Chapter Text
If Morgan had to describe how the previous day had been, "uneventful" would be an understatement.
The only thing worth of mention was that bickering with those two officers - and even then: nothing had really happened anyway.
Nothing had happened because Reid had prevented it from happening. But nothing had happened WITH Reid either; and it was only a matter of time - and maybe a good 30 milliliters of alcohol in his system, just to be sure - before Derek lost every bit of his already below average inhibition and grabbed the boy's pretty face to kiss him.
Though it's not like one could blame him, was it? It's not like it was Derek's fault if Spencer looked like that. At times he wondered how he wasn't yet taken. But most importantly, Morgan wondered why he himself hadn't yet found the courage to call dibs on him, especially considering how second nature it usually was for him to hit on women and men both with a 0,1% risk of being rejected.
The best answer he had come up with was that, in this specific case, it was in fact too risky. Spencer wasn't like anybody else he'd ever met before, so that negligible percentage of probability of rejection would spike up without a smidge of doubt. And, with that same lack of doubt, Derek was NOT going to jeopardize what he had with Boy Genius; which in and of itself was already a blessing.
It was a blessing to be walking down the hall of his hotel room floor wearing that same jacket he'd imagined Spencer had worn, too.
It was not a blessing, however, that Reid and him this time hadn't had to share a room - it would have been if the case they were working on had been one of those that required Morgan's undivided attention, since he usually couldn't manage to focus all of it on those kinds of cases when Reid sat on his bed in his flannel pajama pants and oversized hoodie and his hair half-tied in a bun, surrounded by a mess of Manila folders and a laptop that he wasn't willing to admit he never actually used, which only made the whole picture more endearing and adorable.
Of course, when claiming the last 24 hours circa had been uneventful, Derek had purposely kept out of count his rightful decision to at least indulge in the not-sharing-a-room thing by thinking of Spencer in his jacket and somehow his hand had travelled down and settled inside his boxers and, well. It would be a lie to say it was the first time he'd ended up either in that situation, or in its more socially acceptable and less morally degrading alternative: in bed with someone he'd found at a bar, hoping that 1) they'd be too tipsy to notice how his eyes had remained close all the time in order to better picture someone else, and more importantly 2) they'd gather that he had no intention of committing to whatever type of relationship; be it strictly sex-founded or something more.
Work-wise, however, the team were fumbling in the dark.
Normally, killers like this one were easy to catch: the motive of their killings was allegedly "ethical", but in reality it had so much more to do with their own warped and sick ideology than it had to do with actual justice. A vigilante's belief that his own disgust toward less fortunate people is just and universal is nothing short of an excuse to avoid admitting to himself the absurdity of their reasoning. At a certain point this type of unsub would devolve and commit a mistake - the key for the team to catch him.
This one, though, was far from his devolving stage, and on top of that - judging by his "ritual" to label the victims with their blood - it seemed like the personal motive was more relevant than usual.
After having explored possible symbolical meanings to this specific signature - this sort of digging and research was typically Reid's knack, but for some reason he'd seemed to Morgan slightly out of his element in the past days - the team had settled for the theory that writing degrading etiquettes on the victims' foreheads was an attempt at recreating something that had happened to him during his childhood; an act of bullying of the like, hopefully scandalous enough to have been registered in some local newspaper. So now, it was really only a matter of waiting for Garcia's call to see if she'd found anything.
If that were the case, they could immediately narrow their search to people who had a tormented childhood and a few petty crimes in their record, grown in a family where at least one of the members had a history of drug addiction or prostitution if not both, and most importantly they could undoubtedly rule out the possibility of the unsub being caucasian.
If that were the case. And it better be, because the team had to come up with and deliver a profile by that same afternoon. And it was already 9:21 am.
And where the hell were Reid and JJ, by the way? Morgan was supposed to drive to the station with them, and considering that in the quarter of hour he'd been sitting in the hotel lobby he hadn't seen Hotch, Rossi or Prentiss pass by, he figured the three must have left way before he'd even started waiting for the other two.
"I can already feel Hotch's glare piercing through my skull..." JJ's voice got louder as she approached him from behind; her heels echoing in the empty foyer.
Morgan merely turned his head to follow her with his gaze, nodding in both agreement and apprehension.
The blonde didn't sit down, though, instead looking around with a frown wrinkling her gracious features. Derek already knew what she was about to ask.
"...where's Reid?"
He sighed. "I don't know. He's never this late."
The woman's eyes searched her surroundings for a few seconds more; her foot tapping on the carpeted floor as she weighed her options.
"Alright. I'Il call him." she stated.
"No need to do that." Reid's voice startled them both. They turned their heads to look at the boy as he jogged down the stairs.
"Spence, what the hell ?" JJ asked, as if it an were an actual, sensible question.
Morgan stood to his feet, fetching the SUV keys in advance in the pocket of his leather jacket; his pupils never leaving the lean figure of his collegue closing the distance between himself and the other two.
