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Reid wrapped his fingers around the pool cue and stared hard at the table. He drew lines with his eyes from the cue ball to the others and from there to the pocket, letting his mind slip into the pure math that was the true base of pool. He could sink the 6 and the 5 in one shot. He knew the angle, knew how much spin he had to give both balls, knew how much force to exert down to the third decimal.
“Hey, pretty boy,” Morgan called from across the table, leaning on his pool cue and smirking. Reid glared at him - he was distracting and Reid didn’t want to have to do the math over. “They’re not gonna sink themselves,” Morgan taunted.
Of course, that was all moot anyway unless he could exert exactly that much force with his actual hands.
Elle raised an eyebrow at him. “Well?” she asked archly. “You’re a Vegas kid, you should be beating the pants off us.”
Reid stepped up to the table. “In poker, sure. Anything with cards, or even dice. But this...”
“No hand-eye coordination, huh,” said Elle.
Reid shook his head. “Not at all. If I didn’t have that, I’d never be able to do the kind of sleight-of-hand I do. It’s more like...hand-mind coordination. It’s hard for me to translate what I know about the force and angle I have to give the ball into neurological signals to my muscles.”
Morgan shook his head. “Poor baby,” he teased.
Reid took his shot. He hit the 5, but it took the wrong spin off the 6 and knocked them both to either side of the pocket, nearly equidistant. He lowered his cue. “I’m actually pretty glad of it,” he said.
Elle paced around the table. “Why’s that?”
Reid looked at her. “Elle, I know the exact amount of pressure it takes to kill someone at six separate places on the body.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “That plus a family history schizophrenia doesn’t exactly spell a promising future.”
Elle paused a split second before lining up her shot. “Right.”
Morgan was staring at him. He looked like he wanted to say something, but his phone rang (his work phone; Reid recognized the ring and sighed, sliding his pool cue back into the rack) and he stopped to answer it instead.
Elle sank the 5, the 6, the 7 and the 8 in quick succession, while Morgan talked to Gideon in a low voice. She walked by and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I only know the exact amount of pressure it takes to kill someone in one place on his body.”
“Guys,” Morgan said, flipping his phone shut. “We’ve got trouble.”
*************
“Trouble” turned out to mean a woman missing in Coos Bay, Oregon. Trouble meant an end to their impromptu vacation - The storm keeping them grounded didn’t matter, it was close enough to Springfield that they could drive. Trouble meant three hours in car with Morgan and Elle, going over the details of a photo-copied case file by flashlight.
And eventually, because sometimes there are factors they can’t account for, “trouble” meant Reid ending up with a gun to his head.
His phone was on the kitchen counter, on speakerphone. Gideon was speaking, methodical, trying to talk this guy down. Next to Reid, tied to the leg of the kitchen table, the victim stared at him. She was nearly unrecognizable from to the picture in her file. They always were - not just because of whatever the unsub had physically done, in this case blackened her eye and torn out a patch of hair just above her ear, but because of what the experience itself had done to their heads. Sometimes they looked broken. Sometimes they looked strong. Often they looked both.
Her eyes flickered over his face, and he saw her realize his youth, saw her realize that this was the best she was going to get. He watched her slip further into broken by the second.
“This isn’t what you want,” Gideon was saying.
The unsub snarled. “Shut up!” he screamed, his gun-hand wavering dangerously between Reid and the woman - Mary Morris, her file had said. He smashed his other hand down on Reid’s phone, and it skittered to the floor, silenced. Beyond it, through the back window, Reid saw a flicker of movement. He turned his eyes deliberately to the unsub’s face, ignoring it entirely.
He knew what it was, though. Morgan. He almost smiled into the barrel of the unsub’s gun, his heart racing. Three minutes. Three minutes, at most, he had to keep this guy talking.
“He’s right,” he said. “This isn’t what you want.”
The unsub’s eyes were too-wide. “What the fuck do you know?”
Reid nearly laughed aloud, all adrenaline. Some people think I know everything. “I know a lot,” he said instead. “I know that this is personal for you, that through Ms. Morris you can finally get revenge on the woman who hurt you so much, for so long.”
Mary swallowed rapidly, her eyes darting helplessly between the two of them.
“I know you want her to feel like you do, right, Jack?” he asked. “You want her life to be as much a hell as yours has been.”
Jack’s tongue flickered over his lips, and he was staring at Mary, face twisting. Reid swallowed. No recognition that Reid shouldn’t know his name - he was too far gone. If he couldn’t get that empathic hook...He swallowed.
Finally Jack nodded, again and again, juddering movement, his gun trained on Mary’s head. She moaned through the gag, nothing but broken, now.
“That’s not going to happen if you kill her,” Reid said, trying not to sound any more desperate than he had been, tried not to let his voice dance to the too-fast rhythm of his heart. “She won’t have to remember, like you do. She’ll just be dead. At peace. Gone. Better to leave her alive, make her know how it feels to live like that.”
“Yeah,” said Jack. “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.” He swung his gun onto Reid. “Thanks for the advice. Goodbye now.”
The back door crashed open, Morgan bursting into the house. “FBI! Drop the weapon now!”
Jack’s face spasmed, and his hand trembled around his gun.
Morgan’s eyes flickered to Reid’s face and took on some emotion Reid had never seen before, something intense and angry and panicked all at once. It made him shiver and drop his eyes.
Morgan’s voice was deadly-quiet. “I said drop your weapon, Jack Goodman.”
“Why?” said Jack, tilting his head. He didn’t turn, he didn’t flinch. “You’re going to shoot me,” he said with chilling certainty.
“I’m not going to shoot you,” Morgan said, but his tone said I will absolutely shoot you where you goddamn stand, “Unless you don’t put your gun down.”
“Sorry, sir,” said Jack Goodman, “no can do.”
Reid’s eyes caught the shift of the muscles in his arm, muscles that led to muscles that led to muscles that contracted against the trigger of his gun, and then a lot of things happened all at once.
Motion. Mary Morris kicking out. Motion. Himself, diving out of the way of a point-blank shot, something that was objectively impossible. Motion. Morgan.
Noise. A shot - two shots, nearly simultaneous. Noise. Glass breaking. Very far away. No. Illusory displacement, likely due to auditory shock from gunshots too close. Noise. Morgan, screaming something that could’ve been his name. Too much ringing in his ears to be able to tell.
Pain. His own, sharp, just above his brow. Not the kind of pain he would’ve expected. Contrary to popular belief, 90% of headshot victims don’t die from the first shot. Could take up to three days to die. There should be more pain. Millions of nerve endings in the scalp alone.
Cold. The kitchen floor under his cheek.
He blinked for longer than he should have, and when he opened his eyes Morgan was leaning over him, offering him a hand up. “Reid,” he said. “Come on, be okay.” Reid could almost hear him.
He pushed himself up off the floor, or tried to. Morgan stopped him from falling with gentle hands on his chest. “Hey,” he said now, voice clear this time, so Reid stopped having to watch his lips to understand him. He pulled his eyes up to Morgan’s with an effort. Everything was heavy (concussion? It’s possible he had a concussion. Definitely shock. His hands were shaking. Morgan’s hands were shaking against him. Why were Morgan’s hands shaking?), and it felt like maybe there was blood in his throat. But he was alive.
“Hey,” he said back.
Over Morgan’s shoulder, the cops were untying Mary. They were working quickly, getting the ropes from around her wrists and ankles, speaking quietly and reassuringly to her. She was silent, though they’d gotten the gag off her first. The corners of her mouth were bleeding where she’d stretched it too wide against the fabric, trying to scream.
Reid used Morgan’s shoulder as a support to move past him, although once Morgan figured out what he was up to he slung an arm around Reid’s waist and came with him. They approached just as they cops got her completely free and helped her to stand. She was tall enough to look Reid in the eye, but she didn’t, focusing somewhere a little beyond his head.
Reid dropped his eyes, and then cleared his throat, hoping she would look at him. She didn’t. “Ms. Morris...” he started, and then stopped, unsure how to proceed. “You saved my life,” he finally said. “Thank you.”
The corner of her mouth turned up, but he never would have called it anything close to a smile. “You were right, when you said in there, what you said to him,” she said, letting the cops slip their shoulders under her arms without even blinking. “You saved mine.” Her tongue slid over cracked lips. “I’m not so sure I should thank you for it.”
She let the cops lead her out, past the officers zipping up Jack Goodman’s body bag. Reid looked sideways at Morgan. He was looking the other way, staring at the window that Goodman’s bullet had shattered. Some of the shards were bloody.
