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If Spencer had to sum up the BAU in one word, he’d pick professional. Hotch was a good leader who ensured that his team followed every FBI regulation to a tee. Some things were lost - Penelope’s phone manner, for one, Hotch knew a losing battle when he saw one - but overall the BAU stayed perfectly professional. Included in this was the dress code.
All that aside, there was one day a year when all the rules went out the window.
Halloween.
The one day a year that Hotch not only condoned but actively encouraged breaking this dress code.
This was because of the annual agency-wide costume contest. The FBI higher-ups liked to ensure that morale stayed high across the organisation, and this was one way. It was no small thing, It was judged by a council of Section Chiefs, broken down into four major categories - individuals, pairs, groups and whole teams - and documented formally by an official contest photographer. The prizes were minimal, consisting of a framed photograph and a nondescript bulk order trophy for the office. No one minded, though; the real prize was the bragging rights. The winner’s photos were displayed on the FBI intranet for all branches to view. It inspired competition in all, and the BAU was nothing if not competitive.
The team went all out on their costumes. Discussions started months in advance, deciding themes and where to find the best supplies. They had even been known to scout out the best costume supply stores during their cases. They had taken different strategies over the years, trying for all categories except for the ‘whole team.’ There was even a year that they all - minus Hotch and Gideon - came as Smurfs. (It had been a nightmare, with Spencer scrubbing blue body paint out of all his creases and crevices until at least Thanksgiving.) He’d only ever seen them take casework this seriously. They all loved it.
Spencer had always loved Halloween, and with it, dressing up. The opportunity to don a costume and be someone else for the day was exhilarating. He worked tirelessly to be accurate, even going to the effort to commission or hand-craft certain pieces to achieve it. He even learnt to knit one year specifically to make a Tom Baker Doctor Who scarf. For him, the fun came from attention to detail. However, others didn’t see it that way.
The other year, Elle and Penelope had tried for the ‘pairs’ category, coming as an angel and a devil. They were in matching sparkly mini-dresses trimmed with fake feathers, and shiny stilettos. Elle was in all white, topped off with a small pair of wings. Penelope was in red, with miniature horns and an oversized pitchfork. They looked simply stunning. Spencer even imagined they’d be quite attractive to someone that way incline. However, he couldn’t help but point out the inaccuracies.
“These renditions of the ‘angel’ strays quite far from how they’re described in the source material. This costume is more representative of the watered-down, palatable versions presented in Renaissance art. In fact, with the halo and the single pair of wings, is actually a ‘cherub’ rather than an angel.”
Elle enjoyed a playful argument. She crossed her arms and engaged him in his debate.
“Okay Reid, if this,” she turned in a slow circle, letting the glitter in her dress catch the light, “isn’t ‘accurate’, what would be?”
“Well, for starters, angels are never described as being humanoid. You could add some more wings and some more eyes, which are generally agreed upon when describing angelic appearance. Some depictions show them as a ball of wings and eyes, some with rings of eyes, others with multiple wings branching out from the same point.”
Elle nodded along and smiled as Spencer lovingly scrutinised her costume. Penelope joined in as Spencer began to discuss the origins of the ‘red devil’ image. They ceded his point.
“While they’re not totally accurate, they both are decent and fashionable representations of the evolution of these figures in Western societies.” Spencer smiled.
“Are you saying we’re pretty, Doctor Reid?” Asked Penelope.
“Yeah, I suppose I am.”
They ruffled his hair and kissed his cheeks playfully, leaving identical lipstick marks.
Neither minded having the inaccuracies pointed out; they knew Spencer’s mind, knew that he could only see the world how it should be. He had forgotten more facts than either of them had ever known. They promised to consult him next year for maximum accuracy.
The following year there was a different problem.
Derek came dressed as a Spartan warrior, with two major problems.
One - his costume was rife with inaccuracy. He has no shield or body armour. It featured a velvet cape. Derek looked like a background character in a B-grade ancient history movie. Sure, his sword and cape clip seemed accurate - aside from being plastic - but aside from that, it was completely off. However, there was a worse problem.
Two - Derek looked insanely hot in his inaccurate costume. He was shirtless, gloriously displaying his chest and abs - a feat not usually allowed during office hours. He was serving everyone in the office eyefuls upon eyefuls of sun-kissed topaz skin. His leather skirt was another issue; it was Roman rather than Greek, and it clung dangerously low on his hips and skimming his thighs. Hypnotising dark chocolate tabs swayed with every step drawing focus downwards to his strappy sandals and muscular legs. All around, he was a vision.
