Author's Note: We're here. Holy shit, we're actually here.

When I started daydreaming about this . . . Holy shit, was it really last Valentine's Day? Damn . . . I never, EVER thought that this fic would go so far. I was imagining a one-shot songfic, maybe just beyond a drabble . . . but this has rapidly become a monster, and one of the pieces I've put the most of my heart into. Everything I've ever wanted to try with the characters, all of the things I've wanted to see and make them feel . . . they made their way into this story. And I've never actually cried when wrapping up a project before, but . . . damn. This one has meant so, so incredibly much to me. And you guys - all of you, the reviewers and the commenters and the PM-ers and the sharers and the lurkers alike - have boosted me into going beyond what I thought was possible, and into an area I'd never before fathomed. This isn't just my story, anymore . . . It's all of ours. And I am more than grateful for everything that's happened along the way.

So thank you, you wonderful, amazing, thoughtful, sexy people; we did it!

Warnings: Chapter names are borrowed from the "I'm With You" song lyrics. Major AU, kid!fic with two of my favorite CM boys, series-wide Criminal Minds spoilers, angst, melodrama . . . think of everything you hated about being a teenager, and multiply it by Spencer Reid. Ye have been warned.

Kudos: Purest of the Hearts: I'm . . . I'm sorry, sis you just CinemaSins me? Really? Cuz if we're going that route, then *DING* Review did not contain a lapdance. XD I knew it was a weird line to end on, especially since it was the penultimate chapter, but it just . . . fit. My apologies, I can get cheesier than a Taco Bell 5-Layer Burrito sometimes . . . But here's the last chapter, m'dear. I so hope you enjoy.

DarkJediQueen: Thank you, as always, for being hoenst in your reviews. It matters to me, I promise. And, I'm kinda with you on the subject; I've been enjoying Elle, but this story started off as Morgan/Reid, and I wanted to try to end it that way, too. There's a bit of a surprise at the end, of course - damn Annber03 and her inspiring ideas! AUGH. But otherwise, this is it for now. A little more (somewhat. maybe?) Sperek, and we'll call it a wrap. I kinda got the urge to write these two from this unniverse as adults at some point, but . . . wel, we'll see what happens. Thanks so much for staying true to this. It's been wonderful of you.

BAUProfileQueen: Not gonna lie, I kinda started when you said 'book.' Seriously, this is fanfiction . . . but, looking at the length, I'm kinda humbled to realize that this is the second-longest thing I've ever written . . . Damn. How'd that happen? And I have no idea if this will continue on from this point, or not . . . Like I've been joking about, I've been heavily into Septiplier shipping lately . . . But I'll never totally forget my darling Criminal Minds, of course. We'll just see what happens when it happens, non? Thanks for the dedication - you're always the peppiest of my readers, I'll grant that. *Smiles*

TazzieLuv13: Well-said. I couldn't agree with ya more, love. (Thanks for always making me grin with your reviews!)

Annber03: SOMEONE CAUGHT THE 'PIPECLEANER' THING! *Punches air* I hafta say, of all the abuse Reid has taken on the show for his 'boy band' hair and 'pretty' looks, that one comment from Season 4 has always stuck with me the most. "You look like a pipe cleaner with eyes." I HAVE to meet a cute, tall skinny guy, just so I can make that comment to him . . . Maybe someday. I really am glad that you've been so supportive of the way I've been writing Elle in this story . . . It's really been nothing short of terrifying for me, trying to take someone I previously was SO adamant about loathing, and making them into the kind of person that I admire, maybe even wish I was like, just a little bit . . . I've felt so out of depth ever since Elle stole the spotlight, but you've always made me think that I might just be doing okay with this whole thing. So, really and truly, thanks for that. It means the world to me. Without a doubt, you are one of the best reviewers - and friends - I've ever made on here, and it was with you (and a little bit of Sue1313, admittedly) that I tried to write a happy ending to this story. It felt weird, and a little cheesy, for me Angst Queen of Forevermore, but . . . I knew you'd like it. And I think Reid could use some happiness, too. So, thanks, as always for the wonderful input, and great advice. This one is completely for you, dear. *Hugz*

