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The alarm is loud, blaring next to Derek’s ear. He squints against the bright desert sun streaming in through a gap in the curtains and fumbles for his phone, desperate to stop the noise. He feels awful, his head pounding and his mouth dry. It’s rare that he ever drinks enough to feel hungover these days, the risk of getting called in for a case is too high, but...they’ve been on a rough stretch of back-to-back cases with no break, and they’re in Vegas, and Hotch had let them loose to blow off some steam with the firm instructions to be back on the jet by four this afternoon.
Next to him, someone groans and Derek startles. He turns and finds Reid, his face mashed deep into the pillow. Derek can’t help laughing. Reid’s hair looks especially like a bird’s nest this morning, and his shirt is half unbuttoned like he’d tried to take it off and given up. He still has one shoe on.
“Why are you being so loud,” Reid grumbles.
“Coffee,” Derek says. “I’m gonna go find coffee.”
“Bacon.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Derek rolls out of bed, as clothed as Reid is. He at least managed to get both his shoes off, though. He shoves his feet into his boots and makes his way down to the lobby.
The continental breakfast is one of the better ones he’s encountered in his decade of traveling with the BAU, and after he finds coffee he loads up two plates with eggs, bacon, and English muffins.
“Either you’re extra hungry, or you had a much better night than the rest of us,” Emily says, appearing at his side. She’s wearing sunglasses that cover most of her face.
“Neither. Reid crashed in my room. He’s probably puking right about now.”
Emily winces. “I wondered where he ended up after they escorted him out of the casino.”
As she says it, the memory floats back to him, still a little hazy. Reid hadn’t been playing cards, just watching (and undoubtedly counting cards) while Derek played, but that technicality hadn’t mattered to the pit boss. Derek thinks that’s how they ended up in the hotel bar…with an Elvis impersonator? Gotta love Vegas.
“JJ’s got Advil, if you need it.”
“Thanks.” Derek says. “I’ve got some in my bag, too. Gonna take this up to the kid. See you on the plane.”
“Yeah,” Emily says. “Assuming this hangover doesn’t kill me first.”
Derek makes it back to the room without running into any other members of the team, but when he pats his pockets looking for his room key, he comes up empty. He knocks on the door.
“Let me in, pretty boy. I have coffee. And bacon.”
He hears Reid stumbling around on the other side of the door, and when it swings open Reid only looks marginally more awake than he did fifteen minutes ago. Derek hands him a plate and one of the coffees, and Reid sits on the second, still-made bed. For a long stretch, they both eat in miserable, hungover silence.
“So, uh,” Reid says, when he finishes his breakfast. “How much of last night do you remember?”
“I remember getting escorted out of the casino and going to the hotel bar. We had drinks with Elvis, I think. It’s fuzzy after that. You?”
“Not much. I was hoping you might remember this because I can’t.” Reid holds up his left hand. At first, Derek’s not sure what he’s supposed to be looking at. Then, he realizes there’s a gold band on Reid’s ring finger. He looks down at his own hand. There’s a matching ring there. He has only his hangover to blame for not noticing it until now.
“Shit, Spencer. Did we get married ?”
“I looked around for a marriage certificate, and I didn’t find one, so I don’t think it was legal. I did find this, though.”
He picks a photo up off of the nightstand and hands it to Derek. It’s a standard cheesy Vegas wedding picture, complete with Elvis. (The same one from the hotel bar? Or was Derek just remembering him in the hotel bar because he can’t actually remember the wedding?) Reid is grinning at the camera, and Derek is smiling at Reid.
It’s...pretty much what he’s always worried his face is doing anytime Reid smiles like that. He’s not sure he likes having photographic evidence of it.
“Okay,” he says. “So we did the most cliche Vegas thing ever. It’s fine, right? Nobody else was there, it wasn’t legal so it’s not pinging on Garcia’s computer—”
Reid groans. “Oh, god, I didn’t think of that.”
“—and I’m pretty sure we didn’t tell anyone, or Emily would’ve said something when I ran into her just now at breakfast.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think maybe I told my mom? I checked my messages, and I have one from her.”
“What did she say?”
“You can listen to it.” Reid says, and he hands Derek his phone.
It feels like a weird invasion of privacy to listen to a message from Reid’s mother, especially while Reid sits right across from him, but he presses play anyway.
“Spencer, it’s Mom. I was very surprised to get your message this morning, and even more surprised by its contents. But you sounded...very happy, and I hope you’ll bring your young man today so I can meet him. I love you.”
“Yeah,” Derek sighs. “You definitely told her.”
Reid flops backwards on the bed and covers his face with his hands. “I hate that I can’t remember any of this. Is this how everyone else feels all the time?”
Derek snorts. “Turns out your brain is as susceptible to alcohol as the rest of us. I’d be surprised you didn’t figure that out in college, except you were twelve.”
