Criminal Minds (affectionate AND derogatory)

Willing to write: Oneshots and most pairings. Fluff! I generally write for ships, but I would like to give gen fics a go? Just not confident with them. I don't read reader fics that much, but I can do requests for them.

Derek was having a truly sucky day. The academy was rough, and as good as he was at all the physical stuff, there were some real smart people and he was so scared that he was all brawn and no brain. Not that he’d readily use the word ‘scared’ to describe himself if he could help it, but he was.

Realistically, he did get this far. So he did have some of the academic strength, but was it enough? Had he set his sights too high on the BAU? Nothing quite shakes your confidence like a high stress job with an academy you have to push through first, while knowing you’ll be under scrutiny even after you get through.

Still, the doubt and insecurity wasn’t going to have him quit early. Partly because he really, really wanted this, but also partly because what would he tell his family if he’d put so much time into this and failed?

They’d comfort him and say they’re proud; he knows it. But would he be proud?

He doesn’t want to find out.

Dead tired despite the lack of physical training that day, he walked through the house and out to the balcony, only partly stopping to shed his jacket and backpack.

The sun was long gone by now, and the stars were too hidden in such a built up area, but he braced himself with his arms on the railing and stretched his neck, trying to relax.

God, how many people even got through the academy each year?

“Chances are, if you’re already in the academy, you’ll come out the other side.”

God?

Had he asked that aloud?

Derek just about jumped out of his skin, training be damned. He was on the top floor and roof access was blocked. He must have made some sort of noise, because the sad, quiet voice came again.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I’m not- I wasn’t… Startled.” Derek rubbed his forehead, hoping his voice didn’t sound it; startled. He wasn’t sure he’d heard that organically in conversation, more something you come across in text, in books and things.

“Oh. Sorry for assuming?” The speaker was hesitant, like they’d started apologising before they really knew why. Curious, and not thrilled someone had roof access and it wasn’t the guy (and his sister) who had the top floor apartment, Derek leaned out over the railing and twisted his neck, trying to see who answered him.

Before he could get a glimpse, he heard them step back.

How close to the edge was he? He watched as a bit of rubble fell past him and to the concrete below.

“I don’t think that’s something you need to apologise for, man. How’d you get up there, anyway? I was told we weren’t allowed because they don’t have railings. Or insurance, I think.”

“Well, that makes sense. Although a fall from a five story building isn’t guaranteed to be fatal; you’re better off on the eighth floor for that. But then again, there have been people that survived from even that height so, you can’t really win, can you? If you’re scared of heights or something.”

Derek’s curiosity took a quick dive down to concern and worry.

“Now I think you got that the wrong way around, better off on the lower floors if there’s no railing, right?”

There was a long pause, and Derek wondered if he’d be able to get up onto the roof in a reasonable amount of time if he had a sense of urgency pushing him.

“Perhaps. Can you imagine the injuries you’d be left with after surviving the fall?” He heard a foot scuff the ground above him and thought he’d started sweating despite the cool breeze. “It’d really suck to not have insurance then, huh? As the building owner, I mean.”

“Okay man, well, that’s a dark topic. And since there’s no railing, or maybe no seats up there either, why don’t you join me on my balcony instead? I might even be able to find a beer or something for you.”

“It’s not safe to go into a stranger’s house.”

“It’s not safe to think about people surviving and not surviving falls while you’re alone on a rooftop, close to the edge, and there’s no railing.”

“Well… Perhaps that’s a reasonable counterpoint.”

And that’s how Derek started becoming friends with a bundle of limbs and greasy hair that hid an incredible, haunted mind.

–

Spencer didn’t have a phone, so he’d just show up at Derek’s apartment intermittently. Well, his and Sarah’s. His mother had put money towards them renting it for the duration of Derek’s time at the academy and Sarah’s short term study since they lined up almost the same, with him likely finding some place more permanent for himself after.