MW3Addict; Actually, I'm sort of mad-grateful that people didn't rip me a new one for ending yet another chapter with that line . . . I can't help myself though. As you said, it just . . . seems to fit. And I dunno about the rest of the writers on this site, but when I hear a line that I absolutely ADORE, I tend to want to repeat it over and over again, until I get sick of it (which, oddly, enough, I never really DO) . . . like "I know what makes people tick," when Sylar said it in HEROES, I could NOT stop thinking about it, for months afterwards . . . Might have a bit of a problem. XD, Oh, well, one of many, I suppose, right. I AM an FF writer, after all . . . And I'm glad that someone else can appreciate Anderson. I love that man more than words can say . . . If I didn't already have a Criminal Minds boo, man . . . Thanks for always pointing out the weird things that make me smile. I hope this last chapter does all you deserve to see from it.

Sue1313: I'm sorry, I'm so, SO sorry . . . I don't want to make Reid leave the group, not totally and completely . . . it would break my heart . . . I mean, if I had a heart. But, well . . . We all know it's coming. Sooner than you think. Reid's finally grown, maybe over only the course of a day or less, but I think we can all see how changed (for the better?) our little genius has become from his experiences with the group . . . And he can go home a better boy, become the man we all love so much . . . *Sighs* it's heartbreaking (and I'm sorry for taking joy in the effect I've managed to make on you, love), but it's right. And, who knows . . . Maybe I put in a little something at the end, just for you. You'll have to read and see. Thanks for always reviewing, no matter what crap I put out there. It's become a highlight of my day, often.

RissaGrace17: Can i just virtually hug you for relieving a HUGE fear of mine? I've never been as comfortable writing any other character than Spencer Reid, especially Garcia . . . Not that I don't love the woman, because trust me, I DO, but . . . she's no easy pixie to write. And so, I just took in, like, a ginormous breath of thanks that you, at least, found the conversation between the two of them realistic. One of my biggest concerns as a writer is making my characters seem . . . well, like themselves. that's why we love them and read about them in the first place, non? It's of the utmost to me that they make sense, and the fact that at least one reader gave me the stamp of approval . . . well, thank you. It's made me so much less nervous about posting this last chapter. If you liked the ending of #10, I'm sure you'll enjoy this one, LOLz. Thanks for the confidence boost . . . I needed it, today.

Kas3y: I think it's pretty obvious to almost everyone that deep down inside, Derek Morgan is just a giant pile of Marshmallow fluff. We all know it . . . Now, if he would just take off his shirt and prove it . . . Or just take off his shirt in general . . . XD. And this next chapter is the last, I fear . . . But I think it's ending right, exactly the way it needs to. We're not seeing anymore of Elle, just the end of Morgan and Reid, come whateverthefrickmay . . . Hopefully, you like it, though. Thanks for always saying exactly what was on your mind in your reviews; the honesty was needed, and quite a few of the tweaks I've made to this and other chapters were because of things you pointed out, and it's made for a better story, overall. I really appreciate that. And you. Thanks, girl.

Disclaimer: As much as it breaks my heart, I own neither Criminal Minds, nor Fanficnet, nor the wonderful ballad to which this story was written. I just adore all three from the bottom of the place where my heart is supposed to be. *Grins*

Enjoy!

Chapter Eleven

I'm With You

The path of destruction that the seemingly endless storm had left in its wake was undeniable. While thunderous gray clouds still dominated the sky overhead, the breeze in the air was soft, misleadingly gentle, almost spring-like as it carried on it the scent of torn wood, of old paint and rusting metal. Of dirt. Of smoke. Of storms.

The ground lay uneven from the torrents of water and mud, litters here and there with piles of gravel and sticks and stones and leaves and bones — of old plants. Among them were things more random, and somehow sadder — a few quarters, some misplaced doll, beams of wood that had ben ripped from some poor soul's house.

Really, the combination of all these things at once was overwhelming, and Reid had to purse his lips as he emerged from the underside of the bridge to keep from showing a reaction.