Reid raised a hand to his head and his fingers came away sticky. “Ah,” he said.
Morgan patted his hip. “Ah is right. Let’s get you on that ambulance.”
**********
Reid didn’t have a concussion. What he did have were several relatively deep glass-shrapnel cuts across his forehead and more shock than he wanted to admit to anyone. Morgan rode with him in the squad car back from the hospital; the others had already gone back to the hotel they were staying in for the night. No one was ready to drive the three hours back to Springfield.
They didn’t talk much in the car. They hadn’t talked much since they left Morris’ place; Morgan had been strangely withdrawn and pensive and Reid hadn’t exactly been in much of a social mood himself. They got their keys from the front desk. Reid had to work a little too hard to fit his into the lock.
“Reid,” Morgan said. “You okay?”
Reid licked his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
Morgan crossed to him and cast a meaningful glance at his hand on the key, still in the lock. “Yeah?” he asked.
Reid nodded, swallowing.
Morgan reached up and pushed his hair back from his forehead. “Nice stitches,” he said softly. The weight of his hand on Reid’s head made the shake go out of the world.
Reid closed his eyes for a moment, tried not to lean into it too much. Shouldn’t betray how much he needed that stability. “Bet you’ve had better.”
Morgan conceded the point, his thumb moving gently across the threads weaving through Reid’s skin.
Reid opened his eyes. “I’m alright, Morgan.”
Morgan studied his face for a long moment. Just when Reid thought he was going to call him on his bullshit and send him back to the hospital or refuse to leave his side or take him off active duty or something, he smiled. “Good job in there, man,” he said, and dropped his hand from Reid’s face.
The corner of Reid’s mouth turned up. “You saved me,” he pointed out.
Morgan ignored him. “What is that, three armed unsubs you’ve talked down now? Gideon and I’d better step up our game, you’ll catch us in no time.”
Reid snorted. “Yeah, right. I didn’t talk him down, Morgan. I talked him into delaying the death of a woman who probably would’ve preferred it if I hadn’t, and signed my own death warrant in the process. I’d’ve been dead in there without you and Mary Morris.”
Morgan started to protest, but Reid cut him off. “Come on, you know it’s true.”
Morgan shrugged, not agreeing or disagreeing. “So we make a good team,” he said lightly, and turned back to his room.
Reid went into his own, closing it behind him and sagging back against it. It somehow didn’t give the same support as the warm weight of Morgan’s palm.
******
The next day dawned bright and beautiful, and Reid cleaned the sands of a sleepless night out of his eyes as best he could. The ride back to Springfield helped, the windows down, Morgan and Elle bickering affectionately in the front seats. They all poured out of their cars and convened in the parking garage. Morgan kept casting glances his way, but Reid was ignoring them. He felt fine, for now. So long as he didn’t close his eyes too long.
Hotch and Gideon were standing a little ways away, Hotch on his phone, and Gideon checking his watch.
“What time’s our flight out?” Reid asked JJ. “Maybe we could head back to that bar for a while...”
Morgan laughed, and Reid smiled at him. See? he tried to say with his eyes. I’m fine. Morgan smirked back, but his dark eyes were complicated.
Elle raised an eyebrow. “You want a rematch, huh?”
Reid turned to her. “Well, yeah, I wouldn’t mind -”
Hotch cut him off, striding over to them.“Sorry, guys, it looks like we’re needed for consulting ‘til we go.”
Morgan frowned. “Consulting? On what?”
Hotch stared down at his phone. “Triple homicide. A local woman and her twin sons.”
**************
Lieutenant Isaacs met them with none of the charm that she’d had the first time they’d walked in her door; Reid wondered if Morgan was disappointed that they wouldn’t get to continue the flirting they’d been doing since they first arrived.
She was pretty in the way that most girls Reid never really took notice of were pretty: hair cut short to her chin, large eyes, and a full sort of mouth and high cheekbones. She fit her uniform well, a commanding presence as well as an attractive one. It’d been quite clever and impressive flirting. Reid had considered taking notes, but didn’t want Morgan mocking him for the rest of his life. Or noticing that he was noticing at all, for that matter.
Now, though, she barely gave him a nod. “I’m sorry for calling you back like this,” she said, eyes serious.
“I know you wouldn’t have without good reason,” said Gideon. “What’s the situation?”
She shook her head. “It’s real ugly. I really appreciate your help, Agent Gideon.” Her eyes flitted over the rest of the team. “All of you.” She led them down the hall. “I’ve got files on the victims for you, if you’d like to look them over before you go -”
“Crime scene first,” said Gideon. “Don’t want any preconceived notions to cloud our judgment.”
“Jason,” said Hotch. “We don’t have much time. Just consulting, remember.”
Gideon nodded. “Right. Together, then. Hotch, Morgan, Reid, go check out the scene. Elle, you’re with me. JJ -”
JJ nodded. “I’ll check what’s already out to the press, and make sure they don’t do anything else without our signing off on it.”
Isaacs nodded to Hotch. “I’ve got officers who can take you there.”
********
Hotch went in first. The police said the woman who’d found the bodies was still there, and hysterical. A comforting FBI presence was needed, and after the police looked Reid and Morgan over, they’d been quietly advised to wait in the car.
The thing about Hotch, Reid knew, the thing about Hotch is that he was the perfect movie FBI agent. He was the one out of all of them that really, truly looked the part, every piece. He walked the walk, talked the talk. He was calm, he was composed, he was serious, he was intense. He had an air that made people shut up and listen. He was a crack shot. He was smooth, and he was intimidating as hell when he was angry.
Even if he did kick like a seventh-grade girl.
It wasn't that the others DIDN'T look the part, for the most part. Elle was pretty much Hotch's mirror, or she would be with a little more experience under her belt. Maybe a little softer around the edges - more approachable. They made a good team. Gideon was - well, Gideon. He was losing his hair and he had a bit of paunch at the belt but he radiated experience. That was the first thing Reid had noticed about him, that everyone listened to what he said, no matter how quietly he said it or how ridiculous and far-fetched it sounded. Not like they listened to Hotch - not because he'd drawn their attention with his snappy suit and serious voice, but because somehow they'd all just been waiting for Gideon to talk.
And Morgan…
Morgan had caught Reid off-guard. Still did, really. Morgan was the one that Reid - and he would never, ever admit this to anyone - had spent the most time thinking about, the most time studying, the most time, well, profiling. Morgan was laughing eyes and easy grins, hiding a mind like a steel trap. Reid couldn't count how many times he expected to have to step forward and explain something to him, only to have Morgan summarize it succinctly and cleverly, far better than Reid would've put it, and much faster. One eyebrow raised, like, you think you know something, kid?
Reid thought he knew a lot. But not enough.
"Hey, where are you, genius?" Morgan nudged him, breaking through his thoughts.
"Just thinking about how it'd be hard to pin you down," Reid answered absently, and then froze, because awkward. "I mean, uh. I was thinking about someone profiling us, you know, looking at the evidence our actions leave in order to determine our psychological make-up, and it'd be hard for him to get you right. I didn’t mean literally...pinning you down.”
He definitely didn't know enough to literally pin Morgan down, he was a black belt in judo and had more muscle and martial tricks to him than any other member of the team. It'd take bizarre circumstances indeed for someone like Reid to end up anywhere near to being on top of him and why was he thinking about this.
Morgan licked his lips, amused. "Really. Why's that?"
Reid glanced around the inside of the car. "I don't, um."
Morgan leaned back in his seat. "No, c'mon, we've got some time. I want to hear this."
Reid cleared his throat and adjusted the files on his lap. "Well, I mean. You're a friendly guy. You're good-looking, you've got women throwing themselves at you, you go out, you have a beer and a few laughs, you're a classic extrovert, an average american guy."
Morgan was looking at him, his lips twisted a little. "But?"
"But...there's more of you outside that box -"
"Is that a fat joke?" Morgan interrupted, but waved Reid on when he leveled an unimpressed stare his way.
"I just mean…you're smart. You're incredibly smart, and despite your physical attractiveness and apparent mental health, you don’t seem to pursue anyone beyond the purposes of immediate gratification. It’s possible you don’t want your obligations with the BAU to interfere with any outside relationship, and vice versa; but you refuse to date even within the team, despite some marked interest - Elle and J.J have both given you signs that they might be open to a relationship with you, and you've done nothing to follow up. This could stem from a, a sense of duty, which your actions do suggest you have, or a fear of forming connections with people who put their lives on the line on a weekly basis. However, you're pretty casual in the workplace and you've allowed yourself to form very close friendships with all of the members of our unit, which would be just as devastating, if in a different way, in the event that one of us were to -"
"Okay, yeah," says Morgan, and rubs a hand across his mouth. "You can stop there."
