Title: A Serving of Something
Author: rawumber
Category: Slash
Rating: Hard R?
Pairing: Morgan/Reid
Summary: Post Jones fic that deals with changes in Reid and Morgan's relationship?

***

Morgan wasn't going to make it easy.

Reid shifted in his seat, again. Morgan just touched the volume on his iPod player, not that he needed to. The headphones could keep out noise from the engine and a rowdy game of gin. Yet he could hear the shift of fabric. He could see Reid look down, then at Morgan, and then down again, knuckles white as his held the book he would have finished the first ten minutes of the flight if he bothered to look at the pages. Morgan could see it and his eyes were closed.

Morgan wasn't going to make it easy. Easier. He'd made the offer. He'd made offers before.

He was right there if Reid would just cross the aisle and start with something, anything.

An analysis of the 90's alternative rock seeping from Morgan's headphones would be something, enough, at this point.

The wheels were already lowered by the time Reid spoke, "Do you have plans for after we land?"

Morgan opened his eyes, "Other than the paperwork I'm sure is waiting for us?"

Reid was quiet, nodding as he grabbed his satchel, his coat, "Yeah, right. Of course."

"You're going to have it too. You're too efficient. That's why you end up with more files than the rest of us."

Or Reid had been more efficient. His numbers had been dropping, work just as brilliant but with leaps no one could follow. His leaps were right, mostly, but nothing in the case file lead itself to how Reid made his conclusions. Reid knew that. The sudden stiffness in his already awkward posture betrayed that.

Morgan sighed, "Chinese or Italian?"

"What?"

"Chinese or Italian?"

The smile was quick but real," Considering what you put on pizza?"

Morgan didn't have a chance to defend himself as they touched down and there was the bustle of disembarking.  He was hesitant in his offer but they were a team. All of them. "Pizza?"

"Or Chinese," Reid cut in, still awkward behind his bag.

"Hailey," was Hotch's reply, already out the door.

"I'm sleeping, real sleep in a real bed, before I do anything," Prentiss said with a shake of her head.

JJ didn't sound nearly as happy that, "I'm going to take some files home with me."

It didn't sound like she was going to get much sleep but it was better than the office. Anything was better than the office at that point but Morgan stood his ground, even against his own exhaustion.

"Gideon?"

"Not tonight," was the man's reply, eyes on Reid. It wasn't the assessing gaze of the last few weeks but it still made Morgan uneasy. It seemed to settle something in Reid though. He stopped shifting on his feet.

Morgan just wanted off his feet, settling back in his chair.

"Seriously, pizza or Chinese?"

"Seriously, what do you want on it?"

"Cheese."

Reid looked dubious, "And?"

"Pepperoni, ham, sausage, mushrooms, bacon, onion and olives."

"Cut the pepperoni and olives."

"Not going to fight the onions?"

"Not this time. I want to eat in the next twenty four hours not debate it."

"You could just pull them off," Morgan pointed out, calling in the order and warning security. That left him with nothing to do but paperwork and staring at Reid. The kid was bending one of the paperclips from a file into a pretzel. "Good to see you hard at work."

Reid didn't look away from the twisted metal, "I turned off my cell phone."

"I suppose that is better than just ignoring us," though by the way Reid winced that happened as well. "New Orleans has full cell coverage. For a genius you'd think you'd come up with a more plausible cover story."

"Actually," Reid started.

Morgan held up a hand, "Don't even try anything involving sun spots or the interference of exterrestrial space rays."

Reid actually looked up, "Exterrestrial space rays?"

"Still sounds better than what you came up with," Morgan grinned. It was strained but it was a grin.

"I wasn't sure I could still do this."

That was honest. That was more honest than Morgan had been with himself. Reid could still do this, Reid just had to pull himself together. That was what Morgan had told himself. Reid could do this.

But Morgan had to ask, "Can you?"

Reid nodded. Morgan needed to hear the words.

"Reid?"

"I can still do this. I want to do this."

It should have reassured Morgan, "But?"

"I told Gideon I was struggling. He said after what happened," Reid broke the paperclip in half. "He said that it was understandable. Those weren't his exact words but-"

"But they're true." Morgan leaned forward in the chair. "What you went through-"

There was anger in Reid's voice, "I know what I went through."

"I know," Morgan tried to keep his voice even. "And I know we only saw part of what you went through and that was enough to give me nightmares."

Reid eyes were somewhere above Morgan's desk lamp.

"Reid?"

"I was weak."

Morgan stole another chair, pushing it to Reid's desk. He closed his hand around the broken metal and trembling fingers. "You were not weak."

"I was. I have been," Reid's eyes slid to his bag, the bag he was never without.

The bag Morgan was beginning to hate.

Morgan clenched his jaw, reaching for it. There was a notebook with stick people and abstract designs on the cover. The book Reid hadn't been reading. A bottle of Stop & Shop water which Morgan stared at a moment. When was the last time they had been somewhere with a Stop & Shop?  A small towel, "The most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have."

There were pens and metro cards:  90 cents, two dollars and ten cents, 45 cents. There had to be at least a dozen. "These aren't so useful if you don't use them."

"I haven't had a chance to go to Metro Center and combine them all."

"In what, three months? Six?"

Morgan continued to poke around the bag. iPod. Head phones held together by masking tape.

A half written letter to Mrs. Reid Morgan didn't mean to look at.

"I don't know if she wondered why I didn't write when I was taken or if she even noticed," Reid said, taking the paper and folding it.

Morgan looked away then back in the bag.

"I threw it out," Reid said, watching him.

Morgan did not want to know what it was. It was one thing to suspect. It was another to know.

It wasn't something he wanted to hear Reid say out loud, not like, "You're good?"

Reid's own smile was strained, "I don't know about good but I'm better."

"Reid, seriously, what Gideon said-"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Which was the most frustrating thing Morgan had ever heard, even with two sisters. Reid didn't want to talk about it. Reid never wanted to talk about it. Even when he finally came to Morgan, he didn't want to talk about it.

