{fic} Teach Me How To Be Loved (part one)
Title: Teach Me How To Be Loved
Pairing: Morgan/Reid
Rating: NC-17
Genre: slash/romance
Warnings/spoilers: Circles around 4x24, ‘Amplification’.
Summary: In the aftermath of 'Amplification', complicated feelings take every fibre of Morgan's being and weave into a picture that he cannot fully accept. In a desire not to ruin their friendship, Morgan attempts to keep his feelings hidden with short-lived success. What happens when his facade begins to gradually shatter?
A/N: I recently discovered the awesomeness that is Morgan/Reid and have been hysterical ever since. (One more apology to everyone who’s had to listen to my flailing.) I’ve been watching the show off and on for years but after purchasing the seasons on DVD, I’ve become completely obsessed and consider myself quite the passionate fan these days.
It’s my first Criminal Minds fanfic but I’ve been writing for other fandoms for six years. The fic has been beta-ed by an excellent and absolutely lovely midwinter_taion but I do apologize for any possible mistakes or inconsistencies as English isn’t my first language. Feedback is more than appreciated!
“Reid, open the door!”
There’s no credibility whatsoever in his voice. There’s no firmness, no authority; the commands are but masked pleas, feeble attempts to sound convincing enough for Reid to let him in. He knows what’s happening - the truth dawned on him the moment he got the phone call about the lab being clean - but he doesn’t care, doesn’t even take a second to consider the danger he’s willing to put himself in for Reid’s sake. Somehow, in the few seconds it took for Morgan to take that damn phone call, Reid had disappeared. Reid wasn’t by his side anymore.
He rushed to the door only to find Reid, the determined little idiot, locking the door to prevent Morgan from entering the house.
Morgan has no way of expressing just how intensely helpless he feels standing at the other side of the door while Reid is in danger inside. He’s painfully aware of the fact that there’s absolutely nothing he can do but he can’t leave Reid behind, either. They are a team. A family. Reid is a part of him and he can’t make him go through this alone. He has to get inside. Fuck it, he has to do something.
Reid meets his eyes through the now locked glass door, his eyes full of apology, fear, shame, and so many other things that cannot be put into words, at least not right now. The soft “I’m sorry” hurts Morgan’s ears and he clenches his fists in anger - anger towards who or what, he doesn’t know, and doesn’t care to ponder about. The helpless feeling, the knowledge of there being nothing he can do, has turned into a raw, all-consuming ache in his chest.
Then he notices the broken test tube on the floor.
Fear pierces him like a spear, coursing through him in devastating waves and drowning underneath whatever feelings existed before.
Reid’s gonna die alone. Cough, lesions, blood, slurred speech, asphyxiation. He’s going to die alone in that damn room and there’s nothing Morgan can do about it.
“Morgan?”
Morgan flinches, yanked back to reality from his thoughts. He lifts his gaze to notice the whole team staring at him, observing him, the unspoken question clear on each of their faces. Reid’s eyes catch his attention, maybe because they’re filled with worry or simply because it’s Reid in all his gorgeous geekyness that Morgan never knows how to look away from.
He likes studying Reid’s face, memorizing his features and noting even the slightest changes in his demeanour.
Morgan realizes that the team is still waiting for him to say something and he clears his throat, looking away from Reid before his staring becomes too obvious.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, and returns his focus to the case information presented on the board. He has to endure a few prolonged seconds of intent staring before, one by one, the team members give up and turn their attention back to the case.
All but one.
Hotch’s gaze lingers on him, and the intensity of it makes him want to squirm. He tries his best to look like he’s deeply concentrated on the case and well, he should be, but he isn’t. Not right now. His mind is too far away in the past, lost in a tangled mess of memories he can’t fully control, and at the same time too far ahead in the future, considering the consequences of having let his facade shatter. It’s like the past and the future are each pulling him into different directions and shattering his mind in the process.
In other words, he’s a mess.
”I should have been right there with him.”
The words flow out without his control. He never meant to say it, he’s just thinking aloud, voicing the thoughts that have been circling ‘round his head ever since Reid locked himself in the house. In the room exposed to anthrax.
Breathing it in.
Hotch says exactly what you’d expect him to, about how there’s no time for second-guessing, no time to stop and dwell over it now. They have to act. They have to figure out who the UnSub is.
