Work Text:
Derek is eleven when the writing starts.
It comes late. His classmates have already been writing to their soulmates for years, since they all learned how to write. There’s sometimes a small age gap, but when Derek had made it to ten years old without a single mark, he thought he was doomed to be alone forever.
He waits. He waits and is rewarded for his patience with a barely legible “Hi!” when he’s eleven years old.
The whole soulmate thing has rules. It’s used to help people find each other, but not too soon. Any identifiable information you write gets smudged on the other person’s skin. It would be far too easy if people could find each other by writing out a name and an address.
No, as far as scientists and psychologists can tell, soulmates are there to help you, emotionally. The idea that there is someone out there who would always be there for you, who you could reach out to at any time.
His soulmate isn’t there, however, when his dad dies.
He remembers desperately writing on his skin with a sharpie, asking over and over again “Are you even there?”. He gets nothing back, and he almost gives up hope, the overwhelming grief swallowing him whole.
His soulmate is there, when his years of hell under Buford begin, but he can tell his soulmate is young, despite their intelligence. He doesn’t burden them with any of it, just like he doesn’t burden anyone in his life with this knowledge, but he is at least comforted by the random, almost illegible scrawlings from his soulmate that randomly appear throughout the day. Just knowing that there’s someone out there connected to him in such an intimate way, that their drawings are being etched onto his skin, keeps him going.
They rarely talk directly to each other. Perhaps it’s a way to keep this fragile, vulnerable balance they’ve achieved alive, but most of the time they only write a few things here and there. Derek gets into the habit of writing affirmations on himself, his own system of preparing for football games. Over time, his soulmate starts drawing smiley faces next to his affirmations, which fills him with even more determination to do his best.
His soulmate seems to be some kind of genius, if only going by the equations and scientific concepts that often appear on his own skin. Derek has little understanding of what they mean but responds with his own smiley face a few times.
It’s a comfort. He can look down and see some kind of proof that somewhere out there exists a person meant for him. That one day he’s going to get out of this hell and he’s going to be loved by someone. That there’s someone out there so perfect for him that it’s wired into his DNA.
He’s finally graduating high school and he’s got a scholarship to some of the best colleges in his area when the drawings and writings from his soulmate stop. It’s not noticeable at first, but a week goes by with no ink staining his skin, and he feels a ball of worry build up in his chest.
Breaking their unspoken rule to never speak directly, he grabs a sharpie and writes on the inside of his arm “Are you okay?”
He hears nothing back.
There’s no way to know if his soulmate is dead. He wouldn’t know, other than the writing ceasing to exist, and so he immediately assumes the worst.
Every day for a week he writes on his arm “Are you okay?”, or “Are you there?” before eventually writing “Please tell me you’re alive?”
An entire week of radio silence, and the only words he gets back are “Stop writing to me”.
He’s angry. Yeah, he’s angry, because he spent an entire week thinking his soulmate is dead, and the whole time they were just ignoring him. He writes back anyway, trying to convey his desperation in a few short words.
“What happened? Why can’t I write to you?”
“Stop writing! Please!”
It’s the ‘please’ that gives him pause.
“Are you safe? Are you in danger?”
He’s not expecting the next response.
“Stop writing! I don’t even believe in soulmates so why would I want any kind of reminder?”
The words sting worse than he expects them to. For seven years his soulmate has been a constant, getting him through the worst years of his life, dependable without ever really doing anything. Whether or not they are romantic or platonic, he has relied on them, he has trusted them. One day he could’ve been vulnerable enough to even love them and they don’t want anything to do with him?
He blinks away tears, staring at the unforgiving black lines marring his skin. Unable to bear looking at it anymore, he throws on a long-sleeved shirt despite it being the middle of summer, and vows to never write to his soulmate ever again.
Years later he barely even thinks about his soulmate. A passing thought here or there whenever it's relevant will cross his mind, but it no longer carries the same poison it used to. He can smile when he sees soulmates happily together, and it doesn't fill him with the same envious rage that he used to feel. His work doesn't allow for him to build stable relationships, so he doesn't, and none of it bothers him.
When Gideon brings in a young - not even old enough to be an agent - kid and throws him onto the team, Derek doesn't feel anything but pity. As the years pass them by, the feelings grow - first into worry, then into pride and protectiveness, and then into something like love.
Eventually, he comes to understand that he does love Spencer Reid. Of that, there's no doubt.
He loves how expressive he is, and how thoughtful he is. He loves listening to his tangents and hearing his opinions on any number of topics. He feels like he knows him, even before they become close. He feels like he knows his very soul.
But, that's impossible.
