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Pretty Boy	By : Wagamama_hime Category: 1 through F > Criminal Minds Views: 4813 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. It is the sole intellectual property of the CBS Corporation. This is a work of fiction and I am making no profit from its publication.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. It is the sole property of the CBS Corp. This is a work of fiction and I am not making any profit from its publication.
A/N: As usual, thanks again for everyone's comments and favorites/subscriptions. It's a pleasure to hear from you and I'm glad to see you guys are all enjoying it :). Most people seemed to actually want me to stick with giving equal attention to the Unsub story (O_O), so I'll try my best to make that good for you guys. I guess this is officially now a 'case fic.' Also, I finally got my beta-reader, so I'd like to thank Eskimita for being such a helpful sounding board! Now back to the DRAMA!
~WH~

It was a quarter to 6 a.m. and the five-member team of BAU agents stood tiredly assembled around the tiny living room of Spencer Reid's one-bedroom apartment. The boy in question was currently huddled in a corner of his old, lumpy couch, nestled under a fleece throw, which had been pushed on him at J.J.'s insistence upon seeing how tired he had looked when they first arrived. Lost in their postulations and hypotheses, the agents didn't seem to be paying him much attention, so he listened with curiosity as they discussed the case and how the unexpected gift played a role in it.
There hadn't been much that they had been able to gather from the gift left for the boy. The package had consisted of half a dozen long stem red roses left in an inconspicuous long white box. There were 15 other tenant-occupied units in the building and the agents had gone (quite apologetically) door to door to see if any of the neighbors had seen or heard anything. Unfortunately, no one had, and there were no security cameras in the old building. There was no doorman and it seemed that most of the people who lived in that building were quite dedicated to living their lives with their heads down. They had also asked a member of the Crime Scene Unit to see if there were any prints or fibers that could be lifted from the box, but none were found.
Garcia had tried to see if there was any information that could be used to find where the flowers were at least purchased, but everything about the gift was ordinary. There was no wrapping paper, no commercial insignias, and nothing to even indicate how long the package had been sitting at the boy's front door. The team concluded that the Unsub probably hand-delivered the package. He wouldn't have been sloppy enough to leave a paper trail by having a floral company do it for him. Nor would he have been unaware that there were no functioning security cameras in the building. And it wasn't surprising to any of them that the man had worn gloves while handling the package.
Hanging up his phone after having given Garcia some additional leads to follow up on, Hotch turned to his team. Everyone looked tired, but more than anything, they were frustrated. It was rare that they would be chasing an Unsub who they knew nothing about, and even rarer to find one that was bold enough to continue to act right under their noses like this.
"Alright everyone, I don't think there's much more we can do here. I'll let you all head back to the hotel for a few more hours of sleep, then we'll regroup at the precinct and see where we'll go from there," Hotch announced.
The agents nodded and murmured amongst themselves as they began to gather their bags.
Sighing to himself, Derek sat down on the arm of the kid's beat-up old couch and turned the white card around in his fingers again. Glancing at the words printed there, he felt that they could literally mean anything.
"'You were watching me, and now I'll be watching you,'" he read out loud, gaining the attention of the other agents and the boy who was curled up on the couch behind him, trying, unsuccessfully, to fight sleep.
"Chances are it is the Unsub, but what if Spencer has other "admirers?"" Derek asked, glancing at the sleepy-eyed boy. "Because the person went to so much trouble to make the package as plain and un-personalized as possible, I'm just not sure we can say for certain that it's the Unsub, at the exclusion of others."
"N-no one from the club knows where I live," Spencer mumbled, sitting up a bit more.
Turning around to look at the tired youth, Derek sighed.
"I know you'd like to think that, kid, but people can find out whatever information they want if they look hard enough or are willing to pay for it," he explained. "Can you think of any past clients who were especially fond of you? It'd be helpful if we can get a list to weed them out, just in case this isn't related to our case."
Spencer looked around the room, and could see five pairs of eyes looking at him expectantly.
Sighing and pulling the throw he had laid over himself up to his nose, Spencer mumbled, "There isn't anyone like that."
Derek furrowed his brow and seemed ready to fight the kid on the topic, and explain to him that this wasn't the time to be embarrassed, but J.J. intercepted him.