He didn’t do well in the claustrophobic, shared dorms of the academy so would escape to the apartment when he could, and Sarah was completing her course close enough to make the apartment almost worth it.

It had two shoebox rooms, and they had to share a bathroom, but it still had two rooms so it was a step up from the low bar the academy set. But she was out often with friends, study, and a part time job while he was still largely sleeping at the dorm, so they hardly saw each other.

He’d come back to Spencer hanging out near the block only a couple times; he didn’t seem to like loitering, like he was concerned Derek’s neighbours would get suspicious.

More often, though, Derek would go out onto the balcony and make some sort of noise, and Spencer would respond from above. Over time, Derek was relieved to note that Spencer was usually not so close to the edge as he was the first night.

But most of the time, unfortunately, was not all of the time.

Spencer wasn’t all that interested in drinking, but he was interested in sharing whatever he’d learned about recently. He absolutely did not share much about himself at all.

Despite how private Derek felt as a person though, he found he was sharing quite a lot about himself with Spencer. It was hard not to, inviting Spencer into a place he and his sister were living in though. She’d met him in passing once or twice, and had commented after he left, thankfully, about how shy he seemed to be.

Spencer was a bit like butter from the fridge; he needed time to soften up every single time he came over to Derek’s.

His most recent obsession, to Derek's suffering, had been body farms. After figuring out that Derek was studying at the academy (which he was loath to confirm on account of those ever-present insecurities), Spencer had told him that he was interested in criminal behaviour, among other related things.

Not in a ‘watch true crime documentaries just for the nightmares, apparently’ kind of way, but more to work out the why, and sometimes guess at the how, of everything. He’d dropped stupid time into geographical profiling, in Derek’s opinion, for someone who wasn’t pursuing a career in a related field.

“And they have one, a body farm that is, in East Tennessee. Did you know that they run ten week courses there? Something they’ve done recently is watching for changes in hair for a body left in a car for two months. That’s so specific, isn’t it? Hair changes in a car? Although it’s safe to assume they’re obviously looking for more at the same time.”

“Obviously,” Derek agreed.

Spencer was way too excited for the topic at hand.

Derek continued before Spencer went back to talking about something like maggot life cycles again. “Okay, so if I get through to being an FBI agent and I see a body in a car, you’ll be the first person I call.”

“You mean when. I don’t have a phone.” Spencer’s lips had a little curve, like he was self-conscious of smiling still but couldn’t really help it.

“Right, right. Can you tell me how to summon you then, or will I just have to come here and call out at the roof until you appear?”

Now that was definitely a smile. Why did that feel just as good as high test scores?

The next time Derek was at the apartment, Spencer didn’t show. But there was a phone number written on a paper plane that had been thrown onto his balcony. Three, actually, and one he picked up on the way to the apartment that was stuck in a sad, over-pruned and under-watered hedge out front. How many had Spencer made that Derek didn’t find?

Eleven, it turns out. Spencer was a horrible shot, but Derek liked watching his long fingers folding the paper in what was ‘the most aerodynamic plane folding method’ the next time he was over. It felt a little silly to challenge him on it, especially since Derek knew fuck all about the aerodynamics of paper planes. And Spencer called him out on it.

“Superior hand-eye coordination doesn’t mean your plane folding method is superior, it just means you’re good with your hands.”

Derek wiggled his eyebrows, but continued speaking after he let the flush of Spencer’s cheeks sit for a moment.

“So you want me to throw one of yours, to see if I can do it better with your method?”

“It’s a reasonable request. You can’t test two theories for quality results if the testing methods are different.”

“You’re a sore loser, you know that?”

“You’re an unfair winner, did you know that?”

“So you admit I’m a winner?”

Spencer felt terrible that his next plane hit Derek in the eye, so Derek only milked it for half the time he would have liked to.

Spencer shoved his shoulder when Derek finally caved and laughed, indignant.

“You were playing it up!”

“It’s paper! It can’t hurt me that bad.”

