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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
- 8
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- 10
Chapter 9
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. It is the sole property of the CBS Corporation. This work of fiction has been created purely for entertainment purposes and I am profiting in no way.
A/N: Thanks for coming back! And sorry for the long delay! I've been flooding my beta-reader with chapters, so I needed to give her some time to get through it all. So thank you for being so patient and special thanks to her for putting up with me, haha. As always, I love to read your comments and answer your questions, so please continue to write me!
So, this is going to be another half-n-half chapter. Apparently, whenever I write a 'day' in this story, it ends up going over 50 pages D: So, here you'll get the morning (focused mostly on case-development), and in chapter 10 you'll get the afternoon/night. But the next update should come relatively quickly since I'm most of the way through chapter 10 as I am posting this.
I do want to let you all know that we're approaching that place in the story where we start to lead up to the end. I'm starting to think about and plan how many more chapters there will be. So, prepare yourselves! :'{

As the sun began to rise and peek through the loosely closed vertical blinds, its orange rays fell on the figure of a solitary man in an otherwise lightless room. The world outside the large penthouse windows reflected a beautiful cityscape, just starting to come to life in the early morning hours. But the man within the room could not be bothered with such beauty. He sat at his large desk, elbows poised on the marble tabletop, chin resting atop his interlaced fingers, lost in thought. He was thinking about what to do about the pests. When one had pests, it was common to exterminate them. And that was exactly what those Federal agents were; PESTS.
He had not initially anticipated the presence of the FBI. He had gone so many years, cleaning up the filth he encountered, and had never had the unpleasant experience of dealing with law enforcement. But things were different now—he could admit at least that to himself. He had never felt the compulsion to linger—to interact with another human being—quite like this before. And he knew exactly what it was that had caused that difference. Spencer Reid.
It was all a matter of coincidence that he had even became aware of the boy. But this coincidence only solidified the man's belief that this must be fate. That he and Spencer were destined. That day, four years ago, when he had agreed to a late night meeting with Demetri Santos—the scum of the earth—he had thought he would merely be discussing a number of Santos' outstanding financial obligations. Santos had thought he could distract the man from his intended goal with offers of fine cognac and imported cigars, but he had quickly learned that the man was impervious to such enticements. But, then Santos had asked the man if he wanted to see his 'secret stash,' promising a rare treat while flashing the man a toothy grin. The man, ever a procurer of fine oddities, was intrigued by this and had agreed.
But what he wasn't expecting to see was a gangly, teenaged youth, eyes wide in terror and tears streaming down his face as Santos forced the boy to perform on him. He had said his name was Spencer. He was only 15. The man saw red.
He had heard whispers of Santos' leanings, but had never had his suspicions confirmed until that very moment. Carefully, trying to hold back the monstrous rage that was starting to build inside of him, the man inquired of Santos if this was the first time he had done something like this. Laughing, obviously proud of his conquests, Santos had admitted that there had been too many to count. He told the man that most of the 'talent' had chosen to either work for him, or had taken a nice chunk of change for hush money. Santos had said it was well worth the price for such 'delicacies.'
That was all the man had needed to hear. He was on his feet and standing behind Santos, his fine leather belt swiftly removed from the loops of his tailored trousers and coiled securely around Santos' neck, before Santos could register what was happening. The man applied pressure, tightening the makeshift noose. As his victim choked and struggled for air, the man listened quietly, as if soothed by the familiar sounds. To him, they were the sounds of justice. As he felt Santos' struggles become more sporadic and jerky, the man knew that Santos was close to losing consciousness. Applying the pressure for a few seconds more, the man felt Santos' body slump and he released his hold around his victim's neck. He knew Santos would be out for at least a good five minutes. He had done this so many times it was almost like a science.
With a cold stare, the man reached over the slumped form and pressed the eject button on the laptop. Removing the silver disc sitting in the tray, he slipped it into his coat pocket, satisfied that no one would ever again see the boy's shame. He regretted that he didn't have his usual supplies with him. He wanted to give Demetri Santos the same treatment he gave all the other men who had been tried and deemed guilty. That was the part he liked the best. Watching them squirm, and beg, and finally admit their sins, all while the man applied just enough pressure to keep them on that teetering edge between consciousness and death. He liked being able to feel their pulse under his thumbs as he squeezed down. And then, when they had finally confessed, he would pass judgment, burning the mark of their transgressions into their skin.
But he had not come here today intending to pass judgment, and he had been unprepared. With no gloves he had been deprived of obtaining the feeling of contact he so desired. He wouldn't be reckless though. It was foolish to risk leaving any DNA. And without his signet ring, he couldn't leave behind his mark of judgment. So, this kill would be less…satisfying than usual. But, his mission was about doing what was right, not about obtaining pleasure. At least that's what he told himself. Lately, the kills had started to feel more and more exciting. But, the man was not willing to spend time thinking about what that could mean.
No, he had a job to do. Stepping behind Santos and grasping the slack belt in his hand once again, the man pulled the noose taut. There was no point in going through the ritual with him. Santos had proudly admitted that the boy on the tape wasn't his first. The man knew that if Santos lived, this boy—this 'Spencer'—would likely not be his last. Using the belt to tilt Santos' head back with one hand, the man used his free hand to slide his handkerchief from his suit pocket. Then, making sure the cloth was wrapped carefully around his right hand, he reached into an interior pocket of his long coat and retrieved his hunting knife. He always had that with him. A small grin broke out on his lips as his hand closed around the familiar-feeling hilt.
He could feel Santos slowly beginning to stir, and the anticipation of seeing his wide, fear-stricken eyes sent a jolt of pleasure down the man's spine. As full consciousness returned to Santos he took in a deep, air-starved, breath, jerking his body forward. But the man was anticipating this and pulled backward on the leather gripped in his hand, causing Santos' head to snap back and his eyes to roll upward to stare at the grinning man above him.
"Y-you!" Santos spluttered out, but the man cut him off.
"You've been a despicable example of a human being," the man said, voice cool as ice. "And I've passed judgment on you, deeming you unworthy."
Santos' eyes widened in shock, but before he could let out a sound of protest, he saw a glint of metal out of the corner of his eye. With one powerful arcing swing of his arm, the man brought the knife down between Santos' eyebrows, shoving the serrated blade through flesh and bone. Santos gurgled and his body jerked, but in mere seconds he had gone still.
Stepping back, fluidly sliding the unstained handkerchief from the hilt of the blade, the man looked down at his handiwork with pride. Shoving the handkerchief in his pocket, the man's fingers bumped into the smooth surface of the DVD. Stroking the disc in fondness, the man knew he would keep it. For some reason, it seemed important to him.
Drawing himself out of his musings and returning to the present, the man sighed at the fond memory. Remembering the satisfaction he felt at having saved Spencer (a boy he knew little more about other than his age and name) reminded him why his work was so important. The world needed people like him. The man had learned that goodness was rare in the world. He had learned that a concept such as truth was irrelevant as long as someone had enough influence, money, or charm to convince others to buy into their lies. His father had taught him that lesson quite brutally. He had taken away the one person the man had ever cared about, and he had never been made to pay for it.
But, while his father had taken so much from him, he had also given the man equally as much. A good family name, an inheritance, and social collateral. The man could easily associate with the upper echelons of society and was accepted, if only for his lineage. They saw him as one of their own; they trusted him. They had no qualms disclosing their dirtiest, darkest secrets to the man because they believed the rules of the world did not apply to them. They were exempt from guilt, or shame, or remorse. And they believed the man would similarly revel in their carefree lifestyles. But the man's father had killed the part of him that could truly appreciate any of the pleasures that came along with those privileges. The man was not like his counterparts. He had learned that at an early age.