Reid blinks at him. He looks uncomfortable. "I, ah. Sorry.”
"Nah." Morgan waved a hand. "I was just afraid you were going to end that scary rant by concluding that the reason I haven't slept with Elle or J.J. is that I'm secretly impotent."
Reid smiled faintly. "You haven't murdered anybody, yet, so there's no way to tell that."
"No way to -" Morgan stopped, shaking his head. "Jesus."
Hotch came out of the house. He led the housekeeper to the police and then nodded to them. Morgan got out of the car, and leaned back down to talk to Reid through the window. "Did it ever occur to you that I didn't date them because I just wasn't interested in them?"
He was already striding over to Hotch by the time Reid had gotten out of the car and admitted to himself that no, it hadn't.
“Lindsey Johnson and her sons, Gabriel and Damian,” Hotch said grimly, putting his sunglasses back on his nose.
The scene was a pretty tame one - not that Reid ever thought he’d be thinking about that at the murder site of a triple homicide. But in terms of blood and mess, well, there was very little of both. An organized killer, definitely, and either he’d drained their blood and taken it away with him, or -
“They were killed somewhere else and dumped here,” Morgan said, finishing the thought that Reid hadn’t quite voiced.
Reid nodded. “Look at the puncture wounds.” He gestured at the side of the Lindsey Johnson’s chest. “Done with a small blade, but not a particularly sharp one, and he was in a hurry at the time the murder took place - he would’ve torn into veins he didn’t mean to, punctured organs. There’d be gastric juice, peritoneal fluids along with the blood. But there’s nothing.”
Morgan crouched by the two boys, hands on his knees. “So the unsub kills Lindsey Johnson and her two sons somewhere else, and then moves them here - why? To put them on display? To send a message?”
“A message to who, though?” Reid asked, stepping carefully over the outstretched arm of the older boy, Gabe.
“He couldn’t be sure of who would find their bodies,” Hotch said from the doorway. “No one else lives in the house. Mrs. Johnson’s husband passed away four years ago, and her oldest daughter Mona’s been estranged for at least three.”
“Estranged?” Reid frowned. “Why?”
“According to what Gideon got from the police, religious differences. Lindsey was devoutly Catholic, and her daughter didn’t want to be a part of that particular flock. She was kicked out of the house several times before she turned eighteen and went her own way.”
“Went where?” asked Morgan, walking the perimeter of the room, peering through the windows at the pristine back lawn. Reid watched him, only half listening to Hotch. This was another part of Morgan that he was missing in his profile - his ability to walk in the footsteps of the unsub, to think like him. Reid had never been able to think like anyone but Reid. Which was a mixed blessing to say the least.
“Police didn’t say. Maybe they don’t know. I’ll get Garcia on it.” Hotch flipped his phone open and pressed his speed dial.
“Reid,” said Morgan. “Check this out.”
He was crouched by the window. “Look.”
Reid crouched next to him, but Morgan shook his head and straightened, gesturing Reid to take his place. “No, here.”
Reid bent down, and Morgan leaned over him, pointing. “You see that?” Morgan said quietly. “Between the branches of the tree.”
Reid followed his arm. “Yeah, it looks like...some sort of box, or crate?” He kept an eye on it as Morgan shifted behind him. “Someone’s suspended it from some sort of wire, designed to be hidden by the leaves to the casual passerby...Someone would have to really be looking for -”
His view was cut off as Morgan walked between him and the tree. Reid blinked. He hadn’t even heard him go outside.
He followed, standing with Morgan under the tree, staring up at the box. It looked like a plain cardboard box, pierced through with thin wire. There was something written on the side of the box, but it was too small to make out from here.
“Call Gideon,” Morgan said. “Get the bomb squad in here.”
“You think it’s a bomb?” Reid asked, glancing at him with a frown.
“I don’t know,” Morgan said, looking back. “The amount I don’t know about this case is huge, and I don’t like that. We take all precautions.”
Reid nodded and dialed.
“Gideon,” answered Gideon.
“It’s Reid. We’ve found something outside the Johnson place. We’re gonna need a bomb squad.”
“What?” He heard Gideon stand up, probably moving off to find the nice lieutenant.
“No one’s in any immediate danger, and it’s unlikely that it’s a bomb at all. But it’s Morgan’s call.”
“We’ll be there in fifteen.”
“Fifteen minutes,” he reported to Morgan and Hotch when he got back into the house. “What’s Garcia say about the daughter?”
Hotch was staring at his phone. “She doesn’t.”
Reid raised his eyebrows. “She doesn’t? What, is she off the grid somehow? Who is this girl?”
“She doesn’t say anything because she didn’t answer her phone, Reid,” said Morgan from where he was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
“What?” Reid frowned. “That’s impossible.”
Hotch shook his head. “Regardless, she didn’t answer. I’ll try again in a while.” He clipped his phone back to his belt. “Maybe she stepped out of her office for a moment.”
Morgan was silent. Reid looked at him, looked at the tension in his shoulders. He was the kind of tense that he got when they were on a high-risk case - when they only had a few hours before someone else died.
“We don’t know that this guy will kill again,” he said, stepping closer to Morgan. “This is an organized killing, maybe he’s done.” He looked at the splayed bodies at their feet. “Maybe his message is delivered.”
Morgan shook his head. “Not until we get that box down.”
****
It wasn’t a bomb. Just a regular cardboard box with a word in block letters spray-painted on one side and four photos inside. They brought it back to the police station. It was getting dark, now. JJ had called to delay their flights ‘til morning. Again.
“Oh, good,” said Morgan. “Puzzles.”
“They’re all we have to go one until there’s another victim,” Gideon said, sighing.
“Zen-ee-a?” Elle read, puzzled. “What’s it mean?”
“Xenia,” Reid corrected. “From xenos, guest. The Greek law of hospitality.”
Morgan shot him a look.
“In ancient Greece, the belief was that the gods often disguised themselves as human travelers and walked among the people. You were bound as a Greek citizen to be hospitable to any travelers that passed through, just in case they were secretly divine. Inadvertently insult a god, and you could end up as a, a tree, a spider, whatever punishment they felt suited the crime.”
Gideon circled the Johnson’s kitchen table, thumbing through the photos. Hotch’s phone rang, and he stepped out to answer it.
Reid kept going. “There were mutual laws of respect in xenia - the host had to give the guest what they asked for, the guest had to respect the host and not be a burden to them. But the most important aspect was the xenion, the parting gift, given by the host to the traveler when they leave their household.”
Gideon leaned on the table. “Does it strike anyone else as strange that this guy catches us just as we’re about to leave town?”
Reid frowned. “It’s happened before. In LA, when we met Lila -”
Morgan interrupted, sharp. “Reid, these people weren’t left for Lindsey’s daughter to find. This isn’t a message for anyone outside of this room.”
Gideon spread the photos out on the table. “They were for us.”
“A parting gift...” Reid said, staring down at the photos. Three of them were of the victims - artful, almost beautiful shots of an open hand, the pale rise of one of the boys’ ribcages, marred by three dark knife wounds. Lindsey Johnson’s face in profile, her eye half-open and staring upward. He shook his head. “But he’s invalidated the meaning of his own gift.”
Morgan looked up. “What do you mean?”
“He’s here, and he wants us. There’s no way we’re leaving town now,” Gideon said.
Hotch opened the door, his eyes dark and face drawn. “Yes, we are.” He flipped his phone closed. “It’s Garcia.”
“Oh, good, she called you back?” asked Morgan, a lot of the tension easing from him immediately. “Knew she’d come through.”
Hotch shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.” He looks at Gideon. “You were saying we couldn’t make any more calls until we had another victim. Well, he’s given us one. It’s Garcia.” He licked his lips, swallowing. “She’s been kidnapped.”
*****
“He’s crippled us.” Hotch’s lips were tight. The familiar hum of the plane surrounded them, but no one had made a move to get out the chess set or a deck of cards. They were all in various levels of shock; sitting quiet and mostly motionless in their seats. The trip home had never felt so long.
“Let’s go over what we know. I think it’s safe to say that no one could’ve gotten to Garcia that wasn’t supposed to be there, yes?” Elle said, drawing their attention. She was leaning back in her chair, staring holes in the ceiling. “So we’re looking for an FBI Agent here.”