Spencer was in agony. He’d had a crush on Derek since day one, and this was making it worse. He tried to ignore it. Keeping his head down, he tried to focus on his paperwork. Derek made that impossible, peacocking around in all his Grecian glory. Spencer found himself slipping subconsciously and watching Derek. It didn’t help when Derek came over to ask what Spencer thought of his costume, and Spencer got momentarily distracted stroking his velvet-covered shoulder. He tried to run through the inaccuracies - including that having your whole chest out is a tactical disadvantage - but Derek wasn’t taking it.
“It’s not a tactical disadvantage with the ladies though, Spence, and I am gonna score me a hottie tonight.”
By the look of him, that was true.
At least Spencer has one thing to distract himself with. Gideon’s costume. Though he rarely dressed up, Gideon had taken this opportunity to show off his Charlie Chaplin costume. It was as period-accurate as possible, down to the buttons and threads. Spencer spent his day intermittently watching Derek and sneaking up to Gideon’s office to get another look at the details. It was pleasing in its accuracy. Gideon, for one, was happy to let Spencer circle him and take in all the handiwork. There was only one thing that Spencer could nitpick, it would be that Gideon isn’t technically dressed as Charlie Chaplin but instead Chaplin’s iconic character ‘The Tramp.’ He shared this with Gideon at the end of the day, at Gideon’s request.
“You never miss a beat, Reid,” he praised, “it’s why you’re so good at this job.”
Derek also pulled him aside as they were leaving to invite him to the bar. The spooky feeling in the air combined with the night off, had Derek fixing for drinking and dancing. Spencer, less so. Still, Derek was a charismatic salesman.
“I know a bar that does Halloween-themed mocktails - one of them is a smoking cauldron.” Derek coaxed.
Spencer could admit it sounded fun, but he knew watching Derek flirt with others would be torturous.
“I’m sorry, Morgan.” Spencer shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. “I have tickets to a horror movie marathon. They’re playing the 1930s releases of Hunchback of Notre Dame, Dracula and Frankenstein. And they’re even starting with Le Manoir du Diable, thought to be the first horror short film, and the pioneer work of modern cinematic horror.”
Derek chuckled, shaking his head, “Reid, we can watch all the old movies you want, but another time. Just come to the bar with me.”
That definitely sounded nice - watching his favourite movies with Derek. However, the trade-off was going out tonight. Deep down, Spencer wanted to go with him. But watching him go home with some woman would crush him. Still, it was fun to go out and let loose.
“I don’t know. I’m not really dressed for going out.” He was referring to his Count Chocula costume. “Children’s cereal mascot doesn’t exactly scream ‘ideal mating partner’, especially not next to you.”
“C’mon, Pretty Boy, I need my wingman! Every Spartan needs a vampire.”
“Historically, there’s about two-thousand years between the fall of the Spartans and the first documented vampire folklore-”
“-Reid, you’re killing me.”
Spencer gave in. The opportunity was too good to pass up. In the end, the mocktails were quite good.
This year, however, took the cake. The BAU had made the finals in the past, but they were determined to win. JJ had even managed to talk Hotch and Gideon into trying for the team category, both agreeing blindly to go along with whatever theme the team chose.
Spencer isn’t sure who picked the theme, but someone proposed ‘Sexy FBI agents.’ The rest of the members of the team voted in favour, outvoting himself, Hotch and Gideon. To his credit, Hotch just shrugged and ceded they might win with it.
While it’s not the theme Spencer would’ve picked, he’s confident he can pull it off. He spent his days sitting across from a sexy FBI agent, so he was pretty sure he could handle it. He brushed JJ off when she offered to help him, insisting he had it covered.
Halloween morning rolled around, and Spencer was well into the spirit. He donned his costume, feeling somewhat self-conscious. He’s got his accuracy down - exact brands and overall look. A tight blue-grey V-neck, black cargo pants and a belt he pilfered from his muse’s go-bag. He even grew out his stubble and shaved it perfectly into a goatee. He was as accurate as he could get with the time constraint. Still, looking in the mirror, he didn’t really feel like his costume.
When he arrived at work, it was clear he’d missed the brief.
