CM Fic: "First Impressions" (WIP)
I had this plan for a five-part five-thingsish Criminal Minds story, but part 1 kind of got away from me. Since it's nearly 2,000 words with a beginning, middle, and end (though not necessarily a satisfying one), and since it's December 30 and I need a twelfth story for 12in2008, I'm posting it now as a WIP. Please enjoy. More to come, I hope.
Title: First Impressions (subject to change; WIP; 1/5)
Fandom, Pairing: Criminal Minds, Morgan/Reid
Word Count: ~1950
Rating: G (I think. At what point does something become PG?)
Notes: No spoilers; set prior to season 1. Relies on an idea of the timing and circumstances of Morgan's and Reid's joining the team that may well be contradicted in canon.
Reid's eyes flicked downward, over Morgan's arms and chest in his snug t-shirt, and came to rest on his own long fingers cupped around his glass. "Am I wasting my time?" he asked quietly. "I know I'm not to everyone's taste."
Morgan had been with the bureau long enough to know the BAU's reputation--they were a tiny team, two guys; they kept to themselves; and they were goddamn heroes. He wanted to be one of them. He also knew he wasn't likely to get the chance--especially when he showed up to the first-round interview and found himself facing a roomful of rockstar agents and a few bright young things fresh out of grad school. The rookies, at least, were less likely to win the coveted position, since, booksmart as they were, they didn't have the practical or physical training, and mostly didn't seem to understand what they were getting into.
He had to make an exception, though, for the youngest and brightest of the BYTs, the twenty-one-year-old two-time PhD who haltingly admitted to a 187 IQ, adding as if in apology, "but the test is not really equipped to accurately report scores above 130." Morgan gave up all hope when the genius was assigned to his team in a sample profiling exercise. In one of the other groups, Morgan might have been able to show his stuff; but he couldn't outshine Dr. Reid.
"This pattern of stabbing is elaborate, and always the same. It's obviously carefully planned," said Reid, rifling through the photographs with businesslike authority.
"Always during a rainstorm," said Morgan. "Maybe it's a pattern." He knew he was grasping at straws, but with Reid taking the lead, he was reduced to jumping on any excuse to stay in the conversation. He couldn't be editing what came out his mouth. He didn't have that kind of time.
"That could be a coincidence. Mobile, Alabama has 67.3 inches of rainfall a year."
Oh, 67.3. Well, in that case.
"What about the men who were stabbed?" Morgan tried. "He had to have chosen them for a reason." He only realized after he spoke that what he was essentially saying was, "There's such a thing as victimology!"
Reid charitably pretended he had said something reasonable. "The victims all fit a similar physical type, but they were just picked up off the street. I mean, that's the least planned part of the whole process. These individuals don't mean anything to him. The unsub probably just thinks of them as objects--doesn't have any feelings about them at all."
"Like a Vulcan," said Morgan brightly. Why? Why was he such a putz?
"Common misconception. Actually, Vulcans are strongly emotional beings," said Reid.
So even his pop culture knowledge surpassed Morgan's, which should have been doubly irritating, but somehow, it wasn't. At least he didn't get all his kicks from memorizing almanacs or something. Even though the genius was his competitor, Morgan began to like him. He couldn't begrudge him the spot on the team; Morgan would have done good work for the BAU, he was sure of it, but this kid was amazing, and he deserved to win. Yeah, Morgan liked him.
It didn't hurt that Dr. Reid was pretty damn good-looking, in a Johnny Depp meets Luke Skywalker kind of way.
"Right, yeah. I knew that," said Morgan, returning to the subject of Vulcans to cover up the admiring silence. "They just repress their emotions because they're not accepted in their society."
Reid snapped his fingers. "That's it! Morgan, you've got it!"
"What?"
"He is picking them for emotional reasons--I think they remind him of someone. Look here--the family photograph..."
Their team submitted a likely suspect and plan of action before any of the others, which gave Morgan a sense of satisfaction, even though he wasn't sure if he'd contributed more or less to their success than the nervous DEA agent who'd been silent through the entire task.
By the time they were finally released that evening, Morgan wasn't quite ready to let go of this strange Dr. Reid yet, so he pulled him aside on the way out the door and asked him out for a drink. Obviously Reid didn't expect this; he just blinked in response. He probably wanted to go home and bone up on practical neuroscience and advanced arithmancy. Morgan prepared to work his persuasive magic, but before he'd decided on a tactic, Reid said, "Okay. Yes."
