Tittle: South of Tower Parkway
By: leilanni-l
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Morgan/Reid
Notes: This was the very first CM fic I wrote, back before I realized it was most likely Reid stayed close to his mom for school. I like AU's but I understand this isn't everyone's cup of tea. Or pint of beer since with this weather cold beer trumps tea easy.
Summery: AU where Undercover!Morgan runs into College!Reid.
A/N: nyagosstar read this over for me. If there are mistakes, it's because I missed the ones she pointed out. In fact, if there are >>'s I missed them completely. She just got my last (completely not related to this) story back to me so I can post it soon because she is the best beta EVER. (And apparently I need her to beta my notes since changing thought midway through typing equals WTF? [fixes typos])

***

Derek didn't know when he started to notice him.

Gangly white kid. Worst fashion sense ever. He needed to learn to look up when he walked.

That was the first time Derek noticed him as anything more than a kid out of the corner of his eye. The kid walked right into him. His finger was sliding down a page, skimming for something, then the book was pressed against Derek's chest and the kid was blinking. Light brown eyes, completely confused. Derek sneered at him, "Watch it."

"I'm sorry. I didn't see-" and the kid dropped his book.

Derek kept walking.

The next time he saw him, the kid was spilling coffee on his book.  It was another book, thick with a worn cover. It looked like a school book. The kid looked like a school kid. He looked like a school kid skipping school since it was roughly ten am on the Tuesday.  The thing Derek didn't get why the kid was doing school work while he was skipping school. 

The kid didn't even swear properly, just a "Crap" as he piled napkins on his book and notes, shirt and pants an afterthought.

Derek smirked and looked back to the door of the coffee house.

The kid became a diversion from the job which after 336 days was getting old. New Haven, Bridgeport, New York. He had gone back and forth making contacts, getting to know the right people, earning their trust.  He'd gone from petty street deals to steady distribution of the newest twist on an old drug. It wasn't enough. Not yet. But he was getting closer.

The kid was more fun to watch than the whores in the alleys and drug dealers on the corners. The ones Derek kept supplied. He went south of Tower Parkway just to get away from them sometimes. That, and his territory was expanding into the Green. Kids were smart enough for the Ivy League but the Yalies weren't smart enough to stay away from this new variant of crystal. Maybe tweaking got them through Boring Lecture 201. Derek didn't know but he couldn't say he didn't care.

He wasn't supposed to though.

It wasn't supposed to make him uneasy when he saw the kid twitchy either. The boy had been twitchy before, even when his finger ran down the pages of his book. Kid was going to fail out if he didn't take the time to actually read his text books.

Not that Derek cared about that either.

But the thought that the kid was tweaking on his supply made his gut twist. Kid was skinny enough to be an addict. Derek preferred not to think about it.

Derek just watched him out of the corner of his eye. Coffee house. Co-op. Heading up Broadway to student housing which meant he was older than he looked. He was a college kid not a high school one. He was almost always alone though Derek had seen him grudgingly traveling after some student's to Toad's Place a few times. An all age's show was the only place the pretty boy was going to get in.

That and trouble. The kid was going to get in trouble, being out so late at night. Derek watched him from a stoop down the street, making idle conversation with the dealer next to him. Derek clasped the man's forearm before making some excuses and trailing after the kid. Students were easy marks.

A kid that oblivious? Was an easier mark.

That was why Derek almost broke the would-be muggers arm, "Get the hell out of here."

The kid's eyes were just as big though in the dark his eyes were a deeper brown. "I. Um. Thanks?"

Derek rolled his eyes, "Don't thank me, just show a little common sense."

They were at the kid's building, he just had to make it a dozen more steps. Kid couldn't get in more trouble in twelve steps. Derek started to turn, stopped by the kid's hand. Derek stared at it, pale on his shirt.

"You. I've seen you around."

"I've been around."

The kid had no sense of self preservation, that or he didn't pick up the not-so-subtle tone of Derek's voice. The ‘get out of here and leave me alone' tone.

"My name is Spencer Reid."

"Morgan. Derek Morgan."

The kid, Spencer, grinned, "Like Bond. James Bond?"

"Funny," Derek's voice was dry.

Spencer shifted, one foot to the other. He held his messenger bag tightly, fingers digging into the leather.  Derek just raised an eyebrow.

"I'll just. I'll see you around."

It wasn't a question but it did send the kid off when Derek didn't reply. He would see the kid around. That's just how it was.

