FIC: Bring on the Action Man Part 1/2
FIC: Bring on the Action Man Part 1/2
Pairing: Reid/Morgan
Rating: this chapter, PG13
Summary: Reid attracts the sleazy attention of a much respected ex-profiler. Morgan's more than ready to do his Action Man routine, even if it irritates the doctor. And Morgan is clear he is not attracted to Reid. Sure he's pretty but no definitely not attracted. Very pretty…
Warnings: creepy sleaziness/bordering on sexual harassment towards the lovely doctor.
Author's Notes: It's been ah over a year since I've written anything in this fandom so yes hello again everyone. I'm back. Hope to get the inspiration to finish off 'Broken Vessel'. A tad blocked. Anyway, enjoy this one. :)
"Here he comes." Prentiss whispered.
Morgan swiveled his head around in time to see the Mark Phillips move very stoically through the busy room. In deference to his heroic stature, a few other heads also turned, as he past.
"He's a lot thinner than I imagined." Morgan observed said man shake hands with Rossi. Hotch then came out of his office, a very non-Hotch-like smile on his face.
"And taller." Prentiss continued.
"Hm…" Derek turned back to his computer.
Sure, Mark Phillips was Rossi's much respected ex-partner.
Certainly, he was said to be pivotal in the creation of the BAU.
It was true, he'd written as many books as Rossi, but unlike the somewhat taciturn profiler, was said to be incredibly charismatic.
But Morgan wasn't concerned by any of that.
When JJ called them all into a conference room to go over the latest case, he certainly wasn't sweating when he shook the man's hand. No racing heart. No curiosity to know more about this famous profiler.
He'd learnt, from his experience with Rossi, when he rejoined the BAU, that he simply wasn't going to play that game.
"It's great to meet you all." Phillips smiled. White capped teeth. "I've heard great things about this team. I'm assuming it's not a case of Rossi simply propping up his own ego."
The group, including said man, laughed.
"Seriously, I'm here because a very interesting-"
In that instance, Reid rushed into the room, all ungainly movement and apologies as he sat next to Morgan, propping his satchel firstly on the table, then apparently deciding to change his mind and placing it on the floor. Derek didn't need to look at Hotch to feel his unimpressed gaze burning into the young doctor, from across the table.
"Doctor Reid I presume?" Phillips held out his hand. "Mark Phillips."
Reid's face lit up in a smile as he stood and shook hands with the other man. "Mr. Phillips! I've heard so much about you! I actually own three of your books and was wondering if-"
"Reid." Hotch warned.
"Oh yes, yes, sorry." He abruptly sat down once more, face discolouring from pale pink to magenta.
"Certainly, we can talk later." Phillips replied. Morgan caught an amused glance between Prentiss and JJ. He shook his head. Kid was cute when he got all flustered like that.
"As I was saying I retired in Birmingham, Alabama. A week ago, a local mosque was burnt to the ground. Arson inspectors found gasoline to be the accelerant. Three days after that, a second mosque was burnt down. This time, the local imam was found inside, burnt to death. One of the detectives is a friend of mine and called me in to look into it, as a favour. The locals are convinced this is a hate-crime. I do not believe, however, that it this is the case. Convincing the local law of this has proven difficult."
"So you want us to go there and provide a legitimate face to your suspicions?" Morgan frowned.
The flash of straight white teeth once more.
"Spot on agent Morgan. Spot on."
###
After the usual briefing, all gathered their belongings, in preparation for the always, in Morgan's opinion, somewhat cramped jet flight. After conversing with Hotch and Rossi, Phillips came over to Reid.
"So, Dr. Reid…you wanted to know about my novels?"
The others had already gone on ahead. Morgan continued to dither around his desk, deliberately listening in on the conversation. He wasn't sure why. It was simply that there was something about this man that he didn't… trust.
Ridiculous. He was obviously a very brilliant profiler. There was no sign that he was in anyway dangerous.
Regardless…
Trust your instinct, Derek. It's never sent you astray.
Reid started to natter on about the various theories proposed by Phillips, in regards to analyzing motive.
