if it’s better to give Hotch more time to ponder his request or to wait till Hotch gets a bit of sleep.
“Reid?”
Oh shit.
—-
Despite not being Unit Chief anymore, Derek finds that he still is leaving the BAU far later than he used to.
It’s his means of being there for Hotch ever since what happened to Haley, but truthfully, he’s also started to find it in his routine. It’s easy to forget how long he’s been sitting and doing paperwork once he’s gotten it drilled into the pattern of events after each case.
At some point, he’s gotten familiar with being the last person (besides Hotch, of course) to leave the building most nights.
Which is why he can’t help but stare when he sees Reid sitting at his desk this late.
His hair falls in front of his face, a curtain hiding away whatever ghost has been haunting him for the past month. There’s some sort of paper in front of him, a pen moving quickly in his hand as he fiddles with it.
“Reid?”
He stiffens immediately, and his head zips up with a wave of awareness. Something afraid clings to him, and Derek is reminded instantly of the way his body shook on the camera footage of him and Hankel.
With long strides, he swiftly places himself next to Reid’s desk. Reid’s body seems to forcibly unfreeze, and his hand twitches against the papers on his desk.
Just as he makes a move to grab it and place it in his drawer, Derek catches a glimpse of what’s on it.
Request of Transfer?
“Reid, why the hell did you fill out a transfer?”
The man in question twitches again, and Derek finds himself stealing the form from Reid’s grip before it can disappear into his desk.
“Morgan—“
“When did you plan on telling us you wanted to leave? Why do you want to leave?”
Reid looks away, staring at the floor beside his desk like it’s anything but cheap flooring.
“I’m not sure I understand what other options you would prefer.”
It feels like hot coals, and Derek swallows against the lump of them in his throat. He squeezes his hand around the form, knowing that it’ll crinkle and Reid will hate that he made it like that.
“What?” He can feel his voice get a bit louder, but he can’t help it. “What I’d prefer is that you stay on our team? Why the fuck do you think I’d want anything besides that?!”
“Even now I can’t fucking tell!” Reid shouts as he stands up, and his face finally meets Derek’s. The expression feels like a time capsule, mimicking the tension in Texas ages ago during the case with Owen Savage or the way Reid tore into his father in Vegas. “We agreed not to profile each other, and I don’t want to betray that unspoken rule—but you are all so fucking inconsistent!”
Something horribly cold splashes over Derek, and he feels the anger drain from him within seconds. “What…?”
“You say that you want me on the team, but then it’s all ‘you’re so hateable Reid’ and ‘shut up Reid’ and I-“ His voice pitches up, frame electric with energy as he snaps like he does when something unspoken has built up for too long. “You guys don’t have to pretend you like having me around when you never stop complaining about my being here.”
Something weirdly feels familiar about the way he says ‘you’re so hateable Reid’ and Derek frustratedly can’t quite pin down what that something is.
“Reid-“
“I haven’t talked to Hotch yet, but I thought you’d at least be understanding about it. What is it? Do you think it’s funny to laugh at me behind my back? Is it that you feel bad? I’m not some annoying little kid for you to take care of or make me feel better about being some-some awkward loser.”
His teeth dig into his lip, eyes becoming watery with frustration. And Derek? He can’t quite settle on what to say.
“It’s my fault for assuming we were all friends… that you guys liked me despite everything, but the least you guys could do is let me leave peacefully. I-I love you guys, but I need this job. My focus should be cases, not my own personal attachments, and the brain cannot multitask.”
With a rush of exhaustion, Reid slumps. His eyes fall, and he grabs his bag, suddenly on the move to escape. Escape from me, a voice in his head says.
Normally, Derek would be quick to follow and keep this conversation progressing, but he’s not certain he has a clue what the right thing to say is at this moment. Instead, he lifts his hand and stares at the crinkled form papers still in his hand.
‘Request for Transfer’
At the very bottom, he sees the careful signature (and clean; Derek’s always found Spencer’s signature to be delicate in an appropriately pretty way, but he’s not about to mention something so shameful).
‘Signed, Spencer Reid’
It’s terrifying—the idea of a BAU without Reid. Derek knows that, realistically, Reid would be good for that other BAU team, but he can’t help but feel a wave of possessiveness at the thought.
What do I do?
—-
“He wants to what?!”
