Fic: Come Daylight 15
Title: Come Daylight [15/?]
Author: wanderingjasper
Rating: FRM
Characters: Morgan/Reid, ensemble
Word Count: 4378
Themes: Fluff, romance, life!angst, mpreg.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, but I do take liberties with them for no financial gain.
Warnings: Violence, gore, injury.
Notes: AU, unrelated to other fics, features Mpreg. A gift fic for my wifey Evo. Previous chapters: here.
Summary: The team are on a case with a few similarities to another, which logically doesn't mean anything. Logic doesn't win the day.
“Others could be victim for each lesson we learned.” - Toba Beta
“Reid, are you coming along on this case?” Hotch asked, and everyone’s eyes seemed to be on him as they sat around the round table.
“Yes,” he said plainly, though he knew why Hotch was asking.
“You’re not too far along?” Rossi piped up.
“I’m at thirty five weeks. I’m cleaned to fly until thirty six, but that’s not actually a medical necessity, it’s more to do with avoiding a person going into labour on a domestic flight.”
Hotch’s eyes were still on him, as were Morgan’s, rather intensely. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit this one out here with Garcia, Reid?”
He glanced down at the files in front of him, and then he realised what it was about. An unsub with religious delusions, killing sinners in rural Kansas.
“Hankel isn’t the first person whose delusion revolves around punishing sinners,” he said evenly, “and he won’t be the last. I’ll be fine. This is probably going to be the last case I get to go on with the team. I’m not going to be in the field, anyway.”
Hotch nodded sympathetically, and Prentiss grinned at him from across the table. He knew none of them where in any hurry to see them both leave, and knowing that his friends felt that way was a bittersweet comfort.
Morgan hovered as they all left the room, putting a hand on his lover’s back as he got to his feet. He’d been much more protective since Reid’s fall, and Spencer couldn’t pretend he wasn’t glad for the extra attention; the fetus had shifted in the few days after the incident, and while Reid knew that the “drop” was a normal part of a pregnancy they’d been to see their doctor just in case. Things were fine, and the lowered weight meant breathing felt easier, but it put a lot of pressure on his pelvis, and he could no longer avoid that the easiest and most comfortable way to get around was very much like waddling. If he stood for too long everything ached worse though, and his ankles were swollen by lunchtime every day.
Nobody objected, and Hotch even cracked a little smile, while as they were discussing the profile on the jet Morgan pulled Reid’s legs up into his lap to massage his ankles to ease the pain. Reid fought the relieved sound from manifesting, instead focusing on contributing.
“So he’s not leaving bible verses or pages,” he said, holding up one of the crime scene photos, “he’s just writing verse references on the bodies. Why?”
“All these towns are small, close-knit,” JJ offered, “they’re probably pretty religious. Maybe he expects whoever sees the references to know them.”
“So he could be sending a message to someone specific,” Morgan said, as his thumbs presses soothingly on Reid’s skin. “Clergy, maybe?”
“Maybe,” Hotch said. “But the attacks are become more brutal, he’s taking more time to torture his victims. He started with a simple kill. A sloppy one, but there were no signs of torture on the first body.”
“But this last one,” Prentiss pulled a face at the photo she was looking at. “He clearly tortured him. There are seventeen non-fatal knife wounds, and signs of manual strangulation.”
“But the reference he left with the last victim was even that serious, was it?” Seaver asked.
“Proverbs 10:2;” Reid said, “treasures gained by wickedness do not profit, but righteousness delivers from death.”
“He did all this to someone he thought was a thief?”
“Garcia checked the victim’s records, he has no criminal history.” Morgan looked up from where he was massaging Reid’s ankles.
“So we don’t know why he’s targeting them,” Rossi said. “This should be fun.”
---
The case ran long, with another death, and when the opportunity for Reid to leave the station to interview a witness with Seaver emerged he jumped at it. It could be the vital piece of the profile they were missing.
Reid and Seaver both expected the call, and gave each other a knowing look as Reid answered.
“Before you have a go-” he started.
“Spencer,” came Morgan’s voice on other end, “you’re meant to stay at the station. You’re in no shape to be in the field.”
Reid glanced over at Seaver, who was concentrating on driving. “I’m not really in the field.”
“Yes you are!”
“We’ve just spoken to a witness.”
“Spencer...”
Reid wasn’t stupid; he knew what Morgan was thinking about. Everyone had been thinking about the surface similarities to Hankel and Georgia, and when JJ and Reid had gone to interview a “witness” that had turned out to be the unsub.