They have to help Reid.
But Reid, the stubborn idiot, refuses help. “I’m already exposed. It’s not gonna do me any good to stop working the case.”
Morgan wants to slap him. He absolutely would if he could, without a second thought, but he can’t, and it makes all the feelings of frustration and anger increase to almost unbearable quantities.
“Come on, Hotch. Say something to him.” The strain in his voice is obvious, the need to help Reid overwhelming everything else. It shouldn’t - their job is to save people and not prioritize their own - but he can’t. Not now when anthrax is involved and especially not when it’s Reid who’s in danger.
The worry is written all over Hotch’s face, too, but he doesn’t back Morgan up on this. He lets Reid continue working on the case and, truthfully speaking, Morgan knows that’s the most rational solution - Reid’s in there and he if anyone can find the cure and the UnSub. He’s the one who can save lives, including his own.
But he’s still in danger. He’s still in there, and Morgan’s here, completely helpless in the face of what’s happening.
He looks away from Hotch and towards Reid’s figure in the window. The yard, everything around him, is a mess of people and instruments and preparations but all he sees is Reid, behind the glass that seems like so much more than glass right now; it’s almost like there would be an entire world separating them, something that Morgan can’t stumble through on his own.
He can’t look away but he can’t stand still, either, so he begins pacing.
Morgan appears on Hotch’s doorstep, knocking the open door lightly before stepping in. He’d rather be anywhere else in the world but there’s no refusing Hotch’s request to talk - he’s the team leader and he calls the shots. He’s responsible for the entire team and it’s a part of his job to make sure that they can handle what’s expected of them. And as unwilling as Morgan is to admit it, he knows his head hasn’t been one hundred percent in the game.
Morgan sits in the chair in front of Hotch’s desk. “You wanted to see me?” He keeps his tone indifferent, almost uninterested, but he knows that everything he’s trying to hide is loud and clear not only in his voice but in his behaviour, too, so his attempt is utterly pointless. Especially in front of an experienced profiler like Aaron Hotchner.
“You’ve been distracted lately,” Hotch says, observing Morgan with an almost fatherly stare. “Is there something I need to know?”
“No,” Morgan replies quickly and then, frustrated, he realizes his response was too fast and aggressive to sound believable. He draws a breath to calm down and continues, “Look, we’ve just dealt with really difficult cases lately. It takes its toll.”
Damn Hotch. That gaze of his is effective. It pierces right through Morgan, threatening to shatter his already fragile composure.
“If you need to talk to someone-”
“I don’t need a shrink, Hotch.”
They regard each other in silence, each determined not to give up before the other one. Hotch is trying to break him, his dark eyes searching for the truth in Morgan’s, and it takes every ounce of Morgan’s willpower not to crumple into pieces right there and then.
The silence between them grows long and thin and brittle.
“I just wanted to remind you that the option is available,” Hotch says slowly, turning his attention back to his papers. Morgan blinks. It’s not like Hotch to give up this easily, without asking him any further questions, without encouraging him to talk. Without giving a lecture about how one member’s distraction can affect the team’s ability to function.
Morgan gets up and walks away, his steps hesitant as he’s not entirely sure he’s been dismissed. He’s almost out the door when Hotch’s voice brings him to an abrupt halt.
“I know,” Hotch simply says, and as Morgan turns around on his heel to lay a pair of suspicious eyes on the team leader, he finds that Hotch is still absorbed in his paperwork - or at least trying to appear that he is.
“What?” Morgan stutters, all too aware of the way his voice shakes. It’s a slight, almost unnoticeable tremble in that one single word but he knows Hotch, if anyone, can notice it without any effort.
Hotch looks up to meet Morgan’s eyes, and another long silence stretches out between them.
“I used to worry about Haley all the time,” Hotch says, shattering the silence with his quiet, pain-ridden voice. “It was difficult being away from her, especially after Jack was born. I used to think that being with them, being physically present, is the only way I can protect them. That it’s my responsibility to protect them both and failing is simply... not an option.”
Morgan swallows. He knows how obvious it is, the way he stands completely frozen, desperately trying to regain his composure and yet, he can’t act any other way. He can’t find the strength not to be affected by Hotch’s words.
“It’s natural for us to want to protect the ones we love,” Hotch continues softly. “The difficulty lies in accepting that we can’t always be there to protect them.” He pauses. “You did your best that day, Derek. You did everything you could. He’s safe.”