"You know what, everybody? It's really late, and Spencer hasn't slept at all tonight. Why don't we let him get some rest and if he thinks of any names he'll tell us in the morning. Does that sound good to you Spencer?" she asked as she smiled at the boy. Spencer nodded quickly from under the blanket.
"And you have a day off from work tomorrow, right? I'm sure the rest and relaxation will help you think clearer. And you know how to reach us if there's anything you need us to know," J.J. told him.
"Why don't you head to bed now, Spencer? We'll make sure everything is in order out here and we'll lock up behind ourselves," Emily said as she motioned to the boy.
Nodding, Spencer groggily got to his feet and the agents couldn't help but chuckle a bit as he stumbled.
"See, you're really tired, kid," Rossi pointed out.
Spencer gave them a slight smile as he began to make his way to the bedroom at the back of the apartment.
"Hey, Hotch? Don't you think someone should stay here? I have no problem doing it," Derek said standing up.
Spencer turned around with furrowed brows and opened his mouth to protest, but Hotch quickly silenced both of them.
"No, Agent Morgan, that won't be necessary. We have an unmarked cruiser stationed out front. If anyone comes, the officer can handle it. There's no reason to think the Unsub would be so bold as to act when Spencer's here." Hotch explained, locking eyes with Derek. Derek seemed dissatisfied with this solution, but decided to keep his mouth shut.
Nodding at the agents sleepily, Spencer mumbled out a "thanks," and "g'night," before he shuffled to the back. Everyone was silent until they heard the soft "click" of the bedroom door.
The agents began to file out of the apartment, but before Derek could get to the door he was stopped by Hoch's hand gripping his arm.
"Morgan, what was that about? You can't just sit here watching him all day. You're not a babysitter. As of now, we don't have any reason to believe he's in more danger than a qualified police officer can handle. Furthermore, we need you to help with building the profile. Did you forget that? You're part of a team. What's really going on here?" Hotch asked, eyebrow raised but voice lacking accusation.
Derek let out a heavy sigh.
"I don't know, Hotch. Something just seems off about that kid. Like, he doesn't seem as if he really trusts us. And what bothers me more is that he doesn't seem to be taking this seriously. It's as if he's surprised we want to help him, or something. I just feel like… he's not going to look out for himself," Derek huffed out.
Hotch furrowed his brow in confusion.
"I get that you want to look out for him because he's so young, but it's likely Spencer had to grow up a lot faster than most kids his age. And I'm sure being in this line of work has caused him to develop a pretty tough skin. He's probably had to deal with a fair share of unwanted advances and I doubt receiving flowers from a 'secret admirer' is the kind of thing that would scare him silly. I think he can probably handle himself," Hotch said.
Derek scoffed.
"Flowers are one thing. Flowers potentially from a psychopathic serial killer, well, that's another," Derek said.
Hotch rolled his eyes.
"Morgan, you don't have to tell me that. For some reason you seem more impacted by this case than usual. As of now, Spencer Reid isn't a victim, he's a key witness. And while the importance of that should in no way be downplayed, he's not my top priority. My top priority is catching the son of a bitch who has been murdering people across state lines for five years. The Las Vegas Police are more than capable of protecting Spencer. And if you don't think you can let them do that, then maybe you should excuse yourself from this case," Hotch said, eyebrow arched expectantly.
"That…won't be necessary, Hotch," Derek said, feeling slightly chastised.
"Good to hear," Hotch said as he opened the door for them, "now let's go get some sleep."

It was almost 1:00 when Spencer opened his eyes later that day. Blinking up at the ceiling groggily, he sighed to himself.
Since when has my life become so complicated? He asked himself as he threw an arm over his eyes to block out the persistent sunlight.