It’s JJ who says it, voicing the utter confusion the rest of them share.
Derek had been relieved to successfully wrangle everyone but Hotch and Reid to the bullpen early enough to discuss the worrisome state of their resident genius.
“That’s why he’s been so distant?” Emily’s nails are already shorter than they were when she arrived, and Derek would feel guilty if he weren’t so focused on this image in his mind of Reid’s desk filled with some other person’s stuff.
“I can’t believe he wants to just leave us-“
“Something must’ve caused this-“
“What if he-“
He glances at Penelope and finds her eyes already on him. She meets his gaze, and he feels sick from the way her eyes water. She mouths the word ‘purple’ at him, and he nods, worried she might begin to cry. He just nods. What do I do?
“Why would he want to leave?” JJ asks the room.
Penelope is quiet, but it feels damning in their grief-stricken silence:
“He thinks we hate him.”
“Or that we don’t care,” Rossi agrees.
Derek is reminded of that itchy familiarity. “He said something about ‘you’re so hateable, Reid’ when we spoke. He seemed certain that we’d benefit from him leaving.”
A wave of understanding washes over Penelope’s face, and she does actually choke down a sob this time. “It was that conversation—after Wyoming-“
“What?”
She clears her throat, speaking louder with effort. “He solved that puzzle of yours, Emily, and we were joking, but he looked so confused.”
Click, and just like that, he knows why he found it familiar. She’s right.
He’d only been joking, remembering how even when Reid was only half paying attention, he was beating him at chess over and over. It’d been something Derek wasn’t all that interested in, but he’d hated seeing how frustrated Reid looked. Gideon left them all, but everyone knew that Reid took it the hardest. It was like having his dad walk out on him a second time, so Derek had offered to play some games with him. It didn’t seem like it’d helped at all, and eventually he stopped, if only to take his shattered pride (he never won a single game) away from the kill zone… but did Reid think he hated playing with him?
It’s too warm, he thinks distantly. Maybe he’s burning up, destined to be engulfed in the flames of everything he’s done wrong and all the people he can’t forget.
Reid tends to run cold, always two seconds away from shivering during the second half of the year.
Derek remembers when they’d gotten back from Chicago (and he’d confronted Buford), and Reid had taken his hand. It’d been bizarre, having his hands held by someone who doesn’t do that sort of thing without proper reason. The chill of Reid’s skin spread over his own overheated knuckles from where he’d felt bright hot in the light of the Youth Center.
‘You’re a good person, Morgan,’ Reid had said to him.
Somehow… it was exactly what he’d needed to hear.
Of course, Reid hadn’t ended with that, unable to stop a rambling of information after a moment's pause. He’d gone on about the historical and philosophical connotations of morality, about how people define morality for themselves but also for each other. He talked about how he’s not sure he agrees with every version of good—right and wrong—but he’d been sure that Derek was someone good. He was certain that he did well. Then, as quickly as it had come, Reid had let go and walked away.
I don’t want him to walk away again.
—-
Spencer manages one day of not going into work before he decides to just get it over with.
His request form, the original one, was with Morgan the last time he’d seen it, so he prints another before taking the bus into work. Folded and tucked carefully into his satchel bag, he’s still hasn't signed his signature to complete the form.
Does Derek actually… would he miss me?
It’s a shameful desire, something he knows is selfish in nature. He’s always known his attachments to Morgan (to the rest of the team too) were perhaps… too much. That first time they were together, the night in the coffee shop, he found himself alone with someone who was like every bully he’d ever had, but he’d felt safe. It was his coffee shop, and Morgan had wanted to hang out with him. Morgan—attractive, cool, intelligent, capable Morgan—was safe, and once he was safe it became far too easy to crave that safety over and over again. Spencer used to firmly believe that Derek cared for him too, and that he’d enjoyed their friendship.
Now he doesn’t know what to think.
Maybe he figured me out. Maybe my feelings made him uncomfortable.
He’s reminded of Carl Buford and Chicago, and he almost vomits as the bus lurches to a stop.
By the time he arrives at the BAU, he’s managed to push the comparison from his mind, but the feeling of nausea remains. His feet somehow manage to carry him through all the way to his desk, but he collapses fast as a slingshot into his seat the second he reaches it.
I miss a year ago. I didn’t feel like this then.
