(no subject)
Title It Tastes Like Grief (2/?)
Main Pairings: Morgan/Reid (pre-slash, but could be never)
Characters: Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid
Rating: pg-13
Word count: 1037
Warnings/Spoilers: suicide ideation
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Summary: Reid and Morgan discuss, well not really, Reid's unwanted advances that night.
Author’s Note: I love feedback, thanks!
I'm going to regret doing this.
Reid knows he doesn’t deserve the next three nights Morgan spends curled up on the uncomfortable couch to make sure he’s okay. Or the way Morgan forgets about his unwanted advances. And the way Morgan makes him coffee and breakfast every morning with his congenial smile and easy attitude.
It’s not easy to get over Maeve or to not have his heart clench at undue times, like when he walks past a used bookshop in Georgetown or a payphone in Kansas City. He knows he should be thanking everybody for their support instead of wallowing, and he does superficially. He just doesn’t believe it’s enough to really thank them for all they do.
It’s hard to not want to die. He never understood it nearly as much as he does now. He wants to die and it takes a lot more effort for him not to. He reminds himself of everything he loves in the world and surrounds himself with it, but he still struggles every day.
It takes Reid months to finally approach Morgan about that night.
“Morgan, we need to talk.”
“Yeah, Reid?”
“I wanted to talk about the night that you came over.”
“We don’t need to talk.”
“Yes, we do.”
“Absolutely, no, we don’t.”
“Morgan, I knew, know,” he stutters, “how you feel about me and I used that against you. I have never been more sorry in my life. What I did was unforgiveable in a human sense, but I know you and what happened to you. It just makes it worse.”
Morgan won’t look at him throughout the whole speech; he’s shuffling papers on his desk and avoiding eye contact.
“Well, I’ve forgiven you,” Morgan says overly nonchalant, “no biggie, pretty boy.”
“Just because I was under duress, it doesn’t mean the advance wasn’t warranted,” Reid says softly as Morgan turns away.
“Stop,” Morgan shouts and runs a hand over his face.
“It’s true, Morgan,” Reid says, trying not to sound like he’s pleading.
Morgan scoffs and walks purposefully out of the office.
Reid is left standing in the middle of the office gaping.
There is no more discussion of it.
The next case is harder to watch Morgan go through than Reid can imagine. Young boys with no fathers being assaulted and raped by a man they look up to. Garcia would usually be his comforter, but she can only do so much over the phone. She calls Reid’s cell and demands he takes care of Morgan, but he can’t. Morgan is so walled off to him.
Reid would usually naturally fall into the role of comforting Morgan, now that Prentiss is gone. Morgan flinches every time Reid goes to place a hand on his shoulder or even brush against him. Reid understands, but that doesn’t make it hurt. It makes both of them irritable and shorter with the local LEOs. Hotch narrows his eyes at both of them and they attempt to harness their inner turmoil. Reid is out of his mind with watching Morgan struggle, and he hopes the rejection isn’t based on a change of feeling but an anger that will wear away.
Comfort comes in an odd source, well Reid has to reconsider that frame of thought, it’s not completely odd. Rossi approaches Morgan while he’s sitting reviewing the man, Reginald Crosby’s, holdings and relations. He drops both hands onto the larger man’s shoulders, Morgan jumps imperceptibly, he gives a quick manly rub like he’s preparing Morgan for a boxing match, Morgan closes his eyes tightly and reclines, Rossi moves his left hand to the right shoulder, leans over, and they discuss what they’ve found. When Rossi walks to talk to JJ, Morgan leans back in the chair, holding his hands above his head with his eyes closed. He looks like a weight has been lifted. He smiles a little to himself, rubs his eyes, and returns to the files.
Everyone on the team does little comforting things for Morgan. Rossi keeps treating him like a prize fighter. Hotch shows up with a Dr. Pepper that he definitely didn’t get from the station’s Pepsi vending machine. JJ orders Morgan’s favorite take-out food, steak burritos with guacamole. Blake, who isn’t nearly as aware of Morgan’s past, keeps giving him curious looks but has caught onto the rest of team’s attitude and sets a steaming cup of chamomile tea down in front of Morgan one evening. Reid almost scoffs at the cup until Morgan grins, thanks her, sips, and sighs into the cup. Except Reid, Reid doesn’t do anything to comfort Morgan and it’s warranting critical looks from the rest of the team. He wants to shout at them that he’s made a terrible mistake but he doesn’t; he just sits and takes the glares.
They finish the case and it’s a dragged out chase through the woods outside Crosby’s hunting cabin. Reid finds Morgan at the hotel’s bar; he’s drinking two fingers of whiskey. He sits next to Morgan quietly, Morgan barely glances at him, and Reid thinks he’s going to move away.
“When you came into my office, I so wanted to believe you,” he says into the glass, taking a swig and smirking into the cup.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because you’ll regret us.”
“Not true.”
“I’ll never be more than your rebound; I can’t be your rebound.”
“You won’t be my rebound.”
“I can’t risk that.”
“You’d rather have nothing than the something we could try for.”
“It’s not nothing Reid. What we have is not nothing,” he says seriously his eyes boring into Reid’s face. “And I can’t risk it.”
“You risk everything,” Reid shouts, “You risk your life on 64% of our cases; yes, I’ve calculated it.”
“You would,” Morgan snorts, he gets up and starts to walk away, “What we’ve got is what you need.”
“Why does everyone think they know what I need?”
He watches Morgan walk away; the weight still heavy across the tense shoulders.
Reid thinks the plane is going to be awkward, so he curls up on the couch and hopes for sleep. When he wakes up, Morgan is at the end of the couch, headphones on, head tilted back, and his hand resting lightly on Reid’s ankle.
