Derek recognizes the kid from one of the recruiting lectures he went to with Gideon three, maybe four months ago. Of course, he thinks, giving the young man a long once over, he hadn't looked exactly like that. Not a lot of guys could really pull off nearly painted on jeans and a t-shirt that looks like it came from Baby Gap, but he's thin enough to make it work, Derek thinks, leaning back against the bar on his elbows.

The kid-he never did catch his name though Gideon had chatted with him forever after the lecture had ended-is perched at a high top table, smiling and nodding coyly at a man who looks old enough to be his father. Derek watches them as he nurses his beer and wonders what the kid sees in the guy. He's not exactly great looking and Derek is good enough at reading lips to know that the conversation would put him to sleep. The kid's doing a good enough job of looking interested that Derek would probably be fooled enough to just let it go, except that his entire job is behavior analysis and he can see the subtle signs that practically scream the kid's desire to be anywhere else right now. He takes one last pull of his beer, slaps a twenty down on the bar to cover his check, and ambles over to the kid's table.

"Hey, pretty boy," he says, dropping a casual arm around the kid's shoulders. "Fancy meeting you here."

The kid blinks up at him with impossibly huge eyes and Derek feels something kick deep in his belly. The older man looks flustered, torn between annoyance and whatever manners his mama taught him. Derek's eyes flicker over the table top, snagging on an unsealed envelope. It's just open enough that he can see the edges of a few hundred dollar bills, and suddenly the missing piece of the puzzle snaps into place. When he looks at the kid, he can see he knows he's busted, and Derek gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before turning back to the John.

"Sorry about this," he says smoothly, his arm dropping to the kid's waist so he can tug him off his chair. "I'm going to need to borrow him."

At that, the man stumbles to his feet, his round, pasty face flushing in unattractive blotches, and the kid gapes at him, his mouth working soundlessly.

"Now see here, asshole," the John gets out before the kid manages to squeak, "Agent Morgan."

The John pauses, the color draining from his face, then he's scrambling for the envelope and backing toward the door. "I don't want any trouble."

"Good, because I don't either," Derek says, flashing him a grin with a few too many teeth, before turning back to the kid, who he's almost surprised to realize is the same height at him. "And you. What the fuck do you think you were you doing?"

The kid's so tense he's practically vibrating against Derek's side, then he's pulling away with a dark look. "Scholarships only cover so much and I have bills to pay. You just cost me money."

Derek tucks his hands in his pockets and arches an eyebrow. "You couldn't get a normal job? Or at least not a legal one? Hell, kid, when all else fails there are student loans."

"It's Spencer," the kid-Spencer-mutters, his eyes turning calculating as his face starts to soften. "And the loans weren't cutting it. I support my mom too and no amount of tutoring is going to pay for both of us," he says, shifting closer, right up into Derek's personal space. He ducks his head and looks at Derek through long, thick lashes. "If you're that worried, you could always help me out."

Derek blinks, a little stunned at what the kid's trying to pull, then bites back a laugh and drapes his arm around Spencer's shoulders again. "You know, you're not half bad at that. Tell you what, how about I don't get your ass thrown in jail, write you a recommendation to go with the one I'm sure you sweet talked out of Gideon, maybe even buy you dinner, and we call it even?"

Spencer sighs and cuts him a wry look, his full, pretty lips scrunching to the side. "Yeah, I didn't think you'd be that easy."

Derek leans in close enough that he knows Spencer can feel his breath on his skin, grinning when he feels the way he shivers. "Trust me, pretty boy, if you end up in my bed-and God knows I'm not even going to pretend I'm not interested in that idea-then it's going to be because you want it so bad you're begging for it, not because you're looking to get paid."

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