Fic: Trusting Logic (1/1 Criminal Minds)
Title: Trusting Logic
Series: Of Innocence and Empathy
Author: Frogg
Beta:
Rating: FRT-13, non-explicit slash
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Damnit.
Challenge: 50episodes - Criminal Minds, Morgan/Reid
Table: 2
Prompt: 1. Autumn
Word Count: 997
Author's Note: A prologue to the Of Innocence and Empathy series. The third of three missing scenes from the end of Revelations (or rather, a continuation of A World Off Balance, from a different point of view).
Hotch let Morgan's half-coaxing, half-soothing murmurs fade to the background with the crickets and other sounds of night, intent only on Reid's condition.
Each step for Reid - several for Morgan and Hotch, with Reid picking up his less-injured foot to hang suspended between them, arms splayed over their shoulders for support - was jarring, tiny whimpers escaping past clenched teeth. Pain was written in every line of his body, tendons standing out sharply from his neck, muscles drawing tighter across chest and collarbone.
By the time they'd reached the last row of headstones, Hotch knew Reid wasn't going to make it. Not all the way to the road, not without taking a break and letting the agony currently building ease. He'd pass out first.
Or shatter.
And Reid had been pushed too far, been too humiliated by his own weakness, to be expected to admit to more. Or to submit to being carried like an invalid.
For Reid's sake, Hotch had to let him do what little he could.
"Morgan," he said quietly, interrupting the steady stream of encouragement. "Over there," and he jerked his chin toward the low stone wall at the cemetery border, now half-crumbling, half covered in moss and ivy.
Morgan didn't argue, just smoothly changed direction, heading for the wall.
"Wait, wh-what are...why..." Reid couldn't seem to complete a protesting question, voice thin and cracking with strain.
"I want to look at your feet," Hotch explained, taking Reid's weight so Morgan could settle on the wall.
"C'mere." Morgan held out his arms, easily lifting Reid off his feet and into his lap as Hotch steadied them both, then nodded.
Turning aside momentarily, Hotch set the flashlight down, then ripped at the fastenings of his kevlar jacket, stripping it swiftly and laying it on the rough stone. The tie followed, unknotted to slide through his collar with a slick, sheering sound, then his shirt, each button flicked open with brutal efficiency.
"Never let it be said that Hotch wouldn't give you the shirt off his back," Morgan said, tone devoid of amusement; he pulled Reid back against him, hands spread against Reid's abdomen, lips pressed into the curve of neck and shoulder.
Paying close attention to Reid's choppy breathing, too shallow, too rapid, Hotch pulled a Swiss army knife from his pocket and snapped it open, making quick work of the shirt's seams. Putting aside the now-shirtless sleeves, Hotch tore the rest into long strips, pale blue threads hanging down like cobwebs.
Reid turned glazed, glassy eyes on Hotch as he knelt down, wedging the flashlight between two rocks.
"Let me see your foot."
Unsuccessfully trying to suppress a whimper, Reid slowly extended his leg.
Hotch tried to ignore Reid's flinch, kept the hand at the back of Reid's ankle steady as he ran gentle fingers over the top of Reid's bruised foot. Blue and violet shadows discolored the slightly swollen arch. Morgan had been right; Reid probably had a broken foot, and was probably looking at surgery to put the tiny bones back in place. Hotch didn't dare try and examine the sole, but a line traced from heel to toe with his thumb made Reid squirm and swallow hard. Hypersensitive.
"Do-don't..." Reid gasped above him.
"I'm not going to tickle," Hotch assured him, reaching out to snag his tie, too intent on his task to look up. The strip of silk felt cool where it fell across his arm, and he turned the inside against the sole of Reid's foot, wide end at his toes. Denim brushed his wrist, Morgan bringing his leg up to offer support so Hotch could have both hands free. "Thanks." He bound Reid's foot, wrapping the narrow part around the ankle, then back down around the length of the foot and tucking the end underneath. "Too tight?"