Morgan suggested the classyish place on the first floor of the hotel out of habit (it was his usual preference if only because girls' nights out were more likely to congregate there than the pool hall or the sports bar), and Reid agreed. Morgan just ordered a beer. Reid glanced at the menu and then asked if he might possibly trouble the bartender for a scotch on the rocks. Morgan raised his eyebrows. The bartender scrutinized Reid's ID for a long minute before serving him.
"I'm surprised you came out with me," Morgan told him when they'd settled in a booth. "I thought you might spend every night studying."
"I used to," said Reid. "They say being in the FBI is the kind of job that takes over your life, so I left school...for now. I'm still not convinced it's incompatible with higher education." He took a cautious sip of his scotch and made a horrible face.
"Still a couple of PhDs you want to pick up?" Morgan joked.
Reid nodded enthusiastically. "They're like Pringles."
Morgan had no idea if Reid knew he was joking. He took a sip of his beer.
"And now I have too much free time on my hands," said Reid. As if to demonstrate, he twisted a stirring stick around and around in his fingers.
"I've never heard that from a cadet," Morgan remarked.
"I'm efficient," said Reid matter-of-factly. "What do you do in your off time?"
Morgan considered this. "Get laid, mostly."
Reid nodded. This was evidently an expected answer. "Yeah. That's what's I'm trying to do now."
Morgan choked.
"Oh--! I'm really sorry," said Reid, handing him a napkin.
"No, it's fine. I got it," said Morgan, wiping his jeans, and trying to calm his unreasonable heartbeat. "You want me to help you pick someone up, right?"
Reid's eyes flicked downward, over Morgan's arms and chest in his snug t-shirt, and came to rest on his own long fingers cupped around his glass. "Am I wasting my time?" he asked quietly. "I know I'm not to everyone's taste."
Morgan swallowed. Even though Reid hadn't said anything to contradict him, Morgan knew Reid didn't want him to be his wingman. Either way, though, his answer was the same. "You're beautiful."
Reid's head jerked up and he looked into Morgan's eyes. His pupils were large and dark. "Should we get a hotel room...?"
"I don't live far from here."
Reid hesitated. "I know it's fallacious, but considering we just spent the day studying serial killers..."
"Right," said Morgan. "I'll set it up."
"I mean, I suppose I could kill you just as easily in a hotel room."
Morgan smiled as Reid trailed him to the service desk, charmed that it was Morgan's safety Reid was concerned about.
"I won't, though," Reid assured him.
The journey up in the elevator was awkwardly silent. Reid gazed off into the distance. Morgan tried to think of a topic to lighten the mood, and realized how little they actually knew about each other. He usually didn't seal the deal this quickly--even with guys, who were generally quicker to get on with things than women, and whom he generally had less interest in seeing again. How had Reid managed to make himself feel like a friend rather than a mark?
"So," Morgan said finally, as they swiped into the room, "how about 'Spock's Brain,' huh?"
"That's a much-maligned episode," said Reid, "but it does have some merit," and with that he pressed Morgan against the inside of the door and kissed him.
He kissed desperately, like a desert wanderer finding an oasis, and ran wild and indecisive fingers over Morgan's face, neck, shoulders. Morgan just held him tight around his waist, gently stroking the small of his back with his thumb.
While Reid continued to kiss him, Morgan moved things along by slipping out of his jacket and letting it drop the the floor. Then he tightened his grip on Reid's thin shoulders and backed him toward the bed. Reid stumbled backward and pulled Morgan down beside him in a heap on the bed. All the while, he kept his hands on Morgan's neck, the back of his head, still kissing his mouth. They lay there kissing for another long minute. This guy really liked making out.
Finally Morgan pulled back and stoked a finger over Reid's swollen lips. "What should we do?" he murmured.
"Well," said Reid, thinking carefully, "In lieu of a more detailed plan of action, I suggest at some point we take off our clothes."
"Right," said Morgan, beginning to feel that something was amiss. "I mean, I'm open to a lot of things, so try me, but how about you? What do you do?"
"You mean... in bed?"
"Yeah," said Morgan. What did Reid think he meant--like for a job? "In bed."
"Um," said Reid. "Well. There's just... so many..." He looked upward, as if trying to search his brain for the answer, and then looked to Morgan. "What are my options, exactly?"
Morgan's stomach tightened. "You have done this before, haven't you?"
"W--what do you mean?" Reid asked, coughing his voice down from a squeak. "This in particular, or are we speaking more in general?"
"Sex," said Morgan.
"Technically? No."
"Christ!" Morgan extracted himself from Reid's embrace and stood up. "You're a virgin?"