When he was young, his father had sent him away under the guise of mental illness. But the man knew it was merely to shut him up. And the person who had returned was someone else entirely. The man resented his father, and all those like him. Those who wore one face on the outside, but were really wolves deep down inside. And killing helped to make sense of things. So, the man killed. But, to the man, there was nothing to be sorry about. He was doing a service to the world. He killed only those who deserved it (according to the man, of course). Those who only poisoned the world. Those who hurt others. And killing served the dual-purpose of helping to calm the ever-building rage inside of him.
So, on the day the man killed Demetri Santos—unplanned as it was—he had been exceedingly pleased with himself. He had discovered a cretin who had been operating below his radar and who would have slipped past him if he had not been betrayed by his own hubris. And the icing on the cake was that the man had proof that he had saved someone. He had the recording of Spencer. The boy on the tape had needed his help. Before then, he had never had the opportunity to see those he was helping—it had always felt a bit surreal, like he was only telling himself that he was killing for a just cause. But unlike the other kills, which could only soothe the man for so long before he was itching to punish someone else, killing Demetri Santos stayed with him. It lingered. And it was because of Spencer.
No kill after that one had ever felt as good. But the man kept killing, because he needed to. Waiting until the last minute, until he reached the boiling point, and then he would let himself indulge. He continued like this after Santos' death. He had pushed the boy out of his thoughts because he had no way of discovering who he was. But, late at night, when the man let his mind wander and reminisce on his many kills, his thoughts would also wander back to Spencer. In moments of pure desperation, he would watch the video. Not for pleasure. No, it was merely to see Spencer's face. The video would incense him, and he would imagine killing Santos all over again. He would fantasize that he had been there when Santos had filmed the video. The boy would beg him to save him and he would kill Santos—tearing him limb from limb—before he could touch the boy. The extreme pleasure the man experienced from dispatching Santos and saving Spencer often led the man to a mind-blowing climax.
And then, two years ago, as destiny dictated, he ran across Spencer again. Only this time, it was at one of the parties hosted by the group of night clubs he invested in. The investment was a hand-me-down from his father. They were yet another bad reminder of memories he'd sooner extinguish. But his financial advisors had assured him the clubs supported a healthy portion of his portfolio and that they essentially made money on their own, so he would be better off holding on to them. And in retrospect, the man had been so pleased that they had pushed so hard to convince him. Because, there was Spencer.
That night, two years, ago, he watched the boy from across the room. He had never seen the boy in person, but the recognition had shot through his body like a bolt of lightning. He was sure that it was him. Two years had passed, and Spencer was taller than before, and had lost a bit of the baby-faced quality, but everything else about him, down to the wide, honey-colored eyes, was the same. He watched as two older girls—one a brunette, the other a strawberry-blonde—walked the boy around the party. The boy seemed skittish as his eyes took in the goings-on around him. He appeared to be uncomfortable in his own skin, and often fidgeted with the clothes he was wearing.
The man had let his eyes rove across the boy's thin frame. The theme of the party was some kind of rural-kink. The girls were wearing tiny plaid shirts, unbuttoned and tied in the front to showcase their ample cleavage, flat stomachs, and pierced navels. Their outfits came complete with tattered daisy-duke denim cutoffs, straw hats, and pigtails. The boy, on the other hand, wore nothing but a pair of denim short coveralls and tan boots. His chest was bare under the loose-fitting fabric, leaving little to the imagination. Standing next to the girls, who gave off a more obvious sex appeal, the boy looked even younger and more vulnerable. But the man knew that this, in itself, would be appealing to many of the patrons.
The man had made his way across the room so he could get closer to the small group, while feigning to be listening to a conversation going on with some esteemed business partners. As he listened to the girls talking to Spencer, he learned that this was Spencer's first time at one of the parties. The girls were trying to soothe him and get him to relax, but the boy was admittedly nervous. To the man's pleasure, the two girls promised Spencer they wouldn't leave him alone for a single moment that night. They would protect him. Just like the man wanted to do.
So he had watched with curiosity as Spencer had gotten acclimated to the party scene. It had seemed as if the more hesitant Spencer appeared, the more patrons would approach him. The two girls had stayed true to their word, either rebuffing especially aggressive admirers or coyly redirecting the attention on to them, explaining, with a wink, that the boy still had his training wheels on.
And the man had continued to watch as the night progressed and the girls came and went, led off by amorous suitors. The man was familiar enough with the parties; he knew where the girls were going. But one of them made sure to stay close to the boy at all times, helping him navigate conversations with the guests, while redirecting wandering hands, and teaching him how to flirt. At one point the darker-haired girl removed a small vial of white powder from her pocket and offered it to Spencer, telling him that it would take the edge off and help the parties pass faster. The boy had become flustered and vehemently declined. She had patted his wavy hair and said "good boy," but told him that if he ever changed his mind he knew where he could find some. The man had been impressed by the boy that night, and had found him even more intriguing.
From then on, the man was sure to keep tabs on the boy. He quickly gathered as much information as he could on Spencer's background from the managers of the club. They were quick to give him anything he needed. Who were they to turn down someone who could have an impact on their paychecks? So they told him when Spencer started working, what he did at the club (and what he wouldn't do), what customers he would see, and how much he made. They told him where the boy lived, and even handed over his cellphone number. When the man did a bit more digging (through the use of a particularly skilled private investigator), he learned of Spencer's tragic history. Of his father that abandoned him and his mother who had been recently institutionalized. He learned that Spencer had even been a child prodigy.
Spencer was different from all the scum the man was used to dealing with. The man had believed that there was no one good, no one innocent, in the world. But, then there was Spencer. He didn't' have some seedy background. He never went home with his clients, and didn't seem interested in whoring himself out on the side. He kept his head down, and stayed out of trouble. From what the man could see, Spencer wasn't using people or trying to manipulate others. He gave the man hope for the rest of society. So, the man liked to watch him every now and then. Whenever Spencer was at a party, or when he was running drinks back and forth from the bar, the man would watch. Spencer was like his light in the darkness. And the man was content with that. Watching from afar, and just appreciating Spencer.
But then one night a few weeks ago, while at a charity gala, he had had the unpleasant experience of being wrangled into a conversation with Victor LaRoux. LaRoux knew him from the club. He knew the circles the man ran in, and for some reason, LaRoux, lips loosened by the copious amounts of liquor he had been consuming that night, deemed the man to be a confidant to whom he could divulge his secrets. LaRoux had started to babble about a boy from the club who he just couldn't stop thinking about. About how he wanted to just take the boy away from that life and make the boy his. The more he talked, the more LaRoux's ramblings shifted from wanting to be the boy's 'hero' to the depraved things he wanted to do to the boy. LaRoux didn't know the boy's name, but as he went on and on, the man quickly caught on that the boy of LaRoux's dreams was Spencer. And something snapped inside of the man.
Who was LaRoux to lay a claim to Spencer? The man was the one who had saved Spencer from Demetri Santos, who had made sure no one had ever seen him in such a compromising position, and who had, with his influence, guaranteed that the boy could continue to work in the private rooms at Mon Petit Chien. LaRoux was nothing but a degenerate who merely wanted the boy for his body. The man, on the other hand, knew about who Spencer was as a person. It wasn't mere lust. The man wanted Spencer in his entirety. He wanted the boy: mind, body and soul. He would have it no other way. And the man did not like competition. So LaRoux had had to go.
