FIC: Broken Vessel Part 7
Title: Broken Vessel Part 7
Author: Toggledog
Rating: FRAO
Pairing: Morgan/Reid, Reid/OMC
Warnings: rape recovery, angst
Summary: Morgan and Reid attend a wedding where both overdo it on the alcohol for the same reason, but have differing consequences. My fic for the wedding challenge.
Author’s Notes: Thanks to all who r&r’d, so far. Obscure movie quote from last chapter, John Landis has the line "See you next Wednesday" in all of his movies. Onto the fic…
Other Parts: http://community.livejournal.com/morganreid_cm/142514.html#cutid1
"Feels good to be back." Derek cast a sidelong glance to the sombre man sitting next to him. Reid’s attention was solely focused on the rapidly passing landscape. "Reid?"
The delicate face focused on him.
"You ok?"
"I’m fine." He replied, his tone detached.
"It’s just, you haven’t really talked at all since we left Chicago."
"I’m tired." He turned his focus back to the scenery again.
Derek bit his lip, pushing down his rising irritation. He would have given anything for the frustrated emotion to be caused by the doctor’s continual prattling on. At that point, he didn’t care what Spencer talked about, as long as he simply talked, exercised that magnificent brain of his.
He saw the turn off to the younger man’s suburb coming up on the right-hand side.
"Are you sure you don’t want me to-?
"I’m fine." He said quickly. "I’m just going to get inside and go to sleep."
The other profiler considered offering to visit him the next day but refrained. He reminded himself that the worst thing to do at that point was to push him.
The vehicle slipped off the freeway onto a less busy side street.
"What time’s the appointment with Dr. Harris tomorrow?"
"9am." Spencer replied, an edge to his voice. Morgan correctly summarised the young man was expecting a lecture on definitively making the appointment and being punctual.
"How are you getting there?"
"I can drive."
"Your medication-?"
"I can drive on my medication. It says so in the prescription." This time the exasperation in his voice was more evident. Morgan decided to drop it.
They were silent the next few minutes, as the older man traversed the streets to Spencer’s apartment. He suddenly realised that, although he’d dropped Spencer off a few times, he’d never actually been inside.
Morgan pulled up at the kerb opposite the familiar blocky grey apartment block and parked the car.
"Well…" Spencer took off his belt. He looked to the other awkwardly. "Thanks for everything."
"No problem."
"I’ll ah… be in contact soon."
That’s it? Morgan thought.
The young man climbed out of the vehicle, turned back and waved. Derek watched him walk across the street, with sinking feeling in his stomach.
What had happened between them, what did that mean to the doctor? He shook his head and turned the ignition.
***
Spencer turned the key into his apartment and stepped inside, looking around himself. Everything was as he remembered. Clean, orderly, maintained. Just as his life was before… everything had its place, no matter how small or mundane. He stepped over to the glass cabinet holding his dvd collection. All in alphabetical order and divided between television programmes, movies, music dvds and documentaries. He took a handful out and threw them onto the ground, then did the same with some of the alphabetically organised books in the bookcase.
There, that was better.
He collapsed onto his immaculate black couch. Derek’s house, though relatively clean, wasn’t fanatically sterile like his. It quite literally hurt his brain, at times, to come out in the morning to still dirty dishes in the sink. The other man assumed Spencer’s continual frantic cleaning was his way of thanking him for staying in the house.
This was only partially true.
Damn it!
Spencer stood up and collected the dvds, carefully arranging them back into the cabinet again, then rushed over to the littered novels and did likewise into the bookcase. Now somewhat sated, he wandered into the kitchen and opened the pantry. Nothing inside looked particularly appealing. He decided he wasn’t hungry, so wandered back into the lounge room again, picking up the remote and switching on the television, aimlessly surfing the channels.
The sun was starting to peek under the horizon, suffusing the room in a pale grey light. He recalled that, as a child, he had been afraid of the dark. His mother kept a boot shaped lamp by his bed. As the inky darkness surrounded him, he would stare at the only source of light available, too afraid to even move his irises for a second, lest they catch something out of the corner, something grotesque, an unimaginable abhorrence relishing it’s chance to pounce upon frightened little boys.
