Warning: None. Really. A bit of Angst/comfort here, too.
Timeframe: After that episode where they look for a boy called Peter who is about to be sold off to some pedophile.
comment: I wanted to try to write something in Morgan's PoV, and it turns out that my version of him thinks in short sentences and swears. Anyway this is the Morgan equivalent of The best time (my other fic) .

"Morgan, are you all right?" Reid asks as they get back to the hotel.

Morgan is not quite sure himself, but he nods to the kid and goes to his room.
The case ended well, so he's guessing he should be all right, really. The boy was safe, the unsub was caught and nobody else had been hurt in the process. So it's fine, really.

Morgan puts his head under the shower and hopes for the cold water to wash away all the thoughts that he really doesn't want to deal with right now.

But as usual when you try your hardest not to think about something, it sneaks up on you anyway. So Morgan thinks about Peter, or Charlie, or whatever his real name was in the end. He feels a bit bad for not remembering, and makes a note of asking Reid about it later. Anyway, he thinks about the boy. He thinks about what is going to happen to him now. He was kidnapped when he was only a year old, so he had no memory of a life before being abducted, and probably violated in all kinds of ways.

And the unsub had made the boy believe that he was his father.

Morgan almost punches his hand into the wall before remembering that punching your hand into tiles isn't really that great of an idea.

He looks around for something else to punch, to break, to fucking destroy but he finds nothing and slides down to the floor instead, feeling frustrated. The poor boy had lived that way for years, not knowing that life could be in any other way. What kind of person would he grow up to be? Morgan can't help but wonder if one day he will be the one caught by a BAU-team, and if more people will suffer for this. Childhoods like that can make anyone crazy.

Morgan thinks about how he himself had acted on the case. He had been a bit to violent at times, he knows that. But seeing those faces, knowing what they had probably done… and thinking about…

Morgan pulls himself together.

He knows that the reason he has such good restraint, because he has, otherwise those suspects would not be alive and unharmed right now is because he doesn't really think about that. He even likes to refer to it as the thing that I do not think about, in his mind. He needs to deal with it in his own way, and so far not thinking about it, yet not quite denying it, has worked quite well.

That's when Morgan decides that he has showered for long enough, and grabs a towel from the wall, before heading out to find some clean clothes in his bag. After putting on a navy blue shirt and some jeans he dug around his bag for some chocolate. Nothings that bad that it can't be healed, at least partially, with chocolate. Except today it tastes kind of bad.

That's when Reid knocks and carefully opens the door.

"You in here, Morgan?" He stands in the doorway, barely taking up any space, as usual. All angles and edges and the fashion sense of a 60-year-old history lecturer. Morgan thinks that if he turns to his side, he might actually disappear.

He gives a little wave, and Reid walks over to the chair next to his bed, and sits down with his usual awkward posture, fiddling on the hem of his shirt. Morgan offers him some candy. He stares at it like it's poisonous.

"Morgan… you never let anyone else have some of your chocolate." He says, and stares at him.
"Wha- no, I do! …sometimes" he adds, lamely.
"…Remember when you had some on work and Garcia asked for a piece?" Yes, Morgan remembers that. If he remembered correctly, her request had also been full of innuendo of all kinds. But Morgan had shoved the rest of the chocolate bar into his mouth and grinned at Garcia.
"And you always eat it all really quickly, like you're afraid someone is going to take it from you. Seriously Morgan that might be something of an addiction of yours."

They sit quietly for a while, and Morgan realizes that he has lost the argument. So he puts the chocolate bar down on the bed, and stares at the wall beside Reid's head for a while.

"…So, really, what's wrong..?" Reid asks tentatively, and shifts in the chair.

Morgan doesn't answer directly; he just stands up and walks to the window. Outside its getting dark and he sees Hotch arriving in a car with Elle. They've been at the station filing the last paperwork. They are going to leave for the airport in a few hours. Morgan is looking forward to going home. Then his gaze strays to the school that's located just across the street, and the feeling that has been rising in his stomach since they've got here, the one that he has been trying to will out of existence, grows.

"Morgan…" Reid is standing just behind him now. He can almost feel the worried expression that must be watching the back of his head right now.

"You can talk to me." But he can't, not about this. Talking about it would make it worse, talking about it with someone that he meets every day would make it real. Too real.

So he grips the windowsill, and just breathes out. He doesn't turn around. He's not sure what would happen if he did.

Then there are arms around his waist. A quick, yet sincere hug. A hug that tells him that it's ok. You don't have to tell me but I get that it's bad. I get it. It will be all right.

And then calm footsteps lead the younger man out of the room, and the door is carefully shut.

And for some reason, Morgan feels just a little bit better.