“The unsub is male, the witness we talked to is a woman,” Reid explained calmly. “Hotch said it was fine.”
“Hotch!” Morgan sounded exasperated.
“Derek, I’ve been stuck in the station for four days,” Reid went on. “The sheriff’s wife has fed me more than your mother does. Besides, we think we know how the unsub is choosing his victims. The witness said that a man came to her door asking to if she had time to talk to him about God. She did, she said they talked for twenty minutes about their beliefs. When he left, he told her that her faith would be her salvation.”
“So you’re thinking he’s targeting people who don’t talk to him? Assuming that they’re not believers if they don’t talk?”
“And turning away from the Lord is a sin,” Reid finished.
“Yeah,” Morgan huffed, sounding defeated because Reid’s expedition had revealed results, “well, you better get your butt back to the station right away.”
“We’re on our way,” Reid rolled his eyes, but his was smiling at his husband’s protectiveness.
“Am I in trouble with Morgan for encouraging you?” Seaver asked as Reid closed his phone.
“Not if it helps catch the unsub.”
“We just have to find someone in rural Kansas going door-to-door peddling religion,” Seaver said. “Who’d have thought turning one of those people away would get you killed.”
“The unsub is delusional, there’s nothing rational to us about how he’s selecting his victims.”
“Speaking of religion, you want to be a good Samaritan?” Seaver nodded towards the windscreen, where up ahead Reid could see a car on the side of the road, its owner waving them down. “They probably just need us to call for a tow.”
“Sure,” Reid said, bracing a hand on his stomach as the fetus attempted to kick out his bladder.
“You may as well stay in the SUV,” Seaver said as pulled the car up twenty feet or so behind the other. “I’m just going to ask if he wants us to call someone. We can call the station, get them to call someone out.”
“Okay,” Reid said, and watched as she got out of the vehicle, hand grazing her weapon in readiness, just in case.
The fetus was doing a good impression of a break-dancer, the movements uncomfortable and awkward. Reid closed his eyes briefly against the pain, rubbing tight circles on his stomach in the hopes of easing the pain. It didn’t work, and he groaned low in his throat as he pried his eyes open.
In the near distance, Seaver had her gun levelled at the man by his car, who had a shotgun pointed at her in return.
“Shit!” Reid hissed, pulling out his phone again. He hit the speed dial and called Hotch, reeling off their location and asking for help. He reached for his own gun from the holster he’s switched to wearing under his jacket because he couldn’t wear a belt and let himself out of the car.
He approached carefully, trying to keep out of the man’s line of sight, but soon enough the man caught sight of him. The man reacted quickly, lunging forward and pressing the barrel of the shotgun right under Seaver’s chin.
“Surrender your weapon,” he barked at her, and she had no choice but to toss her weapon aside, out of both of their reach. His eyes turned next to Reid. “Drop your weapon or I will send this woman to hell.”
Reid dropped his gun too, calculating how long they had to live. They were twenty minutes away from the town, but even though the town was in the middle of nowhere and there was no traffic, Hotch and the team would be lucky to reach them in ten even at top speed.
The man body-checked him twice over once he had control of the situation, his eyes went wide, and Reid knew he was in trouble. Seaver glanced back, and she knew it too, her eyes pleading with him to retreat. He couldn’t, not with the barrel of the shotgun forcing Seaver to take several steps back, and a large blade he hadn’t seen before glinting at the man’s belt.
“A man who lies with another man will be damned,” the man began, fully focused on the pregnant man, and Reid recognised the bible passage immediately and what it meant; he was the unsub they were hunting. “He will be cursed with a demon in his belly.”
He and Seaver were about level now, a shotgun’s length away from the unsub, with it pressed to her chest. If he didn’t know her tell was her nostrils flaring, he wouldn’t have realised she was terrified. Reid realised he was clutching his belly as the man reached for his knife.
“You have sinned against the lord,” he said, “and you will be punished.”
“He’s not a sinner,” Seaver said, her voice surprisingly steady. Even as the unsub forced the barrel of the gun hard against her chest, she stepped slightly in front of Reid, blocking him. “I’m a sinner.”
That caught the unsub’s attention, and his gaze flickered back to her. Reid felt sick, so terrified he could feel himself shaking, could almost smell the dank earth of the grave around him or smell the fish innards burning.