Reid nods. “Yeah.”
“It’s gonna be fine. Do you want me to go with you to talk to your mom?”
“No,” Reid shakes his head. “I think that will just be confusing for her. I should go shower and head over there. Thanks for breakfast.”
“No problem, hubby,” Derek says, but he regrets it immediately from the way Reid’s face goes carefully blank. “Sorry. Too soon?”
“Something like that.” Reid nods. “See you later, Morgan.”
He leaves the room without a backward glance, and it shouldn’t make Derek’s heart lurch, but it does. He feels almost certain that last night has changed everything between them. Not even changed it, ruined it.
Reid left the picture behind, and Derek picks it up again. He should throw it away. Or burn it. They don’t need anybody finding it and jumping to conclusions. He picks up his go-bag instead, and opens one of the inner pockets. He’ll stash it there and figure out what he wants to do with it when they get back to D.C.
Except, there’s already something in the pocket. Derek pulls out the folded piece of paper, trying to remember what he would’ve put here. He unfolds it, and groans.
It’s a Clark County marriage certificate.
Spencer has every intention of clearing things up with his mother. He may be a decade late on the “stupid decisions made while drunk” phase of adulthood, but he knows on a good day, his mom won’t be too upset. But he can tell as soon as he arrives that today isn’t a good day. She’s jumpy and anxious, fidgeting in her chair and not really meeting his eyes. For the first hour of his visit, he doesn’t even mention Morgan and the wedding, sure that it’s slipped her mind.
And maybe it had, but at some point the ring he definitely needs to take off (especially before he gets on the jet this afternoon) catches her eye, and she reaches over to grab his hand. She squeezes it, and smiles.
“Tell me all about it,” she says. “You never even said you were seeing anyone.”
I wasn’t, he should say, it was just a drunk mistake we made last night. But he doesn’t. Because she looks so hopeful, so ready to hear good news from him, especially after years of mostly hard, bad, and frightening things happening to him.
“We’ve been keeping it really quiet,” he says, “since we work together.”
“Still seems like the kind of thing you could tell your mother.”
“I know, but I wanted to tell you in person.”
“All right. So tell.”
Spencer isn’t a very good liar. His best bet is to stay as close to the truth as he can. “I’ve always had a bit of a crush on Derek, pretty much since I joined the FBI. We were new to the BAU together. I didn’t think he felt the same way. But six months ago, we were supposed to go out for drinks with the team, and then everyone else ended up canceling so it was just me and Derek. And it was different.”
Spencer doesn’t think he was imagining it, sitting in that little booth with Derek in a dimly lit bar, their knees almost touching under the table, three drinks in and leaning close to one another, Derek flirting a little more than usual, Spencer letting the alcohol lower some of his walls. Had Penelope not joined them after what she described as the worst date she’d ever been on (“and don’t forget I had a date that ended with me getting shot ”), Spencer’s pretty sure they would’ve kissed. Maybe even gone home together.
There have been a few times since then, when that same feeling has crept back in between them but they’ve never been alone long enough to do anything about it. By design, Spencer thinks, although whether his own or Derek’s, he’s not sure. He wonders if that’s what happened last night. He hates that he can’t remember it, for so many reasons.
“We started spending more time together, just the two of us. We’ve known each other so long it was pretty serious right away. And then last night, we’d had a few drinks,” he looks down at his hands, the ring glinting up at him, “and it just seemed like a really good idea to get married. It was a little bit impulsive. Not very rational, honestly.”
“But you’re happy?” his mom asks. “You sounded happy in your message.”
“Yeah,” he says and forces a smile onto his face that he hopes is convincing. “I’m happy.”
“Good. Did you take any pictures?”
“Oh,” Spencer says. “Um. Derek has most of them on his phone.” That seems plausible. “But I did bring you one.”
There had been two copies of their photo from the wedding chapel in the cardboard folder he’d found in his bag this morning, and although he’d been intending to keep one and study it in detail as soon as he’s alone, to try to glean any information at all from it, it’s clear now that he’s this deep into the lie, he’s going to have to give it to his mom. He pulls it out of his bag and hands it to her.
“I should’ve gotten you a frame.”
She shakes her head. “I can find a frame.” She looks at the photo for a long minute, and when she looks back up at him there are tears in her eyes. “I haven’t seen you smile like that in a long time.”
His stomach twists with guilt. The problem with a lie like this is that there’s never going to be an easy way out of it. He’s either going to have to invent a divorce in a few months and disappoint her, or he’s going to have to tell her about the lie and disappoint her…or he’s going to spend the rest of his life lying to his mother and pretending he’s married when he’s not? What’s he going to do? Make up a house they buy together, and children they adopt, and job milestones until his mom doesn’t know anything real about him anymore?
This is very, very bad.