Hotch focuses back on his paperwork without waiting for Morgan’s reply - it’s probably beyond obvious that he can’t give one, not right now. He can only stand there frozen and stare, stare so much his eyes start watering. Hotch knows. Otherwise he wouldn’t have included Haley in the speech.
He knows how Morgan feels about Reid.
If it’s that obvious, does it mean that Reid knows, too?
Reid’s coughing on the phone and every time he does, Morgan winces. Somehow, he manages to concentrate on the information Reid’s giving them but at the same time, worry is making it impossible for him to stand still so he continues pacing back and forth, just like he’s done the entire time Reid’s been locked in that damn house.
Morgan never thought it possible but despite the situation they’re in, he manages to throw ideas around and participate in building the profile even further. Somehow he can function, even though the worry has turned into terrible ‘what if’ scenarios that remain as ghosts in his head, haunting his every step.
When they have all the information, Morgan stops the pacing and looks in the direction of the house.
“Kid, you did real good. Now get the hell out of there.”
All he gets in response is a hasty, breathless ‘bye’.
He’s having the same nightmare again. They’re in an abandoned house by the woods, running through numerous narrow corridors in search of the psychotic serial killer that, according to their thorough investigations, is using the house as a secondary location to torture his victims in. They’ve divided into two groups: Hotch, Rossi and Prentiss are down in the basement while Reid and Morgan search through the upper floors.
The darkness of the approaching night is creeping inside through the stained, partially broken windows, and Morgan finds the lack of light highly discomforting. There’s something off about the situation. He can’t put his finger on it but something about it feels wrong, and the one thing he’s learned on the job is to always trust his instincts.
And his instincts are telling him they’re in danger.
Then he hears it, the ominous click of a gun, and he’s too slow to react, too slow to spin around and face the bastard. The psycho’s already got Reid, holding the man by his neck with a gun to his head. The fear on Reid’s face is almost more than he can handle but he knows he has to, that he can’t fall apart now. Not before Reid’s safe.
From what they know about the psycho, he knows he has to stay calm, has to sympathize, has to appear as non-threatening as possible.
“Cooper,” Morgan addresses the subject, tearing his gaze away from Reid. The tone of his voice is soft but firm. He knows how to negotiate. He’s good at this. He can save Reid. “We know what happened to you and if you just put the gun down, I promise we will find a way to help you. Now shooting a federal agent isn’t what you want to add up to your list, Cooper.” He pauses, trying to calm the racing of his heart. “You don’t have to do th-”
Bang. He pulls the trigger before Morgan can finish the sentence.
Morgan’s mouth opens in a scream but whether he actually shouts or not, he doesn’t hear, too absorbed by the sight of Reid’s lifeless body hitting the floor in what seems like an-
“Morgan? Morgan?”
Morgan’s eyes snap open and as soon as his vision clears, he begins scanning his surroundings in frantic worry, trying to locate Cooper and Reid, most importantly Reid because maybe he can still be saved. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s fallen asleep on the jet, and that it’s all been just a horrible dream. Just a dream. He breathes in a heavy, shaky breath, overwhelmed by relief, yet too disturbed by the remains of the dream to fully calm down.
The he notices the warm, gentle weight of someone’s hand on his shoulder.
Reid’s hand. Morgan glances at him but turns away quickly, too disoriented and embarrassed to face anyone right now - especially Reid. Morgan buries his face in his hands and rubs his forehead, annoyed to notice that the nightmare has once again resulted in a horrible headache.
“You were screaming,” Reid says. It’s more of a statement than a question but the concern is clear in his words, an unspoken worry haunting his voice.
“I just had a nightmare,” Morgan mutters, awkward. He’s beyond desperate to change the subject. “Thanks for waking me up, though. Where are the others?”
“They’re not here yet.”
Reid hovers above him, obviously reluctant to leave Morgan alone in his anguish even while sensing that Morgan’s alpha male ego is threatened by the physical closeness. When he finally pulls away, though, he makes sure to sit as close to him as possible without intruding his personal space.