Suddenly, the soulmate he hasn't thought of in years is at the forefront of his mind. Soulmates could be platonic or romantic, and people often dated others who weren't their soulmate, but he still feels guilty for some reason. Even though it had been his soulmate who had pushed him away, he can't help but feel as though he's neglecting his soulmate, ignoring them in favour of someone else.
For the first time in years, he feels deeply the hole left behind when his soulmate had cut off all contact. He longs to reach out, to write a reply after a dozen-odd years and begging them to write back. Loving Spencer Reid feels so right that it's almost insulting, like the universe wants him to suffer, because how could there be a man so perfect for him who isn't his soulmate, and why does his soulmate want nothing to do with him?
He's worked with Spencer for almost six years when it finally clicks into place, when the longing and the hoping and the pining finally makes sense.
Because when he jokingly draws a smiley face on Spencer's wrist, he feels a tingle as one appears on his own arm.
Spencer has never known a world without his soulmate.
He knows this somehow, much like he knows a lot of other things, in that he remembers almost everything.
He remembers being three years old and drawing on himself for the first time, communicating with a person somewhere in the world who was built for him in a way no other person was. He remembers the elation he had felt at seeing a reply appear on his skin, the tingling feeling sending waves of warmth and comfort through his nerves.
Spencer is a firm believer in science, and science still does not have an explanation for soulmates, but that doesn't seem to matter when he feels how lovingly drawn the black ink is whenever it appears.
His father tells him to cover up his arms, that it's unseemly to be running around with marks all over his skin, and so he doesn't write very often. He'll encourage his soulmate, however, because it seems like they need it. He doesn't know how he knows, but even the small doodles he draws feels like it's helping in some way.
As he grows up, his soulmate is there. When his mom gets worse, his soulmate is there. When his father leaves, his soulmate is there.
When he's tied to a metal pole and stripped of all his clothes, his soulmate is there. Their words are bared to the world, shown off without his consent, and he sobs as the older kids point and laugh at the smiley face drawn next to an inspirational quote from some famous footballer Spencer only researched when the name appeared on his skin. To him, the ink is more intimate than anything else they could take from him, and he loathes that even for a second, they look at it without the reverence it deserves.
He walks home that night, but he's not entirely alone. He draws a sad face on the inside of his elbow and receives a question mark back. It's the closest they've ever come to directly talking, but he doesn't dare say anything else. When he doesn't respond, his soulmate draws a love heart, and butterflies burst in his stomach as he shakily fills it in with his own pen.
When his mom starts yelling about the people who are watching them, and the people who will hurt them, and the people who leave marks on their skin as a way to mark them for death, his soulmate is there, but he really wishes they weren't.
His mom scratches at her own marks, claims that someone is watching them through the lines of ink, and sets her eyes on Spencer's skin. He runs into his room and locks the door, holding back tears as he sinks to the floor and covers his ears with his hands, but it does nothing to block out his mom's desperate, frenzied cries as she pounds on the door. She's trying to help in the only way she can, trying to protect him, but the only person he needs protecting from is her.
He starts wearing long-sleeves and tries to shut out his father's voice telling him "I told you so" that plays on loop in his head.
It isn't enough, because it doesn't matter that Spencer has stopped writing on his skin if his soulmate continues to do so. He tries to ignore it for a while, hoping his soulmate will understand, but instead they respond with concern. They sound so concerned and so worried and Spencer cries at night watching as the ink bleeds across his skin knowing what he has to do.
There is someone out there who loves him unconditionally, whose soul is interwoven into his very being, and he knows what he has to do.
He knows how to make it hurt. He knows how to push them away forever. He knows how to shove the knife deeper into the wound to make it stick.
When his soulmate stops responding, he knows he's succeeded, but he only feels empty inside.
Habits form after that, and he never writes on his skin again. His soulmate never does it either, and he feels terrible that he's forced someone who means so much to him to change themselves so irreparably.
He goes to college and he leaves his mom and suddenly the reason he pushed his soulmate away in the first place no longer exists. There's no need to hide the ink on his arms when he's miles away from her terrified ramblings, and yet he doesn't dare lift a pen and touch it to his skin. Perhaps he's scared, or perhaps he's ashamed, but he can't bear to face his soulmate after intentionally pushing them away.
It was his fault after all. For all he knows, his soulmate wants nothing to do with him anymore.
Eventually, it fades like an old scar. It's still there, but it doesn't hurt anymore. He only feels it when he really looks, and even then it's worn with age and he no longer remembers the pain.
He's never known a world without his soulmate, but he's spent twelve years forgetting them.
Which is why Derek Morgan comes as such a surprise.
Familiar in a way that feels effortless, Derek Morgan slots into his life like he was always meant to be there. Kind and affectionate, he's everything that Spencer isn't, a piece of the same puzzle that only makes sense when put together.