Reid looks terrible when Derek boards the jet, sitting in one of the chairs at the back of the plane, separate from everyone. To be fair, most of the team looks like they’ve seen better days. Rossi has his head back against the headrest, his eyes closed. JJ is in sweats and a hoodie, curled up on the sofa. Emily is sipping ginger ale and still has her giant sunglasses on. Only Hotch looks normal, sitting at the table and flipping through a file. He’s even wearing a suit while the rest of them are dressed down.
But Reid’s mouth is set in a grim line, his eyes sad, and he still looks as pale as he did this morning when Derek woke up next to him.
He goes and takes the seat opposite Reid.
“You okay?” he asks. “How was your mom?”
“We can’t talk about this here,” Reid hisses, shaking his head.
“Yeah,” Derek says. “Okay. I’ll drive you home when we land. We can talk.”
Reid nods once, and looks down at the open book in his lap. Derek gets the same sinking feeling he did in the hotel room this morning, when Reid had hurried out.
Reid doesn’t turn a page for the entire flight.
“Do you need to get anything from your desk?” Derek asks him when they get back to Quantico, and Reid shakes his head. Derek can feel JJ’s eyes on them as they walk to the parking garage, but he chooses to ignore her. He unlocks his truck and Reid throws his go-bag into the back seat before climbing in. Once Derek is sitting in the driver’s seat with the door closed, Reid looks miserably over at him.
“I lied to my mom,” he says. “I told her we’ve been dating for six months and intentionally got married last night. I was going to clear things up but she was having a bad day and I only ever tell her bad news and I just…couldn’t this time. I’m sorry. It was stupid. I feel so guilty about it.”
“We’re legally married,” Derek says. “I found the marriage certificate when I was packing up my stuff this morning after you left. So, on the upside, you only lied a little bit.”
Reid stares at him, mouth agape. “Well, fuck,” he says.
It’s pretty much the last thing he expected Reid to say, and it startles a laugh out of him. A beat later, Reid is laughing too, but it takes a sharp turn into the sort of panicked laugh that isn’t actually all that funny, and Derek reaches across the center console to put his hand on Reid’s shoulder. Reid inhales a shaky breath and then another, but it cuts through some of the panic.
“Let’s get you home,” Derek says.
Getting to Reid’s Georgetown apartment from Quantico is a total bitch, even with traffic mostly on their side at this time of night, and Derek can understand why Reid always takes the train instead. He’s at least lucky to find a parking spot on Reid’s block, and if he’s surprised that Derek is parking and coming inside, he doesn’t let it show.
Derek’s only been here a few times, and never actually set foot inside, but Reid’s apartment is exactly what he might’ve guessed it would be, had anyone asked him to paint them a picture. That wall of books, the broken-in leather furniture, the thick Oriental rugs; it feels a little like stepping through the doorway into another time. If there’s a TV, it’s well-hidden, and the record player in the corner could just as easily be an old gramaphone and not look out of place.
Reid stands a little awkwardly in his living room for a second and then he shoots Derek a nervous smile. “Sorry. This feels weird. Nobody from the team has ever been here before.”
“Really?” Derek frowns. “Not even JJ?”
“I always go to her house.” Reid fidgets with his sleeves, pushing them up. The buttons on the cuffs are undone, though, so they just slide right back down. “Do you want to sit?” Derek sits on one end of the couch. It’s more comfortable than he expected and he lets himself sink a little deeper into it. Reid sits at the other end. “What are we gonna do?” Reid asks, huffing out a sigh.
“We’ll find a lawyer, get it all straightened out. Hotch probably knows someone. Rossi definitely does.”
“We can’t ask them,” Reid says, his voice climbing an octave.
“I wasn’t planning on saying it was for us. I could just say I’m asking for a friend. But we shouldn’t tell the team, right?” Derek isn’t actually sure about this, certain they aren’t really going to be able to keep it secret.
“We probably have to tell Garcia,” Reid says. “You were right earlier, it’s gonna ping on her computer at some point…she knew when I had that root canal and there wasn’t even a legal paper trail for that.”
“I think we have to tell Hotch, too.” Reid opens his mouth, ready to argue. “Think about it, pretty boy. If we tell Garcia, it’s just gonna land her in hot water with Hotch and Strauss if it gets out and she knew and didn’t say anything. And it’s going to really piss Hotch off and I don’t think either of us wants to be on the receiving end of that.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Reid sighs and flops back against the couch, staring up at his ceiling. “All this for something we can’t even remember doing. What were we thinking?”
Derek wonders if he should be hurt by how bewildered Reid sounds. The thing is…Derek doesn’t like to play fast and loose with his feelings, doesn’t ever get into relationships he knows he can’t commit to, doesn’t take risks with his personal life. And then, eight years ago, Spencer Reid walked into the BAU with that brain and that face and Derek had flirted and Reid had blushed and Derek was gone. He’s spent almost a decade trying to hide it behind flirting so obvious it has to be a joke, but he thinks the only person he’s successfully hidden it from is Spencer.