“It did hit your eye. They might be the fastest healing body part, but they’re not impervious.”

“Pretty boy, if you want to kiss it better, I won’t stop you. But you don’t need to worry that much about it.”

Derek saw that sweet rush of colour on Spencer’s neck and cheeks, and the smile he was trying to hide before now took a shy edge as he tried to look casual.

“Well, if I injured you, I should do what I can to help.”

His voice was so quiet that Derek almost missed what he said. He tilted his head in question, raising a brow while trying to figure out if this was more word-based flirting or if one of them would actually take it further for once.

Spencer’s eyes were focused on his fingers, picking at lint that certainly wasn’t on the leg of his pants but held his gaze anyway. His eyes flickered up to Derek’s face though, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips just after.

“Well, you’re the doctor out of the two of us, what do you think I need?”

“I’m not a medical doctor.” Spencer’s voice seemed to be getting quieter, but Derek liked that his gaze was flicking more to Derek’s lips now.

“Maybe so, but I bet you know more about first aid than I do, especially with that fear of germs you got.”

“Me not shaking your hand is normal. The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to kiss.”

Derek almost laughed at how embarrassed Spencer looked at that line, but knew if he did Spencer would think he was laughing at him and might take offence.

“So I should kiss you goodbye when you leave? Doctor Reid, who knew you could be so forward?”

“That’s not what I was saying! I just-”

Derek held up his hands, placating, while Spencer seemed to flap his. “Now now handsome, I didn’t say I was opposed.”

Derek thought he was floating when Spencer, so quickly it was barely a kiss, pressed his lips to Derek’s cheek as he left that night.

–

The next time Derek heard Spencer’s voice from above his balcony, he was almost back to his subdued, distanced self from when they first started speaking. It was over an hour before Spencer let Derek coax him inside. He was shocked when Spencer came to his front door, hair lank and pulled forward to try and cover his eye and cheek that were dark with bruising.

“Spencer, what happened?” He ushered the younger man in, directing him to the couch.

“Nothing. An accident. What were you saying about the fitness test?”

“You’re not interested in fitness tests, what happened?” He tried to bring his hand up to Spencer’s cheek, tilt his head up into the light and assess the damage, but Spencer shied away from him, getting up and heading to the kitchen instead.

“I’m interested in the fitness test.”

“I’m not. Since when are you interested in that?”

“Since you’re the one talking about them.” Derek tried not to feel warm and fuzzy with that comment. Spencer was being genuine, the man was a terrible liar, but he had a bad habit of giving away shy truths in order to distract.

Derek leaned against the tiny kitchen counter while Spencer turned the kettle on.

“I thought you didn’t have tea at night because of the caffeine.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight anyway, so I may as well enjoy a tea.”

Derek scrutinised him, wordlessly getting a still sealed pack of decaf tea from the cupboard and putting it down beside Spencer’s hand on the counter.

“You know this isn’t truly decaffeinated? It’s just lower in comparison to other teas.”

Derek stayed quiet and watched as Spencer started to squirm under his gaze. He turned then to face Derek, a frown on his face that softened when he saw whatever emotion Derek’s expression wasn’t hiding. Concern, probably.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t use your behavioural training on me.”

“I thought I wouldn’t feel the need to with you.”

Spencer’s lips pressed into a thin line before he turned back to the kettle, mumbling. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

When Derek put his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, Spencer jumped, then looked guilty.

“Sorry. I don’t-” He looked at Derek’s hand, which Derek had pulled back like he'd been burnt when Spencer flinched at his touch. “I don’t mind.” He wrung his hands, nervous or something akin to it and unable to look at Derek with that soft red on his cheeks again, marred now by bruises. “I don’t mind. The contact, if it’s you. But I’d rather not be surprised by it just now.”