“Confess,” the unsub hissed.
“I cheat on my husband,” Seaver blurted. “All the time. With any man who comes along.”
Reid knew she was just trying to deflect his focus, but all it gained her was a swift blow to the face with the handle of the shotgun.
“Whore!” he shouted as she went sprawling on the tarmac, bleeding. He rounded on Reid again, the knife glinting in the daylight. “Confess, sinner.”
“I’m not a sinner,” he said, the echo of that statement rattling around in his brain. He knew confessing wouldn’t save him, and he wouldn’t get far if he fled, and even if he did he’d be leaving Seaver at his mercy. The unsub grabbed him by the throat and kicked out at his shins, and Reid went down hard, his arms clutching his huge belly. He gasped in pain as he hit the floor and turned, trying to shield his stomach, but the unsub wrenched his shoulder around, pressing him hard into the tarmac, and lowered the blade down Reid’s body.
“The demon shall be cut from his flesh and dashed upon the ground, and the man should be stoned for his sin.”
“No!” Reid yelped as he realising what the unsub intended, and tried to kick out. The assailant had the advantage, and Reid was panicking. He was pinned under the man’s weight, spread out and helpless against being cut.
Suddenly the unsub’s attention was divided; Seaver had crawled over and grabbed him by the shirt, her face a bloody mess.
“Get off him!” she growled. “You don’t want him!”
With another yell of “whore!” he lunged at her, knife raised. Reid watched for a few seconds helplessly as Seaver put her arms up to defend herself, saw her flesh part under the blade. Reid scrambled onto his side, reaching to grab the knife-wielding arm and keep it from slicing the other agent again, clutching at the hand with both of his to try and draw it back. The unsub turned slightly, bearing his teeth in a sneer.
It happened suddenly; the unsub’s grip on the shotgun must have slackened, because Seaver wrenched it out of his grasp with a grunt, turned it about, shoved the barrel against the unsub’s torso and fired. The force of the shot sent him topping back, and Seaver yelled as the kickback caught her in the ribs. Reid moved quickly and took the knife out of the man’s grasp, throwing it away to the side of the road. The unsub lay dying, reciting the Lord’s Prayer to himself as he stared at the sky; he wasn’t getting up.
Reid took a few seconds to take stock of himself; the unsub hadn’t managed to cut him, and he only ached from the manhandling, then he rushed to help Seaver. The lacerations on her arms where she’d defended herself were deep and bleeding profusely, and Reid grabbed one and pushed it onto the ground, trying to stem the bleeding with pressure. One of her hands was cut badly, so he laced their fingers together and put pressure on that too, his large belly pressing down awkwardly on her.
“Your baby,” she gasped out. She was pale and going into shock, spitting out blood that he was sure was from her clearly broken nose.
“I’m fine,” he reassured. He registered a warmth spreading where their stomachs were mashed awkwardly together, and he knew she must have another injury on her torso. “Ashley, you need to breathe deeply, breathe, breathe,” he encouraged. She tried to comply, eyes wide with shock and fear and not looking away from him. He did her the courtesy of looking right back, panting but keeping his composure, trying to reassure her even as he felt her bleeding beneath him. Bleeding because she’d defended him, because he was heavily pregnant and vulnerable, and she was brave and bleeding out.
Reid gave a shuddered sigh of relief at the sound of sirens in the distance, coming closer, and realised he was crying.
“They’re here, Ashley,” he said.
“Reid!”
He could hear the team, and soon they were upon them. Morgan reached out and yanked the tie from Reid’s neck, then took over one arm, tying it around to stem the bleeding. Prentiss had something too, and was tying it around Seaver’s hand. Reid pulled focus to the wound on her stomach, a stab wound rather than a slash like on her arms, and pulled of his sweatervest to use it to put pressure on the wound as he registered someone behind them calling for an helicopter evacuation.
“Ashley,” Prentiss said, leaning into the woman’s line of sight. “It’s okay, a helicopter’s on its way.”
“Spencer, are you hurt?” Morgan asked, trying to catch his eye.
“She’s lost a lot of blood,” Reid said sniffing back tears. “She’s going to bleed out when the helicopter crew move her, they’ll need to do an emergency blood transfusion-”
“Spencer,” Morgan pressed urgently. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” he shook his head. “We didn’t know it was the unsub. He was broken down, Seaver stepped out to call a tow for him. We couldn’t have seen this, this isn’t how he targets, not this open, we couldn’t have known.”