He had thought maybe that was shifting, especially over the past few months. He was so sure that night they ended up in a bar, just the two of them. He could’ve killed Penelope when she showed up; he’d been minutes away from pulling Reid closer in that tiny booth and kissing him. There have been so many times since then that he’s wanted to, and he thought Reid did too.
He must’ve been wrong.
“Vegas, I guess,” he says, fighting against a wave of disappointment. Spencer is his friend, one of his best friends, and it’s fine if he doesn’t feel the same. Derek will be okay. “Must have seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Reid shoots him a scowl. “We haven’t even kissed, Derek, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t usually think about getting married to my platonic friends.”
“Oh, I figured we probably did at least do that.”
It’s rare that he gets to see Spencer’s brain short circuit in real time, but that’s absolutely what happens as Spencer processes what he said. Reid actually gets to his feet and starts pacing the rug in front of the couch. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “Because if we did, and I don’t remember then what is the point of having a memory like mine?” He closes his mouth abruptly and is suddenly unable to meet Derek’s eyes.
Hope explodes in Derek’s chest like a fourth of July firework. “You know,” he says, “you’re not the only one disappointed he can’t remember anything.”
Spencer looks at him, twisting his fingers together nervously, “Please don’t—if you’re joking—”
“Pretty boy,” Derek says, and watches some of the tension drain out of Spencer’s shoulders, “I am so far from joking. Come here.”
Spencer, at least, doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes two steps to the couch and Derek reaches for him, pulling him down into his lap.
“You know,” Spencer says, leaning close, “there are easier ways than marrying me to tell me you like me, Derek.”
“Maybe I’m just old fashioned,” Derek says, curling his hand around the back of Spencer’s neck and pulling him into a kiss, even as Spencer is laughing into his mouth. They get lost in it, hands and mouths everywhere, and Derek has no idea how long it’s been when his phone starts ringing loudly in his pocket, startling both of them. Spencer’s hair is wild and his mouth is red, there’s a hickey blooming on his neck and Derek’s got him all the way out of his vest and halfway out of his shirt, and it’s so reminiscent of how they’d woken up this morning (Jesus that was only this morning) that Derek now has a pretty good idea of what neither of them could remember.
“Ignore it?” Spencer suggests, hopefully.
“Let’s just see who it is.”
“It’s late,” he argues. “It’s either Garcia or a booty call.”
Derek laughs at the special treat of hearing the words booty call come out of Spencer’s mouth, even if he is going to have to clear some things up on that front. “The only person I’ve been hoping might booty call me lately is you.”
It takes some doing to get his phone out of his pocket, mostly because Spencer pointedly refuses to get out of his lap, and Derek’s not exactly complaining. It is, of course, Garcia.
“Hey mama,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant and probably failing, given that Spencer’s dragging his teeth down the side of his neck. “You’re up late.”
“Long story, but I’m a lady and don’t kiss and tell,” she says.
“Sure you do,” Derek laughs, “Just over margaritas with JJ and Emily.”
“So, weird thing,” she continues, ignoring this. Spencer starts tugging impatiently at Derek’s t-shirt. “You know how I upped all my notifications for the team after Foyett stole your credentials and used them?”
“Yep, I remember that,” Derek says. He catches Spencer’s wrists with his free hand.
“Not fair,” Spencer hisses.
“Now I get notified anytime your names pop up somewhere, and usually it’s normal stuff like insurance bills and credit checks, or it’s case-related but…I’m seeing a Clark County marriage license, dated yesterday, for you and one Spencer Reid. Which is probably just a coincidence, right? Just some other Spencer Reid and Derek Morgan who also happened to be in Vegas last night and got married?” Derek can hear the smirk in her voice. He’s also fairly certain he hears JJ and Emily shushing each other in the background. “Did you know there’s a Derek Morgan in Kansas City, Missouri who’s a chiropractor and has four Irish setters? Maybe it was him.”
“What do you think, pretty boy?” Derek asks. “That sound statistically likely to you?”
“Nope,” Spencer says, loud enough for Garcia and probably JJ and Emily to hear.
“Oh, you boys are gonna have some splainin’ to do Monday,” Garcia says, laughing.
“Night, baby girl,” Derek says, hanging up the phone and tossing it aside. “You still got that ring?”
“You’re crazy,” Spencer says, but he fishes it out of his pocket and hands it to Derek. Derek slips it back onto Spencer’s ring finger, right where it belongs. “Where’s yours?”
“Some profiler you are. I never actually took it off,” Derek says, showing him. “I figure we can’t let your mom and Garcia down.”
He watches a series of complicated emotions flicker across Spencer’s face, until finally a grin overtakes them all, and then he’s leaning in to kiss Derek again.