“I get it, pretty boy, and I’m sorry.” He held out his hands, palms up, for Spencer to take. Spencer’s hands shook a little, and he’d forgotten to pour water into his mug now.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, I won’t ask how you got- that.” He jutted his chin to try and gesture at Spencer’s purpled skin while his hands were occupied. “But is what I see all you have, or is there more?”

Spencer bit his lip, watching his own thumb as he rubbed it against Derek’s fingers.

“Spencer, please.”

Spencer shrugged, still unwilling to meet Derek’s eyes.

“It’s not just that. My face. It’s-...” He lifted their joined hands, but didn’t let go of Derek’s to gesture any better. Instead, he pressed their hands to Derek’s chest, just beneath the collar of his shirt, then slowly moved them down and around a little to Derek’s sides. The movement was awkward, but Derek appreciated the tight grip on his hands, and the touch Spencer was initiating, and the information being shared all in the way Spencer was currently capable of.

“It’s all over, isn’t it pretty boy?”

Spencer hesitated, almost nodding before deciding to try and move on. “I don’t know if I qualify for that. Not normally, or especially now.”

The shy smile was back, and too self-deprecating for Derek. But fighting Spencer on that too strong right now would push him away, so he let some of that anger slide away before he spoke.

“You callin’ me a liar, handsome?”

“No, I think I’m calling you a sweet-talker.”

“But a lying sweet talker, hot stuff?” Spencer pursed his lips as he looked up at Derek, finally, to suppress a smile.

“I’m starting to think you have a biased opinion.”

“I’m starting to think you do too, although on the other side of the spectrum. Why are you so hard on yourself?”

Spencer squeezed Derek’s hands before letting them go, turning back to finally pour hot water in his mug. Derek bit back a sigh when Spencer changed the subject again.

“So only two weeks before you’re done at the academy, huh?”

Throughout the night, as Spencer started melting into his more comfortable self the longer he was there, he was less aware of the bruising on his face. It wasn’t until he caught his reflection, or Derek staring, or felt it twinge when he smiled too wide, that he remembered it and grew self-conscious again. That he pushed his hair back in the way of it like if Derek couldn’t see it then Spencer could forget he was injured.

He’d foregone contact lenses and worn his glasses that night, like he did most nights, and Derek thought it might be so it felt like there was another barrier between his bruises and the rest of the world.

Derek wanted to kiss them better, and then all the other hurts Spencer seemed to have. And Spencer sure seemed to have a lot of hurts.

Hurts like how his expression tightened when Derek asked about his childhood, his parents, his friends, or his time at school. How Derek, in the earlier days, made a comment about Spencer missing social cues, and heard a bitter ‘well I can’t pick up on cues if I’m not being shown them’ in reply before Spencer tried to cover it up.

How if he had a particularly bad day, he was so jumpy near Derek that Derek almost wanted to sit on his hands to show he wasn’t going to use them for anything.

How on days when Spencer’s eyes were sunken with a lack of sleep, and the clothes he wore showed how thin he was, and he was so so close to the edge of the ledge on the roof above Derek’s apartment that he thought Spencer just might not care if he fell over the edge with the breeze.

Like he’d had a lifetime of hurts and still had to face more each day, and Derek only saw little slivers of him and couldn’t learn enough to help him as much as Spencer needed; as much as Derek wanted.

God, he was going to make a terrible profiler.

“Derek?” Spencer looked hesitant, and Derek realised he’d spaced out; probably while staring at Spencer’s bruise again going by how he’d tried to angle his face away awkwardly, unable to fully turn and hide it while looking at Derek at the same time.

Derek couldn’t help it, he just kept on staring. Spencer’s tongue darted out to wet his lips again, and Derek’s eyes tracked the movement. He knew Spencer noticed that, too, by the way his breath seemed to stutter.

Slowly, he shuffled forward on the couch, eyes holding Spencer’s gaze as he did so.

This time, Derek’s name from Spencer’s lips was much quieter, like he was asking for something instead of questioning him.