“I know,” Morgan reassured.
It felt like an age, but it was actually just seven minutes before the helicopter arrived. The bleeding had been stopped mostly, but Reid was right, it started again as she was moved. Morgan had a hold of him by the arms and was steering him towards the helicopter too, low against the downward force of the blades. He felt confused as Morgan passed him into the arms of a paramedic, who bundled him into the helicopter beside Seaver, who was prone on a stretcher, strapped down for the journey.
“Derek?” he asked, frightened and reaching for him even as he was buckled into a seat. He didn’t understand, he wasn’t hurt, and he wanted to be with his husband. He wanted to be held and have his hair stroked and told Seaver was going to be fine, not sit next to her as she died. The helicopter door closed and they were in flight, and Reid took a breath and tried to focus on what the paramedics were doing. There was still blood on his hands, and he wiped it on his slacks.
They were wrapping Seaver’s wounds, staunching the bleeding on her arms and hands, and putting pressure on her torso as they shouted instructions at each other. There was still blood on his hands, and he wiped them on himself again, trying to regulate his breathing and take stock of himself. He didn’t hurt, he wasn’t having contractions; the fall hadn’t triggered preterm labour. It wasn’t a surprise that Morgan had pushed him into the helicopter though, just in case.
There was still blood on his hands; he didn’t understand it, was annoyed with it as he rubbed his hands on his trousers again. He turned them over to examine them, and registered the large cut on his right palm, and two on the finger of his left where his wore his wedding ring. The silver band was crimson with blood; his, Seaver’s - it didn’t matter. The cuts were pulsing, and one of the paramedics finally noticed. He let her grab his hands and tend to them as the pain finally registered.
---
Reid was sat in the waiting room, holding back the bandage on his hand and considering the stitches there when the rest of the team arrived. Everyone started talking at once, and he considered each of them as he rose slowly to his feet. For some reason he knew he had to address his information to Prentiss, whose thumbnail was already bloody from her biting it.
“She’s in surgery,” he started, making eye contact with Prentiss. “They stabilised the bleeding, but they were worried about the stab wound to her torso most of all. I haven’t heard anything else yet. They said they’d update me soon.”
“Are you okay?” Hotch asked.
“Spencer, why aren’t you in a room?” Morgan asked, taking Reid by the elbow and leading him away from the group as they settled in to wait. He inspected his injured hands, one with a bandage around it and the other with small wound closure strips along with a couple of stitches on his cut ring finger.
“Derek, I’m okay. They stitched my hands and gave me painkillers, but didn’t give me a tetanus shot because I had one about eight weeks ago as routine.”
“You should be in your room.”
“They discharged me already. The doctor gave me a full work up, including an ultrasound just in case.” He stepped away and picked up a brown envelope, moved back and slipped out a print out of the ultrasound. “Here.”
The image of the fetus was clear, and the development since their last one was striking. Morgan took it in his hands, mouth slightly open.
“Wow. They’re getting so big.” Morgan probably didn’t even realised how hushed his voice had become.
“As if you couldn’t tell from the size of me, right?”
“You didn’t find out the sex, did you?”
“No,” Reid shook his head. “I told the ultrasound technician I didn’t want to know. He got me to look away when he needed to check in that general area. We didn’t wait all this time to have to have the surprise ruined, did we?”
“No,” Morgan chuckled, pulling Reid against him and kissing his cheek. “I’m glad you’re both okay, baby.”
They rejoined the group and the worry. Reid watched as JJ put her hand on Prentiss’ to stop her lifting it to her mouth to chew on her nails. If the team weren’t a bunch of profilers who had picked on there being something between Prentiss and Seaver months ago, that sign of such intense stress and worry would have surely given them away.
By the time a surgeon came out to, see them Reid’s anaesthetic was wearing off and his hands were throbbing.
“She’s only just come out of surgery,” the surgeon said, raising her hand to placate the sudden surge of questions from the gathered group. “She’ll make a full recovery, although we had to repair the flexor tendon in her left hand, so she’ll be in a hand splint for several months, and we won’t know whether she’ll get full function back until she’s better healed.”
“Can we see her?” Rossi asked as Morgan turned away to call Garcia and update her.
“She’s in recovery, so just one of you can sit with her right now. You’re welcome to wait here until she’s ready for more visitors. There’s a visitor cafeteria on the floor below, just follow the signs.”
“Emily,” Rossi said gently, urging her forward, “you go to her.”