It wasn't enough that Reid came to him.

"I want to talk about it." Morgan held his ground. "I wasn't there. I wasn't there when you died. I was going through another of those damn journals when I heard a sound, a sound I can't even describe, from Garcia. I walked into the room and you were dead. I was too late."

I, not it. Morgan was too late.

"I just stood there, staring at the monitor."

There was a bitter laugh, "Like if I just stared long enough, the image would change. You'd be alive again."

"Then you were and that fucking—" Morgan took a breath, the anger hot like it had not been since that day. "He had a gun to your head and with every click I just wanted you to say a name, any name, my name."

Morgan's voice was soft but firm, almost a confession, "I couldn't watch you die."

"Elisabeth Kubler-Ross."

Morgan stared, "What?"

Reid's tone evened out, reciting facts, "She was a psychiatrist that wrote the definitive work on the stages of grief."

Morgan had to roll his eyes  despite the situation, "I know that."

"The five stages of grief. They kept running through my head. I kept wondering where was acceptance."

The twisting feeling kept Morgan from responding. He couldn't breathe. He just watched Reid breathe short, shallow breaths for him.

"Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. They were all there in those few minutes but I couldn't. I couldn't accept—"

Reid's voice cracked, "And then I can't remember until I. Woke up."

"You aren't allowed to die again."

It was apparently the right thing to say because Reid really smiled, there was even a huff of air that could have been laughter: "Next time I'm cornered by a serial killer, I'll make sure to tell him that."

"It could be a her!"

The phone on Morgan's desk rang before Reid could reply, probably rambling off the exact statistics of the probability of being killed by a woman serial killer opposed to a male.

"Pizza."

"I'm not sure I'm hungry anymore."

Morgan shrugged, "That's what the fridge and breakfast are for."

***

"What are you eating?"

Morgan sat on the edge of Reid's desk, pen hovering close to the, "Seriously Reid, what is that?"

"It's an organic casserole made from nutritious ingredients that promote a healthy life style."

"But what is it?"

Reid looked away from his monitor, "Garcia gave it to me after a tirade about the subjection of women to the masculine ideal of the female form."

"You don't know what it is, do you?"

Reid poked the mess with his fork, "Not really."

Morgan shook his head, attention sliding from the fork to Reid. The kid looked better, questionable food aside. He'd gained a little weight. Maybe. He was still far too skinny but he looked healthy. Healthy, calm and collected. His hands didn't shake when they returned to the keyboard.

"You type way too fast."

"The average person types at roughly 30 to 40 words per minute though there is the generally accepted misconception that the average is actually 50 to 60, with many jobs requiring a person to type 65 words per minute which is quite obviously above the average by a significant margin."

Morgan sat back, arms folded, "How fast do you type?"

Reid missed a key, "I've never paid attention."

"Liar," Morgan got up from Reid's desk, a glance around the bullpen. Most of the desks were empty. There were a few shuffles of paper from one or two bent heads. Anderson had fallen asleep in his chair.

"Come on."

"What? Where?" Reid looked up, fingers still typing, click, click, click.

"To get real food before there's another serial killer and we're stuck with stale coffee and even worse sandwiches dispensed from a vending machine in Bumfuck Arkansas."

"You know, Bumfuck is common slang that refers to a place populated by hicks, rednecks and the like—"

"Like I said-"

"I think the term Bumblefuck which is a location inconveniently far away would be more appropriate until we can assess the residents of the community in question."

Morgan would not smile. He would not. Not at the analysis or by the fact Reid said fuck.

"Would you just put on your coat?"

Reid took his time, saving his file, logging off, rearranging his desk which didn't tidy it at all. It gave Morgan time to text Garcia, "You owe me five bucks. I made Reid say fuck."

They finally made it to the elevator when Garcia texted back, "The fuck he did."

Morgan snorted, looking at Reid.  He still had that damn bag.

"Why do you carry that with you everywhere?"

Reid opened his mouth, closed it again, and then grinned, "What if I need a metro card?"

"Then you'll just buy another one with ten cents left over to add to your collection."

There didn't seem to be a reply to that so Morgan just asked, "What do you want to eat?"

Reid shrugged. He ran the seat belt through his fingers, gaze out the window. There wasn't anything to see but darkness and an occasional opossum. Morgan debated pulling over to the side of the road until Reid came up with something.

"Chain restaurant or—"

"No," Reid made a face and finally a decision, "Diner."

It was almost a decision. Morgan pulled into the next questionable looking establishment on the road, "If we get food poisoning, I'm blaming you."

"Blame the fact you get your eggs over easy. You know, 27% of the eggs Americans eat are undercooked, increasing the chance of Samonella by—"

"Eggs, over easy, hash browns and a side of bacon," Morgan said with a smile to the waitress and a "Darling."

Morgan didn't even want eggs but it was too much fun to provoke Reid. Besides, breakfast was the most important meal of the day and with their sleep schedule so out of sync with the rest of the world it might as well be breakfast.

"I don't know why JJ rents us rooms when half the time we don't use them."

"It depends on the nature of the crime," Spencer shrugged having what must have been his 23rd coffee of the day.

"I think a requirement of the job should be the ability to function on four hours sleep in a  36 hour period."

Reid was lost in his coffee cup, "At most."

Morgan tilted his head, "What's going on in that brain of yours?"

Reid looked up. "What would you have done if not this?"

Reid's eyes were direct, unwavering, which was something rare. Reid always looked away first. He didn't hold a person's gaze. Not often.

Morgan considered the question. "I could have practiced law I suppose but my JD was never to practice law but to get into law enforcement. I could have been a cop but I didn't have the best experiences with the police. The FBI seemed to fit."

"But if it wasn't the FBI?"

The question seemed important to Reid but, "I don't know."

***

"What would you have done instead of this?"