“Spencer,” The younger man’s eyes dropped down, watching as Derek’s hand came up to his arm; his shoulder. Watched it still as it moved higher, cupping his unbruised cheek. Spencer turned his head, almost pressing a kiss to Derek’s palm as his eyes closed and his bruised cheek was fully on display.

“Spencer, may I?”

Spencer didn’t open his eyes, just hummed in agreement, nosing at Derek’s palm.

Goosebumps broke over Spencer’s neck when Derek’s breath hit his cheek, and Derek felt him shiver. Careful to avoid the worst of it, Derek skated his lips over Spencer’s cheekbone, pressed them just in front of where his earlobe met the back of his jaw, then trailed them down his jawline.

Spencer tipped his head, allowing easier access as Derek watched Spencer’s fingers grip the couch cushion beneath him. Unsure if it was entirely due to sensation or something going on in his mind, Derek didn’t push further. Using his hand on Spencer’s cheek, he turned the man’s head to nudge his nose to Spencer’s.

“This is alright?”

In lieu of an answer, slowly, Spencer lifted his chin and kissed Derek on the lips. Derek’s chest swelled and he smiled into it, his other hand coming up to Spencer’s side.

They shuffled closer to each other, to be able to press themselves into each other more comfortably. Spencer’s mouth opened beneath Derek’s lips, and he could taste that terrible decaf tea and honey, and the cashews Spencer liked to snack on while reading.

He wondered what Spencer would think he tasted like, the cheap vending machine snacks and the god awful protein water he’d bought before realising it was terrible.

Suddenly, he had the urge to brush his teeth. He made to pull away, but Spencer’s fingers curled in his shirt and his resolve weakened.

Their hands were slowly moving over each other, everything was moving so slowly. Sweetly, like they were learning each other and had all the time in the world. Derek’s fingers found the hem of Spencer’s shirt, and he tugged the man’s lower lip between his teeth as his fingers slipped under the fabric and brushed against Spencer’s skin.

God it was soft, but it felt thin, too. He became scared of hurting Spencer, when remembering he had some other injuries too. So he kept his touch light, fingers probably tickling as they traveled further up Spencer’s side as Spencer laughed into the kiss.

Spencer tugged at Derek’s collar, then his fingers slipped around to cup the back of Derek’s neck. Caught up in being able to touch, they quickly moved back down, trailing over his shoulder and down his chest, then Spencer’s hands lingered there. They would have moved further down, Derek thinks, with his hands now pushing Spencer’s shirt up, if it weren’t for his sister coming home.

They didn’t realise until they heard her laugh, surprised.

“Oh, Sorry! I didn’t text ahead, my phone died. Go about your business!” She laughed again, more of a giggle, then her bedroom door clicked shut. Spencer was rigid beneath him - when had he pressed Spencer into the couch beneath him?

‘Sorry, Spence, I didn’t-”

Spencer pushed him up and off, the heat flushing his face more than the usual shyness or what Derek might expect from making out on a couch could bring about. More than embarrassment of being caught, even. He scrambled to get up and right his clothes, walking to the door and scooping up his bag on the way.

“Spencer, wait! Where are you going?” He didn’t want to pull Spencer back by catching his arm, knowing the man wouldn’t react well. His eyes seemed watery and Derek was lost.

And he stayed lost, when, after three weeks, Spencer hadn’t come back. His texts went unanswered and when he called the number was disconnected.

And he kept right on being lost when Spencer didn’t come back to visit him before he had to move out.

–--- 2005

Derek scowled at the scene before them.

“You’re saying someone was turning people into books?”

The local officer walking them through the scene nodded, nose wrinkled but face otherwise resigned.

“Yup. See, we had a couple people go missing here and there. Transients, runaways, you know the type. And we’d thought they went missing by choice. Sure, we looked,” not enough, Derek thought. “But we never thought they’d end up… Well. As books.”

“As books.” Derek’s skin crawled.

Aside from a specific wrinkle in his brow, Hotch didn’t even look perturbed. “These materials, would they be specialised? Potentially unique or traceable?”