His head finds the surface of his desk, and he clutches his bag as it sits on his lap. He needs to finish the stupid form within it so he can give it to Hotch at a responsible time, but—
I’m scared.
Spencer nudges his head up, peeking at the bullpen surrounding him and coming face-to-face with a tupperware of cupcakes.
“Huh?” He feels himself startle like an animal, and with the worst coordination he’s ever felt possess him—he stumbles out of his seat.
He hits the ground with a soft thwump, red-hot embarrassment hitting him more than any soreness or pain.
Garcia gasps, and she helps him to his feet immediately.
“Sorry sorry! I was trying to surprise you, but not like that!”
With her help, he slumps against his desk and stares at the cupcakes sitting on the surface of it. “Did you bake these?”
She nods and nudges the tupperware towards him. “They’re for you! I was hoping we could watch the Doctor and Amy Pond.”
Warmth sprinkles through him in sparks, and he feels relief.
“I-“
I’ll miss you, he thinks with a horrible awareness.
“I know you aren’t sure yet about this new doctor, Pat Smith, but-“
“Matt,” he corrects without even really meaning to.
“Huh?”
I’m doing it again.
He shakes his head, “Nothing, I’m not sure—“
Garcia shakes her head, interrupting. “I didn’t hear you, c’mon Einstein, humor me.”
“Matt Smith,” he sighs. “That’s the name of the new actor.”
Anticipation within him rises, and he knows what reaction is coming. Why can’t you be normal?
Instead, Garcia just laughs. “Oh yeah, I don’t know why I was thinking Pat—makes no sense.”
Oh.
When he’d been worried about the BAU, about where he stood, he remembers the one thing that kept him from spiraling until recently:
Penelope Garcia has a heart too big to be non-genuine. Even if something is hard to figure out, I can trust that she cares about me as I care about her.
She’s family even if I leave.
She’s family even if I stay.
“I’d be interested,” he tells her and finds that he isn’t nervous about the idea at all. “I haven’t watched any of the episodes released since we last watched, though, so I may be behind on some details.”
Garcia smiles, big and beautiful as she is, and he almost cries with the safety it provides. She’s just as weird as me. I can’t scare her away.
“I haven’t either! We can just watch from where we left off.”
“Ah, okay,” and though he can’t get the words out loud, he feels overwhelmed by her affection from the admission alone. She didn’t watch without me.
With a short-lived but enjoyable conversation, Garcia leaves his desk (leaving behind the cupcakes as well), and he’s left to his own devices again.
The bag on his lap screams for attention, and he runs a hand over the leather of the strap. Inside is his form, still awaiting a signature, and with some fast glances, he knows that Hotch is alone in his office right now. He could get it over with.
I’ll do it later, he decides. His hand slips from his bag as he gets to work.
—-
Exhibit A: Every time JJ talks with him, her eyes dart towards Hotch or Hotch’s office like she’s awaiting some sort of news or announcement.
Exhibit B: Emily keeps sneaking in compliments as they speak, which she’s never done before now.
Exhibit C: He’s counted Rossi bringing up how much fun a Vegas trip together would be four times in the most recent case alone.
Conclusion: Everyone knows.
Morgan must’ve told them all about his transfer request.
Is all this… affection just because of that? Is it all a ruse so that they don’t have to find some new profiler for the team?
Nausea hits Spencer in waves, and he feels like a child. He’s eleven, thinking Alexa Lisben actually likes him. He’s fifteen, pining after his first boy crush who is five years older than him. This is embarrassment.
The group of them land back in Virginia after a short case in Idaho, and it’s already 6 PM. The request for transfer (still unsigned) rests in his top drawer.
I should sign it…
His eyes drift to Morgan, who walks a bit ahead of him. He’s whispering with Emily, something that Spencer can’t hear a single bit of. Morgan’s lips keep twitching into a smile, like he’s trying not to let the expression make its way onto his face, but he’s unable to repress it. Cute. He wants to be mad, but he knew that Morgan would tell. He always does, if it’s something he’s worried about.
Spencer just wishes he knew for certain it was him that he was worried about. Is it bad to simply pretend that’s what’s real, even if it’s so difficult to know for sure?
He slumps into his desk and fiddles with his pen. The drawer isn’t open yet, but he knows that his conversation with Hotch needs to happen tonight. Just need to sign it.