He was first greeted by Elle. She wore a tight black jumpsuit, neckline plunging and shorts riding high on her thighs. Hanging from the belt were fluffy black handcuffs. The only thing distinguishing her from a police-themed stripper was the FBI emblem emblazoned on the chest and ass. At first, the sight confused him, because Elle didn’t look like anyone in particular. Then Hotch arrived. He was wearing leather pants, the light glinting off the contours of his legs. On top, he put a sleeveless shirt under his bulletproof vest. He’d even let Haley tousle his hair to look like ‘sex hair.’ He, too, looked attractive but generic.
This was when it dawned on Spencer - ‘Sexy FBI agent’ must be a genre of Halloween costume. The team expected him to dress up in an overtly sexualised outfit, something that showed off his assets, with the assorted law enforcement paraphernalia to differentiate them from any other ‘sexy’ costume. This was clear to everyone else - no one else came dressed as an FBI agent they find sexy.
Spencer considered going home to change, but he didn’t get the chance. Soon the bullpen was flooded with the rest of his team - minus Derek, thankfully - and his embarrassment is sealed.
Gideon understood the brief - aviator sunglasses, tight jeans, and a black button-down that’s tucked and rolled to show more of his skin than Spencer had ever seen. Behind him, JJ was effervescent in a one-shoulder tank top and pinstripe business pants, shiny black stilettos tying it all together. Then Penelope took the cake, having pulled out all the stops: blood-red lips, smoky eyes, hair perfectly curled and flooded. She looked like a cross between pin-up and policing, with her sweetheart neckline corset top, fishnets and a garter belt with a fake badge.
Spencer was debating his strategy for getting home when Elle addressed him.
“Spence! Are you dressed as Morgan?”
In lieu of answering, Spence went as red as Penelope’s lipstick.
“Uh…” He flustered, trying to think of a workaround.
“Oh my god, you are!” Penelope joined, snapping a picture with her flip-phone - to set as his contact picture or send to Derek, Spencer would never know. “That’s not what we meant at all, Junior G-Man.”
The blush hit his ears. He couldn’t even bring himself to call on Gideon or Hotch to help him out of it.
“Morgan’s the sexiest FBI agent I know,” he trailed off in defence. It wasn’t a good answer, not even one that would get him out of trouble.
Of course, it was precisely then that Derek arrived. Sneaking up behind Spencer, he heard every word.
“You think I’m sexy, Pretty Boy?”
“Morgan!” He squeaked. He couldn’t have been blushing more if he tried. “Um, well, historically, you’ve gotten the most attention from woman and-and such, with your, um, your ‘tall, dark and handsome’ thing going on-”
“Now I’m handsome? Damn, I didn’t know you were into all this, Spence.”
And how could he not be? Derek looked hot, for lack of a better adjective. The sleeves of his deep blue button-down clung tight to his biceps, like a rock climber pressing close to a cliff-face. It’s unbuttoned all the way to his belly button. It’s tucked smoothly into jeans, a second denim skin leaving just enough to the imagination. His FBI cap is straight from the uniform shop, the only part of his ensemble taking him from ‘Derek Morgan’ to ‘Sexy FBI agent.’
Spencer was lost for words. All he could do was whisper the first thing that came to mind.
“How could I not be?”
That was when it dawned on everyone, all at once, all that they’d been missing. Spencer Reid was gay. He had a crush on Morgan. He’s embarrassed about it. So embarrassed, he was decidedly not meeting anyone’s eyes. If he had been, he’d have seen how excited and hopeful Derek looked at the prospect.
“Really, Spence?”
Spencer went from blushing to fidgeting, from embarrassed to ashamed. He intertwined his fingers and scuffed his shoes on the tiles. He kept his eyes down to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes, especially Derek’s.
“You’ve got a crush on me.”
Spencer’s face twisted in fear.
“You think I’m attractive.”
Derek waited for an answer, but none came. He called on Spencer again.
“Please don’t make me say it.”
Thankfully for him, the competition photographer arrived and shattered the moment. The team switched gears immediately to configure themselves into the most flattering ‘sexy’ group formation. Though Spencer tried to keep far away from Derek, however, they needed up next to each other thanks to their height. They ended up with Derek’s arm draped around Spencer, and Spencer’s arms crossed decidedly not touching Derek.
As soon as the flash went off, Spencer pulled away from the group and made a beeline for the bathroom. Derek followed him.
