Chapter Text
Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan had a secret. Actually, he had many secrets, but only one he would never tell.
Ever since it had even become a conscious thought years ago, something he was aware of and not just feeling, he knew the only things that could ever know were the insects that would feast on his brain once he was dead and buried. They’ll gnaw away at the flesh that once held so much hidden emotion and know intrinsically, based on the flavour of his blood and the smell of his synapses, that the body they were stealing sustenance from once loved Doctor Spencer Reid– innately, purely, wholly. And as they suck up his rotting tissue, they’ll take into themselves the last remnants of his love. He’ll decompose peacefully, knowing it won’t be lost from the world. Spencer will live (because Derek would most definitely die before him– he wouldn’t let anything else happen) still loved, even if it’s only by insects he will never meet.
A part of Derek hoped that, even if just so the same bugs will take both their remains out of the world together, they could be buried together. Side-by-side. He had a romantic idea in his head of their gravestones sharing a plot, the matching surnames being the only living reminder of their love hundreds of years down the line. He liked to imagine that the nutrients released by their bodies would both go into nearby plants that reached around and wrapped tightly around each other’s buried bodies. He knew that whatever came from Spencer would be bright and lively. His would be barely-living and dull, a viciously accurate copy of his soul.
Every single other part of Derek, rational and thinking, knew that this fantasy was unreachable. These parts were the parts that had sense, had some critical thought. These parts were the ones that realised Spencer could never love him back. The kid had so much life in him, so much potential, so much time left in his life to lead, that it was inconceivable he would slow down his living to settle for Derek.
A thing about Spencer was just how alive he was. He was near constantly jittering, vibrating with incredible energy. Logically Derek knew it was the caffeine he was always drinking, but a more romantic part of him liked to think that it was his life bursting at the seams of his slight body to get free. He was a force of nature, his mind constantly whirring with ideas and insights that made the others in the team feel insignificant; like they were in the presence of something almost divine. Frequently he came up with brilliant conclusions on a case the rest of them couldn't have ever hoped to realise. And Derek, in those moments, could never do anything but stare and lose all the breath in his lungs.
It wasn't just his energy—it was the sheer magnetism of his spirit, his mind, an essence so vast and expansive that Derek felt like it could swallow the whole world whole and still have room for more.
And what was he in comparison? Spencer was the entire universe, and Derek, barely a single comet.
Not to mention Spencer was straight. Unbelievably awkward with women, but still gut-wrenchingly straight.
Although, everybody in Derek’s life also thought he was straight as they come and not harbouring intense, unrequited love for his very male teammate and co-worker and best friend. But Derek didn’t let himself speculate. Because that would give him hope, and he knew both first-hand and second-hand through his work how hope destroyed people. He refused to let himself entertain the thought of any potential reciprocation at all. If he didn’t think about it then it couldn’t affect him– hopefully.
And Derek knew that if he tricked himself and over-analysed every interaction between them then he’d end up slipping and revealing his real feelings. And that could not happen.
Because, nobody could know.
Because, Spencer Reid was the opposite of who Derek Morgan was supposed to love.
Spencer Reid was a man. He was a co-worker. He stumbled awkwardly over his words. He had too many degrees for his own good. He purposefully wore odd socks for good luck, he memorised statistics for fun and would reel them off at anybody who would listen (Derek always would) at any time he could (Derek frequently couldn't), he had too much sugar in his coffee, avoided emotional talks (even when he desperately needed them), wore sweater vests and loose ties, always had cold hands (every time Derek noticed he had to stop himself from reaching out and covering them with his own), shied away from human touch.
Derek Morgan was supposed to love a woman. A woman who would have come up to him in a bar, sat on his lap, spent the night at his. A woman with whom one night stands would have led to dates, which would have led to a relationship, then a marriage, and then beautiful, biologically both-of-their’s children. She was supposed to be smart, but not too smart (not like Spencer). She was supposed to be okay with his work schedule, but still get tired of it sometimes (not like Spencer, who could never get upset because he shared the very same schedule ). She was supposed to love him, and he was supposed to love her back and call her beautiful pet names ( not pretty boy) and call out honey, I’m home as he got inside their three-bed in the suburbs and kiss her sweetly (she wasn’t supposed to be coming through the door right behind him with the same bags and he wasn’t supposed to kiss him anyway).
She wasn’t supposed to be a him.
She wasn’t supposed to be him .
Overall, this led Derek to bottling up his feelings and shoving them deep inside of him, into places that would never see the light of day again. But sometimes his love grew a life of its own (it’s always had a life of its own) and tried to force its way back up his intestinal tract, or maybe his lungs.
Like it was right then.
They were sitting in the bullpen, and Derek was pretending to read a file. He was pretending to not be staring at Spencer. The other man was perched on the edge of his desk and speaking to the room at large, but really only Emily and Rossi. JJ was off speaking to Garcia in her room, and Hotch was doing whatever Hotch does in his office. Derek genuinely couldn’t listen to what he was talking about, because he was far too engrossed in
not
watching him. Spencer had this
beautiful
annoying habit of using his hands far too much as he spoke. It was far too distracting to be allowed at work. Derek could never bring himself to complain because it would reveal how much attention he actually paid to the other man (and because he secretly loved it).
What Derek could say from that moment was that Spencer had in one hand a mug full of his sugar-with-a-splash-of-coffee mixture. But he didn’t let that stop him. Both hands were moving as animatedly as each other– which was fast .
“-- so really it’s the opposite– oh shit.” Spencer had finally moved his stupidly pretty hand in just the wrong way and spilt his ‘coffee’ all over himself.
