Author: Regency

Title: He Had A Way

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid

Rating: G

Word count: 1,450

Summary: In another life, Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid meet. Morgan’s just given a talk at his university and Reid has questions.

AN: Written in response to the prompt: Criminal Minds, lawyer!Morgan/student!Reid, chance meetings at comment_fics. It’s longer than a comment obviously, so it gets its own post.

AN II: Constructive criticism is always welcome. Seriously, if something's totally out of left field weird, just say so.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any characters recognizable as being from Criminal Minds. They are the property of their respective producers, writers, and studios, not me.  No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made in the writing or distribution of this story. It was good, clean fun.

~!~

He had a way about him, this kid. He wasn't suave and he wasn't particularly tactful, but he had a way. Seated in the middle of the auditorium and watching Morgan with all the attention of a curious cat with a mouse, Spencer Reid had begun to intrigue him before he'd even known his name.

Reid, a third-year student on his--what?--third degree had come to hear Derek Morgan speak. Not because he thought much of attorneys on the whole, but because he was curious about the nature of a defense attorney's psyche. He thought that perhaps he could sort out his motivations by listening to him speak. Given that he was a motivational speaker by vocation, the origins of his profession should have been easy to derive.

They weren't and Reid couldn't understand why. There were rubrics for behavior, flow charts and diagrams. Human beings were by nature were telling creatures; by their continued existence and circumstances, they told of their history. This particular subject—person told nothing and yet moved to inspire him and his peers. He didn't understand, so he asked.

"Why do you do what you do?"

Morgan rocked back on his heels at the question.  He hadn't expected him to speak; his intensity had been all the communication he'd needed. For the two hours he'd occupied the lectern, he'd told a story about where he'd come from, though not his story, and this one had watched. As others shared their stories, he'd watched. As they gave voice to their curiosities, he seemed determined, if not content, to simply watch.

Now that the rest of the audience had gone in a flurry of notebooks and voice recorders, he was ready to speak. Morgan hadn't expected that, he’d thought he'd exit with all the intensity of his presence.  This could be interesting, he thought and took a seat on the edge of the professor's desk.

It was a nice university and he didn't mind pinch-hitting as a guest speaker every now and again. It kept him on his toes; it seemed to him like the kids were getting sharper by the day.

"What do you mean?" Morgan asked, hooking his hands around his knee.

The kid, if he could be called that at this height and with that much life behind his eyes, stood up in the deserted row.  "I mean, why? What motivates you toward this line of work?"

Morgan tipped his head and gave it a thought. "It feels right and I've always been about doing what's right." He tightened his tie; he always felt like he was back in court when he got that question.

"You defend criminals," Reid replied plainly.

"I defend alleged criminals," Morgan corrected.

"Does that make it easier," Reid countered, narrowing his eyes.  He frowned as though he couldn't believe it.

Morgan stood up and tucked his hands into his pockets.  He sized the kid up, comparing him against the other grad students he'd met with a 'scales of justice' complex. He didn't fit the mold and he definitely didn't have the self-righteous indignation for the job.

"Believing that everyone has the right to competent counsel makes my work easier, yes."

"Someone close to you was wrongly convicted of a crime," Reid said, seeming more fascinated than ever.

"That's a bold assumption," Morgan replied, giving nothing away.

Reid mimicked his position, hiding his rail-thin hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks.  "It's a simple one.  Occam's Razor states that simplest explanation is often the correct one."

Morgan cracked a smile.  "It actually presumes to say that the theory that makes the fewest assumptions is the superior theory.  You, sir, have been dealt a fatal cut."

Reid raised both eyebrows in surprise. "Touché."

"Touché," Morgan replied.

"Sturgeon's Law states that 90% of everything is crap," Reid said all of the sudden when the room had gone quiet.

"I take it that Occam's Razor is included in that?"

"It definitely is now," Reid nodded sagely.

Morgan laughed and freed his hands to give him a round of applause.  “Very nice.  I’ve got to give it to you, kid.  You know your quotes.  If you were a lawyer that might even win your client a court case or two.” He ceased clapping when Reid began to frown harder.  “Assumptions are an attorney’s greatest adversaries.  They’re anathema to fair justice. I believe that people that are guilty of crimes should go to jail, but I also believe that they must be convicted in a fair trial, in which they are allowed to avail themselves fully of their civil liberties.”

“Why?”

“Because if they’re not allowed those rights, they will be released and I think that would be the greatest miscarriage of justice of all.” He grinned again.  “At least, that’s what they taught me in law school.”

“But is that what you believe?” Reid asked, still standing among the empty seats. He seemed comfortable there.

“I don’t know.  Is that what your great big brain of quotes says?” Morgan turned away to gather up his notes he’d forgotten on the podium. He found a note, a reminder to pick ‘the kid with the hair’ first if he raised his hand for a question. It had a line through it.  Must have been when I realized he’d never ask. ‘Never say never,’ he thought coincidentally.

“My great big brain of quotes, as you put it, says you don’t do interviews for this very reason. You’re a private man with above average intelligence.  You make an exceptional living doing a job that most men with your qualifications would balk at resorting to. You don’t fit any psychological profile for a man in your position that I’ve read—unless you do and you simply refuse to admit it.”

Morgan rubbed his chin thoughtfully and said, “I can’t decide if that’s an impressive deduction or complete garbage.”

“Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote—“

“—nothing that could possibly be relevant at this moment.”

“Well, you talked about my big brain of quotes, so….” Reid shrugged.

“Touché,” Morgan replied, prompted to a smile again.  This kid stumped him.  He was in a sense undeniably shy and presumptuous all at once, an irregular combination.  “You’re something else.  I’m sure you have a number of fascinating observations about my life’s motivations, but I unfortunately don’t have time to listen to them all.”  He stacked his notes and tucked them into his briefcase before securing it with a click.  “As you put it, I have criminals to defend.”

The student seemed to be at a loss.  “It was an interesting talk—the one you gave. I enjoyed it. I just…didn’t understand everything I heard.”

Morgan gathered his coat up under his arm and began to walk up the auditorium stairs, stopping finally when he’d come to Reid’s side. He reached into a hidden pocket to retrieve a business card before handing it to the silent Reid.  “If you ever have any more questions or if you just find yourself needing a lawyer, give me a call. I answer on the first ring.”  He offered his hand and got a slender, unmarred one in return. It carried an unwieldy force. He wondered if the kid even knew it was there.  “It was pleasure meeting you, Mr. Reid.”

                Reid’s face went from one of studied curiosity to one of mild bewilderment.  “How did you know my name?”

                “You’re not the invisible man, Mr. Reid. Your work on the psychology of motive has kept innocent people out of prison on more than one occasion.  For that, I can spare a few minutes of my time.”

                The younger of the two furrowed his brow and shook Morgan’s hand again. This time, more assertively.  “I’ve heard of you, too. I just didn’t understand you.”

                “You still don’t, do you?”

                “Not exactly, no,” Reid shrugged and smiled somewhat self-consciously.

                Morgan’s cell began to ring and vibrate in his pocket and he knew he wouldn’t have the time to explain.  “You have my number, give me a call. I’ll take you to dinner and you can psycho-analyze me all night long.”  He failed to stifle the smile that spread across his face. This one was different but he doubted Reid would pick up on it.

                “Sounds great,” was all the young genius seemed able to say.

                Morgan winked at him before taking the steep steps two at a time.  It was a good suit he was wearing, it could take the strain. He had reached the door already by the time Reid spoke again:

                “Was that code for something?”

                “Call and find out,” Morgan retorted before the door closed, Spencer Reid was gone, and his day began again.