Spencer felt the same dread start to return. He focused all his attention on the television, fearful of moving a single muscle. The rational side of him told him that this was ridiculous. Nothing would hurt him. But the wild hammering of his heart, the horror clenching his stomach took precedent. He considered calling Morgan-
And telling him what? Come over here, Derek. I’m scared of the dark?
The problem wasn’t that the handsome man would laugh at him, as he probably would have done in the past. The problem was that he would come over there, all overly concerned and determined to protect dear fragile Spencer. He loved Derek, he was sure but he was tired of being treated as a victim. He wanted to be seen as strong, capable, alluring. He wanted the other to look at him the way he sometimes caught him watching him in the past; with pure, unadulterated animal need.
What was he to Derek Morgan? A project? A salve for his own misgivings about what happened to him as a child?
I can’t do this.
He recalled the first night, standing in Morgan’s room, the gun in his hand. Of course, he wasn’t really serious… was he? It was a crazy idea… but then he was rather crazy at that time.
Going the way of my mother. Well, you always thought you’d go that way. Maybe you’ll end up next to her in the sanatorium, giving lectures on criminal profiling to captive insane audiences. Won’t that be fun, huh? Won’t that be a blast?
He closed his eyes, letting his thoughts dissipate as much needed sleep started to take hold. In the background somewhere he heard Seinfeld doing a routine on men who honk at women… men honking pretty women… walking down the street… pretty woman…isn’t that…? Pretty…
A weight on his back. Breath in his ear.
"Sh… pretty boy… don’t move."
Spencer screamed, flailing his arms and bucking in an attempt to push the other man off him. In the house. His attacker was in the house! He jumped up and ran with lightening speed to the door, switching the light on.
Nobody there.
It was just a nightmare, he told himself. His heart still beat a frenzied tattoo, his breath still quickened.
It had felt so real.
I can’t be alone. Not tonight. Too scared.
He would have to call Derek. There was nothing more to it.
This time, it will be on my terms.
***
He had only just closed the door behind him when the phone rang.
"Derek Morgan?"
"It’s me. Can you come over?" There was a quiver in his voice. It was very subtle but Derek instantly picked up on it.
"Spencer what’s wrong?"
"Please just… when can you get here?"
"I’m leaving now."
He picked up his keys and rushed out the front door.
So much for my own home sweet home, he thought, feeling no ill will.
***
The only time he ever travelled faster by car was when Spencer was taken into the hospital by ambulance. He covered the distance between his and the doctor’s apartments in record time, squealing his tires on the road outside the apartment block. He flicked off his seatbelt, threw open the door and then spent the next frustrated minute trying to get the worn down inhibitor to close the locks. Finally, the locks clicked down and he rushed forward. Some helpful soul had left the security door leading into the apartment block unhinged. He opened it and sprinted up the stairs, knocking loudly on Spencer’s apartment door.
"It’s open." He heard, from inside.
"Spencer?"
Derek stepped in. The room was pitch black.
"Bedroom."
The baffled man followed the meagre source of light streaming down the hall.
"What happened?"
No response.
Derek quickened his pace, reaching the bedroom door. He stepped into the room-
And froze.
The flame of half a dozen candles placed on the bedside table shimmered over the doctor’s naked pale skin, his hair suffused with the orange glow, creating a pale halo around the dark blond tones. Though Derek could normally find no fault with Spencer’s face, the gentle light only seemed to highlight it’s flawless beauty, his dark eyes seeming to burn with a fire of their very own.
Morgan unconsciously took in a deep breath, for a moment overwhelmed by the sheer magnificence of what was before him.
This swiftly turned to anger.
What the hell was Spencer thinking?
"Come here." Spencer patted the bed beside him.
This was all that Derek had wanted, no beyond anything he had ever imagined. And for Spencer to take that and twisted it-
He’s not himself, the more rational part of his mind spoke. It’s the damaged part that’s taken over now.
