Reid wasn't normally a man for a bar, but the last case had left him empty and in the mood for hard liquor; something he'd never even sought out before.

"Something bothering you, hon?" a mousy brunette sat on the stool next to Reid's and gave as close to a sultry smile as she could. Reid's mind went through all of the insecurities she most likely dealt with and sighed—he didn't want more problems in his life.

"No, I'm just…" his mind sifted through hundreds of plausible excuses before settling on the most obvious, "Waiting for my girlfriend."

The mousy girl's face fell slightly and she gave a small nod before walking back to the corner of the bar closest to the dance floor. Her hesitant and uncertain steps made him guilty—that must've taken a lot of courage; courage she wouldn't restore for a while.

Reid grew increasingly tired of nursing his Absolut Vodka shot and slowly led himself to the dance floor. Music pounded through the wooden floors; vibrating and pulsing in his legs and head. Eventually the four shots he'd downed began to take effect, and Reid let himself go with the music—funny, he thought, I've never really danced before. Vaguely, he felt eyes on his body, but was sure it was simply his being drunk.

It was two when he stumbled from the bar—he'd have to take the bus; normally it was Morgan or Hotch who gave him a ride home from places. Taking a tentative step forward, Reid fell and landed on his palms and knees.

"Hey. Need some help?" a man with a raging biceps, hardly covered with a too-tight black t-shirt, and an off-putting smirk stopped next to Reid. Before he could reply, hands were cupped in his armpits and raised him off the ground. "Come to my car. I'll take ya home."

"No. No… it's o-o-okay. I'm—I'll take the bus. Thanks-s-s though," Reid gave a slurred and stupid smile before trying to pull away. He frowned when his arms weren't released. "I said, I'm f-fine."

Suddenly he felt himself shoved into an alley-way. "I don't think you are." The smirk on the man's face grew and he held Reid against a grimy brick wall; it was suddenly cold. Very cold.

"Stop it. S-S-Stop it, and let me go. Come-on," Reid knew his whining made him sound innocent, and more child-like, but he couldn't control it as he began to struggle. His arms were flailing and he gave several sad attempts at punching; but the alcohol had him strangely uncoordinated.

"Shhh. Shhh, it's alright you pretty boy, you." When the words escaped his assailants lips he shuddered—Morgan would never be able to call him that nickname without this moment attacking him. He began to scream, but the man pulled a knife up to Reid's throat, "Scream again and I'll cut your throat and fuck your corpse." Reid stopped squirming and stopped shouting; he knew how this would end if he didn't comply—how it might end if he did comply.

Hands were pulling at his sweater and button-up shirt; they were both torn and thrown on the gravel; muddy and stained. Soon his pants and underwear were in the same position. Tears rolled down Reid's face and he blushed angrily as his attacker noticed them and proceeded to lick them away. "Shush baby. It's alright. I'll make it feel better soon."

The words brought bile into Reid's throat but he held the vomit down and his skin prickled beneath the hands that roamed across his back and thighs. He felt nails pull his skin open on the backs of his legs and he felt the same nails mark his pale back. Reid curved his body away from the nails and accidentally into the man. He groaned and Reid regretted his move instantly, "So I see we want to begin, now don't we?"

The man roughly pulled open his pants and removed them; leaving himself bare from the waist down. He twisted Reid around and spat on his hand. Reid began to panic—reciting in his head facts about homosexual sex and the proper way to perform anal sex; neither indicated spit was enough lubricant.

"Please… just… d-d-don't. I can't-t. Not… d-dry." Reid's voice was uncertain and weak; he didn't even know if the rapist could hear it. Even if he had, Reid didn't imagine it would've made a difference. Seconds later an almost completely dry penis smashed into his virgin whole; he couldn't help the strangled gasp that was raked from his chest. Reid was positive he had rectal tearing and he'd have to go to the hospital; could he face that? His team knowing what had happened? He was jerked from his thoughts by the man slamming in a second—then third—then fourth—time. It continued shamelessly for seven minutes; each one more agonizing than the last.

"See, wasn't that everything you'd wanted it to be? Pretty boy… so pretty." The final words elicited yet another whimper and shudder from Reid; who was sure he'd never recover from them. "Now, I have one more little game for you to play? Ready for it?" after waiting for Reid to nod, which never happened, the man continued, "You sure are a dumb-fuck. Whatever, just suck like the slut you are."

The derogatory words tore Reid apart; but he knew, as a profiler should, that some men just wanted to feel dominant—more in control than they really were. Slut was just a word they used to feel important. No matter what excuses Reid made up for the behavior, it still stung.

Sliding down against the man's legs and the wall, Reid felt sticky and bruised. He wanted to curl up and hide; he hadn't felt this way since he was a teenager. He'd been stronger than that for years. But, wrapping his lips around the already hard penis in front of him, he didn't believe he was that strong anymore. Thick fingers entwined in his long and prized hair—hair that thought would never feel clean again—and began to move his head with no remorse. Soon he was swallowing a disgusting load, and was thrown against the wall. The man chuckled and threw a dollar against his naked form, "Thanks for the night, kid. Hope to see you again." It was the wink that followed that finally made Reid vomit. He vomited against the wall and felt the man leave.