"Sorry..." he mumbled, sparing Derek the quickest and most aplogetic of glances before dropping his gaze to the floor for good; nimble fingers rising to adjust behind his ears his brunette locks, untamed and... damp, also. Morgan tried to find comfort in the fact that the kid's delay was probably due to having showered.
He tried to bury the feeling of worry that inevitabily sprung in his chest each time he saw Spencer disheveled and fidgety like that.
Derek knew he had to get the kid to talk. He knew how Spencer tended to burst if he kept everything inside that brain of his, despite his habit of deflecting everyone's concerns as though they were exaggerating - as though the last time he'd hidden his problems from them he hadn't spiraled in a drug addiction.
Even so little as a 10-minute car ride would be the perfect situation to make him spit it out but - Morgan hated to admit it - the presence of JJ was surely discouraging both of them to prompt the conversation.
Almost as if someone up there had read his mind - not that Derek believed in that sort of stuff - JJ's phone rang.
" 's it Hotch?" Morgan asked, looking at her from the rear view mirror.
"Uh," she sighed. "No, it's Will." she said with a slightly wary tone.
Even a phone call being the perfect excuse to have an illusion of privacy, Morgan couldn't exactly help but feel the sublte sting of worry that maybe something had happened to little Henry.
He glimpsed at Spencer to fathom if he, too, had got that feeble sensation, but he was staring blankly outside the window as if the idea that something might've been up with his Godson hadn't even brushed his mind.
Derek catched the first couple of phrases of JJ's side of the conversation. He gathered that it wasn't any of the worrisome scenarios he'd imagined and felt relieved enough to turn his attention back to the boy sitting at his right.
"Kid,"
Spencer's head immediately turned toward him. So he only seemed lost in thought...
Derek's lips couldn't but curve in a hint of smile. "You alright?"
"Mhmh." the other mumbled. Morgan regretted not glancing at him to verify if his expression had matched the confirmation.
"...sure?" he looked now.
Spencer sighed. "Yeah." he reiterated. "I just... haven't slept a lot."
Derek nodded slowly, assessing how to phrase his further prying without crossing a line.
"Something bugging you?"
The boy shrugged. "You mean... people being murdered aside?"
Normally Morgan would've snorted at the wry joke, but all things considered he didn't feel like doing it in that moment.
"Yeah. People being murdered aside."
Spencer looked at his hands in his lap; a few curls falling over the side of his face hindered Derek from seeing what his facial features were coveying.
"I just-"
Right in the moment he was starting to open up, Reid's phone rang. The same occurrence that had helped Derek earlier now backfiring at him.
"Hotch?"
"Yeah, she's on the phone with Will so that's probably why..."
"Oh. Ok we- we're almost there."
"I know it's... it's my fault, actually... I got up late..."
"Yes. Yeah, I know I'm- I'm sorry. We'll be there in 5."
The brief conversation with their boss left Spencer even more mortified and closed off than before.
Derek refrained from pulling over and taking the boy in his arms.
The call, Morgan discovered a few seconds later, had been to inform them that there was another victim. By noon Rossi, Reid and him had visited the crime scene, where the body laid exactly as it was found; while Prentiss and Hotch had gone to talk with the victim's mother.
Kyle Hill, 25 years old, african-american. Or, "Faggot", as the bloody writing on his forehead cited.
Careful to not acknowledge how close to home that particular killing had hit him, Morgan tried to only focus on noticing what could actually be helpful to build a profile.
For starters, the scene was messier than the previous ones. In that moment they obviously couldn't go very deep on the analysis of the physical damage, but even so much as a quick look had revealed some bruising around the boy's knuckles and blood under his nails - he seemed to have put up a fight. If the team had to go by that, and the carelessness with which the body was discarded, the theory that the unsub was projecting his own trauma onto his victims could make sense, especially if the frustration shown on this one was the symptom that this kid in particular had triggered something in him.
On the other hand, though, the complete lack of remorse in any measure that characterized this as well as all the previous killings, along with the fact that, much to everyone's disappointment, Garcia had found nothing even nearly close to what they were hoping to find, meant that the act was unpersonal and served the sole scope of cleaning the streets.
So they were back to square one.
Around 4pm Morgan sauntered back in the conference room, expecting to find Reid working at his geographical profile along with at least Prentiss and Rossi.
When he found nothing but the mess of books, maps and case files the genius seemed to scatter around by just walking, he frowned.
"Oh- hey..."
Morgan jerked his head toward the voice. He smiled fondly at the sight of Spencer carrying two cups of coffee.
"Pretty boy," he leaned against the edge of the table, crossing his arms. "Where did everyone go?"
Reid glanced around as if he hadn't yet noticed they were alone.
"Uhm..." he shifted his eyes back to him. "I believe Emily's gone to the bathroom... no idea about Rossi though."
"Thanks." Derek said softly as the other handed him one of the cups.
Spencer smirked bashfully. "It's my way to apologize for being late this morning..."
Derek snorted, shaking his head. He was really clueless, wasn't he?
"No need to apologize about that, kid. I'm more concerned that you haven't been sleeping than about Hotch busting my ass."