A silence follows, during which Morgan contemplates knocking himself out just to save himself from any further embarrassment. As he finally dares to glance at Reid out of the corner of his eye, he finds the man absorbed in playing with a loose thread of his shirt. He’s twirling it around his finger in a concentrated silence, eyebrows drawn together, lips slightly pursed, and Morgan’s momentarily distracted by the swift movements of his fingers. Really distracted. It’s hard to banish the images that attack his mind, all of which include Reid... and his fingers.
Their fingers. Entwined. And maybe something else too but he’d rather not think about that too much.
He should have known the silence wouldn’t last long.
“Recurrent nightmares can severely interfere with one’s sleeping patterns and result in-”
“Reid-”
“-various extremely serious problems, including but not limited to clinical depression and anxiety disorders. Lack of sleep is also known to affect a person’s ability to concentrate, perform daily activities and maintain satisfying relationships. Furthermore, sleeping problems are often associated or stem from post-traumatic stress disorder and other anxiety disorders, as well as with clinical depression. Since-”
“Reid, could you just-”
“-all the mentioned are extremely disruptive to all aspects of life, it is highly recommended that-”
“Reid,” Morgan snaps. His voice is awash with the threat of consequences to follow if Reid refuses to stop his rote memorized ramble. Reid falls quiet, staring at Morgan with that dumbfounded expression he often has on his face after someone interrupts him in the middle of a prolonged explanation of facts or statistics.
“Sorry,” Reid mumbles. Morgan’s not mad, not really, and Reid knows that too. He’s never been able to stay mad at the guy for long and if he has, it’s always been out of love and worry than anything else. Morgan can’t be truly mad at someone so utterly adorable, especially when he’s making that face. The irresistible ‘forgive me’ face that makes Morgan want to grab him by the waist and kiss him, preferably for an extended period of time in some secluded place.
What annoys him the most is that he can’t.
Morgan flashes a smile and ruffles Reid’s hair. “It’s okay, kiddo.”
Morgan watches the decontamination team hose Reid down. In any other situation, he would find the sight of wet Reid a turn on. Sexy. Maybe even obscene. But, given the danger Reid’s in, the only thing he feels is an intense of amount of worry that threatens to cause him to lose his composure.
Reid’s coughing. Should he be coughing so much so soon after exposure?
“Go help Hotch,” Reid says. Even though his voice is feeble, he manages to sound as stubborn as ever. Reid’s always been headstrong. Foolhardy. Downright suicidal, even.
Not that Morgan would be any different, though.
“Hotch has plenty of people helping him.”
“He needs you more than I do,” comes Reid’s immediate response, and suddenly the conversation has all the makings of a fight. Morgan doesn’t want to fight but he doesn’t want to back down, either.
“Reid, I’m gonna see you off to the hospital.” He’s determined to win this debate. He’s determined to stay by Reid’s side through this horrible nightmare that has fallen upon them as a result of their effort to save innocent people. Ridiculously enough, some higher power seems to repeatedly forget that they are people too. Innocent people who are just trying to do their job.
“I’m about to get naked so they can scrub me down,” Reid says in exasperation, and only then does Morgan realize how embarrassed Reid is, how humiliating the situation is for him. “Is that something you really want to see?”
As a matter of fact, it is. Morgan would gladly see Reid naked. Touch him. In some other situation, he might have voiced that aloud too, made it into a joke, but not now. Now, he doesn’t even stop to indulge in the mental image of a naked Reid. Maybe later, when this is all over.
When Reid’s okay.
“I’ll check on you later,” Morgan says and prepares to leave, although rather hesitantly. He gives Reid one last worried look, his heart aching at how much he wants to touch the other but can’t. Then, turning his attention to the decon team, he softly adds: “Take good care of him, please.”
A day after the jet incident, Morgan finds Reid sitting cross-legged on his desk - yes, on his desk, not sitting in a chair beside it as any even remotely civilized person would do. He’s even as bold as to partially sit on the papers spread over the desk - the ones Morgan just organized last night - with a coffee cup balanced dangerously near to where it can spill and ruin the papers.
Reid, oblivious to Morgan’s arrival, is shuffling through a case file with a look of deep concentration on his face. His attire consists of the usual combination of black trousers, white button-up shirt and dark grey sweater vest, and even though Morgan sees him wearing the same clothes every single day, he simply can’t tear his gaze away. Damn Reid for being so impossibly irresistible. In some odd, nerdy way, one might add.