JJ stops at his desk, her coat on for her to head out.
“Hey Spence, you going home soon?”
“Ah, JJ-“ His chest tightens. “Not yet.”
She nods, and he can see a frown fight to form on her face. “Oh well, we should do dinner soon. I’m sure Henry would be happy to see you, and we’ve been meaning to have people over again.”
And I’m people? I’m the person you want?
“I’ll have to check my schedule, but I’ll let you know,” he says because he doesn’t really know what he wants anymore.
That frown finally comes, and she drops her voice to a whisper. “You sure you can’t do what you’re needing to do… tomorrow?”
Something in him snaps, and he grips the edge of his desk like a lifeline.
“No.”
JJ’s brows furrow nervously, but she walks away. Once she’s out of sight, he pulls open his desk and takes the request out. His hand grips the pen so tight that a splotch of ink stains the end of his signature.
It’s done.
All he has to do is go talk to Hotch, but instead of doing that, he makes his way quickly to Morgan’s office.
“Oh, hey, Reid,” the older man says. He’s doing some paperwork, likely for Hotch.
Spencer closes the door with a rush, flinching at the sound it makes. In one hand, he feels the folded form that he really ought to be taking to Hotch right now. And yet I can’t get it out of my head—
“You told them.”
Morgan stops writing, and he lets his pen drop to roll gently on his desk before being stopped by a ‘The Man, The Myth, The Legend’ mug that Garcia gave him.
“I did, they deserved to know, Reid.” His eyes dart to the papers in Spencer’s hand, and he finds himself gripping them tighter. You can’t take it from me this time.
“Well, they’d know soon enough. I’m about to go hand over my request to Hotch.” It feels good to say out loud, like he finally is settled about it. Make me stay, he thinks, despite that. Want me to stay because you want me, he wants to shout.
“Reid…” Morgan stands up and leans his body against the desk. He crosses his arms as well, becoming quite the lovely picture if Spencer wasn’t so frustrated and angry at the moment.
“I don’t get it,” he continues, the words leaving his mouth with more bite than he means for. “I tell you that you are all so… so inconsistent, so you what—you decide to tell everyone to make nice?! What did you-“
“I told them that you wanted to leave,” Morgan interrupts, sneaking a little bit closer. His body, now on the other side of his desk, stands tall. His expression remains so confusing. “And they got worried about you. They aren’t pretending, Reid!”
‘Why can’t you be normal?’
‘There’s a lot to hate about you’
‘Stop talking!’
‘You know that you’re kinda annoying, right?’
“Then what are they doing?! Be honest with me, Morgan, because I know—I am aware that I’m displeasing to be around,” he wants to cry, but it feels too weak. If he cries now, what will Morgan think of him? “I thought—“
I sound so pathetic, that’s what Dad used to say, right?
“I thought maybe… that you guys liked me, even with the way I talk or how I am,” he whispers, a confession he knows gives away so much information to someone like Morgan. A profiler. “I misunderstood, right? But what I don’t get is, what do you want from me?”
“Reid-“
Spencer feels himself getting lethargic, and his eyes are locked on his shoes (he wants to puke. He wants to run). “What’s real, huh? I’m getting a lot of words from you all, and nothing…”
Everything feels so—
“Nothing makes sense,” he says, but it’s the last bit of anything he can get out (he wants to puke. He wants to run).
It’s quiet.
Why isn’t Morgan saying anything?
Footsteps.
I want to puke. I want to run.
There are feet in front of his.
When did he get so close?
“Pretty boy,” and like a cat to a fish or a dog to a bone, he snaps his head up at the nickname. The words, the inherent compliment, create tingling warmth up his spine.
Morgan stands in front of him now, close. He’s got an expression that, while uncertain, makes Spencer shiver without meaning to. His dark eyes force eye contact from him, but hold it with gentleness. Something of a smile plays across his lips, but it’s not settled there enough to count quite yet.
“I’m going to give you some new evidence, okay? I’d like you to give it careful consideration.”
He doesn't puke. He doesn’t run.
Instead, he stands there as Morgan leans in close. His face is only a few inches away, and he keeps glancing for long stints at Spencer’s lips in a way that has him overwhelmed in the best way possible.