I can’t… I can’t do this. Damn, I’m going to start to go crazy myself.
The problem was that part of it had worked. It took all of Derek’s will not to walk over there and climb into that bed. His body certainly was reacting severely, his entire system aflame with desire.
"You don’t want this."
"I want you, Derek. I’ve wanted you for so long. And I know you want me. Don’t deny it."
"This isn’t right!"
"If you like, I can give you a lecture on the dogmatically approved values of right and wrong and how they apply in modern society." He said, absently drawing shapes on the bed before him. He sounded so much like the old Spencer Reid in that moment that Derek was almost drawn in. "Somehow I don’t think you’d be interested."
"Is this why you called me? To…" He gestured before him.
"It’s time."
Derek took a deep breath and walked further into the room. For once, he was at a loss as to what to do.
"Why?"
Spencer looked a little confused by the question.
"Why now? What happened earlier tonight? What spooked you?"
For a second, he looked almost ready to reply, then an odd smile overtook his face.
"Get that gorgeous butt over here."
"No."
"What?"
"I don’t want to."
"Yes you-"
"No, I don’t."
"But-"
"I don’t. I’m tired and I’m frankly starting to get a massive headache."
Instantly the expression hardened.
"I see."
He reached across the bed and grabbed a gown lying on the end, covering his naked body with it.
"What do you expect me to say? You’re. Not. Ready. And don’t pretend-"
Spencer stormed past him down the hallway.
Damn it! Derek felt the sudden urge to kick something. He moved over and blew out the candles, then followed the light at the end of the corridor into the lounge room, where Spencer stood by the foyer.
"Get out!"
Fine. I can’t, I just can’t handle this any more.
Derek sidled past him, put his hand on the door handle then turned back.
"So that’s it, you’re kicking me out because I refuse to fuck you?"
Spencer flinched.
"I’m very close to just giving up. I’ve been more patient than anyone has a right to be. But you just keep testing me."
"You already have given up. I think you’ve made that very clear." Spencer’s dark eyes flashed. "You only see me as something to fix, a way of absolving yourself of your own inadequacies."
"Don’t you dare psycho-analyse me. You don’t know anything about what I’ve been through, so don’t even start."
"I’m not a human being to you." The voice rose a little. "I’m just a-a symbol, poor little screwed up Spencer Reid. Stupid enough to get himself fucked on your sister’s wedding and now your stuck with taking care of him."
"Damn it! I’ve done every thing I possibly can to help you, to show how much I care, how much I love you. And it’s still not good enough."
"You don’t love me. How could you? I’ll never be what you want me to be."
Derek put his head in his hands and let out a groan of frustration.
"I don’t want you to be anything!"
"I disgust you! I saw it in your face in the bedroom. You think I’m repulsive."
"I was repulsed by the fact that you took the way I feel about you and twisted it, cheapened it."
"You just don’t want me to be in control. The victim dynamic works better for you, admit it."
"I don’t see you as a victim!"
"Yes you do. Just another one for Derek Morgan to fix up so everyone can see him as the hero."
Derek took deep breaths, attempting to calm himself down. He’s not really angry with you, he told himself. He just has nowhere to direct the blame. Particularly considering the two rapists are now dead.
"Let me, just let me sit down a second."
He stepped past the young man and sat down on the black coach. Spencer stood where he was a moment, confused expression marring his face, before pulling up the armchair opposite to face Derek.
"I don’t know how much more I can take of this." Morgan admitted. "I’m glad you’re seeing the counsellor tomorrow, because I can’t… I’m not qualified to know what to say or do to help you. I don’t see you as a victim. No more than I was a victim with Carl Buford. We both survived a terrible ordeal. But, with you, I think maybe I’m making things worse. All my attempts to help you seem to make you feel more inadequate. And tonight…" He broke into a humourless grin. "The problem there was that I was tempted. Too tempted. And that would have been a disaster for both of us." He looked up to Spencer’s thoughtful face. At least the anger had disappeared. "I’ve been there too. Thinking my body was the only way to get control back. As a result, I did a lot of stupid and dangerous things. I was extremely lucky that nothing terrible happened to me. It took a long time for me to realise that I was worth more."