Morgan clears his throat to attract the man’s attention and Reid looks up at him, surprised, as if having been caught off guard. He often has that look when someone interrupts him while he’s reading. A smile animates Reid’s face and he greets Morgan with a cheerful ‘good morning’, as if seeing him would be the highlight of his morning. He looks something between irresistibly sexy and incredibly goofy, sitting in a somewhat provocative position with that silly smile plastered on his face. The sight makes Morgan smile, although barely so, and he makes an effort to return Reid’s greeting with an equal amount of enthusiasm - emphasis on ‘tries’ because he’s way too exhausted to sound believable. Yet another night of broken sleep gives his voice a strained edge, and the sound of it makes Reid’s forehead wrinkle with worry.
Morgan, trying his best to ignore the unspoken question that hovers between them, places his to-go coffee on the desk beside Reid and slumps into his chair. Yet another post-nightmare headache is torturing him and he raises a hand to his forehead, rubbing the skin under his fingertips in angry, frustrated movements.
Reid leans forward as if to touch Morgan but deciding against it at the last minute.
“Derek,” Reid starts, then pauses, giving Morgan a nice chance to frown at the friendly use of ‘Derek’ - he can’t remember if Reid’s ever addressed him by his first name. Reid bites lip and the silence stretches on, but the uncertainty never makes him look away. It’s weird. Reid’s not one to keep eye-contact for long.
Morgan doesn’t know whether he finds the whole staring-thing discomforting or enthralling.
“You need to talk about this with someone,” Reid finally says, his voice lowered to keep their conversation private. “It’s not something you have to deal with all by yourself.”
He has that awkward, vulnerable expression on his face, the one that dominates his features whenever he talks about a subject that he’s not entirely comfortable with. Like feelings. Or his past experiences.
Or the pain that has made him one of the strongest people that Morgan’s ever had the honour to know.
Morgan doesn’t reply but he doesn’t break the eye-contact, either. He doesn’t want to look away. Supposedly thinking of an answer is a perfect opportunity to study the details of Reid’s face, to notice the subtle changes of brown in his eyes, to admire the lines of his high cheekbones, and to rest his eyes upon Reid’s pink, parted lips. Morgan allows his gaze to drop lower, and he finds himself wondering what it’d be like to press his lips on the curve of Reid’s neck. Kiss him. Tease him.
His previous worrying about whether Reid knows seems stupid now because of course he does, he’s Reid, and he might be clueless about certain things but there is nothing to misinterpret about the way Morgan’s staring at him now. He knows that Reid knows but it doesn’t matter because Reid doesn’t seem all that uncomfortable under Morgan’s eager gaze. Nervous and awkward, sure, but not uncomfortable in a way that would suggest that the attraction isn’t mutual.
Reid’s body is completely tense and frozen except for his fingers that play a nervous game of twining an untwining on his lap. His cheeks are flushed.
It’s the first time Morgan sees a blush like that on the kid’s face.
Then Morgan notices it. Garcia. Staring at them. Smiling- no, smirking. She has this ‘I know what you’re doing’ look on her face and when their eyes meet over the room, she winks at Morgan.
Winks. Oh, fuck.
Morgan, in an attempt to look like he’s actually doing something productive as opposed to just staring at Reid, leans forward to grab his coffee from the table. His hasty movement results in a mistake in coordination and his arm brushes against Reid’s leg - his upper thigh, to be exact - which, in turn, makes the both of them freeze in a very awkward-looking position.
The moment doesn’t last for a longer than a few lingering seconds but it feels like an eternity. Time drags on, the touch drags on and the contact of their bodies, even though truthfully it can barely even be referred to as ‘contact’, makes Morgan’s heart give a leap.
Reid’s face has somehow gained an even deeper shade of red than before.
Morgan’s too flustered to breathe properly and, to regain whatever dignity can still be regained, he stands up swiftly, justifying the sudden movement with a feeble excuse about having to visit the bathroom. He takes a few quick steps forward but remembers he never had a chance to respond to Reid’s words so he stops, so abruptly his nervousness is bound to show, and turns around to face Reid again.
“Hey, kid?” he calls in a much weaker voice than he’d prefer, “Thanks.”