Prentiss nodded frantically, too nervous to say a goodbye before she followed the doctor away. They all kept looking after her, just waiting for someone to say something to get them moving.
“You all knew they’re a couple, right?” JJ piped up.
There was a murmur of agreement and relieved, comforting chuckling.
---
Instead of waiting around, everyone did what they could to help arrange to have Seaver transported from Kansas to Virginia, so everyone could get closer to home. Reid had been reluctant to leave her, almost as much as Prentiss, but they’d both been persuaded long enough to take the jet flight home in worried silence. Morgan had literally had to beg Reid to come home, eat, bathe and sleep before he went to the hospital.
Seaver was asleep when they got there, and Prentiss was at her bedside. She had a band-aid over the nail she’d chewed bloody, and was fiddling with the end of it with her teeth. Morgan, who was much more inclined to give tactile comfort, crossed the room to gently put his hand on her shoulder. She turned just slightly, a weak smile on her face.
Reid stood at the end of the hospital bed, looking at Seaver. Both her arms were totally bandaged and her left hand was in a splint to keep it still. An IV line disappeared somewhere under the sheet and was probably inserted into her leg or groin, since the bandages covered her hands, wrists and forearms. There was a dressing on her face too, where she’d had surgery to fix her broken nose. She’d got each of those injuries defending him. She had body-blocked him, putting herself in harm’s way to protect him, clearly sensing he was at a significant disadvantage with his huge pregnant belly. Even when she’d been given a concussion and a broken nose with a shotgun, she’d tried to protect him.
“Our last conversation was about you guys,” Prentiss said, bringing Reid’s attention back. “This morning. About how we were excited for you - are excited for you, and how much we’re going to miss you. I think I asked her to move in with me.”
“Think?” Morgan said, squeezing her shoulder.
“Yeah. I just mentioned when you two moved in together, said maybe it was time we did the same, and she didn’t say anything. I guess that means she doesn’t want to, though.”
“Maybe,” Morgan said evenly, “or maybe she wasn’t sure if you were being serious, and didn’t want to embarrass herself. You should try asking her for real.”
“Really?” Prentiss asked, looking around at them. Reid smiled reassuringly, one hand bracing the end of the hospital bed, the other touching his stomach.
“After I was exposed to anthrax,” Reid started, “we came out as a couple, and Morgan made me come stay with him so he could look after me.” Morgan smiled at him. “The whole time, I was worried about what would happen after. I didn’t want to go back to my apartment, and I even thought about faking still feeling like crap so he’d let me stay. All because even though this was his way of moving me in, he didn’t actually ask me. Not until I started packing to leave, then he got all confused, assumed I just knew he wanted me to stay. You should ask her.”
“Yeah?”
Reid nodded. Morgan smiled at both of them, and withdrew his hand from Emily's shoulder. “You should go home and get some rest.”
“I’m not going home,” Prentiss said. “The nurse is going to set up a cot for me.”
“Okay,” Morgan said. “I’m taking you home now pretty boy, no arguments. I’m playing the protective husband card, and I’ll play the ‘please think of the fetus’ one if I have to.”
Reid smiled and accepted the hug Prentiss rose to give him, returning it earnestly. Then he let Morgan steer him out of the room. It was just as well; he was exhausted. His knees ached, his spine hurt and his feet throbbed, and all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and let his husband rub his back.
Instead, of course, as soon as they’d climbed into bed, Reid noticed he had blood under his fingernails; Seaver’s blood. Utterly exhausted, he just wanted to sleep, but he couldn’t like that. Morgan, to his credit, quickly picked up on where Reid was focusing and guided him out of bed, to the bathroom, and helped to gently scrub his nails clean.
“How do you say thank you?” Reid said suddenly, turning to look at Morgan. “How do you thank someone for almost dying to save your life? For protecting you and the fetus you’re carrying, a fetus they have no genetic link to and no biological incentive to protect?”
“We’ll think of something, Spencer,” Morgan said gently. “We’ll buy them a really nice housewarming gift when they move in together.”
Reid smiled and let Morgan pull him close, but the vision of Ashley in her hospital bed, cut and stitched and broken was fresh in his mind, and a hypothetical housewarming gift didn’t feel like enough.
“It was one thing to sacrifice your own life for someone else's. It was another thing entirely to bring into the mix a third party - a third party who knew you, who trusted you implicitly.” - Jodi Picoult