The guilt comes along with it, because he already had something like this and he threw it away. How dare he revel in the light that is Derek Morgan when he had hidden himself in the shadows? He doesn't deserve to have a happy ending now, not after what he's done.
But it's so easy with Derek. And so he pines and he wishes but he keeps himself at a distance, because he's never been able to keep a good thing for long, and he wants Derek forever, in whatever way the other man will have him.
It shouldn't be a surprise, then, when Derek reaches over and draws a familiar looking smiley face on his wrist. It shouldn't be a surprise, then, when he watches that same smiley face appear on Derek's skin. It shouldn't be a surprise, then, that the best thing in his life is something he's already given away.
As he stares into Derek's eyes, shocked and growing teary, he feels his heart sink to the floor. He's done a lot of unforgivable things, but abandoning Derek Morgan is probably the worst one.
Derek smiles as he sits down on Spencer's desk in the bullpen, causing the younger man to glance up at him. "Hey, pretty boy," he says, taking the pen out of Spencer's hand. "It's late, we should be going."
Spencer shakes his head in amusement. "You can go if you want," he responds, but makes no move to regain his stolen pen. "I have a few things to finish up."
"Things that can wait until the morning," Derek rebuts.
The sun has long since set, meaning the flickering fluorescent overheads are the only source of light. Spencer finds that they often make everything look flat and dull, and soon enough he would have a headache.
That's a problem for future Spencer. He hates leaving work unfinished, and he only has one more consultation report to draft up anyway.
However, Derek is persistent.
"I will drag you out of here myself," he threatens, raising an eyebrow to signal that he's serious about it.
Spencer sighs. "Five minutes, I promise. You can leave."
Derek shakes his head. "No, because if I leave now it won't be five minutes, it'll be more like five hours, and then you'll sleep here. Don't think I haven't talked to Penelope about this."
Spencer curses Penelope in his head for revealing his secrets. He slept on her couch one time and suddenly she's worried for his well-being and putting up alarms that activate when he tries to do it again.
"If you don't leave, then I'm not leaving."
And this is what Spencer hates (read: loves) about Derek Morgan. Self-sacrificial and too protective for his own good. It's bad enough he cares so loudly for Spencer, but he also has to care so much that he knows exactly how to stop him from being self-destructive.
Spencer can do nothing but shake his head because he doesn't have a valid counter-argument. The truth is that the rest of the team left hours ago, even Hotch had left to pick up Jack from school, and staying any longer would mean that catching public transport would be a nightmare. Derek knows this, too, just like how he knows seemingly everything about Spencer.
He reaches out for the pen but Derek holds it high above him, giving him a shit-eating grin for his efforts. "You can't do work if you don't have a pen, pretty boy."
Spencer doesn't mention the fact that he has spare pens in his drawer. He's enjoying this moment with Derek, the late hour providing some privacy that they sorely miss when the rest of their team is around. For now it's just the two of them - the rest of the world doesn't matter. He's too tired to unpack those feelings, so he doesn't. Instead, he just lets them wash over him, leaning into the warmth that Derek seems to radiate, both physically and metaphorically.
Derek's smile softens and he brings the pen down, his other hand grabbing Spencer's arm and turning it so his wrist is exposed. The whole world seems to stand still as he leans forward and rests the tip of the pen against Spencer's skin.
He freezes. This close, he can see the pools of caramel in Derek's eyes and can count his eyelashes. Derek's breath tickles his cheeks, his lips parted just slightly. They're on a precipice, an edge of a cliff so high it leaves Spencer dizzy.
There hasn't been ink on his skin since he was ten years old. The tip of the pen aches like a bullet wound, ripping through tendons and muscles to pierce the very soul of him.
Derek waits for him. Derek waits for him. The feeling pools in his stomach, the significance echoing through his body even though he doesn't quite understand why. Every nerve in his body is on fire, as if his whole life has been for this very moment.
When he nods at Derek, he feels rather than sees the ink burrowing deep underneath his skin. Without looking, he knows what's there - he would know it in the deepest of his dreams. He keeps watching Derek, keeps looking into his eyes as the realisation bleeds into those caramel pools.
On his wrist is a familiar looking drawing, smiling up at him like it has hundreds of times before.
Derek drops Spencer's arm to clutch at his own, staring down at the identical drawing now etched into his skin. It shouldn't be possible, and yet it is. It shouldn't make sense, and yet it does. This is Derek Morgan, a man Spencer would follow to the ends of the earth. Of course, it's him.
Neither of them move for what feels like an eternity. Both of them stare at the drawing on Derek's arm, slowly understanding exactly what this means, exactly what each of them have done.