Closing his eyes, he waits for the conclusion, but nothing happens. There’s a tiny gap of space, and Morgan seems content to sit in it without closing the last few inches.
Does he not… want to?
Except Spencer knows this sort of thing even if he isn’t familiar with it intimately. Morgan’s pupils are dilated, and with a hand to his chest (his heart is beating like mine).
“I, um-“ Spencer licks his lips unconsciously, struggling to breathe correctly. “I need a bit more… information.”
A grin forms on Morgan’s face: “Alright, pay attention.”
Spencer’s first (and only before now) kiss was with Lila. It’d tasted like Chlorine, and while he’d enjoyed the moment (pretty girls never kissed him), he’d been scared shitless in the moment. There was a stalker somewhere, some person set on killing her… and he couldn’t help but think the entire time she kissed him that now he was on that hit list too. Once he’d survived Hankel, he thought back to that kiss and felt so cold. She kissed him, something he believed most people found exciting, and all his mind was on was the idea of danger. Danger that happens whether she kisses me or not.
With Morgan, he feels warm from head to toe. It’s like warm coffee, but he tastes like Tic Tacs. Hands radiating heat land on his waist, and he wonders if his skin will puff up like a sunburn. What odd poetry… Morgan as the sun.
His own hand moves from above Morgan’s heart up to his neck, and he lets his other hand join it. The other hand of his slides past the first one, though, and he uses its movement down Morgan’s back to push closer to the man.
After a moment, his breath becomes short. He can’t let go, lips twisted with Morgan’s, but he can feel his chest clench with the oxygen that’s puttering out.
“Damn, Pretty Boy,” Morgan breathes as they separate. Their bodies keep close, and Spencer finds himself hooking both arms around Morgan’s neck to prevent him from adding any more distance.
“Was that good?” He asks, curious about those confusing measurements of good to bad kisses. He’s not exactly sure he knows what is good or what is bad. Though he definitely feels better now than he did with Lila.
“Very good.”
“You,” he almost feels stupid asking, but his brain won’t stop wanting clarification, “like me? In a romantic connotation?”
A laugh as sweet as caramel leaves Morgan, but he nods with a smile. “I-“ A deep breath that sets his whole body in anticipation. “I do. I told everyone because I don’t want you to leave.”
Oh.
“And… they-“ he struggles with the eye contact between them, dipping his head into Morgan’s shoulder so that he can close his eyes and feel safer in the dark.
“They don’t want you to leave either. None of us—“ Morgan sighs, “I didn’t mean to stress that pretty brain of yours. We were trying to be funny, but I guess that didn’t quite work.”
It’s all too much, and Spencer feels the nausea from before threaten a return.
“Can we just kiss again?”
This time, he can feel the laugh as it rattles Morgan’s body. Beautiful.
“Don’t have to ask me twice.”
—-
During the second kiss, Derek finds it harder to keep it slow. He pries open Reid’s mouth with his tongue and feels along his teeth. There’s this humming sound that he managed to get during their first kiss, and like a detective, he wants to figure the sound out.
With an extra squeeze of Reid’s waist, he lets one of his hands drift up to run through the silky curls around the younger man’s ears. His fingers card through the strands, tossing them this way and that with the occasional pull in between.
“Mm,” and there’s that hum.
Derek walks backwards, slowly turning them around until he manages to situate Reid between himself and his desk. Reid, the ever-intelligent man he is, catches on quickly and clambers up until he’s got his ass sitting on the edge of the desk, and his legs are spread for Derek to cozy his way between. It’s quite the perfect spot because, as they come up for air a second time, he feels long legs wrap around him.
“I also like you in a romantic connotation,” Reid says, breathless. He’s got this half-formed smile, and his hair has started to get just a bit mussed from Derek’s playing with it.
Pretty pretty pretty.
“I think I’ve figured that out.”
“Just,” he laughs like honey (he hasn’t laughed in so long), “making sure your information is up to date.”
Third kisses turn into fourth kisses turn into long stretches of their lips interlocked with small bouts of breathing room in between.
Derek drags his lips down, from mouth to collarbone with a nice pitstop at the neck. Each bit of skin within his path is kissed and gently gnawed at while he listens to the shuddering breathing of Reid above him. He gets to just above the collarbone at the base of the neck when he pauses, listening as Reid’s breath hitches in his throat.
“You alright there, Pretty Boy?”