Reid struggled for twenty minutes to redress himself. His hands shook and his brain replayed images until they were seared into his vision. He didn't want to ride the bus; not now. Reid did the only thing he could; call Morgan.

"H-h-ello." A yawn followed immediately after Morgan's sleepy answer, and Reid was sure he heard the man sit up in bed—scared that Reid would be calling him at almost three am.

"Morgan… I-It's Reid. I n-n-need a ride."

"Are you drunk, pretty boy?" the resulting gasp that Morgan heard was unexpected, and immediately he was wide awake and standing, "Reid? Are you alright? Reid… are you crying?"

Reid held the sobs back as he let the tears run down his red cheeks. Why did Morgan have to be such a good listener? "No… I… I'm at a bar, some stupid fucking club on C-Creet."

Had Reid just sworn? His pretty boy? Morgan chastised himself at his use of the world "his". Sure Reid was the most amazing man he'd ever met, and he'd been in love for months now… but Reid was anything but his. A straight genius with him—unheard of. "I'm coming. Don't move."

The line went dead and Reid fell to his knees—too weak to stand, but too proud to huddle against the wall. This hadn't happened. This only happened to other people; he was trained to avoid this. Reid was glad the tears had stopped, but he was heaving again and hoped Morgan didn't get there in time to see him puke again. Luck was on his side—for once that night—and Morgan arrived ten minutes after Reid emptied his stomach onto the sidewalk. Sadly, Morgan appeared to notice it.

"Pretty boy? Did you do that? Are you that wasted?" Morgan noticed the contortion of Reid's face when he used the nickname. It unnerved him and he pulled Reid off the ground and into the passenger seat of his car. "Why are you dirty?"

"I-I… I'm… I fell."

"That was a shitty lie, Reid." Morgan didn't smile. He was legitimately worried for the young man. What had he gone through tonight?

"I don't want to talk about it. O-Okay?" a slight whimper came out followed by a shiver. Morgan turned up the heat, but knew that wasn't the cause.

"Please. You can trust me. I promise." Morgan's voice calmed Reid slightly, but that was nothing compared to the devastating pain that had shattered him earlier. He wrapped his arms around his chest and sighed; Derek wouldn't let this go.

"Please, don't hate me. It—It wasn't my fault. I swear. I didn't mean to let him… he was stronger than me, and I didn't have time to think. I was drunk! I—," Reid was about to continue explaining before Morgan cut him off.

"Man, would I blame you for anything? If you shot me right now, I'd trust your reason. Just tell me." Reid didn't notice when Morgan pulled over next to his apartment. Reid's eyes were glazed over and his voice became very professorial.

"I came out of the bar at 2am. I was drunk, I'd had four shots of Vodka. I hadn't realized how drunk I was until I fell over. A man came over—he was tall and had on a tight black t-shit—he offered to help me. I let him lift me from the ground, and when he offered a ride, I refused. I didn't condone what happened next. I didn't tell him he could throw me against the wall of the alley. I didn't tell him he could bruise me, or scratch me. I didn't tell him he could pull my clothes off, or fuck me. I didn't tell him I'd blow him. I didn't. I swear Morgan, I didn't. Please, believe me." Reid's words began to jumble as he finished, begging Morgan to trust him. His hands balled into fists and his shoulders started to shake. Morgan's eyes had widened as the gruesome story continued, and soon he'd found himself red with anger. He wanted to fucking kill the bastard that had touched his Reid like that.

"Reid… would you be able to tell a sketch artist about him? Pick him out of a line-up?" Reid tensed when he heard the murderous tone Morgan was using. He'd done something wrong; he shouldn't have told Morgan.

"I'm sorry Morgan. I shouldn't have made you pick me up. It's my fault. I'm sorry."

"No! Pretty boy, it's not your fault." After seeing Reid's fear increase with the use of his pet name, yet again, Morgan started again, "Spencer, it's not your fault. But if you could help me find him, his sick-fuck, I could help you."

"Ya. Y-Y-Ya. I could describe him."

Morgan paused then, nodded and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed Hotch and waited for the groggy answer. They exchanged no pleasantries, just the cold facts—Morgan didn't include many details for Reid's sake, but it was enough to get Hotch just as angry as he was.

"We're gonna nail this sick bastard." Morgan's eyes hardened and he, without warning, began the car and drove towards Quantico. The bullpen and their offices were the only places he knew he'd feel Spencer was safe.

"Where are we going..?" the fear in Reid's voice hurt Morgan; Reid shouldn't have to be scared of him. Not now, not ever.

"Back to headquarters, Spence. We're going to keep you safe while we work this out. Okay?"

Reid nodded before curling into a ball and facing out the window; he tried to sleep and eventually it overcame him.

A/N- So far I don't have much character, believe me, I know. I will try to get Reid more like he is in the show later, and same with Morgan. I'm going to continue this for a little while, and it will be a little slashy here and there, and there might be some more problems for Reid: I'm not sure yet. Please review, I need to know how to improve. :P Thanks and I hope you enjoyed.