Behind him, Derek noticed the tensing of his muscles, but didn't say a word. He knew that this — whatever this was coming between him and the genius — was going to be a game-changer. And besides his faint awe of that, the older boy knew that if he wanted to make any difference now, he had to let Pretty Boy speak first.

Otherwise, everything after that would be worth nothing.

They picked their way around the sodden piles of debris, making much slower progress up the bridge than they had down.

Reid was the first one to see the bus stop.

"Oh," he sighed, stopping at the sight.

The storm, apparently, had been far more severe above top than it had seemed to those residing under the bridge. What remained of the bus stop was a barely recognizable wreckage of mangled plastic; the bench was scratched to pieces, most of the graffiti faded away from the harsh winds and water. The piece of roof lay some five feet away, skittering on as the stone grinds continued to push it here and there.

"Whoah," Derek breathed, causing Reid to jump as the voice came unexpectedly from behind him.

The young genius swiveled his head around for only a second before returning his gaze to the carnage in front of them. Blindly, almost unthinkingly, he reached his hand out, long fingers sweeping delicately over the surface of the gravel and plastic.

"It just wrecked it all," he whispered, voice barely audible. He heard shifting behind him, knew that Derek was coming closer, but he stepped forward, sliding out of the man's shadow.

"The storm," he continued, voice quavering slightly. "It just . . ." he swept his arm out, indicating the total destruction of everything before him, how all it was gone. Changed, really, in one simple swoop of the weather.

Derek nodded. "The weather got pretty bad last night. There's probably going to be a lot more of this and worse in town." He looked in the direction they were heading, a small frown of sympathy on his face. "Poor guys. 'Specially in the projects; they're gonna have it rough."

Reid suddenly thought of something. "The — the projects?" He turned back to Derek, panic in his eyes.

"Ashley!"

Derek quirked an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Ashely, Elle's . . . sister." Reid tugged his hands through his hair, mussing it up even more as he looked around frantically. "She lives in one of those old buildings near the edge of town!"

Something clicked in Derek's brain, and a wave of understanding washed over his face. "Ashely. Elle's foster kid-thing. Oh." He shook his head. "Kid, Ashley lives in a huge building from the late fifties, with lots of stone and brick in the walls, and a foundation of solid cement."

Reid looked at him, not getting it. Derek continued.

"She's in about the safest place one can be. I've seen her home, Reid — it would take a hurricane to even make a dent in the place, ya hear?"

Reid pursed his lips, still fighting for control. "How can you — ?"

"I can't," Derek admitted, picking up Reid's bag where he had dropped it and starting to walk. "But we're heading in that direction anyways, so we can stop by and check on her, if that'll make you feel better. But step on it — I wanna get you home before it gets too dark."

When the long stretch of road and dampened sand became replaced with sidewalks and neon lights of the town, more than half an hour had passed, and the two boys still had not spoken another word to each other. Derek forced his legs to keep moving, despite his fatigue from the day, and focused only on getting the kid home so he could catch a bus back to the bridge.

If they were even still fucking running, he thought bitterly, glancing again towards his compatriot.

Reid hadn't said a word since they left the bus stop, eyes fixed ahead as a timer ticked down in his mind, mentally calculating the steps and seconds until he could check on his friend and mother.

Derek's lip twitched. He might have seemed sympathetic if he hadn't looked so exhausted. He turned back to the road, thinking things over.

Obviously, he had screwed this whole . . . situation . . . up pretty bad. Penelope's words about breaking trust and hurting lashing out at someone innocent kept echoing around in his head, repeatedly washing the young man in wave after wave of guilt.

It might have only been for a brief while, but he knew exactly what it felt like to be bullied. First coupla years of high school, he'd had his ass handed to him very day of the week by the mountains they called the football team. He would go home mottled in bruises, lie to his mother about how his day had been, and hide in his room until the next morning, when it would all start over again.

Derek looked the skinny genius over once more, eyeing every inch of pale, thin skin, each rib bone sticking out in a painfully obvious way, each tear in his too-old, too-small clothes.

His way out of hell would have to be different than Derek's . . . the kid didn't seem like he had the inclination — nor the time to lift weights until he was bigger than his bullies . . .

He sighed. What a mess.