The hand against his shoulder blade squeezes, and he feels the breath that gets forced from Reid’s lungs.
“Yeah, just—I’ve never fully understood the connection between a vampire biting the neck and sexual intimacy. In, ah—“ He pauses as Derek kisses and gnaws the area at the bottom of his throat. “Thematically, I assumed that the exchange of bodily fluids and the penetration of the incisors in the flesh were the only real connections to the idea of a sexually explicit dynamic.”
I've missed this. His voice.
Pulling the skin between his teeth and holding it until it begins to bruise, he feels more than he sees the way Reid full-body shudders. His hands move up to grip the back of Derek’s neck, one hand dragging nails down underneath his shirt in a way that sends a thrill down his spine.
“But, well, I—“ Reid takes a shallow breath as Derek lets go of his throat. “Now I see there’s more to that than I’d originally considered…”
“Always thinking- must be exhausting how hard that brain of yours works,” he smiles against the skin of his collarbone, and in response he feels Reid press his face against the top of his head, a small smile forming on his face as well.
Reid’s hands move in soothing circles across his back, and he sighs contentedly against the man’s chest. He presses a gentle kiss to Reid’s collarbone and then moves up to his shoulder, taking skin between his teeth again. Returning to his ministrations from before, he takes his time leaving mark after mark. His hand leaves Reid’s hair early on, pulling and prodding at his clothing to keep it outta his way.
Little hums leave Reid every time he bites a little harder, or he kisses the right spot. It’s all soft and sweet sounds, but he knows there’s something more he’d like to get.
“Come,” Reid whines, and he drags Morgan’s head back up for a proper kiss.
As they do, Derek lets both his hands run over the vest that the man is wearing. He pops the buttons slowly, biting Reid’s lips with each one until the offending fabric falls from his shoulders. Once the vest is gone, he continues his efforts on the button-up beneath it. With half the buttons undone, he lets a hand sneak inside to flick at the pretty pink buds within.
Finally, a lovely moan is shaken from Reid like a heavenly bell. “I’ve missed your voice.” Reid hums happily at that. He wants to do it again, and—
“You should close your blinds.”
The two of them freeze in place, and Derek notices that Reid’s eyes are wide open and locked on the person behind him. So, with a moment of appreciation for the deep red painting Reid’s cheeks, he detaches himself a bit and turns enough to look towards Hotch. A quick fear strikes him. He knows we kissed. Then he remembers all the types of people they’ve empathized with (far worse than me, right?), so ok. He knows we kissed.
There is no judgement in Hotch’s expression, simply the discomfort of being Hotch and seeing two people clearly involved. Yet, he knows Reid is getting embarrassed because he feels the man bury his face in his shoulder like it’ll hide him from Hotch.
I’m safe. I’m… there’s nothing I need to be afraid of. Not with them.
“Oh, uh,” he clears his throat when it doesn’t sound quite right. “I’ll be sure to do that. Can I help you, Hotch?”
“I am leaving shortly, and I was going to see what you’d finished of that paperwork I gave you earlier,” he says, looking determinedly only at Derek’s face. “However, I will just… check in tomorrow about those.”
“That would be great!”
“Yes,” Hotch frowns, clearly having had his fill of awkwardness. He turns to leave, but stops at the doorway. “And Reid?”
Derek feels the way that Reid practically jumps out of his skin, and his head darts up from Derek’s shoulder. His face is still covered in a red flush, but he manages to sound relatively normal as he responds, “Yes, Hotch?”
“Did you still have something for me?”
Reid frowns, and his eyes meet Derek’s with an unspoken question. Derek shakes his head, mouthing ‘wasn’t me’. They both notice that the transfer request that Reid had walked in with has wound up haphazardly strewn across Derek’s desk, forgotten until now.
“I-“ Reid makes eye contact again, scanning for something on Derek’s face. He knows he should probably aim to have some sort of comforting expression, but really he can’t stop his eyes from darting to Reid’s mouth as it remains open with an unspoken response. It doesn’t make me nervous anymore… the fact that Reid isn’t a…
“I don’t have anything for you,” Reid says after a moment.
Oh.
Relief is instantaneous, and Derek’s hand squeezes Reid’s waist in response to the good news.