***

Spencer enjoyed school. Spencer enjoyed information. He enjoyed facts and statistics. He made lists in his head of. Everything. He had a list about Derek before he even knew his name.  It started with surface details. The man was visually appealing.  He moved with confidence. He had an air of menace, black leather jacket, scowl, but his eyes were not always as blank as his stare. Spencer had every nuance of Derek's body language logged and categorized. Parts of it were contradictory.

It was fascinating.

Plus, visually appealing.

It was a good diversion from his class work. He entered a single PhD program. The other just seemed to fit in. He suspected the third was because he was bored. Busy, but bored. It wasn't that his education wasn't stimulating but there was something missing.

There was also something missing from his coffee. Spencer turned to raid two more sugar packets from the next table. He was caught by dark eyes and an almost smile.

"Derek. Morgan. Derek."

"Morgan. Derek Morgan."

Spencer flushed, "So is it Derek or Morgan?"

"You decide, Sugar."

Sugar. A proper noun, a casual term of familiarity or endearment or a reference to the packet Derek tossed at him? Spencer added that to his list. 

"Thank you."

Derek's eyes slid to the door. There was the slightest tension in Derek's neck. A roll of his shoulders.

Spencer compared his body language to previous paradigms. He had not reached a conclusion before Derek's eyes glanced down. When Derek looked up he moved quickly, determined. He pulled a chair from Spencer's table, straddling it as he sat down.

"What you reading?"

"Mechanisms in Psychoneuroimmunology."

The eyebrow went up again, "Fun."

"The physiology of stress reactions is truly fascinating.  The response of physiology, neurotransmission, hormonal mechanisms and immunological function..."

"And a whole lot of other big words?" Derek's eyes sparkled.

Reid felt his face warm, "I. Right. Sorry."

Derek pulled the book over, "This looks advanced for a-what are you? Freshman?"

"It's an introductory volume," Spencer answered, shifting a bit. "I'm actually a graduate student pursuing my doctorate." A pause and a correction, "Doctorates."

"You don't need to try and impress me." Derek flashed a grin that Spencer filed in the very visually appealing category, white teeth and dark skin, followed by a, "You're serious."

Spencer nodded, fidgeting with his cup. He felt himself being sized up again. He didn't want to raise his own eyes. He didn't want to look at Derek. He shouldn't have told him but he had been trying to impress him. But, it usually unnerved people when. When he was. What he was.

Smart.

Except for the way he was rambling in his head.

Derek sat back, a finger tapping on the back of the chair, "How old are you?"

"Twenty," which Spencer had just turned but it was true enough.

"What are you? A genius?"

"I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified--but I do have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute." Reid shifted in his chair, fiddling with the sugar packets. " Yes, I'm a genius."

There was a long pause as Morgan cleared his throat. Morgan. Last name. Distance.

"If you're such a genius what are you doing wandering around outside in the middle of the night?"

"I don't have any friends?"

Reid tried to make a joke of it but it fell flat.

Morgan, Derek, the extremely hot guy who sat across from him shook his head, stealing his cup of coffee. "This needs to be sweeter?"

Reid ripped open the sugar packets and added them as a reply. Derek made a face and pushed the cup back across the table. Reid grinned.

Derek almost smiled back but with another glance at the door he straightened, distant look on his face.

"Stay off the street, kid."

And he was gone.

 

***

This was not the sort of unstable, highly explosive situation Derek felt comfortable in.  Even at their most complex, bombs were simple: cut the right wire everyone goes home, cut the wrong wire, everyone blows up.  Drug culture dynamics could be as explosive, but less clear; sometimes he felt like he could cut the right wire and still have the whole thing blow up in his face.

Then there was the matter of the assignment meaning he was back on the street, in more ways than one.  The street he could handle, it was the feeling of being a kid again that the street gave him that unnerved him.  He hadn't much liked being a kid and would just as soon not think about it at all. 

Give him a bomb any day.

There was an unspoken policy that deep cover assignments meant advancement. That seemed like a good idea once. Once. Now he just wanted to finish tracing the drug to the source and get out. No more street punks. No more thugs. No more strung out prostitutes looking to score a hit.

No more twenty year old geniuses looking miserable in the snow.

The kid, Spencer, left brown grey clumps of snow as he walked in the coffee house, shaking shades of white from his hair. Derek couldn't decide if it was cute or just pathetic. The kid glanced at him, lip between his teeth as he made his order. Hot chocolate? Derek snorted, pushing the chair across from him out just a fraction. The kid settled in with a grateful smile through the steam of his cup.