That had been the first time the man had killed out of single-minded desire, and not compulsion. Sure, LaRoux did ultimately fit his criteria. The man had tamped down the rage that had instantly welled up within him while he talked to LaRoux at the party until he could enlist his trusted investigator to find out about LaRoux's life. It wasn't hard to imagine, after the things he had said about Spencer, that LaRoux had a weakness for young boys. Days later, the investigator had dropped a thick file on to the man's desk, detailing how LaRoux had propositioned two boys at the high school he oversaw and was currently in the process of drawing up a financial agreement with the boys' families to make the accusations 'go away.' So while knowing that LaRoux was just like all the other cretin the man had disposed of had made it easier to convince himself that he needed to die, the man knew that he would have killed LaRoux in any case. LaRoux had made an unforgiveable transgression in saying he had wanted to take Spencer away. The man could not overlook that. Spencer belonged to him.
And although he could not quite put a label on them, the man had begun to experience these types of feelings more and more lately. When he had watched Spencer yesterday with Emily and Jennifer, the two female agents, he had been surprised to see the boy smiling. He wasn't accustomed to seeing Spencer outside of the club with anyone, and he had definitely not seen Spencer smile on very many occasions. The man had felt a sharp pang of displeasure. He wondered if this is what people called jealousy… He wanted Spencer to look at no one but him. He couldn't fathom the idea of the boy relying on others. He needed Spencer to need only him…
But what really had the man's ire raising, and had gained his full attention as of last night, was the way Spencer seemed to fawn over that Agent Morgan. The man had thought, from the first time he saw the two together, that the dark man's eyes lingered on his boy more than they should have. Spencer was his. And the man would not tolerate another looking at what was his with such eyes. But, then last night, as the agent escorted Spencer home from work, the man had noticed something different as he observed the pair through his binoculars. The boy had started to look at the agent with 'gaga' eyes, for lack of a better word. For the first time ever, Spencer didn't have those dull, disinterested-looking eyes. He didn't have his head down, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone and everyone. Instead, he was staring at Derek Morgan, eyes bright and a small smile on his full lips. Looking at him as if the world revolved around him. And in that moment, the man wanted the agent dead, and he wanted to punish Spencer. Badly.
Clenching his hands into fists, the man leaned away from his desk and sat back in his chair. He had really wanted to run over the tall, brawny man last night. He really wished he had taken the time to back up over the fallen man. But he knew that if he had, it would have slowed him down too much and the other agents, who were close on his tail, would have been able to apprehend him. While Derek Morgan would have been taken care of, the man knew that being arrested for killing a federal agent would mean he would never have the opportunity to be with Spencer. And he just couldn't have that. But, Derek Morgan still had to go. He was the pest of utmost priority. The man imagined Agent Morgan would be the second time he killed out of desire. But he was definitely looking forward to it. He couldn't be sure exactly what had developed between Spencer and the agent, but whatever it was, the man intended to nip it in the bud. And quickly.
He knew the team of federal agents had no idea who he was, and, if he had anything to say about it, they never would. Soon, the trail would go cold, and they would have to abandon the case. And then, once the agents were taken care of, Spencer would be his. Smiling softy at the thought, the man stood to his feet and walked toward his window, where the sky was quickly lightening as the sun rose higher. Pulling the blinds so that the light could flood the expansive, tastefully-appointed office, the man pondered over his plans.
He knew that he could give Spencer a better life. He had already started construction on Spencer's new room. He would give him all the things he could ever need. He knew that, at first, Spencer would be reluctant—he was learning that from the boy's tone in their most recent conversation. But the man wouldn't take it personally. It wasn't the boy's fault that he didn't know any better. The man knew that Spencer would have trouble trusting him because everyone before the man had only wanted to use and abuse the boy. The man was different. Spencer just didn't know that yet.
There was no way the youth would understand that the man truly loved him and all he wanted to do was protect him. At least he wouldn't know at first. So the man had made sure to build the room in the basement, reinforced with sound-proof walls. And he had had the bed in Spencer's room custom-designed and equipped with restraints. They were of the finest quality leather—he would never risk bruising Spencer's beautiful, pale skin. He would keep Spencer there until he fully understood what the man was doing for him—until he was properly trained. And the man knew that once Spencer had learned that he was safe—once he could appreciate that the man was the only one in this world who had his best interests in mind—Spencer would accept him. Then they could truly begin their lives together.
Smiling in delight at the thought, the man pressed his hands against the cool glass and looked out over the city, imagining what the boy was doing at the current moment. In a few days, he wouldn't have to imagine. Soon, Spencer would be waking up next to him.
Just wait, my beautiful boy. Just you wait.

A few miles across the city, Derek winced slightly as he stared at his palm and flexed his hand. He was sitting in the intake area of the emergency room, impatiently waiting for the doctor to return with his discharge papers. He had been there for the better part of the night, after Hotch had all but shut the van door in his face once the team had returned to the surveillance unit following their chase with the Unsub. His colleagues had looked at him sympathetically, but there was little they could do for him once Hotch had made up his mind. So, he had had to make his way to the ER for what he was convinced were little more than scratches.
In actuality, his hands were pretty badly scraped up but hadn't needed more than antiseptic after the nurses had given them a good washing and picked out all the bits of gravel and dirt. They would heal on their own and Derek was thankful he wouldn't have to wrap his hands in bulky bandages. That would be more than just a little inconvenient for having to quickly pull his gun. He had needed a bandage on his side, however. In addition to a bruise that probably looked nastier than it really felt, he had had a few deep gashes that had bled quite profusely. But no stitches were necessary. Another godsend, in Derek's opinion.
The doctor had looked at him seriously and told him he had been lucky that the car hadn't hit him directly. If it had, he probably would have suffered, at the least, a shattered hip or pelvis. The fact that he had jumped when he did and the car had only clipped him had likely saved him from more extensive damage.
Lucky, Derek thought with a scowl.
He didn't like the idea of 'lucky.' 'Lucky' meant that the Unsub really could've killed him if he had wanted to. It meant that the only thing that had saved his ass had been the luck of the odds. It didn't matter how fast, strong, or smart Derek was. It meant that, next time, anything could happen. And Derek didn't like the idea of leaving things up to chance. He also knew that if the injury had been more severe he would have been down for the count on this case. He wouldn't be able to be there for Spencer and he was unwilling to leave the kid to the mercy of this Unsub.
The team had been keeping him updated during the hours he had been in the ER. The rest of the stakeout had ended uneventfully. The mysterious man had not returned, but they had expected as much. The description of the car had been made available to all officers on patrol in a ten-mile radius, but no one had come across it. And Garcia had done a cursory search for cars matching the description, but with nothing more than 'black' and 'luxury vehicle' to go off of, she had come back with a list of thousands of owners. And that would only be helpful if the car was even registered in the state of Nevada. They hadn't seen any license plates. The car could have been from any state. But Garcia had promised to cross-check the list with the registered cars of the individuals on the master list from the club that she was currently parsing through. She would let them know as soon as anything popped up.
Sighing as he closed his eyes and leaned back, wincing slightly at the twinge in his side, Derek let his mind wander to the boy who had become the focal point of his thoughts lately. He hadn't had much time to linger on Spencer's disturbing behavior once he had left the boy in his apartment. He had quickly switched into business-mode and had purposefully pushed the boy out of his mind. And with the events that had transpired afterwards, he was glad that he had been able to do so. He couldn't let the boy distract him from his work. The more Spencer filled his mind, the more it meant Derek wouldn't be on his best game.
But, right now, Derek was useless. He couldn't assist the team on the case because he was stuck in a hospital waiting room, and with nothing to put his mind to, all he could think about was Spencer.