It took a moment for Derek to realize what was wrong with the conversation. Mark Phillips had not said a word in response.
Possibly because he would not be able to get a word in, either way.
Morgan checked his gun clip, grabbed another from his desk and glanced back at the two. He was about to open his mouth to tell them to hurry up, when he caught the expression on Phillips' face.
He was staring at Reid with obvious calculated hunger. Morgan felt his heart start to race. What was going on here? Reid was still continuing to blather on in his usual jolly fashion when he had a captive audience, not seeming to notice the way the other man was staring at him.
"We should go." Morgan said, rather briskly. Phillips shot a look towards him. For a moment, resentment flashed through his pale blue irises, before quickly being suppressed to good humour.
"Oh, yes. Of course, of course." Reid said. "Sorry, I-"
"Nothing to apologize for." Phillips put a hand on Reid's shoulder. "Always nice to hear from a fan. Particularly one as incredibly intelligent as yourself. You clearly put any of my theories to shame."
Derek felt a subtle ill will of his own start to germinate in his stomach.
I’m onto you.
###
Once on board the jet, Morgan deliberately kept close to Reid, deliberately engaging him in conversation. Though it almost killed him with boredom to hear about the scientific advancements inspired by Star Trek, it at least stopped Phillips from talking to the kid.
The ex-consultant seemed content to sit at the back with Hotch and Rossi, going over the case. Morgan felt the first stirrings of doubt. Why should it matter if the man was attracted to Reid? It wasn't like Reid wasn't attractive. Morgan, himself, found him to be pretty. Very pretty.
Pretty boy…
"To be honest, Reid, the main thing I remember about Star Trek was how incredibly well Troy fit into her costume."
Just because I find you pretty doesn't mean I'm attracted to you. Because I'm a heterosexual man. Very very comfortable with my sexuality, yes. And I'm into women. Women. Women with their soft hair and-
Reid has very pretty hair-
And soft features-
Reid has very pretty features.
Morgan gritted his teeth, almost feeling physically pained by his ping-ponging thoughts.
"When we land, Morgan and Reid I want you both to do victimology." Hotch (handsome man… see I can notice that Hotch is a very handsome man.) paused as he passed them both.
###
Any extraneous thoughts about their personal lives were, as usual, pushed to the side as they touched down and immediately focused on the case. Morgan and Reid visited the victim's family and friends and yielded frustratingly little information. By all accounts, he was well loved around the community.
As the day wore on, however, the team gathered enough information to produce a good profile.
At 5.15pm they called all the officers working on the case into the main Birmingham police office, to deliver said profile, before retiring for the night.
"You'll be looking for a man in his late teens to early twenties.” Rossi began, looking each of the rather stoic officers in front of them, in turn, in the eye. “He will be socially withdrawn and living with his parents. He will also live within the circle of the parameter we’ve already outlined within his comfort zone. We don't believe this to be a hate crime, but rather set up to look like a hate crime. It is the fire that he is interested in. A look into his background will find several unexplained fires in his area."
"The perp will be associated with one or both of the mosques, most probably be a member of the congregation." Prentiss continued."This is a kid acting against authority. We believe due to a position of the body that the murder was incidental. We believe the perp did not realise the imam was in the mosque at the time."
Reid finished. "We suggest looking closely at members of the second mosque, and at the crime photos, particularly crowd scenes, as the perp will be attracted to authority, to oversee his creation. We also suggest staking out the grave of the imam, as guilt will undoubtedly bring the perp back there, in an attempt to salve his conscience."
As the group filed out of the room, Morgan noted that Phillips only congratulated Reid on the profile. The young doctor blushed and said it was a team effort.
"Who wants to volunteer for grave stakeout duty?" Though his expression was blank, Morgan read a smile in Rossi's eyes.
"I don't mind." Reid put his hand up.
"I'll go too." Phillips said.
"Me too." Morgan jumped in.
"I never thought grave stakeout duty would be so popular." Hotch said in his usual dry fashion.