"No class today?"

Not that Derek had figured out Spencer's schedule or anything.

"Cancelled. Professor's car got hit by a snow plow."

Derek snorted, taking a sip of his coffee.

"It gets down past freezing back home, but we don't have this stupid precipitation," Spencer complained, pulling ice out of his collar, finally shedding the coat.

"Where are you from?"

The few times the kid had ventured to his table he just talked about school. Derek considered the monologues an advanced course in psychology, a good review if he was going to apply to the BAU the second he got back from the long vacation he'd been planning. As soon as he was off this assignment he was going someplace tropical with cold beer and scantily clad women. Women who weren't hookers.

"Vegas," was the distracted reply, boy lost in his satchel.

" Sin City? I can't quite picture you there." The pretty boy would be eaten alive, not that he was doing so well in Connecticut's excuse for an urban center. "You go out at night alone there, too?"

Spencer rolled his eyes, "I was a twelve year old child prodigy in public high school. I'm not afraid of getting beaten up."

"Your high school punks carry guns?"  Derek recognized that look on the kid's face, the lecture look, "And I don't need statistics on violence in high schools. Yes or no?”

There wasn't going to be a clear answer from Spencer and Derek was serious about the statistics. He neither needed nor wanted to hear them.

"You need self defense classes," Derek grumbled, eyes traveling over the kid who flashed a quick smile, too much teeth but happy and rare enough Derek didn't hold that against him.

"You going to give me private lessons?"

Derek blinked, "Did you just. Flirt?"

The kid went red, "No."

Derek looked at Spencer speculatively. It wasn't like he swung that way, often, but the kid was a pretty boy. Kid. Boy. No. He wouldn't even think about it.

"Stay safe," Derek said, getting up from the table. His coffee was still warm but it sat cold in his stomach. "Stay safe and stay warm."

He threw the rest of the coffee in the trash on his way out the door.

***

It was like being the secret friend of a cool kid without having to do his homework, Spencer decided. Derek would walk right by him on the street without a second glance. Half the time in the coffee house he wouldn't even meet Spencer's eyes. But sometimes he'd tilt his head, nudge the chair, and Spencer knew he could sit down at his table.

Sometimes Derek even sat down at Spencer's table.

It was like a dance and Spencer was just as clumsy at it as he was the real thing. Talking kept getting him in trouble. Talking always got him in trouble. He could manage in the corner of a party forever until someone struck up conversations. Then it was either serial killers or Star Trek that got him in trouble.

At least he hadn't lectured Derek on the physics of Star Trek?

Derek was still staring at him.

"Jack the Ripper was one of the most infamous serial killers of all time," Spencer said defensively as the silence stretched. "Everyone knows the case."

"I don't think everyone can go on about it twenty minutes nonstop." Derek tilted his head. "Were you even breathing?"

"It's my favorite case."

"I got that impression. You hot for serial killers?"

Derek wasn't staring anymore but he was giving Spencer a look. An assessing look. Like he was trying to figure out if Spencer lit fires, tortured animals and wet his bed. Which. He hadn't. Didn't. He lifted his chin, still defensive, "I'm a little obsessive, about most things really, but I find human behavior fascinating. Once I'm done with my doctorates…"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to apply to the FBI Academy, looking specifically at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The BAU. An Agent, SS Agent Gideon, came to speak at a seminar last year. When I expressed interest in the field he was very," Spencer shifted, caught between excitement and embarrassment, "Encouraging."

Derek sat back in his chair, eyes sliding over Spencer in a way that made his skin heat. The expression on Derek's face was new: part amused, part something. Spencer had to bite his lip to keep from saying something that was going to send Derek away. Like before.

Not that Derek acted like it ever happened.

Spencer glanced at Derek again.

"FBI. You will need those self defense classes."

"I think that is part of their curriculum."

Spencer held Derek's gaze. For once he wasn't the one to look away first.  It didn't feel like a victory. It didn't feel like their normal joke. Self defense was part of the curriculum. Many things were. Things that would make Spencer look even closer at Derek's somewhat suspicious behavior.

No, completely suspicious behavior.

The strange hours. The days that would go by when Spencer saw sign of him on the street. The behavior Derek displayed when he was on the street. His behavior here. The way Derek sat relaxed at the moment but there was heightened vigilance every time the door opened. He never sat with his back to the door.