Reid has never looked as fragile as he does now, lying on the hospital bed with tubes and machines attached to him. The fluorescent lights make his already pale skin a shade lighter, and his hair is still wet from the sweat, sticking to his forehead and cheeks. His breathing is much better; he no longer coughs and gasps for air like he did before, but breathes in a calm, relaxed manner. Watching the steady rise and fall of his chest brings Morgan a sense of relief that washes away the remains of the exhausting day.
Morgan glances around warily, making sure no one’s watching before he leans closer to wipe away the strands of hair covering Reid’s face. He tucks them behind the man’s ear, letting his fingers linger on the side of his face much longer than necessary. The skin underneath his fingertips is soft and damp.
Reid almost died. The mere idea makes Morgan’s heart take a painful plunge and he closes his eyes in an attempt to banish the thought. Reid didn’t die. That’s what matters. Rather than thinking about what could have happened, he should concentrate on what didn’t happen. He should be grateful.
And he is, of course he is, but the realization of what almost happened is enough to bring Morgan to the verge of tears. A world without Reid is a world without life.
Gingerly, he leans in to drop a soft kiss on Reid’s forehead.
“Never leave me, pretty boy.”
Reid and Morgan’s relationship has changed dramatically, even though the change must seem rather subtle for someone unaware of their situation. Everything between them is bolder now. The looks they exchange linger a little longer than necessary, and whenever their legs accidentally touch under the table, they take their time in drawing away from one another. To be honest, a time or two has occurred when they haven’t even bothered to break the contact before they’ve been forced to by the circumstances.
Sometimes when Reid is fussing around by the map presenting a geographical profile, Morgan makes sure to stand just a little too close to him, just enough to have their bodies brush against one another. It usually makes Reid pause in his speech and draw a swift breath and it turns Morgan on more than he would like to admit.
And then there are the stake-outs, of course - whenever they’re on one together, Morgan finds an excuse to touch Reid’s hand. Or thigh. Or the side of his face. He’s noticed that he’s remarkably good at coming up with excuses.
Even the slightest touch, whether he’s on the receiving or giving end, sends shivers running down Morgan’s spine. He wants Reid with every fibre of his being and he loves it, loves that all-consuming feeling of sparks and electricity and lust. Never before has he valued unresolved sexual tension as much as he does now.
Garcia’s picked up on the changes in their relationship and she keeps sending Morgan very annoying messages that often read something like, “You two should do it already, sugar” or “Stop with the staring and kiss him already.” One of the most memorable ones was a text that Morgan received during one of his stake-outs with Reid, encouraging them to ‘have a little one-on-one’ in the backseat of the SUV.
Morgan is still unsure as to whether Garcia’s enthusiasm towards his and Reid’s relationship is annoying or amusing.
What is annoying, though, is that he’s under Hotch’s radar. Hotch is mercilessly persistent at making sure to never place him and Reid in a dangerous situation together. Morgan is not stupid - he understands that his overwhelming need to protect Reid could prove dangerous to the entire team so, looking at things from that point of view, Morgan understands Hotch’s decision perfectly. It’s the team leader’s job to keep them safe and ensure they stay focused on each individual case.
It’s not a matter of whether Morgan understands Hotch’s decisions or not, it’s just that it kills him to be away from Reid.
Morgan knows he shouldn’t be there. He knows that team members’ homes are off limits, and is well aware of the unspoken rule of solitude they’ve established over the years. Hell, Morgan would freak out if one of the team members appeared on his doorstep, probably to an extent of slamming the door close without even letting the person in.
And yet, even while knowing that he shouldn’t be standing behind Reid’s door on that cold Sunday afternoon, he is. After a prolonged moment of hesitation he finally rings the doorbell, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to another, hands tucked deep in his pockets.
Reid cracks the door open just enough to see who’s behind it, and his expression changes from suspicious to surprise and back to suspicious in a matter of seconds.
“Morgan?”
Morgan smiles hesitantly. “Hey.” He lifts a hand to scratch the back of his neck, trying to think of something to say without being able to come up with anything in the end. What can he say? ‘Hi, I just decided to stop by because I’m madly in love with you. Bye.’ No way. He might be slightly desperate these days but he’s not that desperate.
“Is... is everything alright?” Reid asks, opening the door further. He gestures Morgan to step in.
“That’s my line,” Morgan says, cautiously entering the apartment he’s never been to before. He closes the door behind him but doesn’t dare to step further into Reid’s apartment because it would feel wrong and inappropriate and a dozen other things he can’t find names for right now. He’s not supposed to be there anyway.
