Tastes Like Grief ch. 4
Title It Tastes Like Grief (4/?)
Main Pairings: Morgan/Reid
Characters: Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid
Rating: pg-13
Word count: 1037
Warnings/Spoilers: N/a
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Summary: Morgan and Reid: the morning after.
His mouth is stiff with dehydration and his head throbs with pain. He rolls onto his back and his stomach does the same. He hopes there is a glass of water on his bedside table; he’s way too old for this shit. His eyes crack open and his head screams louder. There’s an orange Gatorade on the bedside table and a post-it note.
“Thought you might need it -SR,” is scrawled across it in Reid’s slanted handwriting.
“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath and he stumbles to the bathroom; he empties the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He sits there for a minute and thinks about what a stupid shit he is. Reid is still in love with Maeve; it makes him vomit again. He stumbles around the room trying to find his clothes; he’s close to throwing up again.
He needs to leave as quickly as possible. He stumbles down the stairs still feeling intoxicated; he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t drive home. He’ll sleep the rest of it off in his car. He fumbles with the front door knob, when he hears a guffaw.
“Nothing happened,” Reid assures as he sips on the steaming coffee in his hands.
Morgan doesn’t respond.
“You passed out the minute you sat on the bed.”
He still doesn’t respond.
“We were both too intoxicated.”
“You should have listened to me when I said it wasn’t a good idea,” Morgan moves to walk out the door after his fumbling finally opens the door.
“Everything’s fine.”
“It’s not fine; I don’t think you understand the definition of fine, Reid.”
“Fine is defined as ‘of superior quality, skill, or appearance’.”
“Not now, Reid,” Morgan sighs, pressing his hand onto his forehead.
“What does fine mean?” Reid almost shots.
“The opposite of this; we can’t be doing this,” Morgan hisses through his teeth.
“What do you mean?”
“Having no hope with you was better than this; I can’t have you act like you’re ready for a relationship with me. You’re clearly not. It hasn’t been that long since she died and you’re trolling through the denial phase. You’re projecting your feelings for her onto me and I can’t stand it.”
“That’s not true.”
“It fucking is and you know it; you’re going to get over me when you reach that acceptance part of the grieving process. Not having you, having you, and then losing you is not something I want to do.”
“I’m an adult I can make those decisions for myself.”
“Not when you’re involving my life, too.”
“But,” Reid goes on to rebuke him, before Morgan interrupts him.
“Do you still love her?” Reid just stares at him; his mouth goes slightly agape.
“I… I… yes.”
“Then we can’t do this; I won’t be your tool to speed up this process. We’ll just grow to resent each other. Reid, I love you. I’ve never tried to hide that, but I beg you don’t use it against me. I beg that you come to me only after you’ve grown to accept her death and don’t love her anymore.”
“You can’t ask me to do that.”
“Maybe not, but I just did.”
“I may never stop loving her.”
“And I’ll never stop loving you.”
“Where does that leave us?”
“Waiting.”
“’I can imagine few things more trying to the patience than the long wasted days of waiting’,” Reid quotes.
“Don’t quote people at me.”
“This is the same conversation we keep having.”
“Because we can’t seem to solve this situation.”
“What needs to be solved?”
“Your feelings.”
“I care about you and you care about me. What’s to solve?”
“It’s not as simple as you want it to be and you know it’ll kill me. You treat it so superfluously, but it would kill me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“If you care about me as much as you say you do, you’ll wait it out.”
BREAK
They don’t discuss it any longer. They go back to their friendship. They don’t talk about it. They wait for something. Morgan observes him as he always has with the sort of reverence that frightens himself and Garcia. Garcia who has seen it coming all along and doesn’t know how to stop her baby boy from falling into this cycle of hopelessness; she sets him up on numerous dates and he’s cordial and charismatic but a relationship never flourishes. Reid really does wallow in his grief and maybe he’ll heal one day or maybe he won’t. He spends more time with Rossi; Rossi teaches him more Italian recipes.
They’re both happy, but it’s a kind of shallow in the moment happiness that won’t last more than a few hours at a time; it’s laced with deep sorrow. A sorrow that is hard to process and accept. The thing about being a profiler is you’re so aware of what emotions can do that you either ignore yours or overanalyze them. Maybe this should be about living them out. They live them out in their own ways: Morgan throws himself into a restoration and Reid throws himself into a new degree.
“Who was your first true love?” Reid asks Morgan months after the morning after as they walk to the parking garage.
“Dejah Thomas.”
“High school sweetheart.”
“College.”
“Do you still love her?”
“To some extent I’ll always feel something for her, but she’s married now and we’d have never worked out well.”
“I still love Maeve, but I know she’s gone and I don’t want that to hold us back.”
“Reid…”
“If you change your mind, I’m the first in line. Honey, I’m still free. Take a chance on me,” he sings off-key.
“ABBA, really?”
“My dad loved them; that’s what I remember most about him after he left. I can sing ever ABBA song ever written.”
“So you want a chance?”
“Take a chance on me,” he deadpans.