Reid made a non-descript noise, eyes never leaving the white board. Dates. Times. Geographic information. And, not to be forgotten, a series of gruesome pictures of dead girls thrown on the side of the highway.

Morgan banged the bagel on the conference room table. Hard as a rock. The noise at least got Reid's attention. He blinked at Morgan as if seeing him for the first time.

"What was that?"

"What would you have done if you hadn't joined the FBI?"

"I don't know."

"Come on," Morgan said still toying with the bagel. "I at least thought about it before telling you I didn't know."

"I have thought about it," Reid pulled his arms tight into himself.  "I couldn't be a student forever. I couldn't teach, I'm not good with large groups and public speaking. I could have worked in a think tank I suppose. Or a bookstore."

"A bookstore?"

"I like books," Reid shrugged.

Morgan couldn't see it. Reid behind a register? Fake smile? Reid's real smile was rare enough, a forced one would be grim. "Maybe a librarian. The Library of Congress has enough books, doesn't it?"

"I like the Library of Congress," Reid admitted.                    

"We might have still met, if you were in DC."

That mattered somehow. Reid out there alone was an unpleasant thought.  Morgan wasn't sure Reid had friends outside the BAU. There were the occasional sci fi geeks Reid seemed to run into everywhere, at a bar, a metro stop, the dentist, but they were usually passing conversations. Maybe they wouldn't be if Reid had enough time to make connections.

"We're never in DC unless it's at the bar or there happens to be a serial killer in the area."

"You go to bars."

Reid grinned, "I do now. I only started because the team made me."

"Someone would have made you," Morgan frowned, "How did you get through college without drinking?"

"Morgan. I was twelve when I went to college."

"It's college. There is always drinking."

***

"What are you drinking?"

"Caracole's Troublette ," Reid answered once he finished a swallow.

"Beer is not supposed to have a cork," Morgan answered, looking from the cork to Reid and wondering just what the kid would do if Morgan hit him in the head with it. JJ and Garcia were also potential victims. Hotch was safe. Prentiss, maybe.

"Technically it's white ale."

Morgan arched an eyebrow. Reid sighed and pulled the beer list, flipping to the right page.

"I'm systematically going through the beers, alphabetically by country then company in that country."

"Reid. There are over 900 types of beer here," JJ had to point out.

"I'm not drinking them all at once," Reid defended.

Garcia leaned over his shoulder, "What are you on?"

"Belgium."

"There's one called Nostradamus?" Garcia read. "I want that next."

"And more onion rings," JJ added, looking for their waitress.

"I think they put crack in these onion rings," Prentiss said warily. "This is our third basket."

There was one onion ring left. That led to a round of rock paper scissors during which Morgan just took the onion ring while the girls were distracted.

Garcia hit him with her fuchsia and teal purse."Thief!"

"Come on," JJ dragged Garcia and her purse away, "I think we need our own table."

Prentiss agreed, scowling at Morgan and taking the empty basket with her.

Hotch dropped some money on the table, "I'm going to call it a night. The traffic into Virginia should have cleared by now."

 "Good night," Reid said.

"Say hello to Hailey and Jack for me," was Morgan's farewell, distracted by Reid peeling the light blue label off the bottle. It shouldn't have been so distracting.

"You can go head over to the other bar," Reid said when he noticed Morgan's eyes. "This isn't really your scene."

"My scene?"

"It's quiet. There's no dancing for you to get your groove on," Reid shrugged.

"There are also over 900 types of beer. Besides this place has," Morgan hunted for a word. "History."

"It was built almost a hundred years ago," Reid started to lecture.

Morgan cut him off with a grin, "Just finish your beer."

"I like it," Reid muttered, not referring to the beer he was sipping.

"I know." Morgan's grin softened, eyes running over the brick walls. There was a series of rooms, theirs attached to the one with the fireplace. Morgan wasn't sure where the girl's went. Probably the big room in back.  Morgan still found the fact they were in a basement disconcerting but the hotel above them just added to the feel of an old tavern which he was sure was what attracted Reid. The stairs were steep though, particularly after too much beer. Why did JJ wear high heels?

"Do you want more onion rings or were you just annoying the girls?"

"A little of both," Morgan grinned. "You want real food? I know I wasn't eating much with those evisceration victims' pictures all over the walls."

"Rock Creek Park is the site of many sensationalized crimes—"

"Reid. Food."

"Fish and chips," Reid announced without even looking at the menu.

That didn't sound bad. Morgan snagged the waitress with a smile, putting in their order. Reid looked amused. Morgan asked, "What?"

"You flirt without even thinking about it, don't you?"

Morgan gave a slow smile, eyes traveling over Reid as he reached for his tie, fingers caressing it slightly before he let it slip. Reid blushed. That was too easy. Morgan hadn't even opened his mouth.

Reid just asked for the next beer on his list when the waitress circled by.

Morgan was still eyeing Reid, "What is up with your clothes?"

Reid looked down at himself, "What with my clothes?"

"We need our professional clothes. Suit. Tie. But we are allowed to be more casual. We do need to track down and chase criminals."

"Some of us don't need to tackle every supposed unsub that crosses our path."

Morgan had the feeling Reid was mocking him. He had that smug expression on his face. He was also avoiding the subject.

"Gideon wears jeans."

"Hotch doesn't."

Morgan moved to argue, "He does when he's off the clock."

Reid was suddenly fascinated by his new bottle of beer. Morgan was still trying to understand why beer needed corks. That was reminder enough. Reid was staring at the bottle. Morgan had a strong right arm. Not that he needed a strong right arm at this distance.

"Hey!"

The cork landed in the paper shreds from Reid's beer bottles after it bounced off his forehead.

Morgan chuckled, "Seriously. Why the tie and the sweater vests?"

Reid added to the pile of paper shreddings, "Would you take me seriously if I was in a jeans and a t shirt? I look like I'm fourteen."

"Maybe nineteen, just past legal."

Reid had a good right arm as well. Morgan rubbed his cheek, "I think that is going to bruise."