Reid sat up, rubbing his arm and smiling self-deprecatingly. "Is that so surprising?"
Morgan leaned against the writing desk, feeling sick. "What the hell, Reid. How did you make it through college and grad school--twice--without having sex?"
"I was busy," said Reid, "with other projects."
"Just so we're clear, this is not happening. I am not going to take your virginity."
Reid frowned deeply and knit his brows. "According to Kant's test of universalization, conduct is only ethical for one individual if it would be ethical for every or nearly every other individual."
Morgan stared the stare of, "Your point?"
"If everyone refuses on the grounds that I never have before," Reid explained, "I never will."
"Your first time shouldn't be like this," Morgan urged. "It should be... nice."
Reid's voice was a pathetic mewl. "It won't be nice with you?"
"You know what I mean," said Morgan. "With--you know--someone you love or something."
"Is that how yours was?"
"No," said Morgan. "You don't want to be like me. I'm messed up. I just go from hook-up to hook-up. I can't form relationships for shit."
"Neither can I!" cried Reid, as if this were a great and charming coincidence.
"Well, that's not on my head," said Morgan. "Sorry. You're a nice kid."
Reid winced at the word. "Whatever," he muttered.
Morgan put on his jacket, picked up the key card and headed for the door. Turning on the threshold, he watched Reid pick at the bedspread, and felt that he should say something. "Uh. Maybe I'll see you around sometime."
"It's possible," said Reid.
Morgan didn't expect sometime to come so soon. Two weeks later when he reported to the BAU for his first day on the job, who was standing by the coffeemaker with a finger on his chin, trying to decide between artificial and real sweetener, but Dr. Reid.
When he saw Morgan his eyes widened in surprise, and then his face brightened into a wide, irresistible grin. "We meet again! Hey, congratulations!"
Morgan shook off a quick succession of emotions (What? No! Yes? Shit!), recovered his cool, and gave Reid a friendly clap on the back. "You too, buddy." Leaning close, he murmured, "Standard no-tell motel never-speak-of-it-again clause, am I right?"
Reid looked confused, as if he'd already forgotten the incident, which was probably a good sign. "Yeah," he said. "Sure. No problem."
"Great." Morgan headed for Special Agent Hotchner's office. A few steps away he turned and pointed at Reid. "When I get back, you better have some damn good reasons for defending 'Spock's Brain.'"
"Oh, I do," said Reid earnestly. "Don't worry."
Title: First Impressions (subject to change; WIP; 1/5)
Fandom, Pairing: Criminal Minds, Morgan/Reid
Word Count: ~1950
Rating: G (I think. At what point does something become PG?)
Notes: No spoilers; set prior to season 1. Relies on an idea of the timing and circumstances of Morgan's and Reid's joining the team that may well be contradicted in canon.
Reid's eyes flicked downward, over Morgan's arms and chest in his snug t-shirt, and came to rest on his own long fingers cupped around his glass. "Am I wasting my time?" he asked quietly. "I know I'm not to everyone's taste."
Morgan had been with the bureau long enough to know the BAU's reputation--they were a tiny team, two guys; they kept to themselves; and they were goddamn heroes. He wanted to be one of them. He also knew he wasn't likely to get the chance--especially when he showed up to the first-round interview and found himself facing a roomful of rockstar agents and a few bright young things fresh out of grad school. The rookies, at least, were less likely to win the coveted position, since, booksmart as they were, they didn't have the practical or physical training, and mostly didn't seem to understand what they were getting into.
He had to make an exception, though, for the youngest and brightest of the BYTs, the twenty-one-year-old two-time PhD who haltingly admitted to a 187 IQ, adding as if in apology, "but the test is not really equipped to accurately report scores above 130." Morgan gave up all hope when the genius was assigned to his team in a sample profiling exercise. In one of the other groups, Morgan might have been able to show his stuff; but he couldn't outshine Dr. Reid.
"This pattern of stabbing is elaborate, and always the same. It's obviously carefully planned," said Reid, rifling through the photographs with businesslike authority.
"Always during a rainstorm," said Morgan. "Maybe it's a pattern." He knew he was grasping at straws, but with Reid taking the lead, he was reduced to jumping on any excuse to stay in the conversation. He couldn't be editing what came out his mouth. He didn't have that kind of time.
"That could be a coincidence. Mobile, Alabama has 67.3 inches of rainfall a year."
Oh, 67.3. Well, in that case.