There was something more to Derek than he had told Spencer.

But Spencer couldn't bring himself to ask. He took another sip of coffee and kept his thoughts to himself.

***

"Where are you from?"

"What?" Derek tore his eyes away from the gaudy string of Christmas lights falling from the front window.

"Where are you from? I never asked."

Derek hadn't encouraged Spencer to ask him anything. It was easy enough to distract the kid into an academic monologue.  It was a good technique but Spencer seemed to get wise to it. The lectures were shorter and his questions returned.

Which would be why he was asking Derek where he lived after an analysis of holiday travel.

Where Derek grew up was the safer topic so he grudgingly answered, " Chicago."

"Do you have family?"

That was the question Derek wanted to avoid.

"Mother. Sisters," was the gruff reply. "What about you? I don't see you flying back to Vegas."

"I'm an only child."

"But your parents must be proud of you, child prodigy and all. No triumphant return for the holidays?"

Derek regretted the question immediately.

Spencer's eyes were flat and grey, "My dad left when I was a kid. My mother- she would be proud of me."

Would. Past tense. "I'm sorry."

Spencer shrugged, "We used to be close but we had a…falling out."

Not that type of past tense, then. Derek cracked a smile, "My family isn't too pleased with me at the moment."

Deep cover meant no contact. Deep cover meant he'd missed his mother's birthday. Deep cover meant his sisters shifted between worry and homicidal ideation.

Spencer nodded, eyes glancing toward where Derek hid his gun. Not that Spencer was supposed to know that. He'd been careful, especially around the kid. Spencer was good though, particularly at reading Derek's mind or at least his body language. It was funny really. The kid was aware of everyone else's non-verbal cues but he couldn't manage the practical application of that knowledge.  He was easier to read than any of his text books. Or. Well. A normal college kid's text books.

Spencer spent too much time reading him, watching him. It made Derek uneasy. There hadn't been any more flirting but the kid still looked, a quick dart of his eyes and a flush to the back of his neck when he didn't think Derek noticed.

"Don't you have friends you could stay with?"

Ones closer to Spencer's age for him to make eyes at.

Except for the uncomfortable shift, "I seem to have difficulty socializing with people my own age."  Then came a rushed, "Not that you're old."

"Almost thirty, I'm ancient compared to you."

That sent the kid into a spiel about age related social dynamics. Derek sat back, amused. The kid was good. He would be good at the BAU. There was no end to the irony of that. The kid wanted to get the job Derek was aiming for. The kid probably had a better chance but Derek would get there. They might not be on the same team but they'd be in the same office.

Then Spencer would see him as something else than a man of questionable repute.

***

"One of your friends tried to sell me something not so legal," Spencer commented, making supposedly idle conversation over their Christmas feast of microwave meals. Bribery had gotten Derek inside his room, that and a side of guilt. It wasn't right that they both were alone for Christmas.

Spencer didn't bother to mention he didn't normally celebrate the holiday.

There was the matter that neither of them cooked. So. Microwave meals.

Microwave meals and beer.

Spencer was eyeing the beer as suspiciously as Derek was eyeing him.

"One of my friends?"

"Tall guy, with the dreads? Hangs out near Toad's Place and isn't smoking cigarettes. That's brazen."

It was almost a growl, "Who said he was my friend?"

The steam under the plastic burned Spencer's fingers. So much for the perforations from the fork before heating.

"Ow." Spencer stuck his finger in his mouth, muttering around it, "You sit with him on the stoop down the street every Tuesday night. With the guy in the Raven's jacket."

"Are you stalking me?"

Spencer was amused, "This from the guy that breaks people's arms when they approach me after sunset?"

"I didn't break anyone's arm," Derek muttered, still looking at Spencer suspiciously. "What did he offer you?"

"A ride to the emerald city, which oddly looked like a crystalline powder with a greenish tint."

The growl was back, "Did you. Take the ride?"

"I prefer to walk," Spencer said easily even as his heart was racing. It was the first time he actually brought up the topic of Derek's...profession? He had avoided it. If he didn't know, it didn't exist. Spencer was good at denial. His mother taught him well.

Derek didn't reply but Spencer could hear his teeth grinding. That couldn't be good for Derek's jaw. That couldn't be good for anyone.

"You aren't going to kill him or anything, are you?"

Derek's teeth stopped grinding but the look on his face wasn't any better.

"You shouldn't invite people you think are capable of murder to Christmas dinner."

