AN: After my Vegas drinking story, I had a bunch of people PM me, saying "Poor Reid, he needed someone, too." Although this is not related to that story, here is one where Reid gets the girl...This is a little three shot I'd written for a friend. I hope you like it!...
Chapter 1
In another minute or so, the normally even tempered Spencer Reid was going to club Derek Morgan on the back of his bald head. He could take teasing to an extent, but this was getting ridiculous.
"It was a freak incident," he explained for the fiftieth time, this time to three women in the commissary waiting area. He'd already defended his position to most of the BAU, some techs, and a janitor that had dumped his wastebasket. "I'd skipped breakfast, I hadn't had time to drink enough fluids, and I stood far too quickly because we'd been called for a case. Anyone would feel lightheaded in that situation."
"Lightheaded?" Morgan hooted. "You fainted. Passed out cold, like a woman in a silent movie."
That muscle in his jaw, the one that signaled he'd had enough, ticked in his jaw. Why he'd allowed Morgan to sign them up together for the annual blood drive together was beyond his thinking right now.
Some genius he was.
Each year, the FBI teamed up with the Red Cross to collect blood for the active DC blood bank. It was something Hotch strongly encouraged everyone to do. Reid and the rest of the team gratefully gave, knowing that many members of their team had benefited from donated blood. All of law enforcement owed a prayer of thanks to the many that gave each year.
Morgan was a consistent giver throughout the year. He was type O, the universal donor. He was rather cocky when it came to his blood type, as if he were some sort of superstar with special blood. The arrogance irked Reid; Morgan had nothing to do with getting the type of blood he was born with.
When they reached the front of the line, Morgan handed the receptionist his donor card.
"Type O," she said with a pleased nod. "Just what we're looking for."
"See, pretty boy," Derek teased, flashing his million watt grin, "everyone wants a piece of me."
Reid handed the receptionist his card next. He should've known when they typed his blood that he was going to have trouble. He was a B+. He'd never had a B+ in his life before. Many, many, many As, but never a B+.
He'd gone back the the BAU to pseudo-complain about it...
"Wow," Prentiss said, looking at his card, and then handing it back. "I'm a B+, and so is Hotch."
"It's average," he grumbled. "The majority of the population is B+."
"Don't be upset about it," Rossi said clapping a hand on his shoulder. Rossi was an AB-, one of the rarest blood types. He gave a snarky little grin, and added, "Be positive!"
Reid had groaned and walked away from the unit, feeling average for the first time in his life and not quite knowing what to do about it. It hadn't been a good feeling, and the lightheaded—fainting, dammit!—incident he'd had, had soured him to donating blood.
He took his seat next to Morgan, who had his legs stretched out and his ankles crossed. He was holding his cell phone, frowning with concentration as he pressed the buttons.
"Sending a text to Garcia?"
"Yeah," Derek mumbled, finishing what he was typing. "There. We're going out tonight to see the latest McCarthy spy movie."
"A date?" Reid asked, happy to have the opportunity to tease Derek back. Morgan and Garcia had been dancing around each other for years, but only recently had she become single. It was only a matter of time now before they started seeing each other. There was a small pot on when they'd have their first official date; the day Reid had picked estimated on probabilty was coming up pretty soon.
Derek gave him a suspicious look. "Oh, no. I am not telling you anything."
Reid arched his brow. "Omissions are typically a sign of guilt."
"Not in this case," Derek growled. "Damn. What is it with everyone lately? Garcia and I are just trying to do our thing, and everyone is being pushy."
"That sounds like an exaggeration."
"Even Hotch is asking!" Morgan snapped, and then ran a hand over his face. "Man, I get it. She's single. I'm single, but I'm not rushing anything. She isn't—"
"Derek Morgan?" a lab tech said, coming out from behind the wall divider that made separate rooms in the commissary.
"We'll talk later," Reid said with what he hoped was an understanding smile.
"Not about that." Derek stood, sliding his phone in his back pocket. "Wish me luck."
Reid shrugged. Morgan didn't need the luck for what he meant. Not for giving blood. But with Garcia...well, maybe he did.
So, Spencer replied honestly, "Good luck."
A quick twenty minutes later, Derek came sauntering out of the room. He held his arm out to show the cotton ball bandage taped to his antecubital space.
"All done," he said with a grin. "You're next."
As if on cue, the tech in the white coat called, "Spencer Reid?"
Trying to hide his nerves, he turned toward the door. He certainly didn't want to ask Derek for luck, although he probably needed it far more than Morgan did.
"Kid," Morgan said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
"Yes?"
"There's a really fine brunette drawing blood back there," he said with a grin. "Pretty blue eyes and curves in all the right places."
Of course Morgan would notice that! The last thing Reid was thinking about at this moment was picking up chicks. "They're waiting."
"I have two words of advice for you with her," Morgan said quickly, and then added with a devilish grin, "Stay awake."
Reid shook his head to the sound of Morgan's laughter, and followed the tech in the lab coat past the barrier.
