"Derek. Come here."
Morgan whips around, tension rising in his shoulders at Jane's calm, even tone. It jarrs him, how even now she sounds just the same when she's ordering coffee, disecting a bloody corpse, or talking to him in a police interrogation cell. Like lightning, the jarred feeling quickly switches to anger, and he has to work to suppress the urge to shove her right back out the door.
"Oh, now you're here?" He gripes through gritted teeth. "First time I see someone other than Gordinski, his little sidekick, or Gideon and Hotch, and it's you? What, they send medical examiners in to do interrogations now? 'Cause you'll 'get me to talk'? What is this, man?"
Jane levels her gaze evenly at him, eyes calm and her overall demeanor completely unaffected by his outburst. She sets down her satchel on the steel table and pulls the stiff metal chair aside, gesturing for him to sit. "Derek. Come here."
"What, that's all you're going to say?" He demands, turning away only to whip back again - completely ignoring the proffered seat. "Don't you want to start asking me about my personal life? Or do you want to look through my expunged criminal record again?"
"Derek. Come here."
Morgan faces Jane full on for the first time since she walked in, and she meets his eyes. That alone is enough to startle him, pause his anger long enough to take in the fact that Jane was making eye contact, before she averts her gaze again - switching her focus back onto the chair and her satchel.
"Derek." She repeats.
He sits.
He knows the drill. Has gone over it a thousand times in hundreds of different locales, from police stations to hotel lobbies to the bullpen at Quantico; he doesn't even need to be prompted at this point. Even in his rage at the absurdity, the horribleness, the unjustness, of the situation - being profiled by his own colleagues over the murder of a child - isn't enough make him deny Jane's simple request. Not completely.
He offers his wrist.
The tips of Jane's smooth and cool fingers flit over his skin, resting on his pulse just next to his watch. She closes her eyes to count. He sits in silence.
"This isn't necessary, you know." He reminds her once her eyes open once again and she removes her fingers. "I am in the same condition you left me in."
"Except for the lack of sleep, food, water, and increased stress and sympathetic nervous arousal, you mean." Jane corrects dryly, as usual only showing emotion when one of her 'patients' refuses to take care of themselves.
Silence reigns as she watches him carefully, checking his eyes and monitoring his breathing.
"I thought you'd have questions. Everyone seems to," He finally comments, breaking the still air. Jane doesn't even look up, too busy examining a scrape he got from playing ball with the kids at the Youth Center.
"I'm not a profiler."
"I know you're not," Morgan corrects himself, irritation rising again. "But you're still far more experienced than Gordinski out there."
"Derek," Jane starts, her gaze resting somewhere above his right eyebrow. "I'm not a profiler. I'm a doctor. I'm your doctor."
Morgan sits back, watching as Jane begins to unload a water bottle and wrapped sandwich from her bag. He takes them silently, watching as she stands up.
"So that's it?" He asks incredulously, stung. "You check my blood pressure, make sure I'm not bleeding out anywhere, and you're gone? Why did you even come in here?"
Jane pauses, glancing back. She considers his words, adjusting her bag.
"What's my middle name?" She asks, studying him. Gauging him.
Morgan shifts, surprised at the abrupt change in topic. It takes him a moment to even process the question, to answer. "I dunno, you never told me."
Jane nods, her head bobbing lightly as she studies the one-way mirror. "And my birthday? The first person I ever kissed? My favorite color. How I take my coffee. My allergies. My favorite book. The secret that I never told anyone, ever, because it changed me so irrevocably that even I can't figure out where I start and the secret ends."
His breath catches, and they lock eyes yet again. Her gaze is hard, yes, but understanding - understanding like no one has ever been before. Not about this.
"That's the thing, Derek." Jane says, turning her back as her flyaways catch the light. "Sometimes asking questions isn't the right thing to do."
She pauses, right at the door, hand on the nob.
"I'm here, Derek, as the doctor you need and the friend you might not want. That's all I can say."
The door creaks behind her as it shuts him back into the room, alone with pictures of dead children and the words of a doctor and a friend.
And then Gordinski storms his way back in, and the moment is gone as irritation and anger comes back full force the moment the useless detective started running his mouth.