Spencer’s expression had now turned to utmost concern.
"I’m sorry-" He began.
"Sh…" Derek crept off the lounge chair and knelt before him, taking his hand. "I know earlier I said I’m close to giving up. But the truth is, I’ll keep hanging in there no matter what you do, short of taking out your pistol and shooting me. I’m flat out crazy for you. Damn, I feel like I’m going crazy, myself, at times."
"That would be interesting. Maybe the both of us could join my mum."
"Nah, Hotch will keep us on the team no matter how psychotic we get. Good insight into criminal behaviour."
He was rewarded with a smile, which swiftly turned upside down.
"I’m sorry. I just… I keep screwing up. I accuse you of all these terrible things. Worst of all I… humiliated myself…" He blushed. "Sometimes I just I wonder how you can stand me. Gorgeous, talented, charismatic Derek Morgan. You could have anyone you want."
"See the major difference between you and me is that I recognise that, turn it to my advantage."
"People see me as a freak."
He shook his head. "I find it utterly endearing that you don’t even notice how many double-takes you receive on a daily basis. I used to keep a tally. But people don’t approach you because they’re intimidated. Too beautiful. Too smart. Not worth a shot. Damn it, that’s what I thought in the beginning. But then I figured hey, I’m Derek Morgan."
Spencer still looked uncertain. He scooted off the lounge and sat in front of Derek, placing his other hand in his.
"Well, there’s also the fact that I clearly had competition."
"Who?"
Derek was surprised. "I’d think it was obvious."
Spencer still looked puzzled.
"Gideon."
"Gideon?"
"Oh come on, Spence. He was too much of a gentleman to be obvious about it. But I was actively looking for any competition, understand?"
"I think you’re mistaken. He was my superior. He looked out for me, that’s all."
"I’m not saying he didn’t. He clearly cared for you. But I saw the way he looked at you. Why do you think we had that little conversation I told you about? He was actively encouraging me to go for you. Like he encouraged you and JJ that time, or the actress bimbo-"
"She wasn’t a bimbo-"
"He realised that a superior lusting after their underling was wrong, so did everything in his power to try and reduce the temptation. Damn, come to think of it, the poor guy." He chuckled a little to himself.
"Do you think that’s why he left? Because of me?"
"No. He cared about you too much for that to affect his leaving."
Spencer still appeared thoughtful.
"Hey." Derek placed a finger under his chin and lifted it.
"Can you stay here tonight?"
"Sure." He leant across and sated himself with a short, sweet kiss.
"I hate feeling so needy." Spencer admitted, a scowl crossing his face.
"Well, if it makes any difference, I’m feeling needy too."
Spencer smiled, took a hand out from under Derek’s and placed it on his leg. Morgan could feel the touch burning through his jeans into his flesh.
"Tell me something that you’ve never told anyone before. But not anything bad."
Derek thought about it.
"I hate Shakespeare. As in I really don’t get the adulation. I know, I know I know you the brainiac will tell me all types of reasons why he’s the best writer ever. But the fact is, I find him boring and overrated. His comedies aren’t funny, his tragedies are overdone and yes I did study the language and I’ve seen the main plays everyone sees like Hamlet and MacBeth. I have never told anyone this, for fear of being lynched."
"Hm…I understand you not telling anyone. I wouldn’t say he was the best writer, that would be empirically impossible to say about any writer. But there is no disputing his immense talent."
Derek smiled, eliciting a smile in return.
"Go on. You now. Something you’ve never told anyone."
"Hmm…" He pursed his lips, thinking. Derek grinned a little to himself, lifted his hand and kissed it. "I am becoming more and more inclined to believe there’s a God. Not in a religious sense. More of a Creator, you might say, a kind of guiding hand. The more I understand about modern physics, the more I am led to the patterns of the universe, the uniformity of it all. This is, of course a rather radical position for someone of the more scientific mind to take. If mum found out, she wouldn’t be exactly happy."