Less than seven days ago, his life—although not ideal—had been at least predictable. He would reluctantly force himself to go to work five days a week. And while there, he would try to shut down and lock out all the unpleasantness and shame he would feel as he performed for his clients. But, after that he had two days to himself, where he could go to the bookstore and his favorite café, then spend his time reading. More than anything, he looked forward to the time he spent every week visiting his mother. It had taken him a while—almost four whole years—to get to the point where he didn't feel riddled with anxiety every day. And it hadn't necessarily been easy. But, things had fallen into place and he had become content. He didn't see the point in hoping for anything different anymore…
And now, just because he was unlucky enough to have been the accidental witness to a crime, his life was currently overrun by nosy federal agents. He didn't have many friends. And no one he knew on the outside actually had any idea what he did for work. He had always been able to keep those lives separate. Suddenly, however, he found himself in the unpleasant position of having to look people in the face and admit out loud the kind of person he was. He hadn't been made to feel this ashamed in a long time. In his everyday life, the people he worked with all engaged in the same type of activities he did. So they could never give him those looks of pity or judgment. These agents, however, were all "white knights"—good people—and he didn't want them to look at him that way.
J.J. and Emily were sweet and kind, and reminded him, in some way, of his mother. For some reason he didn't want them to be disappointed in him. And the older agents—Hotch and Rossi he thinks they were called—were often silent and contemplative, seeming to look at him like they pitied him, but (fortunately) didn't seem interested in doing anything about it. But it was that Agent Morgan—the boy scout—who seemed like he could see in to Spencer's soul and saw that something was broken there. Agent Morgan looked like all he wanted to do was FIX him. Like he believed that if Spencer just talked to him, and relied on him, that he could suddenly make all his problems go away. And that was something Spencer just couldn't deal with. He was too far gone to go back at this point. And it was because of this that Agent Morgan made him feel the worst about himself.
Ugh, and I can't believe he threatened to tell my mother, Spencer thought as he closed his eyes in frustration and groaned into his pillow. I don't really think he'd do it, but that was definitely playing dirty.
Opening his eyes and returning his gaze to his plain ceiling, Spencer worried why he was thinking so much about the overly pushy agent. Generally speaking, anyone who was so intent on trying to control him or tell him what to do would have sent Spencer running the other way. But Agent Morgan wasn't really threatening or anything like that…he was just annoying. At least that's what Spencer told himself to explain why the agent was currently on his mind. Nice-smelling, overly involved and good-natured Agent Derek Morgan with the wide smile that made the corners of his chocolate-brown eyes crinkle...
Agent Morgan seems… nice, Spencer thought idly to himself. He doesn't look at me like he wants "that" from me, and he doesn't seem like the type who would force me to do anything I didn't want to, or try to exploit me in some way. He seems oddly genuine…
But it was strange for Spencer to not have to be afraid, to not have to always be vigilant and to, for once, maybe think that he could trust someone… He didn't know how to feel about that.
Sitting up quickly and frowning, Spencer decided he had had enough of lazing around the house and thinking of useless things. This wasn't like him. What was the point of letting those agents sidetrack his life? Pushing himself out of the bed and getting to his feet, Spencer ran his hands through his tousled hair and reached for his glasses on the bedside table.
Quickly shucking off his t-shirt and pajama bottoms, he pulled on the first few items of clothing he could find in his closet. He had wasted so much time in bed already and couldn't wait to get out, get his coffee and make his rounds. The first thing he wanted to do was hit up the bookstore. He had seven new books in mind that he wanted to read and he figured that would keep him occupied for the better part of the day. Pulling on his old Converses and slipping a watch on his wrist, Spencer headed towards his bedroom door. After making a quick detour to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, he walked out into his living room.
He smiled slightly as he saw that the blanket he had used last night was neatly folded and placed on the couch. He also noticed that his keys and cellphone were placed on the kitchen counter, next to his satchel. He was sure he had left his things all over the place after he had called Agent Morgan and soon after his apartment was flooded with law enforcement personnel.
Must've been J.J. or Emily, he thought fondly to himself.
Grabbing his belongings and slinging the satchel over his shoulder, Spencer headed out the door.
Pausing for a second as he locked the door behind him, he remembered that the agents had mentioned there was going to be an officer sitting outside.
Do I have to tell him where I'm going? Spencer wondered to himself. I think he's just supposed to be watching in case the 'secret admirer' comes back.
He didn't want to have to deal with the wasted time it'd take to explain to the officer where he was going. He had a bus to catch.
So, shoving his keys into his pocket, he decided to take the back door.