Morgan inwardly vowed to stick close to Reid.
###
Morgan regretted not bringing a thicker jacket. The wind had rather a chill to it. He glanced across to where Reid was seated, behind a crumbling grave stone, to the far right of him. Phillips crouched further forward. Reid caught his eye and nodded. Derek was starting to regret being so quick to volunteer. What did he think would happen? Phillips was a famous profiler. He obviously just wanted to solve this case.
He seriously doubted the man would-
What, Derek? Attempt to seduce? Attack?
Would do anything to Reid on a stakeout.
So here he was, in the middle of a damned cemetery, in the middle of the damned night. He'd rather be somewhere else. In a bar, perhaps talking to a pretty lady. A lady with
Big brown eyes, like Reid's
Pretty boy
A lady with blue eyes. Yes, blue eyes and-
Crumpled leaves crunching under feet ceased his train of thought. He felt all of his muscles tense up. A figure was walking towards them, hooded jumper covering his face. Though Derek's heart was pounding, he felt his head clear, mind alert, muscles ready for action.
The figure knelt before the grave, head in their hands.
Morgan looked to Reid and nodded. Using his fingers, he counted down from three. At one, both jumped out, guns trained on the grieving figure.
"Freeze! FBI!"
The figure squawked, putting his hands up. "What the-?"
"Hands behind your head!" Morgan ordered, grabbing his handcuffs out.
###
Jordan Mears fit the profile almost too well. He was nineteen years old and lived, with his parents, in a middle-class neighbourhood between the two mosques. Garcia had kindly pulled up records of two unexplained arsons in Mears' direct area. One involved the setting alight of a rubbish bin, the other involved a small garden being set alight. Both were now attributed to the kid.
"He'll spill you can tell. Kid's scared to death." Phillips said, as the three walked down the corridor, away from the interrogation window, viewing in where the lead detective and partner were doing the usual round of good cop/bad cop. "Congratulations on a great night's work. So let's go celebrate… my treat."
"No that's-" Morgan took out his mobile, thinking it was only fair to tell the others that the potential perp had been caught.
"Sure, sounds good." Reid said.
Morgan inwardly scowled.
"Sure sounds good." He said with much less enthusiasm.
###
The only bar open was a dusky little place on the edge of town, that Phillips insisted on paying for the taxi to. It consisted of dusty floorboards, a brightly coloured jukebox and terrycloth clad dancers groping at each other's derrieres to country music.
Derek plonked himself next to Reid in their darkened corner table, away from the sweaty groovers, resigning himself to the fact that it was going to be a long night.
"That must have been the quickest result we've ever had."
"Hm…" The pounding music was starting to pound into Derek's skull. "That's what Hotch said, when I rang him."
"That woman at the bar keeps staring at you." Reid observed. Derek looked up.
Pretty. A few years younger than him. Long black hair.
Blue eyes or brown? Hard to tell, from this distance.
"Think the lady at the bar wants to talk to you." Phillips said, coming back with three drinks.
"I'm fine."
Philips chuckled. "Not your type huh?"
Reid was simply staring at him, a slightly confused expression marring his face.
"I'm just...not in the mood for all of that tonight."
"Are you not feeling well, Morgan?" Reid asked. "Because this doesn't sound like you."
"Ah! I could tell you were a bit of a ladies' man. Handsome guy like you, I'm not surprised. I bet they swarm all over you." Phillips had placed all three drinks before them and now sat down next to Reid.
Morgan's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Something like that."
"But then, it's not about looks. Before I met my Daphne, I had my share of either sex. And I’m not exactly an oil painting. Money and prestige. That's what draws people in." Phillips had an amused glint in his eyes.
Morgan found himself relaxing a little. He suddenly noted the ring on the man's left finger and cursed himself for not noticing before.
"What about you, Spencer?"
Reid seemed uncomfortable to have all the attention on him. "Me? I ah....I don't have much luck really."
"Hm…" Phillips took a sip of his beer. "That surprises me. You're an incredibly pretty man."
"You said it wasn't about looks." Morgan said, as Spencer took a sip of his beer, head low.