He realized he'd pushed too far when the boy's smile fell off his gorgeous face.
Cool. Go on, expose him like that. Once again: very good.
He gaped for awhile before finding some other topic to replace the one currently hanging gingerly between them.
"So... how's the geo-profile going?"
Spencer sighed, heading toward the overly pinned map taped to the whiteboard.
"It's not going, actually. The locations where the victims were killed and dumped don't seem to follow any specific pattern. The fact that they can all be found within an area of a 5-mile radius could mean that the unsub lives nearby just as much as it could mean that this specific area is in some way important to him..." he paused thoughtfully.
"or, it could just be a misleading tactic. And we're gonna have to deliver a working profile in... an hour and 22 minutes." he concluded, taking a sip of his beverage.
Just when Derek was about to throw some reassuring and praising words at him, Spencer made a grimace of disgust that was nothing short of priceless while swallowing the gulp of coffee.
He couldn't contain a chuckle. "What's wrong?"
The boy scrunched his nose once again. Cute. "I'm- uhm- I- I'm pretty sure this is your coffee..."
Ah. Now everything made sense.
Morgan's brows furrowed as he looked down at the cup he'd been idly holding for the past few minutes. He took an experimental sip - regretting it a second after.
"Yeah," he said, shaking his head in a failed attempt to lessen the aching that the shameless amount of sugar was causing his cheeks. "this one is definitely yours."
They exchanged cups; satisfaction painted on both their faces as they finally tasted exactly what they'd expected to taste in the first place.
Derek tried not to stare too hard at Spencer happily chugging his cloying coffee as if it were plain water.
So fucking cute.
As Morgan slumped on his bed that night, he couldn't find comfort in the fact that they'd managed to come up with somewhat of a working profile, albeit having had to necessarily skip on the geographical pattern - because there was no such thing in this case, Reid claimed. Unless they were missing something. They were missing a lot of things, frankly.
After having changed in a t-shirt and sweats, his phone started ringing.
He gathered that, at that hour, it must have been either one of his sisters or...
"Hey there, Babygirl."
"Good evening, my dear knight in shining armor."
He smirked amusingly. "That one's new."
Penelope giggled. "It is, indeed, but in light of recent events I think I might add it to my list of nicknames."
Derek briefly wallowed in a confused silence.
"...recent events?"
"Recent events." she repeated.
He snorted. "Look, are you gonna give me a hint or not?"
Morgan heard her exhaling and could picure her signature eye-roll. He smiled at the image.
"Yesterday? When Idiot number 1 and Idiot number 2 got on your nerves?"
Oh.
"I'm not even gonna ask HOW you know about that."
"Very good." she drawled teasingly. "Now. Give me the deets."
He sighed. "There's no 'deets', sweetness. I promise you I didn't even get to bust their ass like I wanted cause-"
"Cause Doctor Handsome popped up. Hm?" she finished his phrase.
Doctor Handsome. Derek couldn't explain how, but that and 'Pretty Boy' seemed equally accurate. His expression morphed into some sort of frown mixed up with a lopsided grin - he was glad Garcia couldn't see him. Although, knowing the woman, he couldn't afford being 100% sure.
"Yeah." he nodded. "Seriously, how do you know exactly what happ-"
"AND what did he do??" she talked over him.
"I think you know that already at this point, don't ya?"
"Oh, baby." she laughed. "Yes, I do. But it's 10 times more fun if YOU say it."
Morgan shook his head, resigned to the fact that she'd never stop bugging him about it if he refused to talk. It was best to just rip the band-aid.
"He did nothing specific, Penelope. He just came up with the excuse that Hotch needed me and dragged me in some room to talk me out of snapping at those two."
"Aww"
He laughed nervously. "What? Am I missing somethin' here??"
Garcia cackled shamelessly. "Oh you're missing EVERYTHING, Derek Morgan!"
In the exact second he opened his mouth to retort, he heard a feeble knock on the door of his room.
He fell silent for a few instants to turn his head around and stand up at last.
"...well? You're not gonna fuss at all? Have you already moved on to the 'acceptance' stage of falling in love??"
Her ridiculous statement and the tone she used made Derek smile helplessely while he moved toward the door.
"Whatever you say, silly girl." he paused. "Now, someone knocked so I gotta go."
"SOMEONE KNOCKED- are you kidding me?? Go get him, lover!"
"Wha-? I don't even know who-"
"Stop wasting time for God's sa- UGH, Derek Morgan, do I have to always tell you everything? Bye! Muah!" she squealed before hanging up.
The conversation left him chuckling. He detached the phone from his ear and turned his attention to the door; opening it casually only because he hadn't had the time to take guesses on who it could be and what they wanted at nearly 11:30 pm.
His smile was washed away in a millisecond at most by the sight beyond his door.
Spencer, in his pj's, shaking in a way he'd never seen him doing so far.
Derek felt an excruciating clench at his heart when the boy's teary eyes unglued from the floor to lock with his.
He stepped aside to let him in without either of them needing to pronounce a syllable.