“I think I can do that.”
Main Pairings: Morgan/Reid
Characters: Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid
Rating: pg-13
Word count: 1037
Warnings/Spoilers: N/a
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Summary: Morgan and Reid: the morning after.
His mouth is stiff with dehydration and his head throbs with pain. He rolls onto his back and his stomach does the same. He hopes there is a glass of water on his bedside table; he’s way too old for this shit. His eyes crack open and his head screams louder. There’s an orange Gatorade on the bedside table and a post-it note.
“Thought you might need it -SR,” is scrawled across it in Reid’s slanted handwriting.
“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath and he stumbles to the bathroom; he empties the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He sits there for a minute and thinks about what a stupid shit he is. Reid is still in love with Maeve; it makes him vomit again. He stumbles around the room trying to find his clothes; he’s close to throwing up again.
He needs to leave as quickly as possible. He stumbles down the stairs still feeling intoxicated; he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t drive home. He’ll sleep the rest of it off in his car. He fumbles with the front door knob, when he hears a guffaw.
“Nothing happened,” Reid assures as he sips on the steaming coffee in his hands.
Morgan doesn’t respond.
“You passed out the minute you sat on the bed.”
He still doesn’t respond.
“We were both too intoxicated.”
“You should have listened to me when I said it wasn’t a good idea,” Morgan moves to walk out the door after his fumbling finally opens the door.
“Everything’s fine.”
“It’s not fine; I don’t think you understand the definition of fine, Reid.”
“Fine is defined as ‘of superior quality, skill, or appearance’.”
“Not now, Reid,” Morgan sighs, pressing his hand onto his forehead.
“What does fine mean?” Reid almost shots.
“The opposite of this; we can’t be doing this,” Morgan hisses through his teeth.
“What do you mean?”
“Having no hope with you was better than this; I can’t have you act like you’re ready for a relationship with me. You’re clearly not. It hasn’t been that long since she died and you’re trolling through the denial phase. You’re projecting your feelings for her onto me and I can’t stand it.”
“That’s not true.”
“It fucking is and you know it; you’re going to get over me when you reach that acceptance part of the grieving process. Not having you, having you, and then losing you is not something I want to do.”
“I’m an adult I can make those decisions for myself.”
“Not when you’re involving my life, too.”
“But,” Reid goes on to rebuke him, before Morgan interrupts him.
“Do you still love her?” Reid just stares at him; his mouth goes slightly agape.
“I… I… yes.”
“Then we can’t do this; I won’t be your tool to speed up this process. We’ll just grow to resent each other. Reid, I love you. I’ve never tried to hide that, but I beg you don’t use it against me. I beg that you come to me only after you’ve grown to accept her death and don’t love her anymore.”
“You can’t ask me to do that.”
“Maybe not, but I just did.”
“I may never stop loving her.”
“And I’ll never stop loving you.”
“Where does that leave us?”
“Waiting.”
“’I can imagine few things more trying to the patience than the long wasted days of waiting’,” Reid quotes.
“Don’t quote people at me.”
“This is the same conversation we keep having.”
“Because we can’t seem to solve this situation.”
“What needs to be solved?”
“Your feelings.”
“I care about you and you care about me. What’s to solve?”
“It’s not as simple as you want it to be and you know it’ll kill me. You treat it so superfluously, but it would kill me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“If you care about me as much as you say you do, you’ll wait it out.”
BREAK
They don’t discuss it any longer. They go back to their friendship. They don’t talk about it. They wait for something. Morgan observes him as he always has with the sort of reverence that frightens himself and Garcia. Garcia who has seen it coming all along and doesn’t know how to stop her baby boy from falling into this cycle of hopelessness; she sets him up on numerous dates and he’s cordial and charismatic but a relationship never flourishes. Reid really does wallow in his grief and maybe he’ll heal one day or maybe he won’t. He spends more time with Rossi; Rossi teaches him more Italian recipes.
They’re both happy, but it’s a kind of shallow in the moment happiness that won’t last more than a few hours at a time; it’s laced with deep sorrow. A sorrow that is hard to process and accept. The thing about being a profiler is you’re so aware of what emotions can do that you either ignore yours or overanalyze them. Maybe this should be about living them out. They live them out in their own ways: Morgan throws himself into a restoration and Reid throws himself into a new degree.
“Who was your first true love?” Reid asks Morgan months after the morning after as they walk to the parking garage.
“Dejah Thomas.”
“High school sweetheart.”
“College.”
“Do you still love her?”
“To some extent I’ll always feel something for her, but she’s married now and we’d have never worked out well.”
“I still love Maeve, but I know she’s gone and I don’t want that to hold us back.”
“Reid…”
“If you change your mind, I’m the first in line. Honey, I’m still free. Take a chance on me,” he sings off-key.
“ABBA, really?”
“My dad loved them; that’s what I remember most about him after he left. I can sing ever ABBA song ever written.”
“So you want a chance?”
“Take a chance on me,” he deadpans.
“I think I can do that.”