A/N: Hey everyone! So over the course of the summer, I slipped into my video-editing side and neglected my writing. I apologize for that! But now I am back and I was looking through my stories, rediscovering what I wanted to do with each unfinished story, and I decided to rewrite Don't Think, Just Feel. Don't worry! The plot up to now will remain the same; I just wanted to clean up the writing and some plot holes I found in the chapters.

The chapters will be less about what the case is about (unless it's truly important to the plot) and more about Morgan and Reid and the development in their relationship. So, save for the first chapter and really important cases, the chapters will be shorter. Regardless, I am going to try to write as much as I can, seeing as how there is going to be 11 seasons worth to write about! Hope you all enjoy the redone version of Don't Think, Just Feel!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Criminal Minds.

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It was 6:52 in the morning, and Reid was tired.

A pair of hazel eyes slid shut almost lazily as a wave of heat traveled past his upper lip, flooding his nostrils with the scent of peppermint. He cautiously took in a sip of the still-scalding drink, sighing as he swallowed. He leaned back against the kitchen counter, fingers coiled around the handle of the black mug. His eyes were still closed, and he struggled to open them, managing to raise his heavy lids halfway before blinking to a halt.

He needed to wake up. He knew that much. It would do him no good to arrive to work in the state he was in. He took another sip of his peppermint tea, scowling in pain as the beverage burned his tongue. He swallowed roughly, raising a hand to his face and digging the heel of his palm into his worn eyes. Wake up.

The sudden chime of his phone going off in his pocket startled him, the fright going to his heart as it throbbed a bit more prominently in his chest. Quickly getting over his shock, Reid pulled out his ringing mobile out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID. He pursed his lips in recognition and answered the call, raising the phone to his ear.

"Reid."

"Hey, kid," Morgan's voice sounded over the line. "I just got off the phone with Hotch. JJ caught a case happening in Seattle. The info should be getting faxed over to you right about now."

As Morgan spoke, Reid glanced over at his fax machine in his living room, which slowly whirred to life and began printing out the case report. Placing the mug on the counter, he trudged toward the fax machine, arriving just as it concluded. He pulled the first document from the tray and began to skim over the details. "Yeah, I got it."

"He wants you to take that over to Gideon."

Reid frowned at Morgan's statement, eyes flicking away from the report. "Gideon? For a consult?"

"No, the director wants him to come in, get out on the field with us. God knows why, but she does."

Reid's frown deepened; there was a certain, unpleasant edge to Morgan's voice now. It was clear to him that Morgan was not at all happy with the circumstances surrounding the case, especially now that it included the personal involvement of Jason Gideon, and it wasn't difficult to understand why. Gideon was not without criticism, especially after what happened in Boston. So it was understandable why Morgan was not so quick as to trust the former Unit Chief so easily. But Reid was not so quick as to not.

"He could be an asset to this case," Reid answered neutrally, though internally he felt defensive toward his mentor. "It's been six months. Maybe he's ready."

Morgan paused before replying. "Hm. Maybe. We'll see. Well, I'll see you both soon."

Before Reid could answer, the click of Morgan hanging up echoed in his ear. Reid pressed the 'end call' button on his device, slipping it back into his pocket. Grabbing the rest of the papers from the tray, he headed back into the kitchen. He rubbed his chest absentmindedly, an unknown weight forming from within. He eyed the large thermos on his drying rack.

It was 6:55 in the morning, and Reid was tired.

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Getting Gideon to accompany them on the case took less effort than Reid was expecting from the senior agent.

He had arrived at the bureau with time to spare before the conclusion of Gideon's lecture. As he maneuvered through the hallways on his way to the lecture hall Gideon was currently occupying, he could hear his superior's muffled voice resonating from behind the closed door.

"... I can't because I am ashamed of something."

Reid's entrance into the hall cut off whatever else Gideon had in mind to say. He slowly stepped into the room, aware of the stares he was receiving from the students. He tried not to shift in discomfort as he met Gideon's curious gaze. Tapping the manila folder in his hand, he watched as Gideon correctly interpreted the reason for his arrival. He turned to his class with a muttered "excuse me" and followed Reid out.

