Chapter Text
The whole ‘borrow a cup of sugar’ knock is a load of bull, and they both know it. But the kid, Spencer Reid, the buzzer by the front door tells him, apparently hoards sugar like he hoards books. Derek wonders how often the kid gets visitors. Every available surface is covered in mounds of books, but the kid himself clearly has a day job, given by how put together (even if his clothes make him look both much younger than he is sure he is, but also the fashion sense makes Derek think of his grandfather) he is. The kid doesn’t say much, just moves around the kitchen with ease.
“You’ve got a lot of books here, kid.” Derek comments, picking one up. It was in Russian, he thinks, but Derek spoke enough Spanish to pass the class in college he was required to take and that was it. He set it down. Spencer’s lip involuntarily pouted, and he smirked, taking it as a victory.
He gets down a bag of sugar, clearly something he used a lot of though where.it went was a mystery. The guy was a twig. He didn’t look like he had any muscle, much less fat on him. “It’s ‘Doctor’ actually, not kid.” The boy speaks, for the first time since letting him inside and Derek realizes he probably looked surprised. The man rolled hazel eyes and extended a hand, “Do you have a cup or do you need to borrow that too?” The humor is dry and unexpected and Derek bark’s out a laugh.
Spencer jumps, and he feels a bit bad, the sound is rather loud, especially for someone who looks like they live in the quiet. A sheepish smile curls the darker complexioned man’s lips, “Nope, forgot one.” He said, before smirking, “Figured if I borrowed the cup and the sugar, I could come see you again.”
He watched him look confused for a second before his words dawned on him. He did a great, unintentional, impression of a fish and his cheeks went vivid red. He said nothing in retort, just scooped the sugar into a mug -- another item he had copious amounts of and shoved it into his hands, all but pushing him out the door. Derek stood a bit dumbfounded in the hallway, blinking dazedly. “Was it something I said?” He muttered to himself as he heard the deadbolt slide into place.
A less-than-friendly hand landed on his shoulder. The woman was shorter than him copper toned hair naturally curled, and her lips set in a frown, “You leave him alone. He doesn’t need you coming around and screwing with his heart.” The woman drips venom and distaste, brushing past Derek to produce a key, unlocking the door and openning it enough to slide off the deadbolt, slipping inside and closing the door behind him.
If he was confused before he was utterly clueless now. Was the girl Spencer’s girlfriend? No offense to the kid, but she looked like she’d be more likely to hurt him then Derek would. “That’s Elle. She’s been coming around since Ethan left. They aren’t dating. Just good friends.” The voice is calm, and Derek expects another brush off, but instead, the blonde woman offers a bright grin, “You new around here?” She asks, and Derek just nods, thrown through a loop by her brightness. “Come on in for some tea. I’m Penelope by the way, I live down a floor. I figured I’d come up and greet you anyway, but since you’re outside it makes it easier.”
The woman had an air of confidence and they took to each other well. From her he learned that Spencer was 25, mostly kept to himself, and that he was a professor at the local college. He’d lived there seven years, since he was 18. Elle, him, and another guy had shared the apartment. Three years ago he and the other roommate, Ethan, had a rather vocal falling out over the other man’s drinking habits -- Ethan walked out and he retreated more to himself ever since. Elle was the only steady person who came to visit, usually every other day, who worked at a bar uptown. She'd moved out a few months ago from living there. “She isn’t mean,” Penelope assured him, “just a bit protective since Ethan.” They’d apparently been friends since before Spencer moved here, and the three had shown up together -- Las Vegas, she thought she’d heard.
It was all she really knew, aside from the fact he ate far too much take out and wasn’t fond of vegetables. When Derek inquired as to qhy she knew so much of his young neighbor’s eating habits she smiled, and explained she left him plates of food so he got some sort of balanced nutrition.
As he stood and excused himself, she caught him lightly on the shoulder, “Derek Morgan, I don’t know what your intentions are with Spencer Reid but don’t hurt him, okay. Poor kids been through enough.” He looked affronted, and a bit confused.
Why did everyone assume he wanted to bone the kid? He returned to his apartment and worked a bit on some small things, headed out to work, and then back around 2am. As he arrived, Elle was leaving, closing the door softly. She arched a brow, and he returned the favor.
“Spencer told me to be nicer to you, so here’s me being nicer to you,” She kept her voice down, “Keep your womanizing ass away from him, please. You’ve got ‘serial heartbreaker’ written all over you.” Honestly, before tonight (today) he never met someone who could make please sound as the equivalent to ‘I’ll kill you’. The whole apartment was weird, and Derek settled into bed, barely changing out of his uniform before he collapsed asleep.
The next few days passed the same way, and Derek didn’t see much of the boy next door, but that didn’t mean much. Penelope Garcia’s food, was always there when he left for work and gone when he returned. He’d done a bit of goggling, the kid was sort of famous -- 12 year old graduate from Las Vegas, three PhDs, and had written several dozen articles. He currently taught Chemistry at Georgetown. His neighbor was a genius, then. He glanced over at the counter, the mug was still there. Now or never.
It was around six, and he knocked on the door. There was some shuffling, and a pause, before the lock on the door clicked and the deadbolt slid away. The kid had clearly only recently got home, but was wearing fewer layers than he last saw, now just wearing a button up and khakis.
“Oh---Derek.” The kid smiled, nervously, but let him in without much thought. “You came to return the mug?” He asked, and Derek must have looked confused because the younger man smiled, ducking his head, shyly, “It’s in your hands. Logic dictates you’d come to return it. Unless you needed another cup of sugar; in which case, I’d make you go buy your own.” It’s a joke, and he smiles still and lifts his head.
Smiles like that are the kind that old, dead poets wrote about. The kind that old, dead Europeans launched wars about. Those smiles were the kind girls dreamed about princes having. Damn, I need to get laid. Derek shook himself free from his thoughts to nod, offering him the cup. Spencer took it, and hesitated. It didn’t take a genius to read the battle of indecision on his face, “Did you--want some dinner? Miss Garcia always gives me way too much, so there are leftovers. But there’s more then enough for the two of us, if you’d like. I recognize that Elle probably alarmed you the other day and I just wanted to apologize in person. She means well.” He’s rambling, and Derek wonders if this is the ‘real’ Spencer -- a rambling, sort of nervous kid.
The older man grinned, “Sure.” He nodded, and the boy smiled again.