“Reid, wait up a minute!”
“Morgan, I don’t want to talk about this, now or ever.” His voice was edged with anger.
Unfortunately, Derek didn’t take the hint.
“Well, I do.”
“Can’t we just forget about it and move on?” Spencer pleaded, suddenly vulnerable again.
“Not a chance,” Derek began, preparing for a confession, “listen-”
“-No, Morgan, you listen.” Spencer rounded on him, no longer trying to get away, “You don’t need to do the whole ‘let me down easy’ thing. I know you like women, I know I’m not your type, I know there are fraternisation rules and I know it’ll never happen. I don’t need to hear it from you.”
“Reid, c’mon man-”
“Derek, let it go.”
Spencer tried to slip past him back to the bullpen, but he wasn’t fast enough. Derek grabbed his wrist.
“Spencer, you gotta listen to me-”
“-No, Derek, just forget it! It doesn’t matter.”
He tried to pull away. Derek knew he couldn’t let him go, couldn’t miss the only opportunity he might get to tell Spencer how he really feels. So he did the only thing he could think to do, to keep him here, to get a foot in the door.
He kissed him. Derek pressed his lithe body up against the wall of the corridor, pressing their lips together, sweet and urgent. As far as he saw it, this could be the only chance he got to kiss Spencer, so he poured himself into it. He refused to pull away until he had every line of Spencer’s smile memorised. Still, he tried to be gentle, to go easy on Spencer, knowing his inexperience. He hooked a hand into Spencer’s hair, smoothing comfortingly through his curls. As Spencer began to relax, he leaned into Derek and - to his amazement - kissed back. Derek almost stopped kissing him from surprise but came to enough to deepen the kiss. It was real, built on a want of emotional intimacy rather than physical. He needed to show Spencer how much he wanted him.
Spencer tried kissing back, tentative at first, lacking technique. He tried to avoid the feeling that he was somehow detracting from the beauty and simplicity of Derek’s kiss, but couldn’t. He whined when the kiss parted when their noses bashed together. Derek just chuckled, gripping Spencer’s jaw and guiding him back in.
The second kiss was just as good - slow, gentle and unhurried.
Derek pulled away when he was sure that Spencer wouldn’t bolt. He didn’t, just looked up at Derek with glassy, kiss-drunk eyes.
“Pretty boy, if I had thought I’d have a chance to go out with you, I’d have done it a long time ago.”
“Really?” Spencer breathed. Derek shook his head affectionately and rubbed Spencer’s arms reassuringly.
“Sweetheart, I’ve got a crush on you, I find you attractive. I’m sorry you got embarrassed, and I wish it had happened a different way, but I am not sorry that it happened. I’m glad I got to kiss you.”
Spencer blushed again, a sweet pink rather than his previous shade of red.
“I like you,” Spencer smiled. He put a hand on Derek’s chest.
“I like you too, kiddo,” Derek put his hand over Spencer’s, “I like you too.”
“Can we do more kissing?”
Derek nodded, “But not here, not at work.”
“Are we dating now?”
“Do you wanna be?”
“Yeah,” Spencer laced their fingers together.
“Then yes we are. We are dating.”
They hugged for a long moment.
“Are we gonna tell the team?”
“I think they might already know.” Derek gestured at the CCTV cameras. Penelope had likely already backed it up on various devices. Reid blushed, seeming to have forgotten that their workplace had cameras. Pink was becoming his colour for the day.
“Hey, I’m not ashamed of you, or this. You’re my boyfriend now, and I’m proud of that. Who cares if Garcia gets us on tape. I’d do it again, a thousand times, and I don’t care who’s filming.”
“Me neither, it’s just new.” Spencer smiled, “I don’t know what to say to the team.”
“Well we’ll figure it out,” He took Spencer’s hand in his, “Let’s get back out there and show them all that the two sexiest agents in the FBI are off the market.”
And that’s exactly what they did.
They came second in the contest, only losing out to California’s White Collar Crimes division, who came as the characters from ‘The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas.’ They paraded around the office proudly with their trophy until Hotch allowed it to be displayed in the conference room. It would be taken down next October, but that didn’t bother them much. They were high on the win for weeks, until Halloween bled into Christmas.
The real winners were Derek and Spencer, whose happiness couldn’t be measured with a plastic trophy. It was too soon to say what would become of them, but what they had was good, and that’s all that matters.