A/N: Hi all so, this is a one-shot, non-slash story. It's only my second story so please let me know if it's any good! Thanks!

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.

xxx

It wasn't a particularly gruesome case. In fact, for BAU standards, it was quite tame: six victims, single gunshot to the head, all female and all married with children. Whilst every case comes with its own horrors, emotional turmoil and senseless depravities, admittedly this case, with its lack of sadism, sexual or otherwise, and originality, was less trying on the BAU members than most other cases.

So when Spencer Reid felt a tremor in his right leg, he attributed it to the bite in the chilly wind or a pinched nerve. And when he boarded the jet and his left leg twitched, he settled down opposite Morgan and Blake, preparing for a five hour flight home, with little concern.

An hour into the trip and his right leg hadn't stopped shaking whilst his left had progressed beyond the characterisation of a twitch. He crossed his legs in his seat and bounced them underneath the table, jostling JJ who sat beside him. She gave him a strange look but otherwise ignored it.

By the second hour of the flight, he had begun a game of poker with Blake, Morgan and Rossi – JJ opting out for a coffee and a quiet conversation with Hotch. As Reid reached for his winnings – a pile of peanuts they had been using as poker chips – he noticed a distinguished tremor in his hand. It did not go unnoticed by the other three.

"You okay?"

Reid didn't look up at the question, sure his eyes would betray the growing concern he was now feeling.

"Huh?" he fumbled, as he so often did when confronted with a question pertaining to his wellbeing. "Oh yeah. Fine."

The question, or any of its variations, was not asked again.

In the third hour, Blake had fallen asleep, her head resting on the back of her seat but threatening to fall forwards onto her chest. Morgan had his headphones on and Reid could hear the low thrum of his music. Rossi was scribbling notes in a journal, plans for his next bestseller. And Reid stared out the window, sitting on his hands and his legs crossed tightly, a feeling of panic threatening to overwhelm him. Taking a breath, he excused himself from his seat, pushed past Rossi who had taken JJ's place, and slinked over to the couch at the end of the jet. He was sure Rossi felt his shaking, but was grateful that the older agent resisted in commenting.

It was almost an effort to make it to the couch – he had to pass JJ and Hotch on the way – but he had made it, albeit shaking more than he had been seconds before. As he lay on the couch and pulled a blanket over himself, he tried to ignore the fact that his whole body was now visibly convulsing. He lay on his side, closed his eyes and willed sleep to come.

But he couldn't sleep – there was too much adrenaline in his body. So instead, he pretended, if only to believe in the delusion of sleep. His mind was racing, thinking of possibilities why he was shaking so uncontrollably. All the wrong things popped in his head and he knew this couldn't be helping.

"Do you think he's cold?"

JJ's whisper was louder than she had perhaps anticipated and Reid bit down on his lip in embarrassment.

There was some shuffling, a few more subtle and inaudible whispers and then approaching footsteps. Reid pleaded with his body to comply with him, but the shakes only seemed to become more pronounced. He was sure that the person approaching him was going to wake him up, but instead he felt an extra weight on his body and realised, with growing humiliation, that a jacket had been placed on top of him.

The fourth hour passed unknowingly to Reid – he had finally found sleep.

The fifth hour ended with a shake on the shoulder and a soft call of Reid. His eyes felt like they had been rubbed against sandpaper, and his head was suddenly too heavy to lift.

"We've landed," the voice belonged to Morgan. "Come on pretty boy, you're riding with me."

Reid opened his eyes, took a moment to focus and promptly realised that his shaking had subsided considerably. He sat up and the jacket and blanket shifted off him. He noted that the jacket was Hotch's suit jacket and he balked with horror. He had once told Prentiss that the rest of the team often treat him like a baby. In Reid's mind, this incident could only encourage further treatment of him as such.

Morgan took the jacket off him and silently handed it back to Hotch who was standing beside Morgan. Reid looked around and found that it was only the three of them left in the jet.

He rubbed his eyes. "Must have fallen asleep," he mumbled.

"Morgan's driving you home," Hotch informed, holding out Reid's go-bag.

"My car's at the Bureau," Reid said, flinging the blanket off him and standing, only too aware that the shaking had accelerated again.

Hotch simply stared at Reid and the younger agent simply nodded his head, knowing that Hotch had noticed his condition and no amount of arguing would persuade his Unit Chief that he was one hundred percent. And if he were to be honest with himself, at that moment, he didn't trust himself to drive.

Reid took his go-bag, picked up his messenger bag and allowed Morgan to steer him towards the exit. He grabbed the railing tightly as he descended down the steps and into the night, an overwhelming feeling that he was about to fall overcame him and he paused for barely a second.