"What about the men who were stabbed?" Morgan tried. "He had to have chosen them for a reason." He only realized after he spoke that what he was essentially saying was, "There's such a thing as victimology!"
Reid charitably pretended he had said something reasonable. "The victims all fit a similar physical type, but they were just picked up off the street. I mean, that's the least planned part of the whole process. These individuals don't mean anything to him. The unsub probably just thinks of them as objects--doesn't have any feelings about them at all."
"Like a Vulcan," said Morgan brightly. Why? Why was he such a putz?
"Common misconception. Actually, Vulcans are strongly emotional beings," said Reid.
So even his pop culture knowledge surpassed Morgan's, which should have been doubly irritating, but somehow, it wasn't. At least he didn't get all his kicks from memorizing almanacs or something. Even though the genius was his competitor, Morgan began to like him. He couldn't begrudge him the spot on the team; Morgan would have done good work for the BAU, he was sure of it, but this kid was amazing, and he deserved to win. Yeah, Morgan liked him.
It didn't hurt that Dr. Reid was pretty damn good-looking, in a Johnny Depp meets Luke Skywalker kind of way.
"Right, yeah. I knew that," said Morgan, returning to the subject of Vulcans to cover up the admiring silence. "They just repress their emotions because they're not accepted in their society."
Reid snapped his fingers. "That's it! Morgan, you've got it!"
"What?"
"He is picking them for emotional reasons--I think they remind him of someone. Look here--the family photograph..."
Their team submitted a likely suspect and plan of action before any of the others, which gave Morgan a sense of satisfaction, even though he wasn't sure if he'd contributed more or less to their success than the nervous DEA agent who'd been silent through the entire task.
By the time they were finally released that evening, Morgan wasn't quite ready to let go of this strange Dr. Reid yet, so he pulled him aside on the way out the door and asked him out for a drink. Obviously Reid didn't expect this; he just blinked in response. He probably wanted to go home and bone up on practical neuroscience and advanced arithmancy. Morgan prepared to work his persuasive magic, but before he'd decided on a tactic, Reid said, "Okay. Yes."
Morgan suggested the classyish place on the first floor of the hotel out of habit (it was his usual preference if only because girls' nights out were more likely to congregate there than the pool hall or the sports bar), and Reid agreed. Morgan just ordered a beer. Reid glanced at the menu and then asked if he might possibly trouble the bartender for a scotch on the rocks. Morgan raised his eyebrows. The bartender scrutinized Reid's ID for a long minute before serving him.
"I'm surprised you came out with me," Morgan told him when they'd settled in a booth. "I thought you might spend every night studying."
"I used to," said Reid. "They say being in the FBI is the kind of job that takes over your life, so I left school...for now. I'm still not convinced it's incompatible with higher education." He took a cautious sip of his scotch and made a horrible face.
"Still a couple of PhDs you want to pick up?" Morgan joked.
Reid nodded enthusiastically. "They're like Pringles."
Morgan had no idea if Reid knew he was joking. He took a sip of his beer.
"And now I have too much free time on my hands," said Reid. As if to demonstrate, he twisted a stirring stick around and around in his fingers.
"I've never heard that from a cadet," Morgan remarked.
"I'm efficient," said Reid matter-of-factly. "What do you do in your off time?"
Morgan considered this. "Get laid, mostly."
Reid nodded. This was evidently an expected answer. "Yeah. That's what's I'm trying to do now."
Morgan choked.
"Oh--! I'm really sorry," said Reid, handing him a napkin.
"No, it's fine. I got it," said Morgan, wiping his jeans, and trying to calm his unreasonable heartbeat. "You want me to help you pick someone up, right?"
Reid's eyes flicked downward, over Morgan's arms and chest in his snug t-shirt, and came to rest on his own long fingers cupped around his glass. "Am I wasting my time?" he asked quietly. "I know I'm not to everyone's taste."
Morgan swallowed. Even though Reid hadn't said anything to contradict him, Morgan knew Reid didn't want him to be his wingman. Either way, though, his answer was the same. "You're beautiful."
Reid's head jerked up and he looked into Morgan's eyes. His pupils were large and dark. "Should we get a hotel room...?"
"I don't live far from here."
Reid hesitated. "I know it's fallacious, but considering we just spent the day studying serial killers..."
"Right," said Morgan. "I'll set it up."
"I mean, I suppose I could kill you just as easily in a hotel room."
Morgan smiled as Reid trailed him to the service desk, charmed that it was Morgan's safety Reid was concerned about.
"I won't, though," Reid assured him.