Reid just looked smug again.

"Reid, you're a genius no matter what you're wearing. Trust me, the sweater vests aren't going to make anyone take you seriously. Any more serious," Morgan corrected then just shut up before he got himself into more trouble.

The waitress was a good distraction. Food was a better distraction.

Morgan eyed Reid's plate, "Are you going to eat your pickle?"

***

Reid was making a neat little pile of pickles on the edge of his hamburger wrapper.

"You can ask for it without pickles," Morgan told him, watching in amusement. "And how come you can eat onions on a burger and they become questionable on a pizza?"

"Because it's pizza."

Sometimes, Morgan thought, Reid wasn't a genius. He was no Vulcan either.

Morgan had to ask, "Where's the logic in that?"

"Where is the logic in draining the blood from four teenage girls?"

Morgan shifted around the pile of pickles, "You think we're dealing with another Richard Trenton Chase?"

Reid suddenly had that look on his face, that bright eyed look. It was a good look for him. The jeans were also a good look for him.

 That train of thought was derailed as Reid continued, "I don't think the aliens made her do it."

Morgan frowned, "I don't think the aliens make him do it either but I noticed we switched pronouns?"

"Who else drained the blood of young women?"

Morgan cycled through the known lists of serial killers. It was a short list of woman killers, "Elizabeth Bathory? That's a leap Reid."

"According to the legend—"

"Legend," Morgan inserted.

"She drained the blood of young women to bathe in to retain eternal youth," Reid said, fast and rushed as he always did when he figured something out. "The number of plastic surgeons in this area alone exceeds that of any other of the medical specialists combined."

"Only in Miami."

"And in Southern California," Reid added.

"That? Not exactly helpful." Morgan made a quick call to Hotch, watching Reid fidget with something other than his hamburger. "What are you doing?"

"I think I need a belt. These feel like they're going to fall off my hips."

Morgan's eyes returned to Reid's jeans. "They are a little…"

They were. Jeans. They did sit low on Reid's hips but that wasn't a bad thing. They weren't too tight or too loose and, "I don't think you need a belt."

"I don't know what I was thinking, asking JJ to help me go shopping."

"It could have been worse; it could have been Garcia."

Reid gave him a dark look, "JJ took pictures of everything I tried on and sent them back to Garcia for her opinion.  It was terrifying."

Morgan had to ask, "Did she keep the pictures on her phone?"

"I don't know but Garcia has them in a file entitled Before and After: The Evolution of a Geek."

That probably was meant to be as funny as it was. Morgan kept laughing, even after Reid hit him in the face with his pickles.

***

Reid was standing at his door with a half embarrassed, half hopeful expression.

Reid was standing at his door with a half embarrassed, half hopeful expression and a grilled cheese sandwich. And a beer.

Morgan took the beer, "Where did you find a grilled cheese sandwich at two in the morning?"

"Sometimes it helps to look fourteen."

"Nineteen," Morgan corrected, taking the plate as Reid made his way into the room.

It was a hotel room. It was like most of their hotel rooms. Flower print comforter. Generic art on the walls. An almost comfortable arm chair and a not at all comfortable chair at the desk. Reid paused at the chair, eyeing the towel. He looked embarrassed again.

"Did I get you out of the shower?"

Morgan was tempted to say yes but he shook his head, "I had just gotten out and changed."

Which did explain why he was in his sleep pants. He looked back at the sandwich as Reid spoke.

"You had to kill that kid."

The tension that came over Morgan undid any good the shower did.

He growled, "And what does that have to do with a grilled cheese sandwich?"

"Your mom said when you were upset she would make you a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup." Reid paused, "I couldn't find any tomato soup."

Morgan stared at the sandwich. White bread. Yellow cheese. It couldn't be as good as his mom's, but, "Thanks."

He looked at Reid again, "When did my mom tell you that?"

Reid's smile was dangerous. Intriguing? But dangerous.

"When she was showing me your baby pictures."

The safest response to that was taking a bite of his sandwich. It was a little greasy. It was a lot cold. But, it was a grilled cheese sandwich.

"I know a grilled cheese sandwich won't fix everything but—"

"I get the idea," Morgan said through another bite, eyes on Reid. The kid was hovering. He also decided to fold the towel Morgan had tossed over the chair. Morgan sighed, "Is this your subtle attempt to get me to talk about things?"

Morgan couldn't help but rub in, "You wouldn't talk about things."

That just made Reid look uncomfortable, "I could go."

Which made Morgan feel guilty, "Since there's nothing better to do at two am you might as well stay. Half a sandwich?"

Reid took it, quick bite followed by very slow chewing.  Morgan suspected it was to keep his mouth busy. To keep him from asking the obvious questions. Morgan answered them anyway.

"He was just a kid."

Reid swallowed, "A kid with a gun aimed at another kid. You told him to put it down. He didn't."

"And now he's dead."

Reid took another bite of his half of the sandwich and Morgan had to admit there wasn't much to say to that. It happens? Shooting people just felt different when it was a kid. A kid the same age as Morgan had been when things went down. It was a rough age.  Bad things happened. Like getting dead.

Morgan sat back on the bed, "I can see his face when I close my eyes."

Reid settled in on his desk which was probably more comfortable than the chair. He didn't say anything. Was this supposed to be a psychoanalytic approach? Morgan got to do all the talking?

"It's going to make it hard to sleep," Reid finally said.

"That happens. Nightmares come with the job. I still see you die," Morgan admitted.

"I have that one too," Reid tried to grin. It didn't work.

"It isn't always the same. Sometimes we're working a case and then you're down. Gunshot? I don't even know. I just know I'm there but I can't do anything. I can't even touch you."

"But you're there?"

The question seemed important to Reid.

"I'm there," which was what Morgan thought was the worst part. The powerlessness of that. The helplessness. He couldn't do anything.

It was the worst part and Reid was smiling.

"What?"

"Then I wouldn't die alone."