Was he really serious about what he said… or was it all some kind of twisted joke? Derek wondered to himself.
He hadn't known Spencer for all that long, but that just didn't seem to be the kid's sense of humor. But Derek couldn't really explain it any other way. The Spencer who had seductively offered himself up to him in that sultry and teasing manner was not the same reticent boy he had been spending his days with. In actuality, he seemed more like the Spencer he had dreamed about. Just thinking of that dream, mixed with having seen the real Spencer in action, sent a jolt of heat through Derek's body.
Oh, God, Derek thought, chastising himself, as he ran a hand wearily over his face.
He knew that he was quickly becoming more than a little smitten with Spencer Reid. Whenever his mind had the chance to wander it often wandered to the boy. He was at least glad that he could honestly say that the majority of these thoughts were not lewd in nature. No. Often when he thought of Spencer he would think about how cute the boy was when he would frown or pout, and he would get that little wrinkle between his eyebrows. Or the way that Spencer's unruly hair curled against his forehead. Or how he liked the timbre of Spencer's voice and the way that his words quickened, almost to the point where Derek couldn't keep up with him, when he was angry, excited, or otherwise worked up. Or how he really liked the fact that, while Spencer tried to appear tough and indifferent on the surface, he could tell that right underneath this fragile shield was a sensitive and caring individual. Spencer was smart, funny, and endearing. There was just so much that was fascinating about the boy.
And, ok, yes, sometimes late at night (or, increasingly more often, in the middle of the day when Spencer was decked out in his work-attire), Derek's mind would wander to less wholesome thoughts. Spencer was captivating, for lack of a better word. And he didn't even know it. But that's probably what made him even more alluring.
Derek had never intended to let himself view Spencer in that way, but he just couldn't help it. He told himself to just chalk it up to the nature of this case. After spending numerous hours in and around strip clubs and their employees, it made sense that his mind would be inundated with thoughts of sex. It was only natural. He was a red-blooded man. There was only so much he could be expected to ignore. And after seeing Spencer in all those outfits, which were intended to get one's blood pumping, of course the images would linger and resurface when he was alone with his thoughts… But that didn't explain why he still found himself thinking like this after seeing a sleepy-eyed, or freshly-showered, or pajama-wearing Spencer, now did it?
Opening his eyes and sitting forward, Derek wondered what he would do about this situation. What could he do? Was it realistic to try to see if there was actually something 'there' between him and the boy? Derek could count hundreds of reasons why that was the worst possible idea. At the top of the list were the lack of professionalism, Spencer's age and how actually having a relationship with so much distance was probably just not feasible. And that's what Derek would want—a relationship. He knew that without even having to really think about it. There was no way he was going to be some one-night stand that Spencer would have to just write off as yet another person who had abandoned him. He wanted to know so much more about Spencer, share in his ups and downs, and, ultimately, he wanted to be Spencer's protector. He wanted to take him away from all the pain, fear, and disappointment he had had to suffer up to this point.
But he also knew that it wasn't realistic to think he could give Spencer any of that. Once this case was over, that would be IT. It was supposed to be it. They did this job knowing that they were supposed to go where they were needed, solve the case as quickly as possible and allow everyone to go back to normal. If Derek were to start something with Spencer could anything really… 'go back to normal?'
Suddenly, the sound of someone clearing their throat tore Derek from his musings. Jumping slightly, he looked up to the petite doctor standing in front of him. He hadn't even heard her approach.
"I take it your thoughts are somewhere else," the woman said with a small smile as she opened the chart in her hands.
Derek could only grimace, flushing in embarrassment at having been caught with his guard down.
"So, I won't keep you here any longer than I need to, Agent Morgan," she said after the man remained silent.
"I looked at your x-rays one more time to make sure there were no hairline fractures and I'm happy to say you're absolutely fine. Again: you were very lucky. I wrote you a prescription for some pain killers. I would also write a prescription for 'bed-rest' if I believed you'd actually follow my instructions," she said with a slight frown.
Derek gave her a small smile and could only shrug.
She rolled her eyes but gave him an equally amused smile.
"But I know how badly you're itching to get back out in the field. You're definitely going to feel it running around on a bruised hip like that, but I can't stop you. I would also love it if you at least took the day off and got some sleep since it's almost…" she trailed off as she glanced down at her watch, "6 am and you've been here all night."
"I was able to get a little shut eye in between the poking and prodding," he said, trying to assuage her concern.
"Yeah, right," she said rolling her eyes again.
Derek really had drifted off for about an hour or so in between exams, which he knew probably wasn't the ideal amount of sleep for him, but he couldn't wait to get back out and pound the pavement to catch the asshole who had almost run him down. Besides, he'd try to catch up on as much sleep as he could before he had to be back at the precinct later that morning.
The doctor then became more somber.
"Agent Morgan, I know your job is very serious and I appreciate how much you want to be back out there so you can bring the bad guys to justice. But you have to remember to take care of yourself so you're in the best shape to do so. So, just take it easy, ok? If someone is crazy enough to purposefully try to mow you down, I don't want to see what he'll try next time he has the chance," she told him.
Derek nodded, equally somber.
"I hear you, Doc. But, believe me, this guy isn't going to get the chance to try again," he said with determination.
She smiled at him as she handed the chart over.
"Good to hear. Now just sign here and I'll clear you."
Derek grabbed the pen from her hand and quickly signed in all the indicated fields. When he handed the pen back to the doctor, she placed a supportive hand on his shoulder.
"Now get back out there and catch that son of a bitch," she said with a wink.

When Derek walked into the precinct it was just past 9am and the rest of the team was already settled around the conference table.
J.J. and Emily gave him concerned looks and he raised his hands to show them he was fine.
"See, Dad," Derek said, casting a smug look in Hotch's direction, "they were just scratches. Definitely didn't need to go to the ER."
Hotch rolled his eyes and let out a huff at Derek's jibe.
"And how's your hip, Morgan? Do you think I didn't see how you were limping when you walked in here?" Hotch asked.
Derek's grin fell slightly.
"I'm fine, Hotch," he said. "Really."
"Hmm," was the only response Hotch gave as he flipped open the case file in front of him.
"Take a seat so we can get started. We have the overnight officers staying with Spencer until Prentiss and J.J. are free to head back over there. I wanted everyone together to get the update from Garcia," he said as he turned to the conference phone.
Pressing the speed-dial button to engage the call, Hotch waited for Garcia to pick up and Derek settled into a seat at the table.
"How's chocolate thunder?" was the first thing out of the tech-analyst's mouth once she answered the phone.
"Don't worry, sweetness. Everything's fine," Derek said reassuringly.
"J.J.?" Garcia asked, ignoring Derek's placating tone.
J.J. laughed as she gave Derek a sympathetic look.
"He seems fine to me, Garcia. His hands are a bit scratched up and he's been limping a bit so I'm guessing he's probably got a wicked bruise, but I don't think he's out of commission just yet," she said.
Derek shot a feigned look of betrayal at the blond.
"Come on, guys, it was nothing. Lay off it. I'm good to go," Derek said as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Well, I'll believe that for now. But you all make sure he takes it easy, ok?" Garcia asked.
"We will, Garcia," Rossi chimed in with a chuckle. "Now let us know what you've been able to find."
"Ok, so going the 'investor' route gave me a much smaller list to work with. I was still running the master list, and there were about 50 names that overlapped. First, I was able to weed out all the women. There were surprisingly a lot more of them than I would've imagined. So it helped cut down about 20% of the list. And I was also able to cut out the people who were purely financial investors, and don't subscribe as members. I was surprised to see that there were actually people like that. Although the majority of these upstanding citizens definitely take part in the perks their investment provides," she said, distaste evident in her voice.