The door slammed and Spencer was left with a Stouffer's Beef Stroganoff with Parsley Noodles and a Salisbury Steak dinner. That and the beer. He wondered if he had anything he could open the bottles with. Spencer got to work with a butter knife stolen from the school café.

It was harder than it looked.

***

"I think you have intimacy issues."

Derek looked up, not sure if he was insulted or merely annoyed.

"I had a long analysis of ego-malleability and a few other theoretical concepts such as Lyngzeidetson's criteria of neurotic detachment as well as consulting the DSM but if I talk too much everyone stops paying attention, even you. So," Spencer sat down. "I think you have intimacy issues."

"Being a sociopath isn't enough?"

"I never said you were a sociopath though the term is antisocial personality disorder now, according to the DSM, unless you are referring to the difference between a sociopath and a psychotic as pertaining to serial killers.  You aren't a serial killer."

The kid was entirely too cheerful for this conversation, not that they were having this conversation.

"How do you know I'm not a serial killer," which was frustrating.  Derek knew he'd be irrationally pissed off if Spencer thought that. He still was pissed Spencer thought him capable of murder even if that was what people were supposed to think about his persona on this assignment.

It was that Spencer didn't know. He didn't know what Derek was capable of. He'd figured out enough that if he was half as smart as he claimed to be, he should have gotten out of there. Gotten away from Derek.

If Derek was the man Spencer thought he was, Derek wouldn't want Spencer anywhere near him. That person. If Spencer didn't stay away from him, how was Derek to know he wouldn't stay away from someone who was dangerous?

"Your behavior," but Spencer didn't elaborate. Not on that. He had to go back to the topic of intimacy.

"But I think you have intimacy issues. You avoid self disclosure. You try to remain emotionally detached. When you can't, you leave the situation."

"You're going to need more than that to become a profiler."

"But I'm not wrong."

"I am not emotionally detached," Derek defended which was problematic. He was supposed to be emotionally detached for this role. He had to be emotionally detached to maintain his role.

The confidence vanished from the kid's posture, "Which is why you don't know what to do with me."

Derek could deny it. He could toss out that Spencer was just a distraction. He could say any of a hundred things that would make Spencer withdraw, physically and emotionally. He could. He should.

But he only said, "I know you shouldn't be around me. You should be at your books. You should be writing the rough draft to one of your dozen dissertations-"

"Three," Spencer corrected.

"You should be having coffee with the cute girl from you advanced psych course."

Spencer looked horrified, "What cute girl from which advanced psych course?"

"The cute boy then," Derek rolled his eyes. "Someone like you, smart, young and legit."

Spencer tilted his head, "You realize most of the people in my program are older than you, right?"

"But not I'm smarter than your colleagues," Derek answered even if his pride pricked and he wanted to shove his JD in Spencer's face. He might not be as smart as genius boy but he wasn't stupid.

Derek was smart enough to know that no good could come from his relationship, expressly platonic relationship, with Spencer. He was putting the kid in danger. He was putting his cover in danger.

But the kid was sitting there rolling his eyes, "Like that matters. You're smart enough and you put up with me."

Derek wasn't sure if he was offended or just playing, "Smart enough?"

"Not smart enough to put sugar in your coffee," Spencer muttered into his cup. His. Derek's.

 Derek grabbed his cup back, "Don't even think about it."

***

Spencer didn't bother with sugar. Spencer didn't bother with creamer. He didn't bother waiting for the coffee to stop steaming. He just pulled his legs up on the freezing cold ledge and burned his tongue.

There were shapes and faces in the masonry.  He'd noticed them of course but he never really looked. They were ugly.

Or possibly he was in a bad mood.

His bad coffee from the co op and his burned tongue didn't help.

It was warm inside the coffee house. There was coffee that didn't taste like tar. There were sugar packets and creamer and that nutmeg stuff that smelled good. But there might be Derek who still couldn't decide what to do with him. Talk. Ignore. Joke. Scowl.

It was getting tiring.

Freezing his ass off between classes seemed the most tolerable option.

It might have worked if he'd gone deeper in campus. It might not have. People cut through campus all the time.

Of course Derek would cut through campus right then, ending Spencer's three days of avoidance.

Derek's "Are you trying to freeze to death" was almost immediately cut off by a, "What happened to your face?"

"I walked into a door," Spencer answered, gulping down the same bitterness that was in his voice. Both burned. The joy of metaphors! Saying he was a bad mood might have been an understatement.