As the door closed behind them and they began walking down the hall at an easy pace, Reid began his explanation.

"Hotch sent this over to me," he said, handing the folder over to Gideon. "Unsub in Seattle, Washington. They're calling him the Seattle Strangler. Four victims in four months. He keeps them alive for seven days. The handle serves as a crank."

"Allowing him to control the rate of suffocation," Gideon observed, taking the crime scene photos from Reid.

"To prolong it?"

Gideon shook his head. "To enjoy it. Seattle's hit a wall?"

Reid nodded his head. The pair gradually came to a stop as they arrived at Gideon's office. "Physical evidence is non-existent; there are no tangible leads."

"And another girl is missing," Gideon concluded, grabbing the remaining files from Reid's hand and swiftly entering his office, Reid following closely behind.

Reid had been inside Gideon's office frequently throughout the duration of Gideon's medical leave, and immediately sought out his usual place near the entrance. He knew better than to disrupt Gideon as he carefully examined the contents of the manila folder. The fatigue from earlier that morning was gently prodding at the edge of his mind, asking to be acknowledged. Reid blinked hard and sighed, tapping his foot anxiously.

He only stopped when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway, getting louder as they approached. Two pairs, each at their own pace. He waited.

"I've looked the case file over," Gideon suddenly announced, keeping his eyes trained on the papers in his hands. "I'll get some thoughts to you ASAP."

"You're gonna be with us in Seattle ASAP."

Having anticipated their arrival, Reid was not surprised to see Hotch and Morgan briskly enter the room. Gideon, however, was. The senior agent looked up at the two new arrivals with raised brows, forehead pinched in light bewilderment. Taking off his spectacles, he approached Morgan, who was holding out a photo of a pretty, smiling redhead woman.

"22-year-old Heather Woodland," Morgan said in reference to the woman as Gideon took the photograph.

"Before she left for lunch, she downloaded an email with a time-delayed virus attached," Hotch took over. "The killer's virus wiped her hard drive and left this one the screen." He held out another photograph, which Gideon took to examine.

Morgan had shuffled back to his position behind Hotch, hands clasped in front of him. Then, without warning, he suddenly looked over his shoulder to Reid. Unaware that he had been staring since the moment Morgan entered the room, Reid physically cringed at having been caught, his heart giving an unpleasant jolt as he folded his arms across his chest, vainly fighting the warmth that flooded his cheeks.

Morgan smirked. And then he winked.

Unable to think of an appropriate response, Reid averted his eyes, focusing on Gideon and Hotch once more with a dry swallow, his heart racing. His eyelids briefly shut at Morgan's low chuckle.

Gideon compared the current crime scene photo to the one he had framed on the wall, that of the previous case of William Heirens, known as the Lipstick Killer in 1945. They each recited the same message, which Gideon spoke aloud, "For God's sake, catch me before I kill more, I cannot control myself."

"He never keeps them more than seven days," Hotch said. "Which means we have fewer than 36 hours to find her."

"They want you back in the saddle," Morgan said. "You ready?"

"Looks like medical leave's over, boss," Reid put in.

Still skeptical, Gideon turned to Hotch. "You sure they want me?"

Hotch gave the smallest of nods and replied, "The order came from the director."

Gideon paused for a moment, turning to face the old case of the Lipstick Killer once more. Reid held his breath, waiting for his response.

"... Then we better get started."

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Once they were all situated inside the jet and in the air, Hotch spoke. "Alright, so what do we know?"

"His first victim was 26-year-old Melissa Kirsch," Reid said, opening the file that he had long since memorized. "Stab wounds, strangulation-"

"Wait, wait, back up, back up," Morgan cut in, leaning over the seat that Hotch was occupying, dark brows furrowed in disbelief. "He stabbed her, and then strangled her to finish her off?"

"Other way around," Gideon corrected. "Why do you think he started using the belt with the second murder?"

"Strangulation with your bare hands is not as easy as one would believe," Reid answered, shaking his head. "He tried, probably found that it took too long-"

"So he stabbed her instead," Morgan said, completing Reid's thought.

"And realized it would be hours cleaning up the blood," Hotch added.

"Next time, our boy's got a method: the belt," Morgan concluded.