He gazes at Reid in the darkness of the hallway. “I-” he pauses and hastily corrects, “We have missed you and your quick wits.”
A silence follows, during which Reid’s clearly contemplating whether Morgan’s being serious or just joking at his expense. Then, rather awkwardly, he speaks a reply completely unrelated to Morgan’s words.
“I’m bored.”
“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” Morgan hums, amused. “Your brain could use a break.”
Reid scowls at him. “I have an eidetic memory, Derek. My brain doesn’t even comprehend the definition of taking a break.”
Morgan laughs. “Right.”
“You want coffee?” Reid asks, cocking his head towards the kitchen that’s all too conveniently close to the front door. Morgan hesitates. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But then again, Reid is on sick leave and bored and clearly in need of someone to talk to, so what kind of a person would he be if he refused Reid’s offer?
“Sure,” Morgan hears himself replying. The damage is done. He can mull over the ethical dilemma of the situation later.
Reid’s kitchen is small and cozy, and unnaturally clean expect for the books and papers that seem to cover every surface available, including the chairs and the windowsill. There are books under Reid’s coffee machine, even. Morgan grins.
He clears up a small space by the table and sits down while Reid fusses by the coffee machine. The machine wobbles dangerously on the unsteady pile of books and Morgan dearly hopes that it won’t end up falling on Reid - the last thing the guy needs is another injury. After a five-minute hassle with the machine, Reid finally manages the task and comes to the table with two huge cups of coffee in his hands. The one he gives to Morgan has a picture of Spock on the side.
“How are things at work?” Reid says, breaking the silence. It’s obvious that he’s wanted to ask the question all along, with how eagerly and hastily the words come out.
Morgan opens his mouth to answer but the apparent tiredness on Reid’s face catches his attention and he ends up disregarding the question completely. Frowning, Morgan studies Reid’s face and notes the black circles around his eyes, and that his skin is a shade of sickly, tired pale. His hair looks unwashed, hanging heavily over his face, and he looks thinner, too, like he would have skipped more than a few meals.
A feeling of worry washes over Morgan.
“You okay, Reid?”
The room falls quiet at his words. Reid, either ignoring the question or trying to figure out an answer for it, is concentrated on tracing the rim of his coffee cup with his index finger. His eyes are focused on the motion but his expression is thoughtful, almost troubled, his forehead wrinkled and his mouth set in a tight line.
Morgan waits patiently, all the while gazing at Reid with gentle, caring eyes.
“It seems pointless, doesn’t it?” Reid finally says, his voice quiet, broken. “What we do. We catch one guy and in the meanwhile, another one’s out there killing innocent people.” He looks up, staring into Morgan’s eyes with desperation in his own. “Are we really making a difference?”
Morgan leans over the table and, ever so gently, takes Reid’s hand in his own. As if by accident, their fingers entwine, and the intimate touch draws a soft sigh from Reid’s mouth.
“Those questions come with the job,” Morgan replies, caressing Reid’s skin in sheer amazement of how soft it feels against his rough fingers. “We’ve all been there and hey, maybe we’re not saving the whole world but we’re saving one life at a time. You risked yours and saved three people as a result. We worked as a team to save even more. Wouldn’t you call that a difference?”
Reid sits perfectly still, his gaze cast downwards, his fingers playing with Morgan’s. Locks of curly hair shadow his face, their darkness making a shocking contrast with the almost unnatural paleness of his skin. He looks so vulnerable, so fragile, like he might break down any minute. He almost looks like a little kid. Lost.
Broken.
The sight makes Morgan’s heart ache. He wants to protect this kid no matter what. Reid is one of those people that you’d expect to be filled with bitterness and hatred toward a world that has wronged him, but there’s not a trace of that in him. Instead, he’s determined and understanding and so incredibly gentle, someone who finds it in his heart to understand and sympathize with even the darkest of minds. Reid’s got such a big heart. Too big for his own good, actually.
When Reid finally looks at him, the gratitude on his face is apparent. His eyes shine differently than they did before, and the sadness on his face is softer, gentler. There’s an acceptance to his pain now. Acceptance of his own humanity and weakness. A smile touches the corners of his lips and he squeezes Morgan’s hand softly as a quiet thank you.
Morgan smiles back.
(part two)