***

"It's disturbing."

Reid didn't even look up from the folder he was flipping through, "What is?"

 "That one of my worst dreams is a good dream for you."

"We are coming from completely different perspectives," and the silence might mean Reid was done shuffling papers for the moment.

Morgan didn't reply directly, instead staring at his screen. That was disturbing. He couldn't decide if he was horrified or something. Their job messed with their heads, enough that he asked, "Would you rather die by evisceration or exsanguination?"

"You can die of exsanguination while being eviscerated and," Reid shifted from his chair, a presence behind Morgan's chair. "What are you looking at?"

"I followed your example and typed death in a search engine--" Morgan clicked on a particularly gruesome picture, "Then through a few links..."

"You really don't want to do your paperwork, do you?"

"It's only a matter of time before something horrible happens and we're pulled away from the office. I'm not saying I want something horrible to happen? But it will."

"Then some of your files will be redistributed through the office," Reid grinned. "Oh, click on that one?"

Morgan did, disturbed by the fact these pictures even existed let alone got posted to the internet. Reid seemed particularly intrigued by the picture of, "Ritual disembowelment?"

"I think this is from a series of serial killings in northern Russia in the 80's that were never officially reported but spoken of by residents of the region in later interviews regarding a completely unrelated matter."

Reid's leaned close having no respect for personal space. Morgan just had to turn his head and he would hit him in nose. Or Morgan would hit his nose. As it was Reid's hair brushed against his neck. He inhaled--he knew that smell. More than the just Reid smell, "Head and Shoulders?"

"Head and shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes?" Reid blinked, "I think that was how it goes. I wasn't emotionally invested in kindergarten."

"Your shampoo," Morgan clarified, forcing some space between them with a push of his feet and a roll of his chair.

Spencer kept blinking, "That's the white one with the blue top, right?"

"Right."

"Then it is, but I got the two in one." Reid nodded, attention back on the screen.

"It is an anti dandruff shampoo," and Reid didn't look like he had dandruff. His hair was smooth and shiny. It looked soft to the touch.

"I ran out of the bottles of complimentary hotel shampoo and it was on sale," Reid pulled his eyes away, "Why does it matter?"

Morgan shrugged, shifting again as Reid stole his mouse to click on other images. "These things kill ones appetite."

Reid snorted, "You've looked at worse and gotten drivethru on the way back to the station."

That was true and suddenly Morgan was hungry.

***

"You're getting ketchup on the crime scene photos."

Morgan responded by offering Reid a fry.  Reid ate it absently. Morgan watched just as absently.

He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Watching Reid.

"Staring at the pictures won't change anything. It will just give you eyestrain," Morgan shrugged. "You would get more observing Hotch's interrogation."

"We're missing something."

A personal life? Sleep? Decent coffee?

But Morgan moved his fries and sat down to look at something not Reid, "Pass me that picture?"

It wasn't the best shot. The angle was funny and the field of depth was off. Morgan had never really looked at it before. He doubted any of them had. There were better pictures.

But, "What does that look like to you?"

Reid leaned close, "Huh."

***

"You remember what I said about your need to tackle unsubs?"

"That it was manly and heroic?"

Reid hit him on his already bruised shoulder, spiteful man. Then to add insult to injury he threw a bag of frozen peas at Morgan's head. Reid's aim wasn't always the best. Morgan could pretend his missed his hands and happened to broad side him in the face. There was still the question of frozen peas.

"They're better than an ice pack, trust me."

Morgan was dubious, "And where did you get these?"

"I put them in the freezer in the break room after I got frost burn from the ice pack in the first aide kit." Reid shifted, uncomfortable, "After the closet incident."

"I still don't understand how you managed to have half the supply closet fall on you."

Reid didn't seem to be paying attention, frowning at both Morgan's shoulder and the peas. He had that worried expression that made Morgan shift, uncomfortable.

"If it was that bad I would have gone home instead of dragging myself in to finish the paperwork."

"You dragged yourself in so you could call out tomorrow," Reid pointed out.

Morgan grinned though he tried to explain the logic that, "Tomorrow it will be stiff and sore, tonight it's just sore."

Reid rolled his eyes, "Want me to order food?"

"No, I think there are hot pockets in the freezer. They were above the frozen peas."

"You want to eat Garcia's hot pockets?"

"I'm a brave man."

"That's one word for it."

***

 "Is Garcia still not talking to you?"

 "Not even after I offered a night of sweet lovemaking."

Reid snorted, "How could she refuse?"

"Hell, I even offered a night of sweet lovemaking with you but she seemed to take that to mean we would be the ones," Morgan waved his hand. Reid stared. Morgan cleared his throat, "She asked for pictures."

Reid was still staring, "Pictures."

"Pictures." Morgan let his eyes roam over Reid until he saw the kid's face flush. He tugged at his sweater. The sweater vest was back. Starched trousers. Mismatched socks. But the kid still had his jeans. Some days he even wore them with just a t shirt. "To add to her Evolution of a Geek collection, I think."

"You want us both to shun you, don't you?"

The look on Reid's face was not in the least bit attractive.

"I think I'm offended. I'd have you know I am—"

"Manly and heroic in bed?"

"As a matter of a fact, yes."

This time Reid's eyes traveled over Morgan: "Would you tackle me too?"

Morgan knew Reid was teasing. He knew. But it took him a moment to clear his throat and the image from his head.

"Only if you deserve it."

Reid settled in at the commandeered detective's chair, taking a smug sip of coffee.

"If that's the last of the coffee? You deserve it."

Reid still looked smug, "You hate this coffee."

"Do you know when I slept last?"

"On the jet, same as the rest of us," Reid stretched. "The profile is accurate. You're just irritable because you have no one to chase."

"I do more than chase people," Morgan said, truly irritable as he sat on the desk, knocking over an innocent pencil holder.

Reid offered him his slobbered on coffee, "I know that. You formulated most of the profile."

"And the profile is right," Reid finished softly. "You just hate waiting."