Gideon sighed. “That is the best likelihood. He’s well-educated, probably white, upper-middle class, has intimate knowledge of Greek customs -”
“Or he’s just read the Odyssey,” Reid cut in. “There are whole passages devoted to the concept of xenia. If you were lucky enough not to get a god as your houseguest, the likelihood is that it was Odysseus instead, which could be just as bad.”
“But I don’t understand the significance of killing the Johnsons. Was it a crime of convenience alone?” J.J asked, flipping yet again through the file they’d gotten from the police headquarters. “I get that the message is for us, but what does it say?”
“Lindsey Johnson,” Gideon said, and laid down the picture of her face. “Damian Johnson.” His were the ribs, and Reid leaned over Gideon’s shoulder to see better. “Gabriel Johnson. Twins.” Gabriel’s hand was limp, his wrist bloody.
“Twins have a number of meanings in different mythologies,” mused Reid. “In Japanese myth, for example, there are thousands of urban legends of twins being sacrificed to appease some dark force, a trapped oni, or demon. But in 90% of those myths, only one twin was sacrificed, the other serving as a sort of anchor in the human world for his or her twin’s soul.”
“What about Greek?” asked JJ, tapping her pen on the tray table in front of her.
“The best-known twins in Greek myth are probably Castor and Pollux, who traveled with Jason aboard the Argo. But there, again, only one of them was killed, and the other shared his immortality with him in order to save him, and they became the constellations we see today.”
“So if this guy is following some mythic delusion...why would he kill both of the boys?”
“And what about Garcia?” Morgan asked, speaking up for the first time.
Reid held up a hand, thinking of something. “Guys, we’ve been assuming he took Garcia because without her we’re less effective, but what if she’s part of it? In the Odyssey, Penelope was Odysseus’ wife. She was the only one who believed he was alive, and the only one who recognized him when he returned.”
“The only one who would recognize him...do you think she knows the unsub personally?” Elle asked.
Reid shifted in his seat, steepling his hands together. “It’s possible, but if she did, it’s likely that it won’t be very well. The main association that the unsub has is with the mythical Penelope, not the FBI Agent. If he knows her, it’s almost certainly by ‘Garcia’. He learned her first name, that triggered the fear that she might recognize him, so he eliminates her.”
Hotch shook his head. “If he killed her, why remove her from the office? We can’t work under the assumption that she’s dead.” Reid let himself stare. He looked like Hotch, but he was speaking all wrong, and when he closed his mouth his lips were white, pressed so hard as to be bloodless. Reid had never seen him so scared.
“Reid,” Gideon said, his hands pressed together. “Can you fill in for her as backup for the case?”
Reid swallowed. “I, I can do some of what she did - does, the research end of it, the cross-checking of news reports, any open files, but I’m not a hacker, that stuff takes years to learn, even for someone with my intellect.”
Gideon nodded. “Alright. I want you to head to her office, figure out as best you can how to use her equipment.”
Morgan sat up. “Wait, hang on. You’re sending Reid to where Garcia was likely kidnapped from?”
Hotch looked at him. “We don’t know that she was taken from work.”
Elle sighed. “We don’t know anything. Our whole job description is working with conjecture, with precedent.”
Morgan cut in. “But if he does know Garcia, he knows she rarely leaves her office except to sleep.” He crosses his arms. “When she sleeps at all.”
Reid shook his head. “I don’t think he’s striking based on location, Morgan. He’s working according to some set of rules, we just haven’t figured them out yet.”
Morgan just looked at him. He cleared his throat and continued. “I won’t be in any more danger in Garcia’s office than just going about my daily life. If he wants to take me, he could do it just as easily anywhere else.”
“Except in your daily life, you’re with us, and being surrounded by top FBI Agents is a hell of a lot safer than sitting alone in an office!” Morgan snapped, and his eyes were still as complicated as they had been since Reid had met them in Mary Morris’ kitchen. It made Reid want to shrink back in his chair, or grab him and shake him, or. Something. Something to knock him out of it. He clenched his fists on his knees.
“Morgan, I’m not around you 24/7, there are times when I’m alone,” Reid said. It was rare that talking to Morgan was like talking to - well, talking to anyone normal, anyone outside the plane they were in right now. It was rare that he was this stupid. It was worry, he knew. He must be going crazy, not knowing where Garcia was. “If he wanted me, he probably could’ve taken me already.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Morgan shot back.
“Reid’s right,” Hotch cut in. “And we don’t really have another choice.”
Morgan shook his head. “What about other techs? It’s not like Penelope’s the only hacker we’ve got. The best, yes, but surely other people trained in this job would be better picks than Reid -”
“You’re not listening,” Gideon said harshly. Morgan turned to look at him, biting back some reaction, and that was weird. Morgan might voice his differences, but he was never disrespectful. “The unsub is a man inside the BAU. He could just as easily be a hacker as anything else. For the purposes of this investigation, the only people we can trust are in this airplane right now.”
Reid looked around, and his lips tightened in a dark sort of amusement. These were the only people he trusted, ever. Them, and Garcia. Wherever she was.
Morgan was staring at him, arms still folded and eyes intense. He shifted, not sure what to do - do I stare back? is he trying to tell me something, or just thinking? do I nod? It was nothing like the easy eye-contact he’d fallen into with Morgan since starting to work with him, the eye-contact that said press this guy, he knows more than he’s letting on, or be ready to move, I’m about to tackle someone to the floor and I need you not to get shot in the process.
He pushed himself into the corner of his seat and pretended to sleep. It was useless, though - he kept sneaking glances at Morgan, and Morgan would catch him every time. Finally he stood up and walked over to him, shoving his hands into the pockets of his cardigan. “We’re all worried about her,” he started, because it seemed like a place to start. “But that doesn’t mean you have to let it make you stupid.”
Morgan turned to look at him. “What?”
“Gideon’s right, you’re not listening. There’s no reason for the unsub to go after me. Elle’s a much more likely target, or JJ - we’re so focused on Garcia being a missing genius, or, or some allegory for an ancient myth that we’re ignoring the fact that she’s a missing woman. If this is a sexual assault case -”
“Reid,” Morgan looked pained, but Reid had never let him stand in the way of a point he wanted to make, and he wasn’t about to start now.
“ - then there’s, well, next to no chance that he’d go after me next,” he continued, getting louder. Behind Morgan, he saw J.J. lift her head.
“Next to no chance?” Morgan repeated. “Doesn’t sound like you, whiz kid. I bet you know the exact statistic on that, huh.”
Reid shrugged, sliding into the seat opposite him so J.J. would stop staring. They both knew he did.
“And I bet you know the exact statistic for the percentage of crimes in the workplace done by people who know the victim well are sexual in nature, too,” Morgan continued, leaning forward.
Reid dropped his eyes, running a hand through his hair. “2.3% non-fatal. 0.1% fatal.”
Morgan nodded. “Mmhm. And you know as well as I do that there was no evidence at all at that crime scene to suggest a sexual component to this killing.” His lips quirked. “I’m not the only one being stupid here. My question is, why’re you so hot to be in Garcia’s chair?” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, hands hanging loose. “Reid...why do you want this so much?”
“It’s not that I want it,” Reid said, vaguely, and then caught onto something that he could use. “The unsub is clearly trying to cripple us, like Hotch said. If we can bypass -”
Morgan put a calming hand on his knee. “Hey. Give me a little credit.”
Reid took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said, and resisted the urge to put his own hand over Morgan’s or shift out from under it. “It’s. I’m useless in the field.”
Morgan scowled. “No you’re -”
“All I had to do, Morgan, was to keep Jack Goodman talking for three minutes. It took you three minutes to get around to the door silently. Three minutes, and I screwed it up.” He took a little breath, looking down at his hands. “He was going to kill me.”
“Reid...” Morgan leaned forward. “You’d be safer with me,” he said softly.
Reid shook his head. “This isn’t about being safe, Morgan.”
“So what is it about?”
Reid swallowed. “It’s about trust.”
Morgan’s face closed up. “You don’t trust me?” he asked. “I couldn’t save you myself so you don’t think I can -”
“What?” Reid interrupted, baffled. “No! I, uh. I don’t think you trust me. I don’t think you trust me...alone. And maybe rightly so, out there, but. This is something only I can do.”
He almost felt bad at the way Morgan pulled away, but he was too interested in the expression on Morgan’s face, adding it to the catalogue of Morgan’s faces that he didn’t quite understand, yet. “That’s bullshit.” The other agent said flatly.
