Title: Criminal Minds micro-fics part trois
Author: wildwordwomyn
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: slash & pre-slash Morgan/Reid
Rating: G to PG for some angst
Disclaimers/Warnings: Slight spoilers for the Foyet episodes. Oh, and this is FICTION. There, you've been warned:)

***

It doesn't take much. A soft smile here, a fondly frustrated head shake there, and suddenly Spencer feels safe. With Morgan, somehow, he is home.

~*~*~*~

“Men come and go...,” Garcia begins, then turns slightly bleary eyes to Emily. “Why don't they ever stay, Em?”

Emily pauses in the taking of a drink from her beer. “I really wish I knew.” She swallows a couple sips. “I'm not sure most people ever know how to stay.”

It sounds so profound it knocks Garcia into speechlessness.

To ward off any possible crying on the bar Emily finishes with, “But I promise you that I'll stay.”

Of course this just causes the waterworks to begin. “You have to,” Garcia mumbles, prompting Emily to pull her Cosmopolitan out of her hand.

“No, Garcia. I want to.There's a difference.”

After all she's seen she realizes Emily's right. There really is a difference.

~*~*~*~

After Foyet the first laugh Hotch lets go of feels all kinds of wrong. But Dave continues singing the dirty limerick anyway just to hear that musical sound again. If he has to resort to his secret knowledge of the haunted man's ticklish spots so be it. All's fair in love and war.

~*~*~*~

The first time they make love he can't help wondering if this is what it feels like to be free...

~*~*~*~

She should be home but a new case has come across her desk.

“JJ, go home,” Hotch calls from the doorway of her office.

“If you're here, I'm here.” She doesn't say anything else. She doesn't need to if his acknowledging nod is any indication.

~*~*~*~

Dave Rossi takes his bourbon like he takes his women: on the rocks and bad for his indigestion. You, on the other hand, prefer neat and chilled. But maybe if you can learn to take each other you'll both have better luck.

~*~*~*~

Warm female fingertips, the small of her back; an anchor.

~*~*~*~

White, black. Cold, hot. A featherlight kiss, a weighted touch. Contrast. Unfinished, yet complete. Together.

***