Gideon nodded, convinced and looking impressed. "He's learning, perfecting his scenario. Becoming a better killer."

The briefing continued for a few moments more before they deemed themselves prepared, and then they each settled in to sleep for the remainder of the trip. Anxious to get some must-needed rest, Reid closed his file and slipped it neatly into his satchel. The couch in mind, he grabbed his coat and headed toward the back of the jet. He could hear the shuffling of Hotch and Gideon as they situated themselves for a nap as well, and he dropped his satchel at the foot of the couch, lowering himself into a laying position. He kicked his shoes off and brought his feet up, draping his thin coat over himself. He closed his eyes.

It was silent, but before long Reid could hear Gideon's light snores coming from the front of the jet. He shivered slightly at the remnants of cold still striking his feet and torso, and he curled even further in on himself.

"I have a better way of warming you up if you're interested."

Reid jumped violently, a yelp right at the tip of his tongue, but a rough hand clamped down on his mouth and suddenly he was staring into the mischievous, dark eyes of Derek Morgan. Reid scowled and tore his face away from Morgan's hand, taking a deep breath to slow down his heart rate.

"Don't do that," Reid scolded, hating the whiny pitch that tinged his statement. He felt irritation making itself apparent as it creeped into his mind; Morgan startled him, and out of an attempt to sleep away the draining exhaustion he had been feeling for the past week. Who knows how long it would take to get to sleep now, with a rapid pulse and adrenaline pumping through his veins?

Morgan didn't seem to catch on to Reid's annoyance, or if he did he didn't care, for he merely grinned in that infuriating way that made Reid want to either punch him or kiss him. Reid was hardly a physically violent person, or even an overall violent person, but Morgan just might bring that part out in him.

"In case you forgot, which would be impossible since we literally finished a briefing just minutes ago," Reid continued, his voice dropping down to a harsh whisper, "we're on the jet with two supervisors on our way to a case."

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Relax, pretty boy. Just messing with you."

It was Reid's turn to roll his eyes, prompting a chuckle from Morgan, chestnut eyes sparkling in mirth.

"But you really do need something better to keep you warm other than that rag of a jacket you have," Morgan added on, pointing to Reid's coat.

Fingering the thin fabric, Reid shrugged. "I'll be alright."

Biting his lip, unconvinced, Morgan sat up from his crouching position. Reid watched as Morgan reached over and grabbed his hoodie from the seat opposite the couch. He tossed it over to the laying Reid, who caught it clumsily. The black hoodie was large, even for a man of Morgan's build, cotton, and so incredibly warm.

"Take it," Morgan said, raising his hand to quell any protests Reid may have. "You're all skin and bones, kid. You need it a lot more than I do."

Unsure of what to do with this act of kindness, Reid dropped his eyes to the hoodie. "What about you?"

"I'll be fine. Muscle mass will keep me nice and cozy," Morgan replied, humor slipping easily into his voice as he smiled at Reid.

Reid, still bewildered by Morgan's actions and shyly avoiding his friend's eyes, smiled at the couch.

"I'll wake you when we land," Morgan said, standing only to sit back down onto the seat his hoodie had been draped over.

Shifting under the thick warmth of Morgan's hoodie, the earlier exhaustion prodded at Reid's brain once more, beckoning him to sleep. He shut his eyes, feeling the fatigue taking over and pulling him into the realm of unconsciousness. And, with no energy to reply to Morgan, he fell asleep.

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It was 10:57 in the evening, and Reid was tired.

The case had enveloped them. Gideon more so, seeing as it was his first time back in the field since his medical leave began six months ago. But overall, the case seemed to have been handled well; Heather was saved, Richard Slessman was arrested, Tim Vogel was stopped, and Gideon had proven himself out in the field. Reid was happy, Morgan was happy, and Hotch was about as happy as Hotch could get.

It was a win that was desperately needed.

Now that the case was over, Hotch had arranged for the team to spend the night at a nearby hotel, wishing the men to get a good night's sleep before they had to return to Quantico in the morning. Reid could not find himself disagreeing with that plan at all, supporting the decision wholeheartedly. The nap on the jet had warded off his exhaustion some, but it had returned full force as soon as the case came to a close. He was looking forward to sleeping the hours away without worrying about anything except the pile of paperwork at his desk upon his return to the bureau.