“Is it?” asked Reid. He glanced around, opened his mouth, and then stopped. When he started again, it was slow. “Gideon says that the only people we can trust are the ones on this plane right now. When I look around, I...” He did look around, made sure no one could hear him. “That’s not a difference from daily life, for me. I don’t trust easy, Morgan. I grew up a mathematical genius kid in Las Vegas. I’m worth my weight in gold to any number of cardsharks, dirty brokers, and bookies. I’d been screwed, played, and taken advantage of a thousand different ways before my twelfth birthday. Do you know what that does to a kid’s head?”
Morgan shook his head. “No,” he said, just as quiet.
Reid stared at his knees, tracing his fingertips over the seams of his pants. “Statistics say that one in every 25 people is a potentially dangerous sociopath. I trust my mother, though some would say that’s foolish. I trust my grandmother. I trust my doctor, and the people he trusts, because I have to in order to live. The circle widens, and widens further, with all of the people that they trust with my health and my well-being. Logically, I should hesitate to add any more people than absolutely necessary because any one of you could snap and kill me. But every single time we go into a dangerous situation, I am putting myself in the hands of the people on this plane.” He smiles a little. “I trust you with my life, Derek Morgan. All I really want is that same level of respect. You’d be stupid to give it to me in the field, but here...I can do this.”
Morgan looked at him for a long time. “Alright,” he said.
Reid blinked. “Alright?”
Morgan stood. “You really think I don’t trust you?”
“Morgan -” Reid licked his lips and looked up at his friend. “Not - not the same way, no.”
Morgan nodded, not meeting Reid’s eyes. “Alright,” he said again, and moved off to where Gideon was sitting. He crouched down and spoke softly with him for a moment. Gideon looked Reid’s way and nodded to whatever Morgan was saying. He muttered something back, and Morgan stood and walked back to Reid.
“What’d you say?” Reid asked, looking back and forth between him and Gideon, who was still looking at him with far-away eyes. “What’d he say?”
“You know,” said Morgan, and he smiled. There was something really wrong about it, like it was pasted on over something dark and desperate. “You do know that if you die and get blood all over Penelope’s computers, she’ll kill you.”
Reid smiled tightly at him and tried not to notice how much Morgan looked like he wanted to cry.
***************
Morgan put his feet against the sides of Garcia's desk and leaned back in his chair. He was staring at the screens in front of him, but Reid could tell he wasn't reading them. His eyes didn't move. His whole face was still, his whole self was still, Garcia's neon feather-topped pen between his hands.
"Morgan," Reid said.
Morgan flicked his eyes to him, his lips pushed out like he was thinking.
"Not that I don't appreciate the company, but, uh." Reid coughed into his fist. "Why are you still here?"
Morgan swung around to face him. "Harsh, genius."
Reid stared at the notepad in his lap, toying with his pen. "Gideon said wheels up in two hours, you haven't even gone home to change," he remarked, glancing up at Morgan's face.
Morgan lifted up his arms, examining his shirt. "I think this can stand to be worn two days in a row," he said, and then smirked. "Has before."
"Morgan…" Reid said. "You're deflecting."
"What?" asked Morgan.
"Answer my question," Reid said. He traced his fingers down the sides of his notepad and waited. He could feel Morgan staring at him and wished yet again that he was as easy to read as most people in the world.
"Fine," Morgan said. "I don't like it."
Reid quirked his lips. "You made that pretty clear on the plane," he said.
Morgan sighed and leaned forward, jamming the pen point-first into the mug on the desk. It was completely full, with the words Computer Queen on it in pink cursive. Reid was pretty sure Morgan had bought it for Garcia last Christmas. The thought made him smile and then feel like he was going to throw up.
"It's got nothing to do with me not trusting you," Morgan said seriously, making Reid look at him again. "Reid, I -" He stopped, pressing his lips together.
Reid flipped his pen between his fingers and watched his face.
Morgan looked away, and took a breath. "Two days ago you had a gun to your head, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it," he said, meeting Reid's eyes. "You nearly died, Reid."
Reid half-shrugged. "It's part of the job," he said. "Acceptable risks."
"Does that mean I have to like it?" Morgan asked harshly.
Reid licked his lips, blinking rapidly at the look in Morgan's eyes. "Not, not at all," he said. "But that was yesterday, and that was a completely different unsub. That case is closed."
"And in this one, you're staying alone in a place that we know the unsub has been, and may come back to, and if he does…" Morgan's eyes flickered over Reid's face. "Acceptable risks is "sometimes we get held up at gunpoint". Acceptable risks is not me listening to you die over a goddamn telephone."
Reid looked down at his notepad. “I know what you mean, actually,” he said.
Morgan paused, surprised. “What?”
“You know, you had to watch me with a gun to my head two days ago,” Reid continued, “but do you know how many cases in the past three months I’ve watched you wrestle down armed killers?”
Morgan was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands pressed together. “No,” he said.
“Twelve,” said Reid, and cleared his throat, looking away from Morgan’s face. “That averages to once a week that you’re in danger. You’re my best friend, you don’t think that worries me?”
Morgan blinked. “I’m your...” he started, but maybe saw the this isn’t the time that crossed Reid’s mind in his face, because he dropped it. “I’m sure it does,” he said instead, careful.
“You were wrong. This is about trust.” Reid leaned forward. “I trust you not to die, because I trust you to be good at your job. That’s the difference.”
Morgan stood up abruptly. He muttered something, too low for Reid to really hear. Reid frowned. “What?”
“You know, maybe I should go home. Get a shower, at least,” Morgan said.
“Did I say something wrong?” Reid asked, looking up at him. Part of his brain started reviewing everything that had come out of his mouth in the last half hour, while most of it concerned itself with...well, being concerned.
“Nah,” said Morgan, not quite looking at him. “Wheels up in two hours, pretty boy.”
Reid considered pressing it, but Morgan was out the door before he could figure out what to say. He spun slowly back to Garcia’s impressive display of screens—or was it a screen of displays?—tapping the end of his pen against his lips. The last section of his brain, the one that let him absorb a conversation going on in the room while reading 2000 words a minute and replay it hours later, moved on to wondering what Morgan had meant by his muttered that’s not the only difference.
****************
“Reid.”
Reid blinked himself awake at the quiet voice, and then swallowed. Shit. Shit. Can’t sleep. They need me. He rubbed a hand across his eyes.
“Reid,” Morgan said again, and he didn’t sound like snappy, “get me this information” Morgan, or any other Morgan that Reid had ever heard.
“Yeah,” Reid said, and winced at how cracked his voice came out.
Morgan paused. “I was going to remark that you weren’t doing a very good job of imitating Garcia, but you sound like hell, so maybe I’ll let you slide on the flirty phone-answering.”
Reid blinked hard, wondered if he was still half-dreaming. “You want me to flirt with you?” he asked groggily. It really should have come out more joking and disbelieving, but somehow it left his mouth a serious question.
“Uh,” said Morgan, and Reid could’ve sworn he heard him swallow. There was another long pause. “Nah,” Morgan finally said, and there was a hint of his old smile in his voice. “It’s no fun if I can’t see you.”
That little smile-tone tugged at the corners of Reid’s mouth, and before he knew what he was doing he was smiling back and answering, “We’ll have to wait ‘til I see you again, then.” He coughed, a little awkwardly (probably a lot awkwardly, because what the hell did that mean?), but decided to just roll with it. “So what can I do for you, uh, sugar?” he asked, running a hand through his hair and trying not to feel like too much of an idiot. He wondered for a strange second whether this was what it was like to be high, and then he started doing the calculations for how many more hours he had before he started hallucinating from sleep deprivation.
Morgan made a noise like a laugh and a cough all at once. “This, this isn’t an official call. We’re stalled until Gideon convinces the guy to talk.”
“Oh,” said Reid, knocked off balance.
“Yeah,” said Morgan.
“So,” said Reid,“you called me just because.”
“Well...” Morgan paused. “Yeah, I guess. How’re you holding up?”
There was a part of Reid that wanted to snap, that wanted to dig its heels into the worry in Morgan’s voice and use it as evidence that he really wasn’t being trusted. But he couldn’t. Because that wasn’t what this was about. This was about Morgan waking him up with a gentle voice and calling him just because, about Morgan maybe needing to talk to him, not about him needing to talk to Morgan.
So he didn’t break the conversation off with a short, “I’m fine,” like his first instinct said, but told the truth instead.