"So, comparing that with what we know about how our guy likes to kill, I ran these guys' backgrounds against who was in our three kill-states around the time the murders took place. Looking at credit card statements, and plane or train records, there were some people who were in those states during the time of the murders but not a single person who was there for all of them. However, it's hard to really narrow the list definitively using this method. We already know our guy doesn't like leaving paper trails," she said with a disgruntled sigh.
"If he doesn't use cards then it would actually be kind of tough to pinpoint when someone was physically present in any of these states. These locations are so close there's no real reason the Unsub has to fly. It's a max of a five hour drive between all the locations so he could definitely make the trip to and from completely using cash and a car. And because the states are so close, there's no way to even pinpoint where he lives. He could be moving around every couple of years, or he could be operating from one spot and just be hitting the good ole' U.S. Interstate," she said, her voice clearly exhibiting her frustration.
"Well, let's see how we can narrow this down. We've been trying to figure out who this guy is by focusing on filling in blanks and gaps, but what conclusions can we make about the Unsub based on what we have so far?" Rossi asked.
"We need to start from the beginning. Garcia, run back over the trajectory of the killings for us again," Hotch asked.
"Ok, so he started in San Diego, and killed twice. Then he killed once in Phoenix. We thought he started killing in Vegas just within the last two years, but in actuality, if this Demetri Santos thing is related, then the first time he killed in Vegas was four years ago. That would've been his fourth kill. Then he goes back and forth between Vegas and California, killing three times in and around L.A and twice in Vegas, including the most recent killing of Victor LaRoux," Garcia listed off.
"Hmm…so, I think the first thing this tells us is that San Diego is important. The Unsub has some kind of connection to that place. Whatever his trigger was, it took place there," Emily said.
"So, Garcia, describe the first kill to us again?" Hotch asked.
"The first kill was that divorce attorney who helped his clients give their financially-dependent wives the shaft by stacking the divorce terms against them and taking kickbacks under the table. His name was Anthony George," she said.
"Oh… I remember reviewing the details of that case," J.J. said as she reached over to retrieve a notebook she had on the desk.
"They found him in his car on a deserted level of a hotel's parking garage. The M.E. report said that the cause of death for this first victim was actually a broken neck because the Unsub exerted so much force while strangling that he snapped the victim's vertebrae. Even though the man was already dead, the Unsub stabbed him in the head with a serrated hunting knife, multiple times. There were no signs of a struggle in the car, so the cops thought that whoever had killed him had been invited in. They could find no DNA evidence though and nothing to give any impression of who may have been in the car with him." J.J summarized from her notes.
"Ok, so, first kill. What does that tell us?" Hotch asked.
"So, first off, the guy was sloppy," Derek offered. "It was his first kill, and that says that, one, he probably didn't go out with the intention to kill that night, and, two, he hadn't yet perfected his signature. Whatever happened to cause the Unsub to kill this man, he felt strongly about it, as evidenced by the extreme overkill. Needless to say, stabbing a man multiple times after having already broken his neck with your bare hands, means this guy's got a lot of rage. Not to mention that he has brute strength working on his side."
"Ok, so Garcia, I want you to dig more into who was attending that conference. While finding out more about the first victim's background may be helpful, if this was an unplanned killing this victim may have just found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. If there was anyone on our list of members and investors who was also attending that conference, I want to know about it," Hotch told the tech analyst.
"Will do, sir," Garcia said as the sound of quick typing came from her end of the phone.
"So what else do we know?" Hotch asked, looking around the room at his subordinates.
"Since the Unsub has been sticking around Vegas to…taunt Spencer, for lack of a better word," J.J. said with a grimace, "he either lives here or has some kind of temporary residence. I don't think he'd make a hotel his base of operations."
"That's a good point," Hotch agreed. "We might not be able to tell where the Unsub lives based on where he's killed, but the fact that he's staying in town to pursue Spencer, tells us that he has the means to do so. At the very least he works here, but it's also likely that he lives in or around Las Vegas. So, Garcia, I'd narrow the list to individuals who currently live in or around Vegas but may have been originally from California."
"Ok, sir, I'll add that to the parameters. I may have to physically backtrack through records since someone could've been born out of state but raised in California. But for right now I have about 30 of the individuals on this list who has some early connection to California and is currently living or working in Nevada," Garcia responded.
"That's a good number to work with, Garcia," Hotch said.
"Let's try to narrow this down more. What can we say about the Unsub's age, mental state, lifestyle," he asked the team.
"Well… I thought it was weird when we were talking to him on the phone yesterday," J.J. began brows furrowed in thought, "but aside from just sounding delusional, the guy… just sounded petulant."
Emily nodded.
"I would have to agree," she said.
The men in the room looked on in interest. Other than Spencer, J.J. and Emily had been the only ones to actually hear the Unsub speak.
"He just seemed like the kind of person who would throw a tantrum at any minute. He got really angry when we didn't respond to his questions almost immediately," Emily continued.
"So… we may be dealing with someone who lacks emotional maturity," Hotch said. "But that doesn't necessarily tell us his physical maturity."
"Garcia, what is the age range of the shortened list you were able to put together?" he asked.
They listened for a few brief seconds as the sound of rapid clicking filled the room.
"The ages range from 24 to 52, sir," she said after having quickly compiled the data.
"Well, the guy I was running after last night didn't look like no 52 to me," Derek said, glowering as he thought back to his run-in with the Unsub.
"Hey, just because a guy is up there in years doesn't mean he can't outrun you, Morgan," Rossi said, feigning offense.
Derek cracked a grin and rolled his eyes at the older agent.
"Well, I'd have to agree with chocolate thunder on this one, sir," Garcia interjected. "The 52-year-old on the list, a Mr. Thomas Richardson, appears to be pushing 300lbs and from what I can tell from his frequent visits to the doctor, he has a bum leg."
"Well, you can definitely scratch that guy off the list," Emily said. "The guy we chased last night was definitely no stranger to fitness."
"What's the deal with that 24-year-old, Garcia?" Rossi asked. "I'm a bit surprised that someone that young would be investing in strip clubs."
"Hmm, that would be Xavier Marlow, of Los Angeles, California, and you're right sir, young Xavier didn't choose this investment himself. It seems he inherited it along with a number of other stocks, bonds and investments when his grandfather, Thaddeus Marlow, passed away three years ago. I guess inheriting millions is a pretty nice graduation present. And… it would appear Xavier actually hasn't been in the country for the past three weeks," Garcia said with surprise. "Being rich has its perks. The last purchase he made was at the Four Seasons in Monte Carlo."
"Well, his lavishness and indifference to leaving a paper trail already shows us he doesn't fit the profile. And there's no way he could have killed Victor LaRoux if he's been out of the country the past three weeks. We can cut him from our list as well…" Hotch said with a sigh.
"What else stands out to you all?" Hotch asked, trying to push his team to expand their thought-processes.
"From the way the Unsub has been talking… saying things like 'destined,' and that he believes he has some kind of relationship with Spencer, it sounds like he thinks he knows Spencer. That's not something someone usually develops over the course of just a week," J.J. said, seeming lost in thought as she remembered back to the conversation she listened in on yesterday.
"Hmm… so that might be important. The Unsub most likely had an opportunity to meet Spencer, somehow, before he killed Victor LaRoux," Rossi said, running with J.J's postulations.
"So, we're not thinking it's just a client from the club?" Garcia piped in.
"No, baby girl, I really think this is something completely different," Derek said with a dark look on his face.