"I hate two quarts of sugar in my coffee."

Morgan drank it anyway.

***

"What did you tell her?"

Reid stretched out besides Morgan on the jet.  He stretched into Morgan more accurately. Morgan didn't know how such a skinny guy could take up so much space when he spent so much of his time pulling into himself, physically and emotionally. It was a good thing Reid let himself relax around them but that was hard to remember when a bony elbow was jabbing into his kidney.

Other things hurt too, "The victim's mom?"

"No, Garcia."

Morgan groaned, "Do we have to talk about that?"

"You brought it up earlier," Reid reminded him, a purposeful jab to Morgan's kidneys.

"I told her there was no way she was getting pictures of us having sex since they would be up on her blog before she could microwave the hot pockets I bought to replace the ones I ate."

Reid was staring at him but at least his elbow moved.

"What?"

"Pictures of us having sex implies there is sex to be taking pictures of," Reid told him slowly as if talking to a small child.

"I have sex," Morgan shrugged, "It's my problem that you don't."

Reid had to get that staring thing under control. The kid wasn't even blinking. He possibly wasn't breathing given the flush to his skin. A twenty five year old genius should be able to talk about sex without going red. They hadn't even been talking about—Oh.

"It's not my problem that you don't have sex," Morgan hastily corrected.

"That isn't what you said."

"Reid, I haven't had more than an hours sleep in 48 hours."

"I gave you my coffee!"

"Yeah," Morgan couldn't help but smile. "You did."

***

Morgan was trying to drink his Theraflu but Reid was hovering, drinking coffee, the asshole. Morgan wanted coffee. Coffee was good. This shit just tasted like rotten orange peels.

"What?"

 "Garcia should be talking to you again."

That should be a good thing. It would be a good thing if Reid wasn't hovering and laughing. He wasn't literally laughing? But his eyes were laughing.

In the bad way.

"What did you tell her?"

"That we weren't having sex."

Morgan took another disgusting sip, nodding.

"But that if we did have sex I would tell her each and every detail."

Morgan's keyboard was wet, the top of one of his files was wet and his only solace was that Reid was wet too.

"Maybe I could have timed that better, "Reid scowled at his tie. It was an ugly tie. It was an ugly tie specked with Theraflu.

"I think you timed that perfectly," JJ announced, dropping another file on Morgan's desk. "I hope it goes up on her blog.

It wasn't beer but Morgan chugged the Theraflu anyway.

***

"This is all your fault, "Morgan complained.

"No, I'm pretty sure this is your fault," Reid muttered between coughing spells. "You got me sick."

"I meant the room."

Reid popped a Halls, "JJ picked the room."

"JJ put us in the same room because of you."

"JJ put us in the same room because she wants us to have sex so I have to tell Garcia who will blog about it," Reid corrected. "I think that might be insulting since JJ didn't even want to kiss me."

"At the moment neither do I."

"Because I'm sick," Reid blew his nose. "Or because you're mad?"

There was no good way to answer that.

Reid was sick. His nose was red. His face was splotchy. His hair stood up like an 80's rock star.

It should not have been adorable.

"You seem to be kinda blasé about our coworkers fantasying about our nonexistent love life."

Reid should be freaked out. Reid should be freaked out enough for the both of them. Reid should at least appear awkward and quote statistics about the sexual fantasies of women versus the sexual fantasies of men.  Morgan would be reassured by that. Reid would be Reid and maybe Morgan would stop having his own fantasies that got as far as pinning Reid to the wall. After that they went vague and Morgan did the freaking out.

Morgan wasn't freaking out because it felt wrong. Morgan was freaking out about it because he wasn't freaking out about it. In fact it still seemed like a good idea even when Reid was blowing snot out of his nose every 6.4 minutes. The rest of the time Reid seemed to be hacking up a lung. Maybe both lungs.

"I don't think they are fantasizing about out nonexistent sex life. I think they are fantasying about your sex life and I get to be a stand in for an anonymous, possibly threatening female."

Maybe Morgan would get the statistics after all, "They're threatened by my one night stands?"

"You do have a lot of them," Reid sneezed.

"I haven't had sex in almost two months," Morgan felt the need to share. "Besides, if they're going to fantasize about a stand in, why not Brad Pitt?"

"I think Johnny Depp is more to their tastes."

Which didn't answer the question but Reid was coughing again.

Morgan wondered if they sold tomato soup at the Denny's across the street.

***

The tomato soup seemed to be a poor imitation but at least Reid wasn't coughing as much. The diner had bad soup and worse coffee. Maybe they should have gone to the Denny's; chain food was uniformly bad. This place just had the advantage that it was close to the station as they waited for the rest of the team.

"I thought Hotch was kidding about you getting propositioned by every prostitute you talked to."

Reid shrugged, "I think they know I'm a virgin and it's a turn on."

"That's why they ignored me?"

"They didn't ignore you." Reid pointed out. "The one in red heels offered to let you watch for free."

Worse than a FBI agent caught with a prostitute would be an FBI agent caught with a prostitute while another agent watched.  Garcia would definitely put that in her blog.

Morgan definitely had to stop thinking about it.

He couldn't decide if he'd be jealous of someone else touching Reid or turned on. That was part of why he had to stop thinking about it. He shouldn't be jealous of someone else touching Reid

Morgan had given up telling himself he shouldn't think of touching Reid.

Touching. Watching.

"Do you like that? Being watched."

Reid put down his spoon, "Morgan? Virgin."

"I don't understand why you can't get a date."

"Because I type death in search engines? Because I spend more time talking about serial killers than—"

"Anything?" Morgan supplied helpfully.

"Elle said because I never asked anyone out."

"You asked JJ out."

Spencer's voice was somewhere between bitter and amused, "And look what happened with that. She ended up fantasying about me having sex with someone else."

"Hey, not just someone else. Me!"