“I’m absolutely terrified,” he said softly. “I’m terrified. I’m terrified she’s already dead, and we’re too late. I’m terrified every time you call that you’ll ask for something I can’t do, that Garcia could. I’m terrified of the time between when you call, because you might be dead. And. I-I don’t like that I haven’t seen you in so long, that I’m not there in the field with you.”
Morgan took a breath. “Reid...”
“Maybe it’s not that you don’t trust me, maybe it never has been. Maybe it’s that I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust myself with you, definitely, I, I don’t trust myself with guns, or with being out in the field and dealing with killers face to face, I.” He closed his eyes. It was highly unlikely that he could actually feel the weight of the building on top of him, but God, his head ached like he could. “I’m here because I’m a coward.”
“That’s not true,” Morgan said, almost before he was finished talking. “Reid, you’re there because you have to be, because Penelope’s life is on the line and you’re the only one who can save her.”
Reid closed his eyes hard. “Doing a real great job of relieving some of the pressure, Derek,” he said, bone-tired.
Morgan was silent for a long time, so long that Reid started to think he’d hung up. “You don’t trust yourself with me?” he finally asked. “What do you mean?”
Reid opened his eyes, because otherwise he was going to fall asleep, and while that would be a convenient out from a question he really really didn’t want to answer, they still needed him. Thick-tongued with lack of sleep and with reluctance, he answered, “I’m going to push you away.”
Something in Morgan’s voice was careful. “Why?”
“Because it’s what I do,” Reid said. “To anyone I.” He stopped, running his hands over his face. “Anyone I’m. Close to.”
He could hear Morgan breathing, shallow, waiting breaths. What was he so nervous about? “You know I never called Lila back?” Reid said, and then wondered where he hell that had come from.
Morgan let out a long breath. “I know,” he said.
“She called me, and I never called her back. We even had that case in LA, and I didn’t.” He stopped and started again, feeling like a flat stone someone had skipped across a lake, bouncing from surface thought to surface thought too fast to get to the depth of what he was trying to say. “When Maggie had her at gunpoint, I told her that Lila was in love with me.”
“Oh,” said Morgan.
“It was just to talk her down,” Reid explained quickly, as if Morgan wouldn’t know that, as if it even mattered. “But I think that scares me most.”
Morgan just waited, and if he was there Reid maybe would have kissed him for that. There weren’t enough people that would just listen to him talk, and talking was the main way that he worked out his thoughts and when his thoughts were going genius-level fast, that was a lot of talking. Except he got a little stuck on the thought of whether he would kiss Morgan if he’d been there, of what that would be like.
He ended up on actually maybe nice, and then he was bouncing back to Lila and love and his own stupid fucking problems. “I’ve never been in love,” he said, “and I think it scares me most.”
Morgan waited another moment to see if he had anything else to add, and then gave the prompting, “Why?” that Reid had been waiting for.
“Think about it, Morgan. Think about how many of the criminals we profile - the rapists, the killers - are motivated by love. Think how many ways it can drive you mad. I’m too close to mad already to introduce a chaos like that to my brain.” Reid’s eyes wandered over the screens in front of him, reading the names and addresses without really processing them.
“I am thinking about how many unsubs we get that are motivated by love,” Morgan said, his voice sure. “None.”
Reid frowned. “What?”
“Obsession isn’t love. Sexual desire isn’t love. They’re pieces of love, perverted and twisted, but they’re not what love is, Reid.”
“Am I finally going to get an answer to my question about Derek Morgan and the women in his life?” Reid asked flippantly, spinning himself in Garcia’s chair and into her voice because this is a scary path to go down, right now. His brain was too full, too tired, to process what Morgan was saying; he’d save it up to examine later, with the names on the screen, with the thrumming tension in his chest.
The little smile was back in Morgan’s voice. “Maybe,” he said.
Reid licked his lips and asked the question before he could think too hard about it. “Have you ever been in love?”
There was a long pause, and then Morgan said, “Yeah.” Another tiny pause, in which he took a slightly shaky breath. “Twice.”
“Twice?” Reid stopped spinning. “What ever happened to having a One True Love?”
“Too old-fashioned,” Morgan countered. “You know me. I’m a rebel.”
“So tell me about her. Your first love.” Reid found one of Garcia’s light-up pens and started twirling it through his fingers, clicking it every time it hit his palm. It cast strange, distracting shadows on the walls.
“If I do, will you tell me the real reason you’re so afraid of it?” Morgan countered.
Reid bit his lip, watching the pen click off, click on. Click off, click on. “Yeah,” he said. “Alright.”
“Fine. She was blond, gorgeous, and totally taken. We were in some Legal classes together at Northwestern. I became a cop, she became a lawyer, and I never saw her again,” Morgan rattled off, as if by rote. “Now you, genius.”
Reid stopped clicking the pen. This was probably exactly what it was like to be high. The fluttering in his stomach, the tightness in his throat. Need sleep, he thought. Can’t sleep. “I think you should do the second one, too, if that’s all I get.”
“No,” said Morgan quickly. “Hell no. A deal’s a deal.”
“You’re a jackass,” Reid said, and Morgan let out a huff of a laugh. Reid resisted the urge to close his eyes and just imagined his face against the dark of the ceiling, instead. Smiling with his eyes. It’d been too fucking long.
“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you curse,” Morgan said, just as Reid muttered, “I miss you.”
There was silence for a moment, and then Morgan said, “Oh.”
“Yeah,” said Reid.
“I,” said Morgan, and then he coughed. “If you think being sentimental is gonna get you out of answering my question -”
“Congratulations, you figured out my clever ruse!” Reid shot back, all sarcasm, his face probably lit up brighter than the stupid pen in his hand. He was almost, almost glad Morgan wasn’t there to make fun of him for the blush.
“Reid -”
“Sorry, I just. Sorry. Sleep-deprived.” They lapsed again into silence. Several times, Reid took a breath to start speaking, but stopped short of saying anything. The names were taunting him, saying look at us, focus on the case, let him wonder.
But a deal’s a deal, especially for a child of Las Vegas.
“It’s because love is like this case. Hypothetically, let’s say I’m, well, I’m me—”
“That doesn’t sound very hypothetical—”
“Shut up. I’m me, and you’re some girl, you’re the one that’s in love with me, and I have to be there all the time for you, all of you, because you’re counting on me. You’re trusting me. And if I fuck up, if I do something wrong, I’ve betrayed that trust, ruined that love. I’ve hurt someone who values me more than anyone else. And I’ve never, I’ve never had someone who values me more than anyone else. The, the thought of having that person and then losing them over some little, stupid mistake, an overlooked detail, doesn’t that sound terrifying to you?” He stopped talking, something tugging at his brain.
“Yeah,” says Morgan. “It does.”
But Reid had stopped listening. He leaned forward, peering at the screens. Overlooked detail, his brain repeated, caught, and he started typing, bringing up window after window of FBI Agent names.
“Reid,” he heard Morgan say with the back of his brain, “What does this have to do with pushing me -”
“I’ve got it!” Reid interrupted. “Morgan, I’ve got it, I know what you need to do to get him talking.”
There was only a fraction of a pause before Morgan said, “Right. Speak to me, boy wonder.”
**************
How the hell did Garcia do this job?
It was worse, god, it was so much worse than watching Morgan face down killers through the windows of houses or security cameras. At least then he could see.
“Morgan, man, you gotta tell me what’s going on in there, I need to know what’s happening—”
“And I need to be able to hear, so stop chattering my ears off, Reid!” Morgan snapped.
Reid sat back in his chair. This was awful. God, this was so, so awful. He felt like his heart was going to pound out of his ears. This was no longer like being high. This was like being hungover and having the flu and having everyone in the world you cared about either in danger or angry at you or both—
“I found her. Reid, guys, everyone, I found her.”
And then everything was fine, everything was glorious, because he could faintly hear Penelope’s voice through Morgan’s comm and she was okay, she was alive.
“Penelope,” he heard Morgan say. “Hey, babygirl, hey,” and he could hear him start crying, all relief and shaking breathing and it felt wrong intruding like this but there was no way in hell he was going to hit that intercom button and cut himself off from them.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Morgan was saying through his tears and he could hear Penelope, too, asking something, her voice hoarse from screaming and Reid didn’t think he’d ever been so angry about anything as he was about that.
“Morgan,” he said, and his voice doesn’t feel like his. “I want to kill this son of a bitch.”
There was a pause, and then Morgan said, “Then it’s a good thing you are where you are, because if I’d hate to have competition for that honor.”
