Title: Collections
By: theimpressionis
Pairing: vaguely Reid/Morgan, practically gen
Rating: G
Summary: I'm heading to the dark side, apparently. For the "What's in Reid's satchel challenge".
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

***

Reid's bag; just sitting innocently at the edge of the table in the coffee room. Taunting him. Reid had set it down to grab a cup of coffee and been called into Hotch's office. And now that green satchel was within arms reach. Morgan had always wondered about it's contents, the way the Reid took it everywhere. He kept it so close, like a security blanket.

Morgan had never been good at resisting temptation. He saw no reason to strart now. He poked his head in the hallway; it was clear. Checked his watch:10:10. Most people took a break around 10:30. He would have to be quick. A flash of guilt; Reid had trusted him enough to leave the bag on the table, in Morgan's presence.

Morgan opened the front clasp. The inner satchel was partitioned into three sections. The contents of the inner pocket were disappointingly inane; a file, two coil-bound notebooks, pens, highlighters, white-out. The usual things people carried with them. A book on Schizophrenia wasn't that much of a surprise. A slim paperback; "The following Story" intriguing cover image, a man bent over a book, his body peeling away into scrolls of words, as if the more he learned of the story, the more he lost of himself. A sealed letter Morgan avoided- he didn't need anymore temptation.

The next section contained a deck of cards, batteries, gum, an xacto knife, a coupon for a video store. A small note-book, with movie stubs pasted on the front. Did Reid go to the movies alone? Or did he have someone to go with him? Morgan was surprised by a prick of jealousy. It wasn't like Reid wasn't allowed a life outside of the team. But the not-knowing bothered him for some reason.

Neither his wallet or keys were in the bag, apparently even in the security provided by the FBI, Reid felt the need to keep them on his person.

Morgan opened the last section. Empty save for a brightly coloured pompom cigar box. Morgan glanced around, listening for footsteps. Quiet hum of computers, muted voices, the murmur of office life.

He opened the box. A photograph of a smiling woman and a small boy. The boy's expression was startling; open and sweet but the eyes held a mix of emotions that didn't belong to a child; watchful and knowing. Adult Reid already peering through. A bag marked "found" in neat letters. Water-stained photographs, faded notes, a bottlecap, a green button, a cats-eye marble,coins; the shiny detritus of life worthy of a magpie.

More ticket stubs; one ticket to a redskins game and two movie tickets for a tiny revival theater downtown. "Charade" and "Gaslight." Hitchcock. It was easy to see why they would appeal to Reid.

Morgan's eyes widened at the rest of the contents. The sparkly blue pen with ridiculous blue fluff that Garcia had jokingly accused him of stealing last month lay inside. A tortoise-shell clip Morgan recognized as Elle's- he had helped her with some renegade bangs one day, standing close enough to smell her perfume. And unless Reid had taken to wearing Bonne Belle Lipsmacker in Pina Colada flavour, the shiny yellow tube belonged to JJ. Morgan sniffed it- definitely smelled like JJ.

A hand written acceptance note from Gideon, which touched Morgan, though he couldn't quite say why. A empty shell that puzzled him for a moment.

"Hotch," Morgan realised- from range practice.

A brown button that had fallen off of Morgan's favorite shirt. He hadn't even bothered looking for it; he had simply replace it with the extra button sewn on the base of his shirt.

Small tokens of the team. With the exception of Garcia's pen, they would never be missed, their owners probably didn't even realise that they were gone. Morgan was willing to bet that Reid didn't carry any photos in his wallet. Instead he carried around a box of literal memories. Small gifts to himself.

Morgan was torn between feeling touched and terribly sad. Were these bits and pieces all that Reid had? Instead of photo albums and love letters and baby books, was this the sum of what Reid felt necessary in his life?

Morgan gently placed the cigar box in the satchel; everything back in its place. Buttoned the clasp and set the bag down. Morgan chewed on his lip. Maybe he was wrong; maybe Reid didn't value *things* at all- after all, how do you put value on an experience? But then, why keep the souvenirs, especially those belonging to people you saw everyday?

The desire to do something gnawed at him. Give Reid something more than these imitations of life. Maybe that was why Reid liked movies so much. Morgan would have to be subtle; something that they could do together without giving himself away.

Morgan absently flipped through a newspaper orphaned on the table- not The Post, an entertainment local. Flipped to the local listings. Saturday, 7:10. "The Lady Vanishes." More Hitchcock, great movie but such a terrible ending. "Breakfast at Tiffany's." Stylish, but no. "Casablanca." Reid had undoubtedly already seen it, but if any movie was worth repeat viewing this was it.

Besides he wanted to witness Reid's surprise when he found out that Derek Morgan liked old movies.

***