Morgan, Gideon, and Reid all lingered in the lobby as Hotch got them checked in, conversing among themselves. The tension between Morgan and Gideon (albeit it was more on Morgan's part) had eased considerably; Morgan was now smiling freely and was looking more relaxed than he had been before the case began. Reid was pleased.

"We'll have to double up for the night," Hotch said as he approached them, drawing their conversation to a halt. He passed a key over to Morgan. "Me and Gideon, and Morgan and Reid. Get some sleep. We leave on the jet tomorrow at 9 AM, so be back down here by 8:30. Good night."

Hotch turned and walked toward the hall next to the front desk. Gideon followed after bidding the two men good night as well, leaving Morgan and Reid alone in the lobby. A small trickle of dread formed inside of Reid's chest as he adjusted the strap of his satchel on his shoulder. He definitely needed his sleep tonight, and depending on Morgan's mood, that desire may or may not be achieved.

Morgan turned to Reid and jerked his head in the direction of the same hallway, beginning to walk toward their room. Reid sighed and followed.

Their room was simple enough. Two beds, a TV, bathroom. Morgan tossed his bag onto the nearest bed with a huff, his joints popping as he stretched. Reid winced at the noise and claimed the bed closest to the window, dropping his satchel at the foot and placing his go-bag on the mattress.

"What do you think of that Greenaway girl?" Morgan asked, digging into his own go-bag for his sleeping clothes.

Reid, bemused by the question, pressed his lips together. "Elle? She's alright. Efficient, determined, strong. She'd make a good addition to the team."

Morgan lightly scoffed. Reid paused as he took out his sleeping bottoms. "Maybe. I guess we'll find out if Gideon lets her in."

"He should," Reid said firmly, ignoring the way Morgan looked at him in surprise. He quickly shed his sweater and slipped on a plain white tee. "What's with the question of Greenaway? You like her or something?"

A huff of baffled air escaped Morgan, and still Reid didn't glance up from his task of organizing his clothes in his go-bag. He, however, became increasingly aware of the footsteps slowly heading toward his side of the room, and of the low husky undertone in Morgan's voice as he spoke, hinting at something more. "Nah. She ain't my type."

Reid shivered, closing his eyes. Morgan was now at Reid's side, the warmth of his body radiating off of him as he got dangerously close, his breath grazing Reid's reddening ear. Reid swallowed hard, struggling to keep his breathing even as Morgan's hands cupped his elbows, sliding down to his forearms, his chest to Reid's back. "Morgan..."

"Hmm?"

"Not tonight. Please."

Morgan stopped. Reid waited in worried anticipation. Morgan was not a bad man, by any means. But there was still that lingering fear, irrational though it probably was, that Morgan would ignore his request and take what he wanted. He kept his eyes closed.

"Something wrong?"

Genuine concern coated Morgan's question, and Reid opened his eyes. "No, just... Not tonight."

"... Okay."

Morgan slipped away, and Reid sighed inaudibly, thankful for the space and mourning the loss of Morgan's body heat. The older man walked back to his side of the room, grabbing his sleeping clothes from the bed. He looked up, fixing his eyes on Reid. The younger man met his gaze as steadily as he could, blinking heavily. Morgan caught Reid's clear struggle with staying in the waking world, and his confusion morphed into compassion as he gently smiled at his friend.

"Get some sleep, Reid," he said, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

A large weight was lifted off of Reid's shoulders, nearly causing him to stumble in his relief. There was a dull ache of disdain toward himself for doubting Morgan's intentions and morale, but mostly he just felt so tired. He quickly changed into his sleeping bottoms and all but plopped down on the bed, throwing the covers over himself hastily. A deep exhale blowing past his lips, he shut his eyes.

It was 11:10 in the evening, and Reid was tired.

But it no longer had anything to do with sleep.

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So this is the layout of the first chapter rewritten. It is considerably shorter than the first version, seeing as I excluded the majority of the case this time around, but this version rings truer to what I initially wanted the plotline to be. Hope you all enjoy regardless! Next chapter should be up soon, so stay tuned!