He heard Penelope ask who Morgan was talking to, and then there was a crackling noise, and then Penelope said wetly, “Reid?”
“Hey, hey Penelope,” he stammered, and the world was on its head, with him in here and her out there.
“Hi, boy wonder,” she replied, and he laughed, half coughing in relief. “What?”
“Nothing, it’s just. Morgan called me that. Earlier.” He thought about it for a minute. “About two days ago, actually. Are, are you okay—”
“We don’t have time for that,” Penelope cut him off. “I need you to do something for me.”
"Anything I can," Reid said, his hands shaking over the keyboard.
"I need you to hack the security cameras on the building."
"Penelope, I, I'm not—"
"Listen to me, Reid. It's a trap. We're locked in, and the whole place is rigged to explode, so unless you’ve got a way to airlift me a computer and full wireless into a locked warehouse in the middle of nowhere, you need to be my hands. Okay?”
Reid swallowed. “I, um. Okay. Okay.”
“Right. Here’s what I need you to do.”
She directed him, step by step, having him read out strings of code exactly and then reciting, exactly, what she needed him to type. He lost himself in the numbers a little, in the shapes they made in his mouth, but he never got one wrong, and when the blinking little “access denied” window turned steady green and read “access granted” he hardly noticed for nearly a full three seconds.
“Got it,” he said, blinking against sudden, overwhelming exhaustion. “Garcia, Penelope, we got it.”
“Thank the lord and let me never have to do that again. Okay. You’re our eyes, darling. You know what to do.”
“I, I do?” Reid asked, mouth dry. And then the screen fills with images different parts of the warehouse, and he did.
The bombs themselves weren’t hard to find. Directing Morgan to them in a way that means he can disarm them all before any of them explode, however, was.
“You can do this,” he muttered to himself. “You can do this. It’s like chess.” If the chess board were divided into six different spaces that he saw at different angles, and the only chess piece he had were a queen, and that queen were Morgan, and if he didn’t win Morgan and Penelope died.
Okay, so it wasn’t much like chess. But it was a whole lot of math. And math he could do.
“Reid,” Morgan said in his ear.
“Yeah,” he said.
“You know no one could’ve done that but you,” Morgan said seriously.
“I don’t know about that,” Reid started to say, but Morgan cut him off.
“I do. I know we say it a lot, but I don’t know if it really gets through to you. You’re a genius. Truly.”
Reid pulled his head out of his calculations long enough to wonder at his tone. “I, ah. Thank you.”
“Any time.” He heard Morgan sigh. He can see him now, in one of the monitors, Garcia sitting by his side. They looked bruised, but breathing. “Okay, kid. Direct me.”
Reid swallowed. “Okay. Hear me out. It doesn’t make sense that he’d have separate detonators for all the bombs, right, not if he has to set them off remotely. So they must be wired to go off in sequence. If I can just figure out which one is the first, you defuse that one and we should be good. Right?”
“Right.” He can see Morgan glance left and right. “So how long we got?”
“Um,” said Reid, and squinted at the screens. “Three minutes?”
He watched Morgan square his shiulders thorugh the video feed. “Okay,” he said in Reid’s ear. “Let’s do this.”
“Morgan,” Reid said, “What if. What if I’m wrong—”
“Reid.” Morgan stopped him, and turned to face the camera. “I trust you.”
**************
Well, this had really fucking backfired.
Reid took a breath as quietly as he could and closed his hands around the handle of his gun. He knew, he knew he was in the right place. But everything was dark and quiet and his brain was maybe 50% a desperate whining, longing for sleep.
But he inched forward, letting go of his gun with one hand long enough to push the comm further into his ear. The unsub was talking again. Something about oceans, or the death that awaited the world. He wasn’t paying much attention, listening instead only to the sounds behind it, anything that might tell him Morgan was alive.
The voice started to echo weirdly, and he realized after a moment it was because he could hear it with his bare ears as well as through the comm.
He took a long breath and stepped out of the shadows.
“FBI. Put down your weapon.”
*************
“So,” said Reid. He had no idea what to do with his hands. They were shaking, twitching like they should be still typing, or still pulling that trigger, shot after shot after shot. “You, you’re okay.” He couldn’t bring himself to make it a question, because if it was a question Morgan could say no, and that. Wasn’t something that Reid could handle right now.
Morgan stepped a little towards him. “Yeah,” he said. There was a bruise purpling on his jaw and his eyebrow was split open, but he was Morgan and he was right there and Reid was wrapping his arms around him before he knew what was happening, burying his face in Morgan’s shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut against the darkness and the panic that was still stuck up under his ribs.
“Reid,” Morgan let out like a sigh of relief, and his arms came up around Reid’s waist, holding him tight. They stood long that for a long time, Reid just breathing him in.
Eventually Morgan shifted. “Reid, hey, it’s okay. You did it.”
Reid stepped back, barely, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he said. He licked his lips. “So, uh.”
Morgan swallowed. “I’m okay. You look dead on your feet. You should go home, Reid. Get some sleep.” There was a bleak note to his voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Back to the daily grind.”
Reid nodded without really listening, numbers sifting through his mind.
Morgan turned away, something off in the set of his shoulders. Behind him, JJ was helping Penelope into a car. She gave him a look, but he didn’t bother to decipher it.
“Morgan, wait.” Reid jogged up to him. “What time is it?” he asked.
Morgan glanced at his watch. “Nearly three.”
Reid nodded. “We should, uh. We should go get a drink,” he said.
Morgan stared at him like he’d gone mad. “At three AM. When you haven’t slept in - what, 72 hours?”
“Only 68,” Reid said. “If I was going to start hallucinating, it would’ve happened sometime yesterday, or even before - most people suffer from sleep-deprivation hallucinations within the first thirty-six hours they’re awake.”
“Oh good,” said Morgan sarcastically, but he didn’t start walking away again. He just stood and watched Reid’s face, like he was looking for something.
“So are you coming?” Reid asked.
“Where are we gonna go at three AM?” Morgan asked. “Most bars are closing up.”
Reid frowned. He’d forgotten about that. “We’ll, uh. We’ll go to my place.”
“You’ve got booze?” Morgan asked incredulously.
Reid thought about that. “Probably,” he said. “Somewhere.”
Morgan sighed and started walking again. Reid swallowed, and was about to shout after him - he couldn’t, couldn’t something, everything was jumbled and strange but he really didn’t want to watch Morgan walk away.
Morgan stopped before Reid could figure out how to say that, though, and turned to look at him. “Come on, genius. We’ll go to mine.”
***********
Morgan’s apartment was surprisingly clean. That was really all Reid noticed about it, which under any other circumstances would be pretty embarrassing, but he was too busy watching Morgan and not thinking, and especially not thinking about watching Morgan, and that was kind of nice.
He watched as Morgan poured himself a drink, and slid a glass over to Reid. He watched as Morgan leaned up and slid the bottle back onto his top shelf, the muscles of his back shifting under his thin shirt. He picked up his glass and sipped it without looking.
He nearly choked. “This is water,” he said, once he’d managed to swallow.
Reid turned to look at him, leaning back against his counter. “You think I don’t know what happens when you drink alcohol on as little sleep as you’ve gotten?” He asked, crossing his arms. “I thought you thought I was ‘incredibly smart’.”
“I do,” said Reid. “I think you’re brilliant.”
Morgan picked up his own drink and took a sip. “So stop messing around and tell me what this is about.”
“What do you think it’s about, Morgan?” Reid said. “Are we just going to pretend that none of this happened?”
“I don’t think anyone is going to forget -”
“I don’t mean the case, I don’t mean Garcia, I don’t even mean you being taken, I mean.” Reid swallowed. “What you said in there.”
Morgan drained his glass. “It was -”
“If you say it was like me and Lila I will, I will kick your ass,” Reid said, ignoring how ridiculously impossible that was. “She’d known me for less time than I’ve been awake right now. The only reason the unsub believed me was that she was highly unstable and in love with Lila herself. This guy sure as hell wasn’t in love with me, and I’ve known you for over a year. You weren’t talking to the unsub, you were talking to me, even if he was listening.” He took another gulp of water. “Also I’ve never made out with you in a pool. 99% of the factors are completely different.”
“It wasn’t like you and Lila,” Morgan said, and he walked around the kitchen table to face Reid. “Nothing like that at all. I didn’t even expect it to work, didn’t expect. Anything to happen.”
Reid broke his gaze, staring instead at the row of cupboards. “So why’d you say it?”