The BAU had been assembled and hard at work for the last four hours. Having reconvened at 10:00, they had spent the better part of that morning going over the facts of the case, most importantly the relationship between the Judgment Maker's previous victims and the current one, Victor LaRoux.
"Garcia has been able to find some more information on our most recent victim," Hotch said as he pressed the speaker button on the conference phone.
"Hello, my mighty crime fighters," Garcia greeted as she began. "So, this Victor LaRoux guy is pretty interesting. Through my digging I was able to find that your victim had no good reason to be in Vegas on the night he was killed. This is because he lives in a Nevada suburb almost 50 miles away from Mon Petit Chien. And, what's more interesting—although I'd call it "creepy"—is that Mr. LaRoux is the superintendent of a number of all-boy Catholic schools in the district where he lives. When we got in touch with his wife, she didn't seem all that shaken up that he was dead, but she was livid that he was found in a strip club. And she did not pull any punches when she explained to me that he spends thousands of dollars at those types of places."
"Hmm, so maybe LaRoux was dropping some serious cash on his favorite girl…or guy," Rossi said, his mind, and all the others' in the room, suddenly going to Spencer. "Maybe he was embarrassed that his proclivities ran that way, and that's why he went so far from home to chase his thrills?"
"Yea, that theory makes sense. Spencer mentioned LaRoux by name. He called him "Mr. Victor." So he's definitely familiar with him. I wonder if he was one of his regulars?" J.J. postulated.
"Well, even if Spencer was a regular of his, I don't think LaRoux was dropping thousands on him. We saw the state of Spencer's apartment, plus his financials. If he was a "kept boy" and LaRoux was his sugar daddy, he'd at least be living nicer than that," Emily offered.
"Well," Garcia said, jumping in. "His wife did say those types of places. It sounded like she was saying that her husband visited places like this a lot, and not just one. Kind of like he had a "problem" or something. I did manage to pull their financials and while I have no idea what he was doing with that money, I do know that this guy pulled between $8,000-$10,000 from his accounts every month."
"Sheesh," Rossi said, "I didn't know superintendents had money like that."
"Yeah, well I didn't say it wasn't bankrupting them," Garcia responded. "But, whatever he was spending that on, it was expensive. Spencer doesn't cost that much."
"What do you mean by that, Baby Girl?" Derek asked, his interest piqued by the tech's comment.
"Ah," Garcia said, sounding accomplished. "Well, I know you all were having a bit of an issue getting a straight story from the people over at the club. So, yours truly called them and put some "do you want us to get the IRS all in your business" pressure on them and they turned over some of their employee files. I'll be updating your case files soon, since I'm still spelunking, but from what I can see, Spencer and about a dozen other individuals, are on the pay roll under this fishy title called "alternate staff." Their pay schedules are different from the other 20 or so employees. So I figured maybe this had to do with that private room situation you guys were talking about?
Well, the club charges customers a base rate of $300 per half an hour for whatever is considered "standard," and then apparently it's extra for… "extras." Whatever that may entail… But, the actual performer gets less than half of that fee from the club, plus whatever tip the customer wants to give them. So, while I'm sure Spencer is really good at his job, there's no way any customer of his would be spending $10,000 on just him a month, unless he booked the kid up all night, every day of the week. I think this guy was spending at least some of that money somewhere else." Garcia finished.
"Ok," Hotch said. "Well, I think we need to find out what LaRoux was really involved in. It might be good to interview Spencer Reid again and see how LaRoux first became a client of his and if he knows other venues his client might have regularly visited. I also think it would be good to take some fresh eyes to the older cases.
These cases have been spread out across state lines but they've actually all taken place in California, Nevada or Arizona. I believe we can track the Unsub's life trajectory by tracking the cases. The first two kills were in California, then one in Arizona, three more in California, and this'll make the second in Nevada. I want some of you to head to California and talk to the detectives there. I'll have the Arizona case file sent here and the rest of us can look through that and the older Nevada case. Hopefully we can piece together what it is about these victims that draws the Unsub to them."
Before Hotch could divvy up responsibilities, Derek interjected.
"Hey, Hotch. I'll go interview the kid again. See what he knows about LaRoux," he offered.