His face flushed pink, and Derek wanted to lick it off of him, see if it tasted how he imagined. No, man, he told himself, you don’t think about licking him at work– at all! But Spencer flapped his hands at his chest and looked all shy and embarrassed and he was being laughed at but he was so cute .
Suddenly, Derek was overtaken by a vicious coughing fit. It wracked at his body violently. For a moment he thought his love really was coming free, but he banished the thought almost immediately. He jumped up from his chair and ran to the bathroom since it wasn’t stopping, ignoring the concerned calls from the team behind him.
In the yellow light of the bathroom, the image of himself he caught in the mirror before he bent over was horrifying. There was blood pooling against his hand, coming from his mouth. He desperately reached for a paper towel, anything to cough into that wasn’t his hand. He missed at first, and the image of his blood stark on the dispenser was awful.
Once the coughing had subsided (after a second fit as soon as he had finally thought the first was over), he had nearly completely soaked the singular sheet red. The thought was horrific: that much blood had been ripped from his throat and it was now all over his hands and part of the bathroom.
Shaking his head, he locked the door and got to work cleaning up. It would do him no good to be sent home mid-day– he felt fine now. He’d maybe go to the doctors after, and sort it all out. The fact that the cough had been around for a long time didn’t mean anything. This was the first and only time there was any blood. Chances are, it was just a one off where he’d coughed and it got a little out of hand. Yeah. He wasn’t sick.
Derek sighed and mentally steeled himself for returning to the team. He prepared for the you okay? s and the subtle glances and the gentle pats on the back once he sat down. Most of all, he prepared himself for seeing Spencer again.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, pretty boy, I am. Don’t worry your cute little head about it.”
Derek has never been good at lying to Spencer. But he manages it. Doesn’t mean he likes it, though. Normally, he prefers to omit truths, or lie through evasion and distraction.
The only reason Derek even had to lie to Spencer was because the other man surprised him at the lift on their way out of work. He was concerned because of his sudden disappearance and wanted to know if he was sick. (Derek found himself really hoping that there was more to that than his germophobia.) He did say there was no blood, though, which he didn’t like doing. But it’d only make Spencer worry and force him to see a doctor– which he didn't need!
Derek leant against the door of his car and looked at the brunette. He was playing with his hair, but not avoiding eye contact. Good. Derek liked eye contact with Spencer.
Actually, their work days ended like this often. They would walk together to his car, and sometimes Derek would offer him a ride home (and always force him to accept), and other times Spencer would walk away and get the metro before he had the chance to. Every time, Derek would lean on his car and imagine that it was actually Spencer pressing him up against it and they were kissing and Derek’s hands were in his hair, on his waist, around his shoulders. He’d imagine they would tumble into the car, and they’d drive to Derek’s house and the whole way there Derek would have his hand on Spencer’s thigh. He never let it go any further. He knew he’d only drive himself insane.
Every time, he would be brought back to reality by Spencer smiling at him. He wasn’t able to focus on anything else when that happened, not even his fantasies.
This time, he was smiling at him because he was leaving. It was a parting smile. Derek’s stomach sank. He didn’t want him to go. He opened his car door.
“Bye-bye, pretty boy,” Derek said. He shot a grin at him, one he didn’t mean. Spencer didn’t realise.
“Bye,” he just responded. He gave a little wave and turned around to leave the car park.
Inside his car, Derek had to physically close his eyes to stop himself from watching as he left through the rear-view mirror. That would be bad.
Instead of driving away, which he should have done if he wanted to keep to his regular schedule of the gym at eight until nine, his mind wandered back to the coughing earlier. And with it, what caused it. Once again, he thought of Spencer.
Wow, this crush (Derek refused to call it anything more serious. It would make it far too real) really was detrimental to his health, if he was thinking about Spencer even in this situation. He didn’t regret it. He carried on thinking about Spencer.
It was difficult not to, especially recently. The man was a danger magnet. It’s just how he was. There’s just something about Spencer that made him special, different, important. Separate from everybody else. Something that made the worst of society want to hate him, and the best want to protect him from everything. Nobody could ignore him, or leave him alone. Derek was proud that he wanted to protect him, it meant he was a good person.
But, he knew he wanted to do more than merely protect him. He wanted so much more with Spencer than the rest of the team did. While they loved platonically, he loved romantically. He couldn't help it– and he has tried. He did everything he could: ignore him for just until he stopped feeling (he gave up two days in, he couldn’t stand making him upset), get with other women as a distraction (he stopped liking them as soon as they didn’t interrupt with a random statistic whenever he said something strange), he wrote a journal of his feelings (he ripped out the pages and burnt them in paranoia of them being found and read).
About a month ago, he gave up all hope of anything and resigned himself to loving him for the rest of his life. In a special moment of self-pity he declared Spencer his one-way soulmate and shouted at his ceiling. He pretended he thought God was listening on the other side. Spencer was his, he wasn’t Spencer’s. He’s pretty sure Maeve was, but…
There was a sick feeling building in his chest. He decided it was a mix of disgust in himself, and regret for letting it build to this in the first place. If only he got over Spencer years ago, it wouldn’t have festered to this point. But, he couldn’t imagine a version of himself that didn’t love Spencer. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Abruptly, he burst out into a coughing fit. He doubled over, and pushed the door back open to make sure the blood landed on the concrete and not his upholstery. Internally he laughed at himself. The sick feeling wasn’t sadness, it was… this. Whatever this was.
He coughed. And coughed. And coughed.
Eventually, he stopped. He spat instead. There was a petal in his mouth.
Oh.
There were petals in his lungs.
Overcome with emotion, he couldn’t do anything but laugh. It burnt at his blood-dry throat, but he couldn’t stop. Earlier he had the thought of his love for Spencer not being good for him, but this. This, was on another level. It was killing him.
And he didn’t want to stop it.