"A door." Derek's hand wasn't gentle turning Spencer's face.

"It was a disgruntled door."

"That left you with a black eye?"

"It's more an olive tone I think. I'd have to consult an art major to get the exact match."

Derek looked like he was about to give him another black eye. Hands made into fists. Lips pressed tight. Eyebrows doing their eyebrow thing. As much as Spencer liked when Derek got protective, almost possessive, Derek could at least decide if he wanted to acknowledge Spencer in between.

"Who?"

"Like I'd tell you?"

All right, he was back to bitter. Another swig of coffee. He should make this a drinking game.

"The druggie on Lake with the Yankee's cap?"

Spencer snorted.

"The guy smoking joints outside Toad's Place?"

That actually made Spencer laugh. Like that guy had the coordination to hit a parked impala, let alone anyone's face.

"I walked into a door at school."

"School," was Derek's reply, as if Spencer was lying.

"Even doors at Yale can be peeved with child prodigies."

Derek was silent, shifting his feet, "Did you at least put an ice pack on it?"

"Sorry, snow turned to slush and the last icicle melted of the Hall of Graduate Studies yesterday."

Derek didn't seem to find that amusing, given the tone of his voice: "It's too late to ice it now. Any headaches? Blurred vision?”

"All classic signs of sleep deprivation."

"You aren't sleeping?"

"For one, I'm a grad student. For another? I live in student housing."

Derek gave him a look, "Are there doors in your student housing too?"

"No, but apparently if one person is going to emerald city, we all have to suffer the ride," Spencer answered with his own look.

Derek ignored the comment, "I have some cream that will help it heal. Come on."

That perked Spencer up, "I actually get to see where you live?"

***

Derek never should have shown Spencer his crash pad. Once the kid knew where it was he seemed to find his way there whenever Derek took off for a few days on business. Spencer claimed he was just in the neighborhood but gangly white boys did not belong that far north of Tower Parkway. That and Quiana down on the corner took far too much of a liking of Spencer for Derek's tastes.

"I'd let the kid ride free," was only one of her comments to that effect.

Derek pulled Spencer up by his collar, a glare at Quiana who was practically laughing herself right off the stoop. "Do I want to know?"

"I told you, I walk, I don't ride."

The grin on Spencer's face was not reassuring at all.

Derek tried to tease, "Even if it's for free?"

"Well, I'm not going to pay to lose my virginity but if it's for free…"

Derek paused in his doorway, jacket dangling from his fingers, "You're twenty years old."

Twenty years old.  That crept into Derek's thoughts more than he wanted to admit. Twenty years old. Legal in every state. Adult.  Not a child. Not, technically, off limits.

So it wasn't bad or dirty or wrong that occasionally, just once and a while, Derek noticed how Spencer pushed his hair behind his ear or how slender his frame was. It was all right for him to ask Spencer about class just to see his eyes light up. It was perfectly reasonable to watch his fingers fidget with his coffee cup.

Except, "You're a virgin?"

Spencer pulled his damn satchel closer, "Did I mention graduating from high school at 12?"

"You went to college!"

"I still am in college."

Derek stared. Spencer shifted. Derek stared more.

Spencer finally moved, walking through the empty living room to the equally empty kitchen. There was a fridge though. There was beer and moldy pizza from the last time Spencer was over.

"You're twenty," Derek repeated, taking the beer out of Spencer's hand.

"And I'm in college, underage drinking is a requirement."

"So is sex," Derek answered, opening the bottle. After a moment he passed the bottle back, taking his own. He pretended not to notice Spencer watching him drink. He refused to acknowledge the look in Spencer's eyes. Derek absolutely would not return it. He wouldn't.

Derek just took another gulp of beer.

***

"This beer tastes different," Spencer said eyeing the bottle suspiciously.

"Probably because it's a different beer? For a genius-" and Spencer could hear the laughter in Derek's voice. Spencer made a face back at Derek, shifting on the floor.

"You really need more furniture. Real furniture."

"I caved and got a tv," Derek replied with a wave of his bottle.

"Only because I didn't have one," Spencer pointed out, not mentioning how uneasy Derek had been the all of three times Spencer had convinced him to come inside student housing. Derek had been uneasy in general. Spencer has come up with two possible reasons.

There had been a series of shootings in the past few weeks. There was no more druggie on Lake with the baseball cap. The entire campus had been talking about it. There had been shootings, but nothing like this. Spencer had spent his first class not listening to his professor. The second class he skipped out of half way through. He sat in the coffee house for five hours and twenty-six minutes before he saw Derek.