Hotch's eye roll did not go unnoticed by Derek or the other agents. Hotch considered sending Derek to California just to shake the younger agent's uncharacteristic interest in their witness, but at this point he was just too tired to have this argument. Derek had said he would make the case his first priority, so Hotch decided he would trust him to stand by his word.
"Fine, Morgan. But you don't intend to ask him to come here?" Hotch asked, giving him a discerning look.
"Well we had him here for a good amount of time yesterday, plus we were trampling through his apartment all this morning. I figured it'd be giving him a break to not have to trek all the way back down here, especially since he doesn't have his own car." Derek explained
Hotch gave him a flat look.
"There's an officer stationed outside his apartment. He can always give him a ride over here," Hotch said. Derek flinched at his superior's astute observation.
"And… well, I kind of also wanted to check if everything was ok at the building and if the kid got any other strange messages or gifts. He didn't even want to call us about the first package he received, so it's likely he might brush off something that could be a sign form the Unsub," Derek explained almost sheepishly.
Emily and J.J. couldn't help but share a smile. They found it sweet that Derek seemed to want to look out for the smart and unassuming young man. To a certain extent, they had been worried about Spencer as well and wouldn't mind an update on him.
Hotch sighed in defeat as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Fine, Morgan. Just make sure you get back here as soon as possible. We'll have two other files to go through and we'll need your help."
Turning to the other team members, Hotch began to divvy up assignments.
"Rossi and Prentiss, I want you two to fly out to L.A. The detectives there will be awaiting you. J.J. and I will start in on the Arizona and Nevada cases. And, hopefully Morgan will join us soon," Hotch said pointedly, as he glanced at the agent.
Derek nodded as he gathered his things. He hoped he wasn't making a big mistake by getting involved with Spencer Reid. But, for some reason, he just couldn't leave the kid alone.

Arriving at Spencer's apartment approximately 20 minutes later, Derek made sure to first check in with the protective detail that was parked outside the building. Knocking on the window pane, Derek watched as the uniformed cop jumped in surprise. It looked like the man had been asleep. Showing his badge to the man in the car, Derek watched as the officer rolled down his window.
"Good afternoon, Agent," the officer said around a yawn.
Derek frowned.
"Yea? Catching up on some rest there?" he asked the younger man.
The man blushed, apparently surprised he had been caught.
"Well… not really. It's just been… really quiet around here, you know?"
Derek rolled his eyes with a sigh.
"You're supposed to be keeping watch, man. With your eyes open," Derek told him.
The officer nodded, looking slightly chastened.
"I have been. Nothing's happened. No one's come or gone. Everything's good. Trust me."
Derek glanced up at the old apartment building behind him.
"So, you haven't heard anything from Sp-…Mr. Reid, then?" Derek asked.
"Nope. I'm guessing the guy's just been hanging out in his apartment all day."
"Fine," Derek said as he shoved his ID back in his pocket. "I'll be heading up there then."
"Sure thing," the officer said with a smile, and another yawn.
Derek rolled his eyes as he crossed the street and headed into the building. He was now really regretting not putting up more of a fight when Hotch had demanded he not stay the night. Obviously this rookie cop didn't take his job of keeping watch over Spencer very seriously. Derek only hoped that the Unsub was sticking to his words in his note—that he'd merely be watching Spencer, and nothing more.
As Derek lightly jogged up the one flight of stairs to the second landing, he slightly shuddered a bit at the thought, not pleased with the idea of this man showing Spencer so much attention. It was more than just a little bit problematic that the Unsub knew he had been seen. Derek now also wondered if maybe the Unsub had wanted Spencer to see him. Shaking these distressing thoughts from his head as he came before Spencer's door, Derek raised his hand, knocked firmly on the door, and waited. And waited…
Hearing nothing, Derek's brows furrowed. Knocking again, this time just a bit louder, Derek wondered if maybe the kid was a very heavy sleeper. But, again, there was no response. Feeling the slight tingles of panic setting in at the edges of his consciousness, Derek's mind quickly shifted into action. He wondered if he should kick the door in or maybe try a gentler entry. His mind quickly flitted to an image of Spencer's brows drawn down, and lips pursed in an angry scowl at the thought of the agent kicking his door in when he was simply sleeping or in the shower. Imagining that, Derek felt his panic reduce a little and told himself not to think the worst.