Suddenly, he slammed into the small figure before him, nearly knocking both himself and Reid to the ground in his moment of not paying attention to where he was going.

Quick reflexes struck in, though, and Derek was ably to keep his balance by a toe, using his free hand to ensure that Reid didn't get a fateful of cement, either.

The kid jerked slightly, but remained upright, and nodded a barely discernible thanks to Derek before looking back at whatever had caught his attention in the first place.

It was the building where Ashley lived.

Derek had only seen the place a few times, when he'd first gotten to know Elle and insisted on walking her everywhere . . . but he would recognize the place in his sleep.

Mortar crumbling, broken windows, ivy creeping down the side . . . it looked like something straight out of a horror novel.

He suppressed his shudder, and watched in silence as Reid approached the door, long fingers curled tightly into a fist.

He knocked.

No answer.

Reid waited a moment, counting to six in his head, and rapped his knuckles on the door again, slightly harder this time.

Still no answer.

Frowning now, the boy leaned in, pressing his ear to the warped wood, and listened.

There was a faint noise coming from behind the door — but while it could have been the slight footsteps of someone trying to hide their presence, it could just as easily be the whistling of the wind, or the shifting of the old building as it settled into the night.

Maybe she was there. Maybe she wasn't. Maybe she was fine — or not. Maybe —

Reid shook the thoughts out of his head. He pulled away, arching his back slightly as he gave one last tap to the door.

Again . . . nothing.

Disheartened, the boy backed up a few steps, and then turned to find Derek looking at him, sympathy etched over his face.

"Not home?"

Reid shook his head, not trusting himself to speak as he descended.

"Leave her a note."

The genius looked up, eyebrows crinkled.

"What?"

Derek shrugged, rooting around in the bag he was holding for a pen. "Drop her a line or something. You know — say you stopped by? It's better than nothing."

Reid considered for a moment before shaking his head. "I can't — "

"Why not?" Derek interrupted, a stern expression taking over his face. "We've got a minute. And don't tell me a mind like yours ran out of words already?"

Reid shook his head. "That's not it! I just — I — I . . ."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

Reid stumbled over his words for a few moments more, and then hung his head, tasseled curls tangling over his eyes.

There was no excuse.

Smiling slightly, lips upturned in a vague expression of victory, Derek succeeded at last in pulling a pencil from one of his pockets, and dragged out a crumpled receipt.

He stepped forward, shoving his hands into the kid's face.

"Go."

As much as he hated being told what to do, a part of Reid, deep down inside, was truly very grateful for Derek's pushing. It wasn't coddling, or trepidatious as so many people had been in his short stint in life. But neither was it malevolent or bullying in any way.

Rather, the way the dark-skinned boy had behaved, it seemed to be a sign of caring, almost tenderness, that he wanted Reid to make contact with someone.

Almost like something his mother would do.

Chewing on the eraser head, it took him a few minutes to put his mixed thoughts into the appropriate words.

Ashley,

I hope that this finds you well.

I know you told me very specifically to back off, but I didn't get a proper chance to say goodbye to you, and I feel like I was cheated.

You're a very strong girl. I admire that, even if I wish that your situation — like so many others — was so very different. For that matter, I am sorry we couldn't have had more pleasant time together. I sense that we would make good companions.

That said; if you ever want to sleep on a real bed in a home with four walls and running water, both Elle and Derek know where to find me. You're always welcome.

Please take care of yourself. And yes, that is me trying to boss you around.

Yours Truly,

— Reid

Reading it over, Reid decided that while no great work of prose, it said what he wanted to without running off the edges. He looked around for something to seal the note with, and when he found nothing, instead folded the paper into a small square and stuck it into the keyhole of the building.

There. Easily seen without being obvious. He nodded, satisfied, and walked back to where Derek was waiting.

Without saying a word, the two began to walk again.

But this time, the silence that stretched between them was not one of awkward discomfort, as it had been before. Rather, both of the young men sensed this one full of uncertainty, of calmness and acceptance.

Of . . . friendship.

"Thank you."

The words were so softly spoken that it could have easily been masked by the sound of the light rain, or the hum of activity that Las Vegas always seemed to have going around it. And Derek nearly did miss it. If he hadn't been studying the genius before him, he would have.