Spencer had broken their unspoken rule that he wasn't supposed to speak first.

That might be the second reason Derek was uneasy. Spencer was breaking the rules. He spoke first. He sat at Derek's table. He talked Quiana into breaking into Derek's apartment for him so he wouldn't have to wait in the rain.

Actually, Quiana might have talked Spencer into letting her break him in.

In any case, Spencer wasn't waiting for Derek.

The only problem was Spencer wasn't sure what he was not waiting for. He shifted a little closer to Derek. For once Derek didn't shift away. His eyes ran over Spencer with the slightest shake of his head. It was part of some internal conversation that Spencer wasn't privy to.

Spencer really wished he was.

***

The kid was stretching his legs out like that on purpose. Derek was sure, just like he was sure the kid was edging closer. He knew he was edging closer. If Derek owned a ruler he would hit Spencer over the head with it after he proved his point.

There. Closer.

The kid wasn't very subtle.  Derek was half expecting Spencer to stretch and try to put his arm around him like in some bad chick flick. It was ridiculous. It was somehow endearing.

It was frustrating.

Derek kept reminding himself that Spencer was twenty years old. A twenty year old virgin at that. He couldn't even drink. Technically. Derek figured of all the laws he was breaking regularly getting the kid beer wasn't going to be a black mark on his record. It was all part of the ruse.

Fucking the kid into the floorboards was probably going too far.

Kid. Kid. Kid. Derek kept repeating it. Kid.

The lecture on the physics of Star Trek didn't help Spencer seem more mature.  Then again, Derek's argument for Star Wars didn't shed him in the best light either. Somewhere between the themes of Joseph Campbell and just how bad Carrie Fisher's hair was in Episode IV, Derek noticed that personal space had all but disappeared. He could feel Spencer's thigh rubbing against his leg as his hands flailed about.

Then, "You are not mutilating Yoda's wisdom."

"I'm not mutilating, I'm..."

"Shutting up," Derek growled into the kiss. Hard, fierce and his mind couldn't help thinking, very Klingon. Except, "Do Klingon's kiss?"

Spencer stared at him, finally blinking, "I. What?"

"Klingons-" and Derek kissed the kid to shut them both up.

***

"I can't believe you got The Original Series."

"I can't believe you won't let me get your pants off," Spencer grumbled, pulling Derek's shirt free of said pants. "I can't believe you won't even let me get my pants off. They're my pants; I should get to decide when they come off!"

Derek seemed to be ignoring him in the ways that mattered, "You already memorized the whole series, all five series, from their transcripts. Why buy them?"

Derek seemed to be ignoring him in all the ways that mattered except for biting his jaw.

It almost distracted Spencer from pointing out, "The fifth series isn't out yet."

"You know you're going to," Derek was still chewing on Spencer's jaw. "You're hot for Scott Bakula."

Scott Bakula was not who Spencer was hot for at that moment. No. And on that subject, "Pants."

Derek's hand slid down, fingers reminding Spencer why he wanted his pants off. Right then and there. But he couldn't get Derek's hand down his pants, no matter how wicked Derek's fingers could be over the material.

"Speaking of your pants, what do you have against jeans?"

"Nothing if it meant I could take them off," Spencer grumbled, deciding he was done playing nice and bit the closest skin. Shoulder. He bit hard.

"Am I going to need a rabies shot?"

"Do you ever stop talking?"

"Make me, pretty boy."

That Spencer could handle.

***

They had gotten to mostly naked, despite Derek's hesitations.

At that point the kid was obviously corrupted so Derek wasn't sure why he was holding back. There was the matter of the book Spencer had found and brought back with him one day. Maybe Derek was afraid of being corrupted himself.

"Do we really need an analysis on the evolution of sexual practices while I'm trying to get you off?"

Spencer was breathing too hard to fake innocence; "Is that what your hand is doing down there?"

"They didn't cover that in your book?"

"Book, what book," Spencer gasped.

Derek just grinned, skin sliding over skin. He leaned down to lick salt from Spencer's neck. That flash of neck, that curve of jaw: Derek was somewhat obsessed with it. The bite marks from last time still hadn't faded but he added new ones. There was no talk of rabies shots, just Spencer whimpering as he thrust up.

"You, naked?"