Hands moving on their own to his wallet, he quickly pulled out the set of lock-pick tools he kept there. Putting the tools to work and making quick work of the flimsy lock (he'd have to tell the kid to get a better one later), Derek pushed his way into the apartment. His trained eyes taking in everything immediately, Derek was certain there were no signs of forced entry, a struggle or even a single thing out of place from what he remembered last night.
"Spencer?" Derek called out as he closed the door behind him. "It's Agent Morgan. You here, kid?"
Walking further into the apartment, Derek was able to quickly cover the expanse of the small place in just a few strides. He could immediately tell Spencer was not in the living room, nor was anyone in the tiny kitchen, which was separated from the living space by a breakfast bar. His steps took him into the back hallway and, with his hand on the grip of his holstered gun, he used his foot to nudge open the first door he came across on his right.
As the door opened it revealed a small bathroom. It took only a few seconds for his eyes to be sure that no threats were present there. Stepping away from the room, Derek then pulled open the door next to it to reveal a small linen closet. All that was left was the room at the end of the hallway, which he knew to be Spencer's bedroom.
"Spencer Reid!" Derek called again, almost completely certain now that the boy wasn't in the apartment. Or, at least that's what he hoped because if Spencer was there and hadn't responded, it could only mean nothing good.
Turning the handle and pushing the door fully open, Derek was met with the sight of a messy, but empty room. Glancing around, Derek could see clothes strewn across the floor, a messy comforter and sheets rumpled atop the bed, and books upon books scattered on nearly every available surface. Derek was somewhat surprised by the state of the room. Spencer seemed like such a somber and guarded person that, for some reason, he thought his room would be tidy and impersonal.
Derek was sure Spencer wore many hats and had learned to skillfully morph from one role into another. The glittered, bow-tie and suspender-wearing, bare-chested Spencer, was not the same sulky cardigan-wearing boy he had interviewed. Nor was either of those two personas the same shy, and somewhat self-conscious boy who had called him uncertainly last night. Looking around the room, Derek was surprised by some of the things that were missing (there was no TV, or even a computer of any kind), and some of the things that were there (he didn't know anyone who owned so many books, and he was amused by what he could see were a few figurines from popular sci-fi shows). In any case, Spencer was someone he didn't think he'd be able to figure out anytime soon. But for the time being, the kid was missing and Derek had to do something about that.
Sighing in frustration, Derek backed out of the room and pulled his cellphone out. He stomped into the living room and flopped down on to the couch as he dialed Garcia.
"Chocolate-thunder, to what do I owe this most pleasant of pleasures?" the blonde tech purred flirtatiously.
"Hey, Baby Girl, I need you to do me a favor. You know that kid Spencer? Is it possible for you to track his cellphone and see where he is right now?" he asked her.
"Is it possible? Pshh! You say that like you don't know me!" Garcia said, playfully pretending to be offended. "Just give me a second and I'll get his coordinates."
"Thanks mama," Derek sighed.
"So what's going on? You guys can't find Spencer?" she asked as he heard the sound of keys clacking in the background.
"No idea. I got to his apartment and he's just gone. There's a cop outside who's supposed to be watching the place, but I doubt he's doing a very good job. Case in point: Spencer's not here," he told her, tiredly.
"Hmm…ok, I've got his coordinates. It seems like he's not very far from where you are. Only about a 20 or 25 minute drive, actually. I'm sending the coordinates to your phone now." Garcia told him quickly.
"Great to hear. Thanks, sweetness," Morgan said with a smile.
"Anything for you!" Garcia said, flirtatiously.
"And Morgan, I hope everything's alright with him," she said as an afterthought.
"Me too," he replied with a sigh, as he tried to rub the tension out of his temples.

When Derek made it to the coordinates Garcia had given him and had gotten out of his black SUV, his eyes quickly scanned his surroundings and he was surprised to see that he was in the middle of some sort of small town center with small shops, restaurants, and businesses. He was definitely not in an abandoned warehouse district or some other locale where one would hold a kidnapping victim. He was starting to believe more and more that the kid had given the cop the slip through his own free will.