“The tanning stuff? Not as far as we can tell. Out here, we got people doing this the normal way, tanning hides and such. A lot of leather workers out here. As far as we can tell, it’s basically all the same stuff.”

Hotch looked back at Gideon who shrugged and looked at Derek. “He’ll take a breather now that we found his workshop; he’ll need time to set himself up again. Derek, you’re going to a library to speak to someone about human skin book binding.”

Derek and Elle looked at each other before Derek held his hands out, gesturing broadly.

“We just have someone who knows about human skin being made into books?”

Elle smirked at him. “And you get to visit them. How nice.”

Derek wasn’t thrilled about it, and the feeling that his skin was crawling and unclean hadn’t left since they found the workshop their unsub was using. It reeked in both usual and unexpected ways, and the forensic investigator on scene and all too excitedly told him that urine could be used in the tanning process.

Perhaps a clean, quiet, library would help in easing his mind, but the subject matter wouldn’t. Derek flashed his badge at the desk, and the librarian assistant he’d found nodded without him needing to explain.

“Agent Gideon called ahead, I’ll lead you through to the doctor now. The books were already here, we’ve held them for ages, but the doctor only arrived recently. Good timing, too, what with this horribleness happening.” She chattered as she led him through shelves, picking up carelessly placed books as she went and piling them up on her other arm.

“Wait, the doctor showed up for the books after the murders?” Derek frowned; Gideon hadn’t called that far ahead, had he?

“Yes, though it’s not his first time here. He’s such a joy to have.” She looked at Derek, then laughed. “You don’t think he did it, do you?”

Derek shrugged, and she shook her head. Then, they stopped outside a room labelled ‘staff only’, and she knocked before pushing the door open.

Derek patted down his pockets for his notepad and pen, then stopped short when he looked up.

The assistant kept talking.

“So this is the doctor Spencer Reid, the veritable specialist on these books. Our Margaret -who usually cares for these books and who we would recommend you to normally for this- she’s been unwell. But we’re lucky to have Dr. Reid here,” After that, she looked between the two, and her smile slipped into confusion.

“Do you two know each other?”

Derek swallowed, and Spencer barely moved.

“Well, I’ll just leave you two to it, then.” She cast a hesitant glance at Spencer, who nodded to her, and she seemed to take that as a sign it was safe for her to leave them alone.

“Spencer?”

Was he angry? Relieved? Spencer looked the same, and worlds different. He was still thin, but healthily so now. His clothes were a similar style, but less scruffy, in better condition.

He’d just ghosted Derek, at a time of great change, and after they’d kissed, after they’d taken so long to grow as close as they did.

“What the fuck, man? You’re the skin book specialist?”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d say specialist. That’s probably more Margaret’s title.”

“Margaret?”

Spencer’s eyes flicked to the door the assistant had just left through; ‘weren’t you listening?’

“So, you graduated from the academy and kept the job after? I knew you would.”

Derek stopped and started a few times, thrown by seeing Spencer for work. The only way this could be worse was if Spencer was their unsub.

Work.

He closed his eyes, took a moment to focus, and then approached the situation like it was any other day.

“I’m Special Agent Derek Morgan, and I’m here to ask for you help with a case. May I?”

On a day that wasn’t any other day, where he wasn’t at work even, he may have been a little bit heartbroken at the flash of hurt on Spencer’s face. It wasn’t even a flash, really; Spencer wore his emotions somewhat clearly. This was an out in the open ‘ow’ and Derek’s chest constricted. Derek was going to dwell on this from the second he clocked out tonight.

“I see.” Spencer started pulling on white gloves, no longer looking at Derek, and no hint of a smile pulling at his lips.

Fuck.

“We have an unsub who has been-” he cast about the room, and he saw Spencer decide to let him flail. He deserved it. “Who has been turning people into books, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer nodded, and led Derek around the corner to a spot tucked into the back of the room they were in. There were glass fronted shelves, and only three books not even pretending to fill them up. Though, they did draw all the focus in the room.