"I agree. The fixation on Spencer is not just a whimsical infatuation. This is much more deep-seated. The Unsub had to plan to find out all this information about Spencer. And this possessiveness would have needed time to build. Did the Unsub say anything that could give us an idea of what has been motivating his obsession?" Hotch asked.
"Well, he talked about the fact that he and Spencer belonged together, and how he wants to protect him. And while the guy definitely seemed to talk about Spencer in ownership terms, it didn't seem as if he thought Spencer was beneath him… but more like Spencer needed to be…'re-educated.' I kind of got the impression that he wanted to be with Spencer because he thought he had something in common with him," Emily said.
"So, it would be a good idea to look into how any of the suspects' pasts may mirror Spencer's in some way. And I think it's very likely he's closer to Spencer's age than further," Hotch said.
"Garcia, let's tentatively narrow the list to any males between 25 and 35," he instructed.
"Sure thing, boss man," she said as her fingers flew over the keys.
"That leaves us with 17 names," she said.
"Anyone with a criminal record?" Derek asked, hopefully.
Garcia did a quick search and let out a defeated sigh.
"Nothing. Zilch. Nada," she huffed. "The most we've got is lots of speeding tickets for expensive sports cars. But these guys have all pretty much stayed under the radar. From a cursory search there really isn't any dirt on any of them."
"Garcia, I want you to work with this list of names and dig. Gather all the information you can find on those men. I want to know everything from what hospital they were born in, to where they went to school, to where they had dinner last night. Everything. And find anything that has ever been printed on them," Hotch instructed.
"Once you put that list together, I want you to get the best pictures of them possible. I know none of them have criminal records, but I want something that we can use to build a photo array to show Spencer. It's likely he's come across this man before and just doesn't know it," he continued.
"Can do, will do, and so happy to do, sir!" she said as she quickly wrote down all his instructions.
"That's it for now, Garcia. Thanks for your help," Hotch said as he leaned closer to the speaker.
"Always a pleasure, sir. Garcia-out," she announced as she disconnected the call.
Hotch glanced at his wristwatch. Almost an hour had passed.
"Ok, everyone, I think we made really good progress. A list of 17 names is far easier to work with than hundreds. We're likely very close to catching this guy, so I want all of you on your toes," he said as he looked meaningfully at each of his team.
"The closer we get to cornering him, the more he is going to feel threatened and is likely to act out, as we saw first hand last night. He's usually someone who likes to operate in the shadows, and his attempt to run Morgan down was out of character for him. It means he's losing control. This might mean he's more likely to slip up, but it also may mean he'll forego acting from the background and may be more willing to confront us," Hotch warned.
He then glanced at Emily and J.J.
"I'm going to send you two back over to Spencer's. I don't want to give him any reason to be more scared than he has to, but I want you two to avoid leaving the apartment if you can today. You can take him to work in the afternoon, but other than that try to keep him distracted. I don't want to give the Unsub any opportunities to grab him," Hotch said seriously.
J.J. and Emily nodded solemnly. Everyone knew that the Unsub's likely end-goal was probably to abduct the boy. His obsession and possessiveness wouldn't allow him to let Spencer exist outside of his purview for very much longer. They just weren't sure what the man intended to do with Spencer if he ever got his hands on him. But no one was willing to give the man that chance.
"Rossi, I got a message from the Medical Examiner this morning, saying she wants someone to head down there and take another look at the body. She was finally able to get all the reports from the previous kills and may have discovered a useful link," Hotch said as he turned to the older profiler.
Rossi nodded as he stood to his feet.
Derek furrowed his brow. He hadn't been given an assignment. As his colleagues started to gather their things, Derek hissed slightly as he got to his feet as well, quickly being reminded of his aching side.
"Hotch," Derek began as he looked at his superior.
"Morgan, I want you to stay at the station this morning and go through the remaining case files with me," Hotch instructed.
Derek flinched. He knew Hotch was keeping him back because he thought he was injured. But this was ridiculous. Derek wasn't the type to sit around thumbing through files. He belonged in the field.
"Are you kidding me, Hotch?" Derek asked, in disbelief.
The senior agent glanced at him, and the rest of the team paused to observe them.
"Part of profiling requires us to study past cases. We build our profile based on what the Unusb's prior actions tell us about what motivates him to offend. If you for some reason think that that isn't an important function, then we have much bigger problems," Hotch said with a shrug.
"Come on. It's not like I don't know that. But, you're really keeping me here because you think I'm not fit for the field," Derek complained.
"No, I'm keeping you here because I value your opinion and insight, and believe that we can make a lot of leeway with our combined effort," Hotch said simply.
Derek sighed in resignation. There wasn't much way to argue with that.
As the rest of the team began to file out the door, Emily placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
"We all had to pay our dues on this case, Morgan. Do you think J.J. and I liked spending yesterday wading through a bunch of really convoluted case files? Be glad we took care of most of the California portion of it for you," she said pointedly.
He shot her an annoyed look, but he knew she was right.
"Prentiss," he said, stopping her in her tracks.
Emily glanced back at him with a curious look.
"Tell the kid I say hey?"
She nodded at him and smiled.
"Sure thing, Morgan."

When the two agents arrived at Spencer's apartment, they were actually looking forward to spending the day with the young man. Emily knocked on the door and they waited patiently for it to be answered. They listened as the on-duty officer unlocked the door and they greeted him as he let them in.
As they walked into the living room they saw Spencer smiling at them from the couch. It appeared that he was playing chess. Against himself.
"Is that what you usually do?" Emily asked, as she gestured to the chessboard, sounding impressed.
Spencer laughed.
"Not if I can help it. But Officer Matthews couldn't be convinced to play," Spencer said as he smiled good-naturedly at the stoic officer.
"I told Mr. Reid I'm not much for these mind games," the officer said with a shrug.
J.J. laughed.
"To be honest, I wouldn't want to play him either. I think he'd beat us all," she said with a smile.
"What've you got there?" Spencer asked as he got to his feet and walked around Emily and J.J. He was pointing at the two bags they were carrying.
"Ever the observant little genius," Emily said good-naturedly. "Of course we came bearing breakfast again for our favorite charge."
Spencer perked up.
"Really?" he asked.
"Yup. But today we decided to be a bit healthier than the sugary abominations we brought over yesterday. So we have egg whites and cheese on multi-grain English muffins. We saw how empty your cupboards were yesterday and figured you didn't make a habit of eating a good breakfast," J.J. said, giving him a knowing look.
Spencer blushed.
"Well… I might have had two of the leftover pastries for breakfast this morning," he admitted sheepishly.
Emily rolled her eyes but couldn't help but chuckle.
"Ok, you take this stuff into the kitchen while we debrief Officer Matthews here," she said as she handed the bags to the eager boy. Nodding, Spencer took the bags from her but before walking away he glanced inside.
"Yes, coffee!" he said happily before he made his way into the kitchen.
The two women exchanged a look and couldn't help but chuckle as they listened to the boy busying himself in the kitchen.
"Spencer, that extra coffee's for Officer Matthews, so don't get carried away," Emily informed him.
"I was thinking it was a lucky bonus," Spencer said as he walked into the living room carrying the large cup of coffee. He handed it over to the officer before returning to his task in the kitchen.
"Thanks," the officer said as he raised the cup and smiled at the two women.
"Our pleasure. We appreciate you standing in for us this morning. We know it was a lot asking you to extend your shift," J.J. said.
"Absolutely no problem," he said.
"Anything to update or report since our teams switched?" Emily asked.
"Everything was quiet on my end. But I'm more concerned about whether you two ladies are gonna be alright. What with what went down with your team last night and everything?" the officer asked as he appraised the two agents.