His attention was drawn when he saw a person he thought looked like Spencer walking out of a quaint-looking café across the street from where he was parked. He was again floored by how different this person looked from the tantalizing, and almost bare boy he had seen last night. His hair was messier today, as if he couldn't be bothered to use any product to tame it. He was wearing a long-sleeved dark button down shirt and a pair of baggy gray corduroys, paired with those recurrent black Converses. But what drew his attention the most were his eyes, or more specifically that he was wearing large-framed black glasses. He looked like a kid who had gotten lost on his way to the library, not someone who just hours ago was emitting tons of sex appeal.
He watched amusedly as the boy seemed to juggle a heavy bag that read "Boulevard Books" on it while he brought up an extra-large cup of coffee to his lips and pushed up his glasses. Situating himself, he turned and walked away from the store. To Derek, the kid didn't seem to be in any danger; just out for a stroll. But, Derek still thought he needed a good talking to. He wasn't doing himself any favors by giving his protective detail the slip when it was very likely that a killer was watching him. Pushing away from his position leaned against his SUV, and slipping on his shades, Derek began to follow the younger male who was already about 10 yards ahead of him.
Before he could call out to the boy who had neared the corner of the street, he watched in surprise as the kid literally slammed right into two men who had turned the corner from the other side. Spencer yelped in surprise as he dropped his bag of books but managed to save his large cup of coffee. Unfortunately, his efforts to maintain the coffee resulted in some of the liquid splashing out on to one of the men in front of him.
"Shit! What the hell?" the one who had been splashed yelled angrily.
"You weren't even watching where you were going," the other one barked.
From behind him Derek couldn't see Spencer's reaction, but he knew that this wasn't going to end well. While Spencer was a tall kid, he wasn't very imposing. He probably weighed 140lbs, when soaking wet, and his lanky limbs and thin body didn't give the impression that he'd be able to hold his own against either of these guys. One was probably around 6'4" and likely had 50lbs of muscle on the boy. The other was shorter than Spencer, but made up for it in an even more impressive amount of muscle bulk.
'Shit,' Derek thought to himself as he increased his pace.
"Sorry, I didn't see you," Spencer began but was cut off as the shorter male shoved his shoulder, causing the boy to stumble slightly.
"Yea, we fucking know! What, those glasses of yours not thick enough for you to see right?" he asked.
Spencer frowned at the two men, subconsciously pushing his glasses up again.
"You ruined my fucking shirt," the taller one began to say.
Spencer glanced at the stain on the man's dark top. It was barely noticeable, but he didn't think saying that would win him any points.
"Well, I guess I could compensate you for the shirt?" Spencer said, his eyebrows scrunched up, showing his displeasure.
"Yea right, you don't look like you could afford to pay me back for this shirt," the man responded, but then a glint appeared in his eyes as he seemed to study Spencer's face.
"But hey," he continued with a smirk. "I know what Vegas is like. Why don't you try to make up for it with that pretty mouth of yours?"
Spencer's body tensed and his eyes widened as the man began to reach forward, presumably to touch Spencer's face, when he heard a familiar voice call out from behind him.
"Hey! Knock it off," Derek said in a commanding tone as he appeared next to Spencer.
Spencer whipped his head around to look at the tall and imposing agent, wondering where the hell this man had come from. But he would be lying if he said he hadn't felt a small pang of relief at seeing him there.
"The fuck? This doesn't have anything to do with you, man," the shorter one said as he shot Derek a nasty look.
"This kid," Derek said as he nodded towards Spencer, "has everything to do with me. So you'd better back off."
"Whoa, is this your man, sweetheart?" the older one said with a laugh, sneering down at Spencer.
Spencer tensed again, face flaming up. He didn't want them to talk about Agent Morgan that way.
"He's a vital asset to the Federal Bureau of Investigation," Derek said as he quickly flipped out his ID case.
"Like hell that's real…" the shorter one said with a scoff but his words trailed off as Derek slightly pushed back his leather jacket, revealing the gun holstered at his waist. He was sure that even if the men didn't immediately desist upon sight of the gun he would never have to resort to using it in any case (his muscles weren't just for show), but he knew sometimes showing he was packing some heat was enough to reveal narcissistic 'tough guys' for what they really were—cowards.
Looking up at the glaring agent, the two men immediately stepped back, hands raised defensively.