"N-no."
Hotch nodded, grabbing one of the shirtsleeves and easing it over the tie-wrapped foot like an odd, oversized sock. Once on, the cuff-end was folded over and tied in place with a piece of Hotch's shirt, and a second at the ankle. Hotch sighed, eyeing his handiwork critically. "Ok, other foot."
"Hotch, there's no way this is the first time you've done this," Morgan said as they shifted position.
Glancing up momentarily from sleeving Reid's less-injured foot, Hotch shrugged. "There was a big piece of coral or rock that washed up in the shallows one year. I lost a few shirts and ties helping some of the kids who got their feet cut up on it before the city had it removed."
"Th-thanks, it, it helps," Reid managed, drawing the last s out in a hiss as Hotch tied off the ankle and stood.
"It won't give you a lot of support, obviously, but it'll help keep you from cutting your feet up, and blunt the sensitivity." Hotch turned and picked up his vest, slipping it on, hands automatically fastening the closings over his undershirt. The remains of his shirt were tied in a slipknot, then balled up and shoved in a pocket. "You ready to get out of here?" he asked, Reid's breathing finally slowed to an acceptable rate.
Gulping, Reid nodded, reaching out to lean on Hotch while Morgan got up off the wall.
"It's okay," Hotch said softly, tucking Reid against him comfortingly as Morgan bent and pried the flashlight from its crevice. The small bulge in Morgan's pocket, just large enough for a couple vials of fluid, caught Hotch's eye in the man's halflit silhouette; he held his tongue.
They all knew Reid kept talismans of painful episodes, physical proof he'd escaped, proof he'd won.
Whatever he had to do, whatever they had to do to keep Reid sane, to let him fight his own battles in his own way, they'd do.
Even if it meant being an accessory to what might become drug abuse.
Hotch trusted his own instincts.
Trusted Morgan.
Trusted Reid.
Trusted Reid's fear.
It would be enough.
And if it wasn't...
~~~the end~~~
Previous: A World Off Balance
Next: Breaking the World
Series: Of Innocence and Empathy
Author: Frogg
Beta:
Rating: FRT-13, non-explicit slash
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Damnit.
Challenge: 50episodes - Criminal Minds, Morgan/Reid
Table: 2
Prompt: 1. Autumn
Word Count: 997
Author's Note: A prologue to the Of Innocence and Empathy series. The third of three missing scenes from the end of Revelations (or rather, a continuation of A World Off Balance, from a different point of view).
Hotch let Morgan's half-coaxing, half-soothing murmurs fade to the background with the crickets and other sounds of night, intent only on Reid's condition.
Each step for Reid - several for Morgan and Hotch, with Reid picking up his less-injured foot to hang suspended between them, arms splayed over their shoulders for support - was jarring, tiny whimpers escaping past clenched teeth. Pain was written in every line of his body, tendons standing out sharply from his neck, muscles drawing tighter across chest and collarbone.
By the time they'd reached the last row of headstones, Hotch knew Reid wasn't going to make it. Not all the way to the road, not without taking a break and letting the agony currently building ease. He'd pass out first.
Or shatter.
And Reid had been pushed too far, been too humiliated by his own weakness, to be expected to admit to more. Or to submit to being carried like an invalid.
For Reid's sake, Hotch had to let him do what little he could.
"Morgan," he said quietly, interrupting the steady stream of encouragement. "Over there," and he jerked his chin toward the low stone wall at the cemetery border, now half-crumbling, half covered in moss and ivy.
Morgan didn't argue, just smoothly changed direction, heading for the wall.
"Wait, wh-what are...why..." Reid couldn't seem to complete a protesting question, voice thin and cracking with strain.
"I want to look at your feet," Hotch explained, taking Reid's weight so Morgan could settle on the wall.
"C'mere." Morgan held out his arms, easily lifting Reid off his feet and into his lap as Hotch steadied them both, then nodded.