“I don’t know if you actually need to see these for your case, these were made 71 years ago. The process your unsub is using may well be quite similar.” It seemed like Spencer was going to keep speaking, but Derek cut him off.

“71 years? Only 71?”

Spencer smiled, nodding. “You’d think it would have been longer, don’t you? Most people are surprised to learn this was done more recently. Anthropodermic bibliopegy, while certainly not stopped soon enough, isn’t all that common. Not as some gruesome stories would have you believe, at least. Most of the time, when books are purported to be bound in human skin, it’s proven wrong. It’s more likely to be pig skin, or other non-human animal leather.”

Derek hadn’t forgotten that Spencer gets lost in the sharing of information, that he’ll smile when given free reign to rattle off what was on his mind regardless of the content. Still, this was jarring.

“They’ve got a full on name for human skin books, huh? Feel like I should have guessed, though I wish there wasn’t cause for it.”

“Of course; there are examples of it from the 1500s, even. Anthro is a prefix meaning human, podermic is a suffix referring to skin, and bibliopegy is the art of bookbinding.”

Try as he might to look as excited as he was about hearing Spencer relax like he used to, the subject at hand really made his skin crawl. He didn’t think he’d be picking up any new books for the foreseeable future, even.

Spencer, now more at ease, was no longer avoiding looking at Derek, which meant he could see Derek’s brows crease; discomforted.

He wet his lips; Derek was just as aware of this as he was years ago, he learned. “Well, I won’t bore you with the details. Are the victims known, or might the books need to go in for testing?”

“I uh, wasn’t given that information before heading over. I think Gideon kept the bookbinding to himself, actually, until we got to the scene.”

“Gideon? SSA Jason Gideon, of the Behavioural Analysis Unit?” Spencer perked up more, and Derek felt oddly jealous that Spencer recognised Gideon but hadn’t- what? Kept an eye on him? Ridiculous.

“Yeah, you’ve met him?”

“Not exactly; I’ve been to some of his lectures.” Derek nodded; he’d heard Gideon mention them, but hadn’t imagined his worlds colliding like that.

He’d certainly imagined running into Spencer again, but never related to work. And never with human leather being the subject of their conversation. He was losing the ability to be work-focused.

Spencer’s brows rose, and Derek waited until the younger man settled on what to ask first.

“I thought you were going into something different. Although, with your focus on obsessional crimes and being on a bomb squad unit, it was a bit hard to guess what could follow after.”

“You thought about what I might be doing?” Derek regretted it the moment he said it, fishing for confirmation that Spencer maybe thought about him just as much. But regretting asking didn’t mean he didn’t want an answer.

“All the time.” Silence lingered for a heavy moment after that, then Spencer continued. “The BAU would be really interesting though, and you’d still be able to use the obsessional history I assume. Hopefully not the bomb squad history.” It was a joke, but he looked concerned after thinking about it.

“Well, you’d be surprised.”

“You’ve been near bombs at the BAU?”

Derek frowned, not really wanting to think about it.

“It’s a rough gig, pretty boy, but I’m glad it’s mine.”

He and Spencer both were thrown off-kilter at the endearment, and Derek was really struggling now to maintain a work focus.

“I uh, in an official capacity, can I have your number? We may have questions about the…” He gestured to the books on the shelves beside them, not pleased about how close they were.

“If it’s official, you can contact me at the library.” Spencer was back to not looking at him, now, the over-correction from ‘pretty boy’ to ‘I’m here for work; not you’ was certainly harsher than necessary.

“Spencer, I’m-”

“It’s Dr. Reid, now, Agent Morgan. I’ve certainly studied enough for the title. If you don’t have any more questions now, I’ll let you find your way out?”

Derek sighed, and Spencer took that as confirmation and left him beside those hideous books.

--