"Um, we don't want any trouble man! We were just messing with this kid. We'll get out of your hair," the taller man said as he nudged his friend. The two then quickly turned the corner, leaving the way they had come.
Glaring after the idiots to make sure they wouldn't be stupid enough to come back, Derek's attention was pulled back to the current situation when he heard an exasperated voice come from behind him.
"I'm not a damsel in distress, you know. I can take care of myself."
Derek feared he had, yet again, alienated the younger man. It was like ping pong with them, and he never knew what he would do or say that might set Spencer off.
But when he turned around, Spencer was smiling slightly with an amused expression on his face.
"It must be hard to be an action figure, huh? Always poised and ready to go into battle?" Spencer teased.
"Hey, don't get smart with me," Derek said, but there was no malice behind his voice.
Derek leaned down to retrieve the bag of books that had been dropped, surprised at how heavy it was. He handed the bag back over to Spencer when the boy held his hand out.
"I can't help being smart, you know," Spencer said with a smirk, "I am a 'genius,' after all."
"Well, Pretty Boy, next time some assholes start talking about how they'd like you to repay them with your 'pretty mouth,' I guess I'll just leave you to fend for yourself, huh?" Derek asked with a smirk.
He saw Spencer flinch slightly, but the tension left the boy's body as quickly as it had come, and instead he pursed his lips.
"Like I said, I can handle myself," Spencer said, rolling his eyes. "Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, Agent Morgan? Something else to do with the case, or should I add you to this ever growing list of "stalkers" that I now seem to have?"
He grinned at the boy, feeling pleased that he could at least crack jokes. Spencer seemed so much more at ease now that he was outside—outside the club, the precinct, and even his tiny apartment. Maybe it had something to do with the huge bag of books he held or the extra-large cup of coffee. But it made Derek happy to see that the boy could act normal for once.
"No, I'm not a 'stalker.' And yes, we have some more things to follow up with you about the case." Derek explained.
Spencer parted his lips to respond, but before he could get a word out Derek's phone began to ring.
Holding up a hand apologetically, Derek turned around to answer his phone.
"How's it going with the interview?" Hotch's voice came over the phone.
"Uh… well, I've only just found Spencer," Derek said, knowing his boss wouldn't like that answer.
"What do you mean found?" Hotch asked, surprise evident in his voice.
"That officer we had stationed out front wasn't exactly doing a great job. Apparently Spencer gave him the slip and I was just only recently able to track him down at a café a little ways off from his house. Thanks to Garcia, of course. I haven't been able to ask him yet how he managed that, but I'm going to need some more time for that interview, Hotch," Derek explained.
He heard Hotch sigh, but couldn't sense any malice or frustration aimed at him.
"Well, Mr. Reid is a bit more interesting than I expected. Since, we've only just gotten the Arizona file in over here, I suppose you could have a bit more time. And you can send that officer back to the station since he's obviously be doing a less than impressive job. I'll make sure his superior gives him a good talking to." Hotch stated.
"Sure thing," Derek said with amusement in his tone as he ended the call.
Turning back to Spencer, Derek apologized for the interruption. Spencer just shrugged in response.
"So…you said you have some more questions you want to ask me?" Spencer said as he fiddled with the strap of his satchel. "I've got a brand new cup of coffee and it's my day off. I don't really want to spend it back at that stifling police station."
He then looked up at Derek through his bangs and asked, "So…do you want to come back to my place?"

A/N: Haha, so there we end it! I feel like I'm such a tease ;p. But I'm sure you've all caught on by now that I kind of like to mess with ya… :D. So, just sit tight until next time!
In unrelated news, I remember telling a reviewer that I wasn't sure if I was doing a good job describing Reid's club-outfits, and over this past weekend I watched a movie called 'Getting Go' (really good movie, but pretty mature M/M content (you can find it on Netflix tho :))) and was able to see what go-go dancer boys wear. OMG. Really hawt! I don't think I'm doing Spencer's outfits justice after seeing that, but now I have a reference point for inspiration, teeheehee. I was also able to learn the difference between a 'stripper' and a 'go-go dancer,' lol, so we can also say it was educational ;p.
Until next time, my loves!
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Pretty Boy