Reid smiled. His eyes were a warm brown. He watched Morgan. Looked at him. Morgan looked back. He wanted to ask Reid again if he liked being watched. Morgan had watched him a lot these past several months.

Morgan watched Reid take another sip of soup.

***

This was going to take more than a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup, for more reasons than Reid complained he was nauseas. He also couldn't walk in a straight line or complain clearly, "This is completely unnecessary. I'm fine."

"That's why your speech is slurring."

"I think your hearing is slurring."

Morgan stopped and stared. His hearing was slurring? Maybe he shouldn't have let Reid talk his way out going to the hospital with the paramedics. His hearing was slurring?

"And your dog is eating my shoe."

"At lease he stopped growling at you," Morgan shrugged, hunting through his freezer for an icepack or, "Think frozen stir fry is as good as peas?"

Reid wasn't paying him any attention, edging along the counter away from Clooney. This was obviously a new game. Clooney followed him, nose nudging Reid along whenever he stopped. Morgan wasn't sure which of them he should lecture.

"Here, take your frozen stir fry."

"My head doesn't even hurt anymore."

Morgan just shook the bag. Reid had to take two whole steps to get it. Two steps, wobbling genius, dog.

Morgan managed to catch him before Reid got another concussion.

"Would you just go sit on the couch?"

Reid managed that with no catastrophic injuries.  Clooney followed, haunches raised again as Reid dropped onto the couch. Morgan smacked him lightly as he started to growl, "You aren't even supposed to be on the couch."

Reid was eyeing the dog, "I think you two need some quality time. I'll just—"

"Don't even try it," Morgan said using the same tone he used when Clooney tried nose breakfast off the table. He tossed Reid a clean dish towel to wrap around the stir fry. "Do you have signs on you I can't read? Prostitutes, proposition me. Serial killers on a psychotic break, kidnap me?"

"He didn't kidnap me," Reid grumbled.

"Because I shot him in the leg!"  Morgan was pissed again, "It was a routine consult ten miles from Quantico."

Reid tried to sound all reasonable, "We know serial killers routinely try to insert themselves in the investigation and contact law enforcement."

"Usually not by kidnapping them!"

"You shot him, he's gone and I'm fine. I don't see why this is a big deal."

"You stared at me, completely confused and with no idea who I was for six minutes and forty six seconds!"

Reid's eyes narrowed, "You are making that up."

Morgan wasn't. It scared him more than seeing the guy throw Reid against the van. It scared him to see Reid crumpled there, staring at him blankly, no response to his words or touch, "You didn't know who I was!"

"But you couldn't know the exact time."

Morgan felt like he did and, "I looked at my watch while I was taking your pulse."

"Oh."

"Which you don't remember either."

"You heard the paramedics; it's a mild concussion. Memory loss and confusion surrounding the injury are typical symptoms. They clear up shortly even if the memory of the event remains foggy," Reid lectured.

"Mild to moderate," Morgan corrected. "Someone has to be there to wake you up every few hours."

"That is a medical myth and you know it," Reid gave him a pointed look.

Fine. It was. "Humor me."

Reid just curled up on the couch which apparently meant he was humoring Morgan.

"What did Hotch say?"

"That we shouldn't let you go out on your own?"

That might have been what Morgan said to Hotch but the answering chuckle seemed to agree with the sentiment. The parking lot of a police station should have been safe. If Morgan hadn't followed Reid out to pick up his sun glasses—

"I am not weak."

The tone of Reid's voice made Morgan look at Reid, really look at him. Every muscle was tense. His knuckles were white as he clutched the stir fry which sat useless in his lap. His expression was blank again, staring directly ahead.

"Baby," Morgan settled down next to Reid, hand on his shoulder. He squeezed slightly, "I don't think you are weak."

It was several long moments until Reid relaxed under Morgan's hand, "I'm not weak."

"I never thought you were," Morgan said softly. He moved his hand, up rather than away. He rubbed the side of Reid's neck, warmth seeping through his fingers. There was the slight smell of cinnamon beneath the fear and sweat. "Stealing hotel shampoos again?"

"I always do," Reid shrugged, shrugged into Morgan's hand. "Technically it isn't stealing if they're complimentary."

"Uhuh," was Morgan's only comment, fingers teasing the hair at the back of Reid's neck ever so lightly.

Reid could get strange about touching. Hell, Morgan could get strange about touching. But this seemed all right.

All right and innocent.

To keep it that way Morgan pulled his hand back, rising to his feet. Clooney took the opportunity to steal the warm spot on the couch. Clooney gave Reid another look before settling his head in Reid's lap. Reid about jumped out of his skin, the way he didn't do when Morgan touched him. After a moment of staring at Clooney, Reid gingerly patted his head. Morgan snorted.

"I'm going to get some food. You sure you don't want anything?"

"Beer?"

"Ha. No."

Morgan was about to head into the kitchen when Reid asked, "Where's your remote?"

"Clooney ate it in protest to our case in North Dakota."

"He doesn't like North Dakota?"

"Who does?"

***

"South Carolina is not my favorite state."

"They have good sweet tea though," Reid said around his straw.

It was obscene, watching Reid with that straw. Morgan didn't remember it being obscene. Morgan took the last draw of melted ice that held the memory of coke then threw his empty cup in the back seat. Reid craned his neck to follow the trajectory.  That was obscene too.

"We should probably clean the car out after the stake out but before Hotch sees it."

Morgan nearly said "Fuck Hotch" but he caught himself. It was hot. It was humid. And Reid still had that damn straw in his mouth.

"I hate stake outs."

Reid nodded, "I noticed that twelve stake outs ago."

Stake outs weren't this frustrating before. Reid wasn't this frustrating before. That wasn't precisely Reid's fault.

Morgan just needed a distraction.

 "Do you have any fries left?"

"No," Reid blatantly lied. Morgan knew he was lying. Morgan could see the fries.

"You are a really bad liar."

"That's what JJ says except we really haven't slept together."

It was a good thing Morgan hadn't eaten the fry. He would be choking.