“Alright,” Hotch nods, despite not looking at either of them. He begins to close the door behind him, but pauses just before it’s shut to speak through the crack. “Morgan,” and the way he says it is filled with danger, “I'd better not hear from Reid that you’ve made him uncomfortable.”
A laugh is startled from Reid beside him, and Derek finds himself woozy on it as he quickly replies:
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The door shuts as Hotch leaves, and Reid scootches past Derek to close the blinds in front of the office windows.
Once they’re closed, he turns to face Derek.
“I suppose Hotch’s intentions never confused me.”
Derek rolls his eyes, closing the space between them with a few steps so he can wrap his arms around Reid’s waist again.
“Good,” he makes sure his voice has enough of a teasing lilt to it for Reid to pick up on. “It’d be unfair if his favorite didn’t know he was his favorite.”
Reid blinks, smile turning into a proper grin. “I’m Hotch’s favorite? Really?”
He squeezes the younger man’s waist and knocks their foreheads together. “You don’t need to be so cheerful about it. Some of us used to think we had a fighting chance!”
“Sorry, sorry,” he laughs, but he doesn’t seem remotely apologetic. “If it helps, you’re my favorite.”
Well, aren’t I lucky.
“Good,” he says as he leans closer to get another kiss.
—-
“You’re acting suspicious,” Spencer tells him, but he lets himself be led.
Morgan, ‘call me Derek’, drags him up the steps towards Garcia’s apartment. He has one arm around Spencer’s waist that is far too distracting for this early in the day.
They’d all just wrapped up a case yesterday, but Hotch gave them all the weekend off. ‘I have a surprise’ had Spencer thinking that Derek was going to take him to his apartment rather than Garcia’s.
The door is opening the second they get within range, and Penelope herself is standing with an eagerness that feels familiar in the best way.
“You’re late, big boy,” she chides.
Derek shrugs apologetically. “I had something to do real quick, sorry, Babygirl.”
A flush creeps up his face as he remembers what exactly Derek got caught up in doing before now.
‘That’s it baby boy, so pretty for me.’
If he’d known they were going to be late for something, Spencer would’ve never dragged Derek back to bed. It’d just been so lovely having the man in his home, the comfort of his apartment mixing with the comfort of Derek.
“Yeah yeah, we all know what’s going on with you two.” Penelope comes across as less scary and angry when she’s got such a wide smile on her face. “Now c’mon!”
The three of them enter the apartment, where Spencer immediately notices the rest of the team seems to be already there. Even Will, Henry, and Jack seem to have shown up for this mystery meeting.
“Reid!” Emily grins, coming up to hug him. It’s so sudden that it’s almost too much for a second. But Spencer relaxes and leans into it, smelling the mix of vanilla and lavender that he knows as Emily.
“Emily,” he greets, feeling a bit awkward despite the affection of her hug. “What’s, um, what’s going on?”
Hotch nods, his arm still around Jack. “It’s been six years now of you working on our team at the BAU.”
It was. Spencer still remembers the day. He’d gotten word of his approved job on Saturday morning, because then he’d have till Monday to get things together for his desk and his ‘go-bag’. It’d been a weekend full of anticipation, but he’d not had a single person to celebrate his new position with. His mother was too out of it at her institution, and he’d lost consistent contact with Ethan at that point.
“I wasn’t aware that you…” He glances around, feeling a little dizzy from how many people are looking at him at once right now. “-that any of you knew that.”
Derek’s hand crawls up to rest on his shoulder, a stabilizing weight. “Of course we do, Pretty Boy.”
JJ offers him a cup of tea. “We love you, Spence.”
Oh.
He nods, but it feels like such a small action compared to his newfound understanding. We’re outside the BAU, with family… for me. They wouldn’t do this for just a coworker.
“Oh, well, I-“ He takes a deep breath, feeling himself get pressed into Derek’s side in a way that helps him to ground his lightweight mind. “I love you guys too.”
Everyone takes their turn to hug him or squeeze his shoulder, and he can’t stop the overwhelmed smile that breaks out on his face at the proof of mutual affection.
Another hug from Emily. A hug with kisses on either cheek from Penelope. A pat on the shoulder from Hotch and Will. Two air kisses on his cheeks with a half-hug from Rossi. A hug from JJ.
Last, but certainly not least, Derek hugs him close.
“Glad you’re here with us, Baby Boy,” he whispers.