"So pretty …" Phillips ignored Morgan. He appeared to study Spencer intently a moment. "You told me that you and Hotch talk to serial killers in prison. But there are some that he won't let you see, aren't there? The ones whose preferences are for young men?"
Morgan felt his muscles tense. You prick.
Spence looked up, eyes blazing. "I can more than take care of myself."
"I know these men better than either of you ever could. I'm sorry, Spencer, in all your genius, you wouldn't have a chance against them. And Hotch knows it. Of course, they wouldn't risk attacking you. But they'd think about it, fantasize. Tell you exactly what they would do to a pretty little thing like you."
"Right, what is this?" Morgan's grip around his beer glass was so tight his knuckles were shaking.
"And what would they do to a pretty little thing like me?" Spencer didn't sound intimidated. If anything, Morgan heard annoyance colouring his tones.
Good boy.
A slight smirk curled up the lips of Phillips' mouth. As he talked, he downed all of his whiskey.
"When I started profiling, we didn't have genius doctors or ex-cops who look like they've stepped straight out of a fashion magazine."
Here we go. We've heard this all before…
"We weren't pretty but we were tough, even the women, when they came on board a bit later. We-"
"We've heard this all before, from Rossi when he first started." Morgan had had enough.
"So Rossi's now integrated, has he?"
Morgan looked down. Phillips' glass was now empty.
"I think you've had-"
But Philllips' attention was solely on Spencer.
"This morning, you wanted to know about my theories about motive. And you spouted off all of these ideas from that gigantic brain of yours. But ideas are nothing, if they aren't routed in reality. It's obvious to me the kind of sheltered life you live. Stay at home. Single apartment. Watch dvds. No other friends but for your workmates. Fractured family. You're close to your mother but you don't see her as much as you want."
"Alright, Reid." Morgan reached for his jacket, on the back of the chair.
'You divorced from your wife quite recently but you keep the ring on because you don't want others to know the truth." Spencer's expression was very neutral. Morgan moved his arms forward, once more. "This case has nothing to do with arson or the killing of the priest. It's about you holding onto what's left of your ego. You want to redeem yourself in the town's eyes."
There was silence for a long moment, the tension thick enough to cut with a serrated blade. Then Phillips put his hands together and started to clap.
"Very very clever. How about I buy us all another drink?"
"I think it's time we leave." Morgan said.
"We're all having fun, aren't we? I enjoy being in the company of such pretty men." He said the word with some distaste.
"Look, what is your problem?"
"My problem is I'm tired of pretty little things like Spencer here coming in and stealing all of the hard work I've built into the BAU. Morgan, you used to be a cop, and I respect that. You're alright. Spencer, on the other hand, you may be smart but you're a terrible shot. You're clumsy, you're ungainly."
Morgan felt his temper rise with every word.
Calm yourself. Don't lose it. Don't lose it.
He could see the betrayal dawning in the young doctor's eyes. Spencer hadn't fired his weapon in front of Phillips. This meant that either Hotch or Rossi must have told him.
"Not exactly good material for a field agent. What I think is that the others don't see this because you're so damned pretty."
"Alright-" Morgan began.
"So tell me?" he leant forward. "How did you get to where you are? I know Hotch or Rossi wouldn't partake. They're such moral men. But I bet others did."
Morgan's entire arm was beginning to shake from the control of not lashing out to this man.
"Reid! Let's go!"
"Would you let me have you? I bet you fuck real nice."
Morgan's fist acted quite independently from his mind, landing squarely against Phillips' jaw. The man was knocked off his chair and onto the floor.
"Morgan!" Reid shouted.
"We're leaving! Now!"
"I'll have you up on charges for this." Phillips squawked.
"Reid!" Morgan grabbed the younger man by his sleeve, attempting to yank him up.
"Damn it!" Reid grabbed his satchel and stormed out of the bar. Morgan took a moment to turn back to Phillips, who was only now just picking himself up off the floor.
"Don't come near us again."
He turned and rushed after Reid.
Tbc…