If Spencer could still form words Derek wasn't doing something right though, naked. Since Spencer had his boxers at his ankles and one sock on, they might have passed mostly naked to the not clothed stage. Spencer's hands tugged at Derek's boxer briefs and Derek didn't fight it. Not this time.

Spencer flashed a brilliant smile of triumph.

Derek just growled, "I get to keep my socks."

 

***

There was a hole in his sock. He wiggled his toe, watching it pull just a little more. It was a sad excuse for a sock but Derek just hid it under his boot. He didn't bother to answer the door; Spencer had no sense of self preservation and would try to walk in if the door was locked or not.

It wasn't.

"I was looking at the statistics for arson and..." Spencer stopped three steps into the apartment, shoulders falling. " Bridgeport again?"

Derek doubled knotted his laces, " New York."

The kid bit his lip, looking away before he continued, starting with a "So, arson…" and a long rambling string of numbers. It wasn't right that it made Derek want to smile just as much as it made him want to shake some sense into the boy.  Spencer shouldn't just stumble over his words once then continue as if nothing had happened. As if Derek wasn't all but admitting the scope of his illegally activities.

Derek was afraid to leave the kid. No self preservation. The next guy from the streets wouldn't be an undercover agent. It would be someone dangerous. Spencer didn't have the sense to stay away from someone dangerous.

The numbers stopped and Derek was caught staring. The kid flashed a shy smile, stepping closer and curling his fingers into Derek's jacket.

"When do you have to leave?"

"I have to be at Union Station in an hour."

Spencer nodded, light caresses to the leather, "Only an hour? When do you get back?"

Derek's jaw tensed. He studied Spencer's face. Lips. Cheekbones. Finally the eyes which darkened as Spencer took a step back, "Derek, when are you coming back?"

"Baby boy..."

"I am not a baby or a boy," Spencer interrupted.  "You aren't coming back."

It was sudden and it wasn't. Derek didn't know when it would come, his break to get higher in the distribution network, closer to the manufacturer, but it was his goal. He knew it would happen. He knew he would leave. 

"It's an opportunity I can't miss."

"No," and Spencer was fierce. "Getting a GED and a real job is an opportunity you can't miss. "

"We've talked about this..."

"No, we talked around this, then you kiss me and I shut up."

Derek wasn't sure who Spencer was angrier at. Derek for distracting him or Spencer for letting himself be distracted. Derek sighed, "This is best. It's dangerous for you to be with me. You should be with..."

"If you say someone my own age..."

"You should be with some hot FBI agent once you're in the BAU. You know you'll get the job, but not if you spend time with someone like me."

Spencer tried to respond but couldn't quite make the words. Spencer knew. Derek knew. They were both risking their future if this continued. They had been lucky as it was. Luck wouldn't hold.

"Baby," Derek tried again.

"No."

Spencer turned away, retreating to the door with all the awkwardness Derek vaguely remembered from when they first met. Awkwardness. With him. Derek knew he shouldn't follow him. He knew. He took a step anyway, "Spencer."

"Just try not to get yourself killed," was the only response before Spencer vanished down the hallway.

Derek closed the door, an absent glance around his nearly empty apartment. He paused, almost laughing even if it wasn't funny. He had forgotten to tell Spencer he could keep the TV.

 

***

The televisions flashed fires, high speed chases, some explosion in Baghdad. Spencer wasn't sure if it was a typical afternoon on CNN or if the BAU had a special feed of just what was wrong in the world. The flashes of color distracted him.

"You've met Agent Gideon," and Spencer focused back on Agent Hotchner.

"Yes. Hello. There was a seminar on the psychology behind organized and disorganized killers at Yale a few years ago and. It's good to see you again," with an afterthought of, "Sir."

This could go better but Agent Gideon just smiled, "It's also good to see you again, Dr Reid."

Agent Hotchner wasn't paying attention to the introductions, looking for something behind Spencer. He found it, waving someone over. Spencer turned just to hear: "And this is Special Agent Derek Morgan."

Derek. There was no leather jacket but there was a suit, smooth lines and fine fabric. There was the smile, white teeth and dark skin. There was his hand. Spencer stared at it a moment before reaching tentatively.

"Morgan, this is Dr. Reid..."

"I heard we had some kind of genius at the Academy."

"Agent Morgan also teaches self defense at the Academy when we aren't in the field," Agent Hotchner continued.

"Really." Spencer's mouth was dry. "That isn't an area where I excel. I might need private lessons."

Derek grinned, squeeze before he let go of Spencer's hand.

"I'm sure that could be arranged."

***