But for once, luck was on his side, and he caught the small voice as he and Reid marched into a lower-class part of town. For just a moment, Reid's eyes met his own, shining faintly in that beautiful way that they did as he sized up Derek's reaction, before he listlessly looked back at the ground on which they walked.

Derek was almost too touched to speak. This, he knew, could be the opening that he'd needed to apologize to the kid — and Reid had simply given it to him, here and now, no questions asked.

"You're welcome, kid," he started. " . . . She must mean . . . a lot to ya, huh?"

Reid's hand were fidgety, plucking at his sleeved with no real purpose other than to show how nervous he was.

"I barely know her," he admitted slowly. "Elle introduced us today, and she seems perfectly nice . . ."

"Do you like her?"

"Of course I do!" Reid seemed offended and confused by the question.

Derek shook his head. "No, kid. I know you like her. What I mean was — do you like her like her?"

Reid blinked. "What on Earth does that mean?"

Derek sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Do you have a crush on her, kid?"

"Oh," Reid blushed, staring back at the ground, thinking. It was a long moment before he spoke again.

" . . . As I said; I barely know her."

"You know enough to leave her a note."

Reid stiffened. "I was offering my apologies for something I'd said earlier to her, and telling her that there's a guest room in my house."

Derek was stunned by the generosity of such an offer. And the rashness.

It seemed so out of place for the kid. At least, for what he knew of him.

"That was a good thing you did, Reid. Very generous. And . . . mature."

"Yeah, well . . . it's not like I make a point to be childish." Reid didn't look up from the ground.

"No, I mean it. You act like a man, really, not a kid."

"And yet you persist on calling me just that, I see."

"Sorry, youngster. Wouldn't want to upset the pretty boy."

Reid rolled his eyes, and the two of them continued on, the rain lightening steadily as the time passed.

"I'm sorry."

Reid looked over towards Derek, his thoughts completely vanishing. "What?"

Derek sighed. "I'm . . . I'm sorry, kid. I was out of line. I know I was, and besides being a complete total asshole, I'm . . . sorry."

"Derek," Reid smiled softly, "The names really don't mean that much to me."

Now it was Derek's turn to be confused. "Huh?"

Reid bit his lip, shaking his head. "I mean . . . no, I'm not really used to having people refer to me by something not on my birth certificate, but unlike the others, you don't use words that are deliberately unkind, or untrue. Don't mind my lack of social grace — really. You're okay."

He'd misunderstood.

Again.

One thing he's right about, Derek thought to himself. No social graces.

He took a moment to be amused by the irony, before reality set back in.

Derek frowned, and when he spoke, it was with an adult tone that got Reid's attention immediately.

"Kid," he started, "I wasn't talking about the names — although I'm happy that you're okay with them, at least." He sighed. "I was . . . talking about what I said earlier. This morning . . . About your father."

"Oh." Reid's eyes lost their laughter, and an utterly crestfallen expression took over his young face. An adult look that no child should have.

One no one should have ever, really.

Derek gulped, always uncomfortable with emotional situations — but knowing the importance of every limited second with the kid, he forged on.

"I was an asshole. And way out of line. I mean, of all people, I know what it's like to have an adult hurt you so profoundly, and to bring it up . . . well, I mean, kid . . . I suck."

Reid had been staring into space as Derek rambled, but immediately looked over, eyes snapping on the contrite boy. "No!" He gasped, reaching out and resting a smooth, pale hand on Derek's shoulder.

Derek was too taken aback to speak.

So Reid continued. "You're not . . . don't say that, Derek. P-please. You're a good person, you don't . . ."

He couldn't say the word.

Somehow, that made Derek even more disconsolate.

"Kid — I was wrong."

Reid blinked. "Yes . . . yes you were."

"What I did was awful. Sick." Penelope's admonishments echoed in his head.

Reid frowned slightly. " . . . No. No, Derek Morgan, no. What you said was . . . unfair. Unkind. Personal." The genius took in a deep breath. "But every single person in the world does things they regret in anger — things that aren't who they really are, things that appall them in the light of day . . ."