Main Pairings: Morgan/Reid (pre-slash, but could be never)
Characters: Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid
Rating: pg-13
Word count: 1037
Warnings/Spoilers: suicide ideation
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Summary: Reid and Morgan discuss, well not really, Reid's unwanted advances that night.
Author’s Note: I love feedback, thanks!
I'm going to regret doing this.
Reid knows he doesn’t deserve the next three nights Morgan spends curled up on the uncomfortable couch to make sure he’s okay. Or the way Morgan forgets about his unwanted advances. And the way Morgan makes him coffee and breakfast every morning with his congenial smile and easy attitude.
It’s not easy to get over Maeve or to not have his heart clench at undue times, like when he walks past a used bookshop in Georgetown or a payphone in Kansas City. He knows he should be thanking everybody for their support instead of wallowing, and he does superficially. He just doesn’t believe it’s enough to really thank them for all they do.
It’s hard to not want to die. He never understood it nearly as much as he does now. He wants to die and it takes a lot more effort for him not to. He reminds himself of everything he loves in the world and surrounds himself with it, but he still struggles every day.
It takes Reid months to finally approach Morgan about that night.
“Morgan, we need to talk.”
“Yeah, Reid?”
“I wanted to talk about the night that you came over.”
“We don’t need to talk.”
“Yes, we do.”
“Absolutely, no, we don’t.”
“Morgan, I knew, know,” he stutters, “how you feel about me and I used that against you. I have never been more sorry in my life. What I did was unforgiveable in a human sense, but I know you and what happened to you. It just makes it worse.”
Morgan won’t look at him throughout the whole speech; he’s shuffling papers on his desk and avoiding eye contact.
“Well, I’ve forgiven you,” Morgan says overly nonchalant, “no biggie, pretty boy.”
“Just because I was under duress, it doesn’t mean the advance wasn’t warranted,” Reid says softly as Morgan turns away.
“Stop,” Morgan shouts and runs a hand over his face.
“It’s true, Morgan,” Reid says, trying not to sound like he’s pleading.
Morgan scoffs and walks purposefully out of the office.
Reid is left standing in the middle of the office gaping.
There is no more discussion of it.
The next case is harder to watch Morgan go through than Reid can imagine. Young boys with no fathers being assaulted and raped by a man they look up to. Garcia would usually be his comforter, but she can only do so much over the phone. She calls Reid’s cell and demands he takes care of Morgan, but he can’t. Morgan is so walled off to him.
Reid would usually naturally fall into the role of comforting Morgan, now that Prentiss is gone. Morgan flinches every time Reid goes to place a hand on his shoulder or even brush against him. Reid understands, but that doesn’t make it hurt. It makes both of them irritable and shorter with the local LEOs. Hotch narrows his eyes at both of them and they attempt to harness their inner turmoil. Reid is out of his mind with watching Morgan struggle, and he hopes the rejection isn’t based on a change of feeling but an anger that will wear away.
Comfort comes in an odd source, well Reid has to reconsider that frame of thought, it’s not completely odd. Rossi approaches Morgan while he’s sitting reviewing the man, Reginald Crosby’s, holdings and relations. He drops both hands onto the larger man’s shoulders, Morgan jumps imperceptibly, he gives a quick manly rub like he’s preparing Morgan for a boxing match, Morgan closes his eyes tightly and reclines, Rossi moves his left hand to the right shoulder, leans over, and they discuss what they’ve found. When Rossi walks to talk to JJ, Morgan leans back in the chair, holding his hands above his head with his eyes closed. He looks like a weight has been lifted. He smiles a little to himself, rubs his eyes, and returns to the files.
Everyone on the team does little comforting things for Morgan. Rossi keeps treating him like a prize fighter. Hotch shows up with a Dr. Pepper that he definitely didn’t get from the station’s Pepsi vending machine. JJ orders Morgan’s favorite take-out food, steak burritos with guacamole. Blake, who isn’t nearly as aware of Morgan’s past, keeps giving him curious looks but has caught onto the rest of team’s attitude and sets a steaming cup of chamomile tea down in front of Morgan one evening. Reid almost scoffs at the cup until Morgan grins, thanks her, sips, and sighs into the cup. Except Reid, Reid doesn’t do anything to comfort Morgan and it’s warranting critical looks from the rest of the team. He wants to shout at them that he’s made a terrible mistake but he doesn’t; he just sits and takes the glares.
They finish the case and it’s a dragged out chase through the woods outside Crosby’s hunting cabin. Reid finds Morgan at the hotel’s bar; he’s drinking two fingers of whiskey. He sits next to Morgan quietly, Morgan barely glances at him, and Reid thinks he’s going to move away.
“When you came into my office, I so wanted to believe you,” he says into the glass, taking a swig and smirking into the cup.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because you’ll regret us.”
“Not true.”
“I’ll never be more than your rebound; I can’t be your rebound.”
“You won’t be my rebound.”
“I can’t risk that.”
“You’d rather have nothing than the something we could try for.”
“It’s not nothing Reid. What we have is not nothing,” he says seriously his eyes boring into Reid’s face. “And I can’t risk it.”
“You risk everything,” Reid shouts, “You risk your life on 64% of our cases; yes, I’ve calculated it.”
“You would,” Morgan snorts, he gets up and starts to walk away, “What we’ve got is what you need.”
“Why does everyone think they know what I need?”
He watches Morgan walk away; the weight still heavy across the tense shoulders.
Reid thinks the plane is going to be awkward, so he curls up on the couch and hopes for sleep. When he wakes up, Morgan is at the end of the couch, headphones on, head tilted back, and his hand resting lightly on Reid’s ankle.