Turning aside momentarily, Hotch set the flashlight down, then ripped at the fastenings of his kevlar jacket, stripping it swiftly and laying it on the rough stone. The tie followed, unknotted to slide through his collar with a slick, sheering sound, then his shirt, each button flicked open with brutal efficiency.
"Never let it be said that Hotch wouldn't give you the shirt off his back," Morgan said, tone devoid of amusement; he pulled Reid back against him, hands spread against Reid's abdomen, lips pressed into the curve of neck and shoulder.
Paying close attention to Reid's choppy breathing, too shallow, too rapid, Hotch pulled a Swiss army knife from his pocket and snapped it open, making quick work of the shirt's seams. Putting aside the now-shirtless sleeves, Hotch tore the rest into long strips, pale blue threads hanging down like cobwebs.
Reid turned glazed, glassy eyes on Hotch as he knelt down, wedging the flashlight between two rocks.
"Let me see your foot."
Unsuccessfully trying to suppress a whimper, Reid slowly extended his leg.
Hotch tried to ignore Reid's flinch, kept the hand at the back of Reid's ankle steady as he ran gentle fingers over the top of Reid's bruised foot. Blue and violet shadows discolored the slightly swollen arch. Morgan had been right; Reid probably had a broken foot, and was probably looking at surgery to put the tiny bones back in place. Hotch didn't dare try and examine the sole, but a line traced from heel to toe with his thumb made Reid squirm and swallow hard. Hypersensitive.
"Do-don't..." Reid gasped above him.
"I'm not going to tickle," Hotch assured him, reaching out to snag his tie, too intent on his task to look up. The strip of silk felt cool where it fell across his arm, and he turned the inside against the sole of Reid's foot, wide end at his toes. Denim brushed his wrist, Morgan bringing his leg up to offer support so Hotch could have both hands free. "Thanks." He bound Reid's foot, wrapping the narrow part around the ankle, then back down around the length of the foot and tucking the end underneath. "Too tight?"
"N-no."
Hotch nodded, grabbing one of the shirtsleeves and easing it over the tie-wrapped foot like an odd, oversized sock. Once on, the cuff-end was folded over and tied in place with a piece of Hotch's shirt, and a second at the ankle. Hotch sighed, eyeing his handiwork critically. "Ok, other foot."
"Hotch, there's no way this is the first time you've done this," Morgan said as they shifted position.
Glancing up momentarily from sleeving Reid's less-injured foot, Hotch shrugged. "There was a big piece of coral or rock that washed up in the shallows one year. I lost a few shirts and ties helping some of the kids who got their feet cut up on it before the city had it removed."
"Th-thanks, it, it helps," Reid managed, drawing the last s out in a hiss as Hotch tied off the ankle and stood.
"It won't give you a lot of support, obviously, but it'll help keep you from cutting your feet up, and blunt the sensitivity." Hotch turned and picked up his vest, slipping it on, hands automatically fastening the closings over his undershirt. The remains of his shirt were tied in a slipknot, then balled up and shoved in a pocket. "You ready to get out of here?" he asked, Reid's breathing finally slowed to an acceptable rate.
Gulping, Reid nodded, reaching out to lean on Hotch while Morgan got up off the wall.
"It's okay," Hotch said softly, tucking Reid against him comfortingly as Morgan bent and pried the flashlight from its crevice. The small bulge in Morgan's pocket, just large enough for a couple vials of fluid, caught Hotch's eye in the man's halflit silhouette; he held his tongue.
They all knew Reid kept talismans of painful episodes, physical proof he'd escaped, proof he'd won.
Whatever he had to do, whatever they had to do to keep Reid sane, to let him fight his own battles in his own way, they'd do.
Even if it meant being an accessory to what might become drug abuse.
Hotch trusted his own instincts.
Trusted Morgan.
Trusted Reid.
Trusted Reid's fear.
It would be enough.
And if it wasn't...
~~~the end~~~
Previous: A World Off Balance
Next: Breaking the World