He spoke from experience. His, and his mother's.

Reid tried not to think on that too much before continuing. "Yes, I was angry with you, and I won't deny that what you said was cruel . . . but you're not a cruel person, Derek. None of you guys are. You all saved me, yesterday and today. I don't . . ." he bit back the tremor in his voice, "I don't know where I'd be right now if it weren't for everyone under the bridge — but you especially, Derek."

Wow.

It both broke and elated Derek's heart, Reid's words. The boy had spoken so candidly, but honestly and fairly. It was more than anyone could have asked of a boy so young.

More than most people would ever have given.

Derek took a step in, moving closer to the thin body.

"I'm so sorry." His voice was barely a whisper.

"And so am I," Reid responded. He ignored the confused look Derek shot at him, taking in a deep breath before continuing.

"I tend to hold things very closely to myself — my mother calls me a fortress.When things hit — even significantly minor things like something spoken in anger — I feel them in a way that's more inappropriately intense than is necessarily called for. I like things . . . neat. In order. Control."

Reid blinked, and cleared his throat, hoping to rid it of the wavery quality it had just taken on.

"I reacted in a way that was immature, and rude, and for that, I am sorry."

"Kid, you have nothing — "

"I do," Reid cut in firmly. "I have trouble seeing my own problems at times, but this I do recognize; in my pursuit for order, I brushed you aside and nearly alienated Elle's sister. It's an issue, a flaw, and not one I have plans to continue for much longer." He bowed his head, and spoke contritely. "I'll work on it."

"You're too hard on yourself," Derek said candidly as they turned onto a long-ago suburban neighborhood. Though they had passed a ballpark and small grocery store along the way, something about the neighborhood felt hollow, wrong — a facade. As if, while before this might have been a happy place to raise a family, something had hit it and taken away all the joy.

But while Derek felt a squirming beneath his skin, an eagerness to get away from this darkened place, Reid's face bore he expression of familiarity, resignation — even the faintest hint of . . . fondness.

For him, this was home.

They walked, padded footsteps the only sound on the ground and echoing slightly in the empty rows of houses and yards, until finally, Reid stopped in front of one of the porches.

This one looked no different than the rows and rows of other homes, at least not to Derek. Same peeling paint on the porch, same cherry-wood door with brass numbers above the top, same two windows to either side of said door . . . Nothing remarkable.

But the ways Reid's eyes shined as he looked upon it, Derek knew that they had reached his house.

"This is it," he said softly, his voice vanishing on the faint wisp of wind that floated by.

Beside him, in the waning light, Reid nodded. "It is."

For once in his life, the genius who knew everything (hah, hah) had no words.

Nothing to describe the simultaneous rush of both elation and dread he felt in being at his home again, so tangibly close to the person he cared about most in the world.

But there was just as equally nothing to say that would capture his dejection at having to leave this boy — man, nearly — who had become such a . . . a friend to him, over the course of barely a day.

Friend. The word tasted strange in Reid's mouth. He'd never had a friend before.

And despite his many efforts over the years to push down his feelings, to hid his emotions — the fact that he ha had a human side at all, really — Reid didn't want to let it go.

He hadn't realized how rapid his breathing had become until Derek rested a hand on his shoulder, voicing his concern.

"Are you okay?"

Reid stood there, staring at the house as a tumble of memories overcame him, his lip beginning to quiver. "I'm not ready . . ." he whispered, shame turning his cheeks red as the words slipped out.

Coward.

"I wish this wasn't all," he whispered, choosing dominion and quieted longing over voicing the actual thoughts in his head. In the back of his throat, Reid tasted the acrid burn of despair, of loss and disappointment.

Derek looked at him curiously. "All?"

Reid swallowed tightly. "I know I shouldn't be upset, that this is inevitable and adults accept the inevitable, but . . . But I don't want to. Just this once . . . I wish I could stay here, outside . . ." With you.

"As soon as I open that door," Reid continued quietly, fingering his keys in his pocket, "My life resumes the course it's always had, always will. I'm the freak genius with an indisposed mother who gets shoved into lockers and beaten senseless when the jocks need a training session. I don't complain, or at least I try not to, because I know that this is life, and life isn't always, . . . well, fair, but it works out all for the best in the end. I adhere to that thought with the very core of my being."