J.J. and Emily cringed at the officer's words. They hadn't intended to let Spencer know about the trouble they had experienced with the Unsub.
"We'll be fine, officer," J.J. said as she patted the holstered glock at her side, and gave the man a meaningful look.
"Wait, what happened last night?" Spencer asked from the kitchen.
The officer shot an apologetic look at the two agents.
"Well… I better be heading out. Enjoy your day, Mr. Reid," the officer called as he quickly made his way towards the door.
Emily and J.J. could only look on as the man made a hasty retreat and the door softly clicked shut behind him.
"Hey," Spencer said, as he walked out of the kitchen, "what was he talking about? Did something happen last night?"
The two women exchanged a look, wondering what they should say.
"Look, Spencer," J.J. said, speaking up first, "we didn't really want to cause you any alarm. So that's why we didn't tell you. But… we sort of had a run-in with the Unsub last night."
Spencer's eyes widened in shock. The Unsub had been there last night, and no one had told him?
"I… I don't understand. Why wouldn't you tell me that?" he asked, his voice slightly laced with betrayal.
"Our supervisor made an executive decision. He didn't think it was worth it to get you all riled up when we were certain the Unsub wouldn't return. And with all the law enforcement officers on the street last night, there was no way you would be in any danger," Emily explained.
"So, did you end up seeing what he looked like? What happened?" Spencer asked.
"To be honest, no one really got a good look at him. Morgan got the closest, but then with him getting hit by the car-" Emily began but then gasped when she realized her slip.
Spencer stared at her with horrified eyes.
"Der- A-Agent Morgan got hit by a car!?" he asked, voice strained.
Spencer felt as if his heart was in his throat.
J.J. quickly swooped in to amend the situation.
"Spencer, Spencer, relax," she soothed. "Agent Morgan's fine. He wasn't really 'hit' by the car, just kind of grazed. He got a little scuffed up but he was back on his feet in a matter of seconds. And our boss forced him to go to the hospital, even though Morgan complained the whole way. The doctor gave him a clean bill of health and he was back in the briefing room with us this morning. So, believe me. He's totally fine. You don't have to worry at all."
Emily quickly nodded in support of J.J.'s assertions.
Spencer tried to process J.J.'s words and tell himself to calm down. He didn't think they would lie to him about this. So he knew that Derek was probably fine, just like they said. But the idea of Derek being hurt at all, and especially because of him, made him sick with worry.
"You're sure? Absolutely sure?" Spencer asked, locking eyes with the two agents.
"Absolutely, Spencer. Trust us," J.J. said.
Spencer let out a sigh, feeling himself relax a bit.
"Ok… but you have to tell me what happened," he said, leaving no room for argument.
"The only one who really knows is Morgan. We got separated for a few minutes and were only able to see the car driving away and Morgan on the ground. But, before that, we saw someone in dark clothes slinking around the back courtyard, so we gave chase. The man had a head start and although Morgan was able to keep up, the rest of us lost sight of him. It seems he was able to get into his car and he… well, it seems he tried to purposefully run Morgan down. But he was able to jump out of the way at the last minute," J.J. explained.
Spencer shook his head as he thought about the Unsub's boldness. He couldn't believe the man would try to run Derek down, even though he was being pursued by a team of Federal agents. And it didn't sit well with him that the man had seemed to be attempting to get into his apartment again.
"So, what's going to happen? Were you guys able to track him or anything?" he asked.
"Unfortunately, no. All we know is that he was driving a black car of some sort. Morgan and Rossi think it's a luxury vehicle. But that's not that uncommon in Vegas. And the guy didn't have plates, so our analyst didn't have much to work with," Emily explained.
Seeing that Spencer was getting that defeated look on his face again, J.J. knew she had to give him a better outlook.
"But! We had a really productive briefing this morning. We were able to get together and really start to pick apart this guy's profile. And right now our technical analyst has about 17 guys she's going to run background checks on. So I really feel like we'll weed this guy out pretty soon," she said encouragingly.
Spencer let out a sigh as he shrugged.
"I hope so," was all he said.
Emily and J.J. exchanged concerned looks.
"Hey, how about we start in on that breakfast?" Emily asked with a smile.
"I'm… not really hungry," Spencer said, voice still sounding deflated.
"Well, you're not going to let that coffee go to waste, now will you?" Emily asked, feigning shock.
Spencer's lip quirked upward in a slight smile as he glanced at her.
"I guess that would be quite a waste, huh?" he asked.
"Definitely," J.J. said as she led him into the kitchen.

When Rossi arrived at the Medical Examiner's office, he was just finishing the last of his bagel. He had stopped off for a quick bite to eat on his way over and had appreciated having had the quiet time to himself. He allowed himself the quick detour because he always figured when it came to dead bodies, having them waiting a couple more minutes never hurt anybody. While enjoying his breakfast, he had spent a few minutes thinking about a topic that had recently been plaguing his thoughts. Namely, what to do about Morgan and Spencer.
The senior profiler had been picking up 'vibes' from the younger agent throughout the course of the investigation and he had an inkling he knew what those vibes meant. Derek seemed to be enamored with the boy, and Rossi would bet on it that Spencer was making eyes over the tall, dark agent as well. He felt pretty confident in assuming that Spencer had been the one to initiate things.
He had not had much time to interact with Spencer, but the few times he had, Spencer always seemed to hang on Derek Morgan's every word. Even in the beginning, when Spencer had seemed to be angry at the agent, he still focused on him more than any of the other members of the team. It also wasn't lost on the seasoned profiler that every time there was contact from the Unsub, the first person Spencer called was Morgan. It wasn't like Spencer couldn't call the local police, just by dialing 911. That would have immediately gotten him in contact with the FBI, and most likely Hotch, who was the supervisor of the team. Most victims of crime would prefer to deal with the first in command. Spencer was different.
Albeit, there wasn't necessarily anything strange about the fact that Spencer seemed to gravitate toward Morgan. It was understandable that the boy probably felt more comfortable confiding in another man than he would with the female agents. And Morgan was probably the closest in age to Spencer. But, Rossi was aware of how guarded Spencer had been when he first met Morgan. It had seemed like Morgan was the furthest from anyone Spencer would ever want to rely on. But, something had noticeably changed. Rossi wasn't quite sure what had transpired between them, but he was sure it had to do with the conversation Spencer and Morgan had had the day Morgan was assigned to interview Spencer.
And it was obvious that Morgan had undergone a drastic change as well. Initially, Morgan treated the boy like a pest. Someone with a bad attitude that he had had to put up with as a function of the case. But, now, Morgan was almost territorial. As if he didn't trust anyone to protect Spencer. Rossi knew it wasn't because Morgan doubted the team's ability—he would probably be the first person to sing his team's praises. Instead, it seemed more like Morgan just couldn't relax unless he was with Spencer. Rossi had definitely noticed how tense the man was when Hotch would give him assignments away from Spencer, and how much the tension had eased when Morgan would come back from seeing the boy.
But Rossi wasn't about to begrudge the younger agent his tiny bit of happiness. It was very hard to find the silver lining in this type of job. More often than not, they were called in too late and too many people had died for them to feel like they had really helped anyone. Sure, it felt good to stop a killer in his or her tracks, but there was always a lingering sense of defeat when so many had died before they had had a chance to intervene. Being able to know you played a role in stopping someone from becoming a psychopath's latest victim was one of the most rewarding parts of the job. So Rossi personally understood why Morgan was so invested. He wanted to save Spencer.