"Spence, that’s not exactly… why wouldn’t you tell anyone this?"
"I don’t know. It’s not like I decided not to tell anyone. I just was never asked."
Derek made a mental note then and there to find out everything about his deeply felt beliefs.
"Do you-?"
"I was brought up deeply religious. Though I’ve strayed from the more extreme aspects of our Church, I still believe in a higher power. It’s helped me through more difficult times."
"Ah well I don’t see it that way. I don’t see this Being at all as interventionist."
"Hm… well fair enough."
"Infact, if we look at the concept of an interventionist ‘God’…"
Derek braced himself for a lecture. But Spencer trailed off.
I’m tired. Can we go to bed?"
Derek blinked.
"Sure."
The young man stood up. "I promise not to molest you in the night."
Derek didn’t know how to respond.
"Joke, ok?"
He nodded, following the other out of the room.
Once in the bedroom, Spencer took some clothes out of his chest-of-drawers and turned to Derek.
"I’m not sure if my stuff will fit you…"
"I can sleep in my boxers and t-shirt, if you’re comfortable with it."
The young doctor shrugged and disappeared for a few minutes. Derek took off his jeans and climbed into the bed, head whirling with the earlier argument. Sleeping in the bed, the occasional kisses and touches, was he pushing Spencer too much? His mind went to the lithe body he’d seen earlier, the dance of candlelight on his bare flesh.
Damn it… think unsexy thoughts. He evoked an image of Rossi masturbating. To complete the picture, he visualised a photo of Hotch in red speedos before him. He laughed a little to himself. A part of Morgan realised that he was being cruel. Both Rossi and Hotch were, in their own way, handsome men. They just did nothing for him.
"What are you laughing about?" Spencer returned to the room. His pyjamas had little juggling bears on them.
"Nothing… I like the pyjamas."
"Ah… thanks."
Derek visualised him going to the store to pick them out and smiled to himself again.
Spencer awkwardly climbed in next to him, rolling over onto his side, his back to Derek. Usually, the older man would snuggle up against him, wrap an arm around his stomach, nuzzle his hair or kiss the back of his neck. Occasionally, as was the case tonight, his body betrayed him. Luckily, in the past, Spencer was still asleep when he awoke with a very obvious sign of his attraction. In the knowledge that Spencer would quite rightly freak out if he became aware of the other man’s erection, Derek was able to think himself down before he awoke.
"Derek?"
"Bathroom. I’ll be…back."
He pulled the blankets back and sprinted across the hall, slamming the door behind him. This was clearly not something he could get rid of easily. Stepping before the toilet, he reached into his boxers and took himself out, stroking hand moving swifter than he usually liked but just wanting to finish as quickly as possible. He thought of Spencer lying on the bed, all naked long limbs and come-hither brown eyes, coming to him out of pure molten need, not as a result of his fractured soul. A small part of him felt sickened for using the raped man’s image in such a way but the rest needed this. Needed… Gently stroking his long legs, his stomach, biting softly into the long neck, as he reached down to his arching flesh. Spencer murmuring ‘yes, like that Derek, more…’ pressing his own body down onto his lover’s. Chest to chest, hip to hip, arching flesh to arching flesh, sweat slicked bodies moving.
‘Derek more… want you… need you."
The older man groaned, his erection jolting in his hand. Some of the semen missed the toilet bowl completely, landing on the lid. He tucked himself in and tore off some toilet paper, wiping his residue off the lid before throwing it into the bowl and flushing. After washing his hands in the sink, he returned to the bedroom.
"Spence?"
No response. The young man had rolled over in his sleep, hand splayed out and reaching towards Derek’s side of the bed. Morgan climbed back under the covers and wrapped the arm around his waist, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead before closing his eyes.
Alarm clock, he suddenly remembered. He grumbled and rolled over, randomly pressing buttons on the clock radio before him in the dark until he found the right ones. Satisfied, he rolled back over and grabbed the arm again, snaking it around his waist.
Tbc…