He sighed. "But . . . getting to meet you, and Penelope . . . and JJ and Prophet and Elle and Ashely . . . It was just so . . . so different. Nice different, I mean. Like . . . like I'd found something I wasn't really sure was missing. And right now, I just . . . I don't want to give it up, knowing what it is — whatever that is, I mean."

Reid was quite aware that his babbling sounded like some of the waxier poets he'd been forced to read in his young life, and he couldn't help the blush creeping around his ears as he continued to add on to his ridiculous spiel.

"I . . . I'm just being childish," he finished lamely.

For a few agonizingly long moments, there was nothing but the hum and buzz of cars in the distance. Derek stared at him, and he back, no one saying a word, moving a muscle . . . nothing to suggest that time wasn't frozen in this terrifyingly long second.

And then, there was a hand on his face, so soft and gentle that it might have been a breeze rather than flesh and blood, and Reid unconsciously leaned into the touch, some part deep inside of him desperately seeking human contact.

"Reid," the voice was kind, and soft. Caring.

Everything Derek did seemed caring.

"You are a child, Reid."

He blinked, and looked back up, seeing the half-smile on Derek's face as he took in the genius's almost teary expression.

"I know you don't wanna hear it, kid, but for all of your smarts and maturity and stern little looks . . . well, kid . . . that's just it; you're a kid."

Derek moved his hand to Reid's shoulder, drawing the boy closer to his warm body, exuding protection and care with his gesture.

"And kids," Derek whispered, his voice nearly lost in the dark of the drawing evening, "don't have to take on the world by themselves."

Reid bit back a bitter laugh. "As if the ones we call adults will?"

"Maybe not." Derek sighed. "They should, but they won't. Not all of them. The people that care about you, though — they will help. At every second they can." He squeezed gently.

"I'll help you, kid."

Reid blinked rapidly, his voice tremulous when he finally tried to speak one last time.
"W-why? Why would you do that?"

For me?

"Because, kid; I care. I might not be the vision of a knight in shining armor, and it's not a convenient kind of caring, but . . . well, kid, I do."

Derek spun around the thin body in his arms, and tucked a hand under Reid's chin, forcing him to look up, right into the chocolate brown eyes, shining simply in the night.

"I already told you, kid; I'm with you."

He slept well for the first time in so long, that night.

It had been countless years since Spencer Reid had resigned himself to the fact that sleep would be a rare and precious commodity for himself, giving up the idea that he would ever be a well-rested boy, nor man.

And yet, with the memory of Derek's form disappearing into the night and the echo of his last words — See ya soon, Pretty Boy — still ringing in his head, the genius dropped off to sleep mere moments after hitting the pillow.

And he slept soundly through the night, well into the next day.

With the drawn shades blocking any light attempting to wheedle its way into his bedroom, Diana Reid still sleeping soundly — the first thing he'd checked upon entering his house — Spencer Reid might have slept for a very long time still, warm and comfortable and safe as he felt for a change.

In fact, if there hadn't come a fierce pounding at the door, likely nothing would have woken up the young genius until his alarm would have shrilled at 6:15 the next morning. For school.

But the fact was, the pounding did come, and try as he did to ignore it, Reid eventually dragged himself from the comfy confines of his bed.

Blearily, he made his way around the crammed mess of his room, and picked through the hall, stopping for a brief second to stare in his mother's room, and once more reassure himself that she was okay, safe and sound and asleep.

They might have so much to talk about today.

The thought unnerved him at the same time that it comforted him, and Reid shook his head before turning and exiting the room as silently as he'd come.

Padding down the stairs in well-practiced light-footedness, Reid noted with irritation how the pounding on the door had only increased in frequency, intensity, and volume.

When he got to the kitchen from which the noise was emanating, instead of answering the door immediately, Reid chose — somewhat churlishly — to take a quick moment to prepare a pot of coffee.

As he carefully measured the beans, grinding them with practiced ease and pouring them into the old coffeemaker, the pounding paused briefly.

