Summary: Morgan tells Reid his New Year's resolution. Morgan POV.

Note: Again, unplanned "sequel" to My Best Kept Secret and His Worst Kept Secret. It's probably possible to read this without having read either of them before, but I recommend having read one of them.

I'm an idiot. Not your typical idiot, mind you. No, I'm a class act idiot. Penelope had told me, and I'm inclined to agree with her.

On Christmas Day, she had cornered me, and while she hadn't made me tell her anything, I'd spilled the beans to her. I had been so tired of it all, so tired of keeping secrets. If anyone would understand my love for Reid, it was her. If anyone would understand my feelings of worthlessness, of inadequacy, it was her.

I'd been afraid of what her reaction would be. I had expected understanding, and possibly anger. I hadn't expected her to laugh.

That's the first time she called me an idiot. I was blind, she'd told me. I was oblivious for a profiler, according to her, and she told me to look closer.

I had looked.

And I had found my feelings to be reciprocated.

The lingering looks, the casual touches. Reid doesn't actually touch people casually. When he touches anyone, he's thought it over about five times in his head before he does it. Always thinking. He touches me a lot.

I take a hold of his pale hand, brushing my thumb gently over his fingers, willing him to wake up.

He doesn't, not that I'm expecting him to. Not for a while yet.

I recognized his feelings. It had taken me so long to look outside of myself, to stop thinking about my hurts and start thinking about my happiness. Penelope had helped. She knows me like the back of her hand. She knows me better than anyone, except maybe Reid.

She'd called me out on it the day after I'd told her everything, and told me I was still being an idiot. She'd told me I wasn't making anyone happy through keeping my feelings for Reid to myself. She had been yelling at me that, despite what I kept telling myself regarding saving Reid from my broken self, I was only trying to save myself from heartache.

My heart was already aching.

But she had been spot on, and I hated her for it. I hated that she knew me better than I knew myself. I had to try and convince myself that she didn't, so I acted like the idiot she accused me of being and went to the pub that night, to drink, and possibly pick someone up for the night. Something that could help me clear my head.

I couldn't stop thinking about Reid. That in itself wasn't uncommon, but I thought I kept seeing him everywhere. I saw him walk outside of the pub. I saw him in the crowd. I heard his laughter. Then I heard his voice in my head, telling me it was my subconscious that was playing tricks on me. That it was actually a quite interesting phenomenon. I tuned him out with a smile on my lips, and I went home.

I realized he wouldn't break if I told him. He's too rational for that. He's more likely to see it as a problem that needs to be solved.

I couldn't think any further than that. I'd tell him, and I'd take it from there.

My plan had been perfect. I invited him over for New Years Eve. The champagne had been chilled, the food had been prepared, and a cab had been called for midnight, in case it didn't go as well as I was hoping.

I had decided on my one New Year's resolution.

I would make Reid happy.

No matter what it took, I wanted him happy. If I could share in his happiness, I would love to. If he never wanted to see me again, and that made him happy, I would request a transfer and move away. I had hoped for the previous.

I'm an idiot though. I should have told him sooner.

How could I ever think something would go smoothly?

Reid's hand twitches in mine and I am brought out of my reverie to look into his face. There's no movement in it to indicate that he's waking up. He looks tranquil.

Nothing about it is tranquil however. It's a drug-induced sleep that he will not be happy about if he wakes up. When he wakes up, I correct myself.

He almost died.

Again!

We'd been called out early on the day of New Years Eve to a hostage situation. A youngster had been holding his mother and father hostage in their home. I can barely remember everything that happened. We talked to the kid, and he agreed to come out with his hands above his head. I went up to him and cuffed him.

Everything was going fine. It should have gone fine, damn it!

It was the father, in the end, that shot Reid as he was stepping out from behind cover. I had been so close that the sound of the gun firing was still ringing in my ears.

I should have seen the gun as it was taken out, I should have seen it before it had been fired. The father had excused himself by saying he thought Reid was going to shoot his son. I'd gone crazy, but I'd left him after forcibly removing the gun from him, and I had rushed to Reid.

His hand twitches again. This time, he rolls his head to the side and I see an expression of pain in his face. Hotch didn't let them give him more drugs than absolutely necessary. The morphine they had needed to give him should have left his system by now and I'm torn between wishing him to wake up and wishing him to keep sleeping, to keep hiding from the pain.

I want him to be happy.

I've been thinking, ever since we came here in the ambulance, if I've actually got the power to make him happy. What would I do if he loved me back? No, not if. I knew that he returned my feelings, but the question remained. What would I do? Could I consummate such a relationship with Reid? Or would I be unable to let go of my past?

There are so many questions, and so few answers. Too few certainties.