“Because I’ve spent too long not saying it,” said Morgan. “And if I’d been about to die, well. I knew you were listening. I wanted you to know.”
Reid blew out a breath. “Wow.” He clenched his teeth. “Thanks.”
Morgan frowned. “What?”
“You know when I described being afraid of being in love?” Reid asked, staring down into his glass. “You know how I mentioned how the worst thing in the world would be to find someone who loved you that completely, only to lose them through some mistake?” He raised his eyes to Morgan’s face. “If you’d died, that’d be. Pretty much textbook what I was talking about.”
“But I didn’t die, Reid.” Morgan stepped closer. “And if I had, it wouldn’t have been your fault! You never held a gun to my head.”
Reid just stared up at him.
“I’m alright,” Morgan repeated.
Reid raised a hand to his face, running his thumb over the place where Morgan’s eyebrow was split. “You’re not, though,” he said. “You’re still scared, and you’re too, you’re too far away.” He used the hand on Morgan’s face to draw him down closer. “I’m the one supposed to be pushing you away, remember?” he murmured, his eyes drifting over Morgan’s face.
Morgan licked his lips, just a flicker over tongue, and closed his eyes. “Don’t do this,” he said. “Just. Let me down easy, and we’ll go back to how we are.”
“No,” said Reid, and kissed him.
Morgan drew a sharp breath in through his nose. He tasted like whatever alcohol he’d been drinking, dark and bitter, and like iron - blood - and warmth. His hands came up to bury themselves in Reid’s hair and Lila had been good at kissing but this, this was something only akin to those kisses in that it still involved the contact between two mouths. Morgan kissed deep and thorough, nipping and sucking on Reid’s lower lip like he was worshipping it, his tongue sweeping in to soothe and tease wherever his teeth caught too hard. Reid was gasping by the time they separated, and wanting. He stared at Morgan as his friend pulled back, his tongue flickering over the places Morgan’s had been, should be.
“J-jesus,” Morgan muttered, his eyes on Reid’s mouth, and something about that made Reid twitch forward and kiss him again, curling his fingers over the back of his neck. Morgan’s hands found his hips and his thumbs slid down the line of his hipbones, tucking into the waistband of his pants. Reid broke the kiss with a gasp. He was shaking, shaking, his hands up under Morgan’s shirt and moving over his back just in an effort to touch.
Morgan’s hands tightened on his hips and then he was being walked backwards, through the doorway of the kitchen. He was kissing whatever he could reach, his lips moving over the stubble on Morgan’s jaw. He had no idea what he was doing - no ideas at all, his brain was entirely filled with hands and lips and muscle, and then Morgan was kissing his throat and Reid’s head was dropping back and he was falling -
And he landed on a bed with Morgan leaning over him, hands deft and quick on his buttons, pushing his shirt from his shoulders, and the pillows were soft behind his head. He feels Morgan settle onto the bed with him, feels his warm palms skimming over his chest, wants to open his eyes and see him but everything is heavy and pulling him down, down.
He woke up alone. He was naked except for his boxers and there was a pounding in his head that he was pretty sure was what a hangover felt like, not that he’d ever had a hangover to compare it to. The sheets around him were mussed, so either he slept restlessly (which, after 70 hours of being awake, was highly unlikely) or someone slept with him, and it took him a moment to recognize the house around him and remember the events of the night before.
“Oh,” he said to the empty room.
Morgan knocked on the doorway, a little awkward. He was carrying a glass of water and dressed in a loose pair of pajama pants that look like they want to fall off his hips. Reid let himself stare, swallowing.
“Hey,” said Morgan, with an expression like he’s not sure whether to smile or not. “You’re awake.”
Reid swings his legs over the side of the bed and tries to stand, only to collapse backwards again, catching himself only by flailing his hands to the sides. Morgan is at his side at an instant, helping him to stay sitting up. “Woah, hey! You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Reid said, trying not to focus too hard on Morgan’s warm hand on his back. “Oversleeping can trigger seratonin in the brain, and -”
“Reid,” Morgan said gently.
Reid stopped talking and waved at his head. “Headache,” he summarized. “How long’ve I been out?”
Morgan handed him the water. “Ten years,” he said.
Reid looked at him, unimpressed. “Very funny.”
Morgan grinned at him, so close, and Reid found his lips parting. He blinked slow, feeling maybe like he hadn’t fully woken up, yet.
Morgan shook his head, looking at his watch. “Nah, maybe...Nineteen hours? Not sure what time it was when you passed out on me.”
Reid reddened and gulped down his water. “Yeah, uh. Sorry about that.”
Morgan half-shrugged. “It’s alright. Not sure what I was expecting, really, considering how long it’d been since you’d been able to sleep.”
Reid chuckled awkwardly. “Well, I mean, considering I’d just shoved my tongue down your throat, I’d imagine you were expecting, uh, sex,” he said before he really thought about it, and then coughed. Probably not the best way to approach that subject, Doctor Reid.
Morgan gave him a look. “If I had to name the last thing I ever expected to get from you, Reid, it’d be sex.”
Reid looked down at the glass in his hands. “Ah,” he said.
“You know when I first met you, I thought you were asexual,” Morgan commented. “And I thought, god, that’s a damn shame.”
Reid snorted. “Right,” he said, putting down the glass on the floor.
“Really,” Morgan said. “You think I flirt with you constantly because I don’t find you attractive?”
“I, uh, hadn’t noticed.” Reid said, which was mostly true. “I just thought you did that with everyone.”
“Reid,” Morgan said, and Reid turned to look at him. Morgan lifted a hand, tracing his thumb across Reid cheekbone. Reid’s mouth went dry. “Shut up,” Morgan said, and swung his leg over Reid’s, pressing him back against the pillows. Reid hooked his hands behind Morgan’s head to pull their mouths together, doing his best to imitate what Morgan had done the night before. Without the haze of sleep deprivation he had too many thoughts, worries about where his hands were placed and the little noises he couldn’t seem to help but make, even worries that had nothing to do with anything that was important right now, little pieces of panic left over from yesterday and -
“Wait!” He said, his voice coming out breathless.
Morgan sat back, his fingers pausing where they were tracing up and down Reid’s chest. He raised an eyebrow. “Really?” He asked, incredulous.
“If I’ve been sleeping for nineteen hours - Morgan, we should be at work right now.” His eyes kept catching on Morgan’s mouth, and for the first time in a long while he really, really didn’t want to go into the office.
“I called us out sick,” Morgan said, shrugging. “You just saved all our lives, I think it’s excusable.”
“But -” protested Reid.
Morgan leaned down over him, pressing kisses to his shoulders and throat, “Spencer,” he said against Reid’s skin, and oh, wow that, wow. “Have you ever called out of work?”
“W-well, no, but - nngh.” Reid’s fingers scraped over Morgan’s back as Morgan flickered his tongue over his nipple.
Morgan hummed appreciatively. “Nah,” he said. “They won’t miss us.”
He returned to licking and sucking his way down Reid’s chest and oh, overthinking things suddenly wasn’t really a problem anymore. Reid melted into him, became nothing but the arch of his back against Morgan’s lips and a shuddering twist of hips. He kept running his tongue over his lips, again and again, trying to stop the sounds slipping through them. “Mh, ng, please,” he whined without really knowing what he was begging for besides friction.
Morgan huffed a laugh against his ribs. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t even shut up in bed,” he teased.
Reid blushed full-body. “Sorry - ohgoddothatagain,” he babbled as Morgan pressed a kiss to the bulge in his boxers.
“Don’t be,” Morgan said, hooking his thumbs into Reid’s waistband. “It’s damn hot.”
Reid blinked his eyes open, lifted his head enough to look down at Morgan. “Y-yeah?” he asked.
“Mmm,” Morgan confirmed, and held Reid’s eyes as he swallowed him down.
***********
The second time he woke up in Morgan’s bed, Morgan was asleep next to him, sprawled out naked. He slept surprisingly quietly, his lips parted and his eyelashes still on his cheeks. The cut along his brow was healing, but still looked raw and painful. Reid closed his eyes and saw a grainy image of the unsub bending over Morgan, smacking a hand across his face. Saw Morgan lift his head again, proud.
There’s a man coming for you, he’d said, right to the unsub’s face. There’s a man coming for you with the most beautiful mind I’ve ever known. He knows where you are. He’s going to kill you. There’s nothing you can do to escape. Even if you kill me first, he’s going to kill you.
Because I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and I know he will avenge me.