Startled, Reid turned around, wondering if his potential guest had left yet, and took a step towards the door, hand outstretched —

— only to jump back as the banging stead up once more with new vigor.

Fairly slamming the potful of water into the machine, Reid punched 'On' blindly and whipped around, hair flying into his face and eyes narrowing as his frustration reached a peak.

He stomped to the door, suddenly not caring for his manner or appearance, wanting only to tell whoever the Hell was there that, as it was not yet lunchtime on a Sunday, there was no need for the copiousness of over-enthusiastic pummeling.

Whipping the chains off of the locks, Spencer barely had the door cracked when he hissed out "What?" in a tone so venomous that none would have normally associated it with the mild-mannered genius.

Well . . . none who had never interrupted his precious sleep.

At the door, Ashley stood stock-still, fist still raised slightly as though to continue her relentless assault on the door, a small smile on her face and a crumpled piece of paper in her hand.

Reid gaped. "Ash- . . . Ashley?"

"The one and only," she bared her teeth.

Reid blinked, suddenly wishing very much that he had thought to run a comb through his hair . . . or put on real pants . . .

Ashely took in his rumpled figure with benign amusement, and tried to peek around him into the house. "You live here?"

"Either that," Reid ran a hand through his messy curls in a fruitless attempt to neaten them, "or someone's going to be unpleasantly surprised upon waking."

Ashley smiled. "You got coffee?"

Reid glanced back, having forgotten about his brew, before swiveling to meet the expectant eyes of the beautiful blonde once more.
"I . . ."

"Well?"

She continued to hit him with that unwavering gaze, and finally, Reid stood back, allowing her into the kitchen.

As though it was her own home, Ashley proceeded to open every drawer and cabinet, pulling things out until she had amassed a small army of supplies on the kitchen table: mugs, spoons, sugar, milk, chocolate chips . . .

Reid chewed his inner cheek. "Ashley," he started, walking behind a chair as the blonde began to mix up two mugs of sweet, sweet coffee for the both of them, "I don't want to . . . be rude — "

"As if you know how," she snorted in response, focusing entirely on dropping chocolate morsels into her beverage.

Reid forced himself to ignore the interruption. "Why are you here?"

Ashley looked up, eyes meeting his for a second that stretched on endlessly. Reid stared back, unbending.

Ashely opened her mouth as if to speak, closed it again, and then, lips pursed, handed Reid his mug of caramel-colored coffee. She gestured to drink, the smile on her face not quite reaching her eyes as she leaned up against the counter, watching the genius.

He sipped slowly, savoring the sweetness on his tongue, letting out a small "Mmm" of satisfaction that made his blonde compatriot roll her eyes.

For a moment, the silence was bliss, as both young people drank in the other's company as well as their beverages.

Then, Reid set his mug down.

"Ashely," he started, turning so that he was looking her straight in the eyes, "Why?"

She blinked at him, and then looked down at the floor, setting her coffee mug on the counter beside her.

"Did you mean what you said?" she asked.

Reid raised an eyebrow. "I — what?"

"Did you mean it," she pressed, reaching a hand into her pocket and pulling out a crumpled piece of receipt paper from her pocket, "when you wrote this?" She looked at it, a warmth alighting her features beautifully before meeting Reid's eyes with no small amount of trepidation.

"I got your note," she explained needlessly, waving her hand slightly.

Reid looked from it, to her, to back again.

She had gotten the note. She'd read it . . .

She believed it?

"Did you want me to? Mean it, I mean?"

His words were cautious, not revealing his thoughts either way.

This had to be her decision.

Ashely looked from the floor to his eyes, tears carving paths down her cheeks.

"I . . . I was hoping you did," she whispered.

Reid stood up, slowly unfolding himself from the kitchen chair, and walked to the girl.

Gently, as his mother had done to him so countless many times, he reached out a hand, and cupped Ashley's shoulder.

"I was honest in every way," he murmured.

Ashely looked up at him, blinking. "You . . ." she managed, before being wrapped into a bear-hug by the smaller, thinner genius.

"Welcome, Ashley," he said, breath mingling in her blonde hair.

"Guess you're with me, now."

The End