I'm not usually one to think overly much about consequences. I take the plunge, and go for what I want. Had it been anyone other than Reid, I might have told them already. But I care about him too much. He's been hurt so much in his life. He thinks that everyone leaves him, and I don't want to be one of them. I don't want to be one of many that disappoint him.

'You all right?' he asks in a raspy voice, and I flinch.

His chilled hand squeezes weakly around mine. He looks at me with shiny eyes. He's in pain, the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes tell me that. He's in pain, and he's still thinking about me. People think he's distant. Some have called him cold. But he's always thinking about his friends. It's the little things he does.

'I should be asking if you're all right,' I say, and the corner of his lips lifts.

'Know I'm not,' he answers, and I have to agree. There's no way he's all right. I can hear in his voice that he's struggling just to speak. His tongue peeks out from his mouth to wet his lips. 'You'll make me ask again?'

'I'm better than you,' I answer.

He rolls his eyes. It's an unusually slow action, telling me he's still lethargic, and will probably go back to sleep within minutes. 'Doesn't tell me anything.'

'I'm fine.'

'Lie!'

He's got me. I'm lying. I'm not fine. I'm not even close to fine.

'I almost lost you.'

He hesitates, then, 'Sorry 'bout the dinner.' I blow out a breath in surprise. Who cares about a lost dinner when he'd almost lost his life?

'I don't care about that. I care about you! I love –'

I interrupt myself, surprised at what I almost said. He doesn't need that on top of everything that has happened. But he smiles. It's a small smile, but it's genuine. It takes my breath away.

'I know. I love you too,' he says.

My heart stops. Those words, I've heard them from other people before, but never before have they made everything stop. My heart starts beating again, twice as fast as it did before.

'You… know?'

'Profiler,' he explains himself, then he quirks his lip. 'Thought you'd never admit it.'

'I'm broken,' I hear myself say, and wish I can take it back. I'm not sure why I said it.

He lifts his hand, the one that I'm still holding, and put them on his chest, over his heart. I can feel it beat double-time as well, though I'm unsure if it's because of the drugs and the pain, or because of our confession.

'No more broken than I. Only differently.'

'I… have a New Year's resolution.'

'Yeah?' If I didn't already know that he was tired, that would have told me. I had half expected a tirade on the origins of New Year resolutions.

'To make you happy.'

'I'm happy with you,' he answers quickly. It's my turn to pick up our hands, and I brush my lips over his knuckles, watching him closely for any trace of rejection.

All I see is love.

'What's the time?' he asks.

I turn my wrist to glance at my watch. 'A minute to midnight.'

'Will I get my kiss?' he asks with his eyes fixed on the sheets, and I blink.

He's coy. I should have known. He doesn't have much, or even any, romantic experience. No, that's not completely true; he's had romantic experiences, but not so much in a physical sense, at least not to my knowledge. It's kind of cute, that he's bashful.

'You up for it?' I ask, afraid of hurting him. Physically, yes, but maybe even more afraid of hurting him emotionally.

'Better hurry, only a few seconds now,' he answers, more confident in himself now. Not so afraid that I'll reject him.

There's nothing else to do.

I obey.

Our lips meet, and the entire world holds its breath. I can't make it a deep kiss, he's not strong enough for it, but all our feelings are there. His lips move beneath mine, and then the fireworks start. The room is lit up with colors, and his lips tighten below mine as he draws them into a smile. I withdraw.

'Happy New Year,' he says, eyes sparkling.

'Happy New Year.'

'Resolution is off to a good start,' he says, still smiling. Still happy.

His eyelids are drooping though, and there's still a pain in his eyes that won't go away through a simple kiss. He needs rest. He needs to heal.

'I'll be here when you wake up. Rest,' I say, and he nods, closing his eyes.

'Don't ever get hurt again,' I whisper to him when I think he's sleeping. 'You'll give me gray hairs.'

'What hair?' he asks, opening one eye a crack.

I smile at the invitation to a banter that I know he's really too tired to keep up. 'Sleep, Spencer.'

'Spencer?' he asks and blinks tiredly before a weak smile makes its way to his lips. 'I like it.'

'I love you, Spencer,' I say. His eyes have closed and he's falling asleep. I want to keep telling him forever. I'll call him Spencer forever, if he'll have me.

'I, you too,' he says just before his breathing evens out, and he's sleeping. He looks tranquil, the edges of his lips turned upwards even in sleep.

I'm not sure how we will continue from here. I'm not sure how our relationship will evolve. But I know there will be no more secrets.

He has my heart, and I don't intend on ever taking it back.

I got something better in return.

I got his.

A miracle is just a shift in perception from fear to love. – Marianne Williamson

Happy New Year!

-yaruna