The journey up in the elevator was awkwardly silent. Reid gazed off into the distance. Morgan tried to think of a topic to lighten the mood, and realized how little they actually knew about each other. He usually didn't seal the deal this quickly--even with guys, who were generally quicker to get on with things than women, and whom he generally had less interest in seeing again. How had Reid managed to make himself feel like a friend rather than a mark?
"So," Morgan said finally, as they swiped into the room, "how about 'Spock's Brain,' huh?"
"That's a much-maligned episode," said Reid, "but it does have some merit," and with that he pressed Morgan against the inside of the door and kissed him.
He kissed desperately, like a desert wanderer finding an oasis, and ran wild and indecisive fingers over Morgan's face, neck, shoulders. Morgan just held him tight around his waist, gently stroking the small of his back with his thumb.
While Reid continued to kiss him, Morgan moved things along by slipping out of his jacket and letting it drop the the floor. Then he tightened his grip on Reid's thin shoulders and backed him toward the bed. Reid stumbled backward and pulled Morgan down beside him in a heap on the bed. All the while, he kept his hands on Morgan's neck, the back of his head, still kissing his mouth. They lay there kissing for another long minute. This guy really liked making out.
Finally Morgan pulled back and stoked a finger over Reid's swollen lips. "What should we do?" he murmured.
"Well," said Reid, thinking carefully, "In lieu of a more detailed plan of action, I suggest at some point we take off our clothes."
"Right," said Morgan, beginning to feel that something was amiss. "I mean, I'm open to a lot of things, so try me, but how about you? What do you do?"
"You mean... in bed?"
"Yeah," said Morgan. What did Reid think he meant--like for a job? "In bed."
"Um," said Reid. "Well. There's just... so many..." He looked upward, as if trying to search his brain for the answer, and then looked to Morgan. "What are my options, exactly?"
Morgan's stomach tightened. "You have done this before, haven't you?"
"W--what do you mean?" Reid asked, coughing his voice down from a squeak. "This in particular, or are we speaking more in general?"
"Sex," said Morgan.
"Technically? No."
"Christ!" Morgan extracted himself from Reid's embrace and stood up. "You're a virgin?"
Reid sat up, rubbing his arm and smiling self-deprecatingly. "Is that so surprising?"
Morgan leaned against the writing desk, feeling sick. "What the hell, Reid. How did you make it through college and grad school--twice--without having sex?"
"I was busy," said Reid, "with other projects."
"Just so we're clear, this is not happening. I am not going to take your virginity."
Reid frowned deeply and knit his brows. "According to Kant's test of universalization, conduct is only ethical for one individual if it would be ethical for every or nearly every other individual."
Morgan stared the stare of, "Your point?"
"If everyone refuses on the grounds that I never have before," Reid explained, "I never will."
"Your first time shouldn't be like this," Morgan urged. "It should be... nice."
Reid's voice was a pathetic mewl. "It won't be nice with you?"
"You know what I mean," said Morgan. "With--you know--someone you love or something."
"Is that how yours was?"
"No," said Morgan. "You don't want to be like me. I'm messed up. I just go from hook-up to hook-up. I can't form relationships for shit."
"Neither can I!" cried Reid, as if this were a great and charming coincidence.
"Well, that's not on my head," said Morgan. "Sorry. You're a nice kid."
Reid winced at the word. "Whatever," he muttered.
Morgan put on his jacket, picked up the key card and headed for the door. Turning on the threshold, he watched Reid pick at the bedspread, and felt that he should say something. "Uh. Maybe I'll see you around sometime."
"It's possible," said Reid.
Morgan didn't expect sometime to come so soon. Two weeks later when he reported to the BAU for his first day on the job, who was standing by the coffeemaker with a finger on his chin, trying to decide between artificial and real sweetener, but Dr. Reid.
When he saw Morgan his eyes widened in surprise, and then his face brightened into a wide, irresistible grin. "We meet again! Hey, congratulations!"
Morgan shook off a quick succession of emotions (What? No! Yes? Shit!), recovered his cool, and gave Reid a friendly clap on the back. "You too, buddy." Leaning close, he murmured, "Standard no-tell motel never-speak-of-it-again clause, am I right?"
Reid looked confused, as if he'd already forgotten the incident, which was probably a good sign. "Yeah," he said. "Sure. No problem."
"Great." Morgan headed for Special Agent Hotchner's office. A few steps away he turned and pointed at Reid. "When I get back, you better have some damn good reasons for defending 'Spock's Brain.'"
"Oh, I do," said Reid earnestly. "Don't worry."