"What?"

"She's convinced we've had sex and I haven't told Garcia which violates our agreement."

Morgan would never understand women. "What does Garcia say?"

"She doesn't think I'm lying. She claims there's too much UST and thinks the anticipation is better than the actual act. " Reid made a face, "I question her logic."

"I question what the hell UST is."

"Unresolved sexual tension," Reid said, straw going back in his mouth.

Morgan stared. He stared some more. Then he smacked Reid.

"You are doing the straw thing on purpose, you tease!"

"I'm teasing?"

Moran hit his head on the steering wheel.

"I hate South Carolina."

***

Morgan was a professional.

He sat through the next five and a half hours of the stake out, tackled the suspect, handcuffed him and brought him in. There was a perfectly legitimate reason to head toward the interrogation rooms. The door swung back on its hinges as he pushed it open, all but dragging Reid in the room.

Reid glanced through the one way glass, "I thought they were going to be in Room 3—"

Morgan barely glanced through the glass before pushing Reid up the wall. Hard. Harder than he intended.

"Were you teasing that you were teasing or were you teasing?"

Reid's eyes were wide. His breathing was shallow. He didn't try to move.

"Yes."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"Yes please?"

That didn't answer that question but it asked another Morgan was more than happy to answer.  Lips. Mouth. Morgan didn't mean for the kiss to be as brutal as it was but, "You are such a fucking tease."

Reid answered but Morgan wasn't sure what he said. It might have helped if Reid actually moved his mouth from Morgan's but Morgan wasn't complaining. There was groaning. Maybe Reid. Maybe Morgan. That didn't seem to matter as much as sweet Reid's mouth was.

Literally.

"How much sweet tea did you drink?"

Reid just gave Morgan a look and pulled him in for another kiss, "Now who's the fucking tease?"

***

It wasn't until the jet was touching down in Virginia that Morgan thought to text Garcia: "I made Reid say fuck again."

His phone chimed: "Did you?"

His fingers were quick: "Did I what?"

It couldn't have been more than two seconds before: "Fuck."

Morgan looked over to Reid who was trying to balance his bag, jacket and last of his coffee.

"Not yet."

Morgan closed his phone and took Reid's coffee.

***

"Do you really need more coffee?"

Reid was jumpy.  It probably did not help that Clooney had been more than happy to scamper over and resume their game.  Nose, step, nose, step. Looking at Reid's face Morgan wondered if he should tell the kid it was a game. It was more fun to watch Clooney maneuver the kid around the kitchen.

Clooney maneuvered Reid right into him. Good boy.

Morgan pressed Reid against the counter, "I don't think you need more coffee."

"I do if you want me to stay awake."

"Reid. Reid. Reid." Morgan tugged on Reid's shirt, fingers finally slipping under it and gliding over the skin of Reid's back. "You walk me into the worst lines, Baby."

Reid grinned, "You going to keep me awake?"

"You know it."

Another touch and Reid shivered. Morgan drew patterns on his skin. Lines. Circles. A game of tic tac toe which made him laugh as he bit Reid's ear. A bite, a nibble, a groan as Reid licked Morgan's neck. Bit him. They were so close the only reason Morgan knew where he ended and Reid began was the rub of fabric.

"Have I mentioned how much I hate your clothes?"

Reid shifted against him, "Even the jeans?"

"Especially the jeans."

That actually made Reid pause, pull away, "You don't like the jeans? I only got them—"

"They make me want to take you by the belt loops—"

Reid was breathing hard, "Yeah?"

"You're the genius, figure it out."

Reid was a genius. Clumsy but brilliant. He didn't know where to put his hands so Morgan guided him.

"Right there, pretty boy."

Morgan kept his own hands moving. Touch. Caress. Crescent of nails and finger prints he was sure would leave bruises. Anything to keep Reid making those sounds Groans. Gasps.

"What type of noise was that?"

"If you break down the dynamics of the word, whimper technically falls besides whine, derived from a form of complaint which comes from an objection in the form of a speech act as a part of human activity—" 

"Can't you just say you whimpered?"

Morgan ran his fingers down the inside of Reid's thigh to make him do it again.

Morgan laughed, "There, whimper."

It wasn't so funny when Reid made him whimper.

"I thought you were a virgin?"

Reid's fingers didn't stop, "I read books."

"I'm cutting up your library card."

"You don't like?"

There was too much laughter in Reid's voice for Morgan to take the pout seriously.

"Shut up and do that again."

The sheets were a complete and utter tangle.  They were dangerous. Reid was dangerous, even thrusting under him.

"If we end up on the floor, I'm blaming you."

Reid just wrapped a leg around him and moved harder. Faster.

The floor wouldn't be so bad.

The pillow was better, softer, though not as soft as Reid's fingers as they traced the tattoo on the back of his neck.

Reid replaced his fingers with his lips, voice a whisper over his skin, "Do each of these have a story behind them?"

"Yes," Morgan shifted to steal Reid's lips for his own, "But not for tonight."

"Except this one," Reid grinned, hand sliding over his shoulder, "This is because you're a lion in bed, right?"

"I think that's supposed to be tiger in bed and for man that can quote 17th century ballads couldn't you come up with something a little more—"

"Manly and heroic?"

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

Morgan pushed his face back into the pillow. Slow suffocation. That was his only hope.

The kiss dropped on the back of his neck made him raise his head slightly. The shift of weight on the bed made him raise his head completely. It was a nice view, Reid naked in his apartment. It was a funny scene when he almost tripped over Clooney. Reid reaching for the phone was not.

"You are not calling Garcia."

Reid's face was a picture of innocence, "I promised her—"

"Reid. Do you want me to tackle you?"

"Yes." Reid brought the phone up to his ear, fingers on the dial. "But that wasn't who I was calling."

Morgan was still suspicious, "Who were you calling?"

"I hadn't decided yet." Reid smiled at him, "Chinese or Italian?"

***