"Reid?" Morgan's voice from behind him urged him on.

"Just a bit dizzy," he explained, and it was not entirely a lie.

They parted with Hotch at the carpark – the Unit Chief telling both agents to have a good night but pointedly staring a little longer at Reid before departing.

"I'm this way," Morgan started heading off in the opposite direction of Hotch and Reid follows, his bags seemed to be gaining weight with each step he took.

Morgan unlocked the car doors, threw his bag in the backseat and motioned for Reid to do the same. It felt like such an effort to heave his bags onto the backseats and when he was done, he was sure that his legs would give out. He slipped into the passenger seat, buckled up and gritted his teeth, hoping that asserting some sort of control on his body would stop the shakes. He hoped in vain.

Morgan pulled out of the parking lot and Reid did not have to wait long for the inevitable.

"Talk to me, kid. What's going on with you?"

And for some reason, a reason that Reid would later attribute to a loss of control of his body and emotions, Reid felt his lower lip quiver with the rest of his body and tears burn in his eyes. He cursed at himself inwardly. A simple question Morgan had asked a countless amount of times before somehow had unleashed the panic that was threatening to consume him.

Reid knew that the Reid-thing to do at that moment was to spout out a fact, perhaps relating to how much shaking the human body can take before all that adrenaline became too much. But Reid was desperate now because his mind was telling him that five hours was much too long a time for his body to keep shaking and thus there had to be something seriously wrong with him.

"I...I don't know," it came out high-pitched, strained and pathetic. "I think there's something wrong with me, Morgan."

Morgan sighed and glanced at Reid sideways. "I don't think there is Reid," he said calmly.

"I can't stop shaking Morgan!" a burst of adrenaline had caused Reid to scream it and in the small confines of the car, his voice seemed much louder.

"You stopped when you were sleeping," Morgan replied, still in a calm voice.

"I did?" Reid asked, relief washing over him – so his body had taken a break.

Morgan nodded. "And you only started up again when you woke up," he continued. "This is about the case..."

"No!" Reid said it too quickly and too defensively. "We've seen worse." He paused, suddenly noticing that Morgan was slowing the car and pulling it over to the side of the road. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Why are we stopping?"

"I've been watching you," Morgan ignored Reid and put the car in park. "At the crime scenes of Mary-Ellis and Rebecca. At the morgue, looking at crime scene photos. You shook the whole time, but when we left the crime scenes, the morgue, when you looked away from the photos, you were fine."

"What?" Reid was confused. He didn't recall that at all.

"It's the case," Morgan said simply, giving Reid a kind smile.

"If it is the case," Reid snapped suddenly annoyed. "Then all this is getting to me! Like Gideon!" Reid felt his stomach plummet at this lat realisation. "I'm not strong enough to deal with it," he finished simply.

Morgan shook his head. "That's not it at all Reid," he said.

"Then what?"

"Grief."

That was all it took for the first tear to fall. Reid wiped at it angrily and turned away from Morgan.

If Reid didn't want to talk anymore, Morgan was having none of it. "Females, thirty to forty years of age, single gunshot to the head."

Reid wanted to block his ears, instead he sat there, his whole body shaking remorselessly, and swatting at his face as the tears kept coming.

"You're not weak," Morgan continued. "You're grieving."

Reid shook his head, silently begging Morgan not to say it.

"You saw Maeve in those women," it came out softly but it was loud enough for Reid to hear it.

Morgan had said her name. He had made the connection that Reid knew deep down was there and with that acknowledgement came shame and sadness. Shame because he had allowed himself to personalise a case and sadness because he loved her and he wished he didn't.

He bent forwards and buried his face in his hands, no longer fighting tears or the shakes. He felt a tight grip on the back of his neck and he found himself wanting the touch.

When he was done, he sat back up, rubbed his face vigorously and said, "I thought I had finished grieving."

Morgan sighed. "There is no time limit on grief," he said. "You know that, Reid. It's about getting through to the other side with love and support. That's why you've got me and Hotch and JJ and Garcia and Rossi. And now even Blake."

They sat in silence for a moment before Morgan spoke again.

"Hey Reid?"

"Yeah?"

Morgan smirked. "You've stopped shaking."

Reid looked down at his body. Morgan was right: he had stopped shaking. And suddenly, he felt his whole body go limp and his eyes start to flutter – the adrenaline had taken his energy.

"Thanks Morgan," he said before leaning his head against the headrest of the seat, a single, lone tear breaking free of his now closed lids.

"Anytime pretty boy," Morgan said, putting the car into drive, and smiling to himself.

Xxx

A/N: Please review and let me know if it's any good!