The first thing Spencer feels is relief. It lasts only a second before it's immediately drowned out by guilt and shame.
Derek sucks in a shaky breath and that seems to break the spell that had settled over the both of them.
"Spencer," he chokes out, eyes narrowing. "It's you?"
All at once, it's too much for him. All at once, all of his failings come rushing back to him, bowling him over and pulling him below the waves. He needs to leave, he needs to get away from Derek, he needs to run.
He grabs his messenger bag and books it out of the bullpen, the element of surprise aiding him as he sprints for the elevators. Derek is too shocked to do anything but watch as he gets into one.
“Wait,” Derek says as the doors are closing. “Wait, Spencer, stop-!”
It’s only when he’s separated from Derek that he can finally breathe.
It’s only in the solace and solitude of the elevator does he realise that he’s done it again. He’s left Derek again, abandoned him again, pushed him away again.
And then he can’t breathe again.
He steps out of the elevator but he doesn’t go anywhere. He stands still in the lobby, feet refusing to move, chest refusing to rise as the air becomes thinner. Everything becomes blurry as his eyes burn with unshed tears.
That’s how Derek finds him a few minutes later once the elevator opens again. He doesn’t dare look up, doesn’t dare look Derek in the eyes, not after all he’s done.
“Spencer,” Derek pleads. “Spencer, come on, talk to me.”
He whispers back, “What’s there to talk about?”
Derek chokes on his words. “Everything,” he breathes. “Spencer…” He doesn’t know where to begin. There’s too much to say and not nearly enough time to say it, not with Spencer looking like a flight risk.
He takes a hold of Spencer’s hand to ground himself and to stop Spencer from running away again. Derek turns the arm over so that the drawing is revealed and places his own arm next to it.
“I can’t believe the entire time, you were right here,” Derek says, tracing the dark lines on Spencer’s skin with his thumb. “Right next to me for so many years.”
Spencer swallows harshly. “I’m so sorry,” he says, his chest heaving. “I’m so sorry, Derek.”
Derek’s eyebrows furrow. “What are you sorry for?”
“For leaving you,” Spencer wails, and just like that he can’t keep himself upright anymore. He collapses into Derek’s waiting arms. “And hurting you.”
“We’ll talk about that,” Derek promised, holding Spencer tightly against his chest. “But right now I’m more concerned about the fact that the man I love has been my soulmate this entire time.”
Spencer blinks and everything comes back into focus. Breathing becomes easy again and so he sucks in a deep breath, not even caring how stupid he looks.
Derek stares at him the entire time with so much love that Spencer wonders how he’d missed it all those times before.
“You love me?” Spencer asks, settled now.
Derek smiles and Spencer vows to never make Derek Morgan frown ever again. “Of course, pretty boy.” He pulls him closer.
“I love you!” Spencer says, almost tripping over his own words in his rush to say them. “I love you so much, this whole time, and I’ve felt so guilty because I’d pushed my soulmate away - I pushed you away and -“
“But you’re here, now,” Derek assured. “And I’m here now. Let’s focus on that.”
Spencer smiles back, feeling his tears dry. “Yeah, we’re here. Oh my gosh, you’ve been here the whole time.”
“And I’m never going away again,” Derek says with a pointed look. “I don’t know why you did it, but I’m sure you had a good reason.”
“How do you know?” Spencer asks.
Derek pulls him closer still until their noses brush. “Because I know you,” he says. “Now, will you let me kiss you?”
Spencer barely has time to answer before he’s surging forward and capturing Derek’s lips with his own.
It’s perfect - to have a person who matches him so completely, together at last. The way Derek’s body moves in time with his own causes sparks to light up his brainwaves, his nerves firing on every synapse. He tries to compare it to other kisses he’s had before this but finds he comes up empty - his mind blank as Derek moves his hand down to grip his lower back.
He breaks away for a brief moment to take in another deep breath, still not fully recovered from his lack of breathing just moments before, but before Derek can say anything Spencer swoops back in, kissing him like his life depends on it.
A strange thing happens; he loses time. His internal clock shatters, gears flying in every direction as all of his brain power is directed towards holding Derek as close as he can. He struggles for a moment until his hands land on Derek’s face, gripping the sides of his jaw tight.
Eventually they both need air, and so they pull apart reluctantly. Spencer rests his face in the crease of Derek’s neck, his skin pleasantly warm.
“We could’ve been doing this the whole time,” Spencer mumbles. “I don’t think I’ll ever be sorry enough.”
He feels Derek nod. “We have the rest of our lives,” he says. “As long as you never leave me again?”
Spencer sighs happily and melts into Derek’s embrace. “Never,” he agrees.