However, when that interest in saving Spencer, turned into an interest in Spencer, Rossi couldn't quite say. But he was sure that was what it was. Something had shifted, and, judging by the look in Morgan's eyes lately, he had realized it too. Rossi had even seen it last night when Morgan had first arrived at the surveillance van. Something was troubling him. He was distracted. And since Morgan had just left the boy's apartment, it didn't take much for Rossi to deduce that something Spencer had done had ruffled Morgan's feathers. Rossi didn't know what Morgan intended to do about whatever it was that had happened between him and Spencer, but Morgan had definitely channeled whatever frustration he was feeling into his pursuit of the Unsub last night. To a certain extent, Morgan had even been a bit reckless.
What was gnawing at Rossi, however, was his concern about how 'serious' Morgan's interest in the boy was or whether that interest would linger after this case. He didn't think that would be good for anybody. While Rossi, personally, would thumb his nose at protocol and professionalism, he believed Morgan probably subscribed to the rules a bit more. He knew the younger agent would grapple with the morality of getting involved with a victim, and especially during an active case. So, if Derek wasn't serious, it would be in his best interest to end this thing quickly before things got too complicated and someone got hurt.
Shaking his head as he pushed open the doors to the morgue, Rossi decided he would let the day run its course and if any other concerning developments surfaced he would have to pull Morgan aside and have a talk with him. If only just to force the younger agent to deal with the issue head-on.

Emily and J.J. had spent the better part of the morning trying to divert Spencer's attention from the ongoing case and get the boy's mind off of their injured colleague. They could tell that he felt guilty. They had succeeded in convincing him to play them in chess, and after four games the boy had pretty much destroyed them. They even played one game as a team, and were still defeated. But, the two agents didn't mind since it seemed to keep the conversation far from the topic of the sociopath that was after him.
Throwing her hands up in frustration, J.J. sat back.
"To be honest, I don't really think this is fair," she said with a frown. "The odds are definitely stacked against us here. But, if you want to have a quick-draw or marksmanship contest, you better believe I'd win."
Emily laughed as she patted J.J. on the back.
"Don't mind her, Spencer. There aren't many things J.J.'s bad at, and as a result, she doesn't like to lose," Emily explained.
Spencer smiled brightly at them.
"Well, I have pretty poor hand-eye coordination," he said sheepishly. "Hence, why I was abysmal at all sports in high school. So I'm sure you'd sweep the floor with me."
J.J. laughed at that.
"Aww, come on. I know you're just trying to soothe my bruised ego," she said. "But, hey, if you ever wanna learn how to hit a bulls' eye from 100 feet away, I'll teach you."
"I still think I'd be awful, but you're really kind for offering," he said with a sweet smile.
"Aww, can we keep him?" J.J. asked playfully as she ruffled Spencer's hair, causing the boy to blush. "I really don't think you'd be bad at anything though."
The smile slowly disappeared from Spencer's face, and the two women could tell that something was bothering him.
J.J.'s comment had reminded Spencer that he definitely wasn't good at everything. Namely the fact that he couldn't seem to convince Agent Morgan to give him the time of day.
"Spencer? Is everything alright?" Emily asked.
"I tried to flirt with the guy I like," he said suddenly.
J.J. and Emily stared at him in shock. Spencer was sitting on the couch looking dejected as he stared down at his hands. They hadn't expected him to say something like that. But they were even more surprised that they had just had a discussion about this yesterday and Spencer had already tried it on his 'special someone.' When had he found the time?
"So… I'm guessing it might not have gone exactly as you had hoped?" Emily asked, sympathetically.
Spencer blushed but continued to stare down at his hands.
"I honestly don't know," he said, frustration clear in his voice. "Uh… he seemed like he was into it… you know, from what I could tell based on his uh… 'physical' reaction. But his mouth was saying something different."
J.J. blushed as she glanced at Emily who had an equally startled expression on her face.
"Uh… if you don't mind us asking…what exactly did you do?" Emily asked hesitantly, not sure she wanted to venture into this territory.
"I…I really don't want to say," Spencer mumbled out as he covered his blushing face with his hands, still refusing to meet their eyes.
"O-okay… Um, well, you said it seemed like he was into it, but he said he wasn't, right? So, what did he say exactly?" Emily asked, hoping that talking about feelings, instead of physical reactions, was a safer territory.
"Uh… well, he said that it was unprofessional," Spencer said as he finally looked at them and rolled his eyes in frustration.
The two women cast a knowing look to each other. From what he was saying, they could only assume Spencer's crush must be a coworker.
"Well… those kinds of relationships are always really tough. Especially if someone's worried they might lose their job if they get involved with someone. It's a hard decision to make," J.J. explained.
"T-there's no reason why he should lose his job. What's the big deal? It's not like I'm a minor or anything," Spencer said, petulantly.
Emily and J.J. exchanged another look. Now it seemed that the person Spencer was interested in might be quite a bit older than him.
"Well, even if it might not seem inappropriate to you, you still have to respect the fact that that other person might not be comfortable stepping over that line. You're definitely not a minor, but you are pretty young, Spencer. How old is this other person?" J.J. asked.
Spencer frowned as he thought about it. He really didn't know very much about Derek at all.
"Um… I'm not actually quite sure. But, I doubt he's any more than 10 years older than me," he said.
"Ten years might not seem like a lot if you were 25 and he was 35, but the difference between 19 and 29 is a lot of 'life' experience, Spencer," Emily said.
Spencer gave her an unimpressed look.
"I have a lot of 'life experience,'" he said flatly, giving her a pointed look.
Emily cringed at that, thinking about what exactly Spencer had had to go through in his short life to have gotten to this point. He was right. He probably did have more life experience than other kids his age. But that didn't necessarily mean he was more emotionally mature. Emily glanced at J.J. and the blonde gave her a reassuring smile.
"Spencer, what I think you should do is put the ball in his court. If you think he's attracted to you, but he's hiding behind something else to justify why a relationship wouldn't work out, you should let him explain himself. You did your part. You told him you like him, and now he has to decide if he wants to pursue something or if he's going to reject you. Giving empty excuses isn't good enough. He owes you a serious answer," J.J. told him.
"I… didn't exactly tell him I l-like him," Spencer muttered, returning his gaze to his hands.
"Okay…? So… you basically tried to jump his bones without telling him why you were doing so?" Emily asked, sounding a bit perplexed.
Spencer nodded silently as he began to nibble on his bottom lip.
"Well… maybe it would help things if he understood where you were coming from. If he thinks getting involved with you might get him in trouble professionally… or morally, there's no way he'd risk that if he thought you were only interested in a one-night stand," Emily explained.
"T-that's not what I wanted!" Spencer sputtered out. "At least… I don't think it was…"
Seeing that the boy was obviously confused, the two women sighed.
J.J. reached over and laid a gentle hand on Spencer's arm, causing him to look up at her.
"Maybe that's something you should figure out before the next time you talk to him. And then, once you've got your thoughts in order, you can try again and make it clear to him where you're coming from," she said with a reassuring smile.
Spencer gave her a small smile, nodding his understanding and suddenly feeling less hopeless about his situation. The next time he talked to Derek Morgan, Spencer would make sure the man couldn't misinterpret his intent.
Emily and J.J. smiled at each other, happy that they could help assuage some of the boy's concerns. Little did the two know that they were helping to arm Spencer with an arsenal to take down their unsuspecting colleague.

A/N: So, there we have it! It's like Derek & Spencer never meet in the day time. But, naughty things tend to happen at night, hahha, so I guess that's fine ;P. As always, please let me know your thoughts! I look forward to hearing from you!
xoxo
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