WARNINGS: rated T for suggestive themes, etc.

"Why the hell do you have so many stairs, Reid?" I demanded, shifting the duffel bag digging into my shoulder.

"I told you didn't have to walk me in," Reid huffed, glaring at me.

"We'll don't get shot, and I won't have to babysit you, Pretty Boy," I tossed back, gently elbowing him so he'd know I was kidding. I half expected to be shoved back, but instead Reid kept his arm next to mine, every other step brushing them together.

Ever since I met this braniac, physical contact was something obviously adverse. The past four years, not much has changed. He still waves instead of offering handshakes. He still practically gets panic attacks when Garcia hugs him when he comes back from a case injured. Not even J.J was an exception, despite her persistence on calling him "Spence". But some things have changed. When we're alone, like now, Reid doesn't seem to mind my light touches. He doesn't acknowledge them - neither of us has - but he doesn't stop them either.

"We're here," Reid suddenly said, shattering my thoughts. I felt myself nod, the situation suddenly seeming very intimate. The hallway was completely empty and most of his neighbors were probably asleep, given the late hour.

We were both suddenly whispering.

"I need my bag, Morgan."

"Okay."

He reached a hand up, his fingers grabbing the strap. Then my hand wrapped around his wrist. He didn't move for a moment, his eyes climbing from my grip on him up to my eyes. When my thumb began tracing the underside of his wrist, his pulse point, I felt him. His heartbeat. I stepped closer, into his personal, personal space. He didn't move. So I stepped even closer, backing him into his door. He still didn't stop me. I looked for any sign of disagreement. There wasn't any.

Everything was just right.

I leaned up. He leaned down. My hands found their way into his hair. His arms slid around me. Our lips met, completely melting against each other.

Melting.

Moving.

Molding.

Memorizing.

A sudden pounding of footsteps broke us apart, the moment gone. Reid apparently remembered where we were the same moment I did because he suddenly began digging in his shoulder bag for his keys. His hands were shaking so bad it took him a couple tries to get the key in the lock.

Before he could open his mouth to make a joke or rationalize or spout statistics about relationships to blow off what had just happened – and he undoubtedly would because he was Reid – I stepped inside his apartment with him.

"Did you want to come in?" Reid muttered, yanking his bag away from me. He frowned as he said it, becoming aware I wasn't leaving. He folded his arms, his left hand rubbing at the bandage I knew was buried beneath his shirt and sweater vest covering his ribcage.

He caught my eyes dropping to his side. His arms fell to his side and we just stood there staring at each other in silence.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. You?"

I instantly knew the answer to that question was no. No, I was not okay. Reid had been shot, not "grazed, there was barely any blood". He was shot. A bullet left a gun went through him and out his torso. He had needed paramedics, medical attention. He was not okay.

I was not okay.

I didn't realize there were tears till Reid stepped closer. He reached forward and traced his thumbs gently across my eyes. That was all I needed.

I pulled him into me, and all I could think was thank god he was alive. His arms returned around me, his hands running up my back.

"Can you do this, Morgan?" He whispered, his forehead pressed into my neck.

"Nothing is going to stop me."

So this is my take on how Morgan/Reid/Moreid/Sperek was born. What did you think? Was it even worth reading? Did you like sensitive!/Morgan? Any feedback is welcome and appreciated. Thanks. Please review 3