Disclaimer – I don't own Criminal Minds, Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, or any of their affiliates. If I did, there would be a helluva lot more Morgan/Reid lovin' on the show.
*Notes - I'm so sorry for how long this chapter took! In my defence, the winter holidays were a lot busier than I had expected. Anyways, I hope that you guys are still with me, and that you enjoy this chapter. All mistakes are mine, since I didn't have time to send this to a beta.
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"We have officially arrived in Chicago. The time is 2:45PM; the temperature outside the aircraft is currently at…." the flight attendant's voice droned overhead on the speakers. Morgan reluctantly popped his headphones out and stared out the window, pretending to listen, pretending to care. Absentmindedly, he fished his phone out of his pocket and scanned through his inbox for any new text messages or calls.
He'd been playing with his phone, on and off, since the plane had taken off. At first, the flight attendants had politely asked him to "turn off all cellular devices while the plane is in the air." One flash of his FBI credentials, however, and they'd left him alone. Hell, they'd even upgraded him to first class. A thin smile stretched Morgan's lips as he stretched his legs and arched his back, pretending not to notice when his shirt rode up and when the woman beside him stared.
When the flight attendant had relocated him, Morgan had instinctively flashed his new, temporary neighbour a smile, the same one he used to charm women out of their underwear. Her name, he'd found out during the flight, was Nicole, and she was attractive, with long dark hair, creamy skin, and deep green eyes; she'd also been quite obvious with her interest in him. Well, maybe not obvious for an every day man, but blatantly obvious from a profiler's perspective.
He'd tried flirting with her after she'd initiated conversation; really, he had. But every time he'd whipped out a corny line and every time he'd dropped a wink, it hadn't felt… right. The interaction felt forced, as if it was something he was expecting himself to do instead of something he wanted to do. Morgan had tried to brush off the feeling – after all, he was Derek Morgan, the ultimate player. Except there were only so many times he could fake a laugh before it became apparent to both him and his companions.
The only genuine smile that had crossed his face on the hour long plane ride was when he'd opened an email Reid had sent him. It was one of those chain mails, the ones with the corny jokes. Reid insisted on sending them to Morgan, even when Morgan threatened to have Garcia hack his email account. The memory of that conversation, of the doubtful way Reid had looked up at him before he'd blushed, was the reason that smile had settled on his lips.
"Sir? We're unloading the aircraft?" the flight attendant said, a customary smile on her lips. Morgan glanced up at her as he unbuckled his seat belt. She had a way of making everything sound like a question, even if it wasn't. Morgan was about to reach under the seat to grab his carry on bag when his eyes caught on the flight attendant's name tag. Stephanie.
Images of open, unseeing eyes played across the backs of his eyelids as if burned there. Morgan froze, his hand still outstretched to grab his bag, remembering the events of the case he'd been working on just the day before. He was dimly aware of the flight attendant, of Stephanie, touching his shoulder and asking if he was alright, but he was frozen – remembering.
A moment passed, and then Morgan was moving as if nothing had happened, forcing the memories to the back of his mind. He shot a wavering smile at Stephanie, knowing without a doubt that it was shaky.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her hand still resting on his shoulder. Morgan barely resisted the impulse to throw it off, instead sliding out of the touch and standing up in a smooth, almost feline movement.
"Fine," he replied, already working his way to the front of the plane. "Thanks for the wonderful flight, and the upgrade." His words were a bit monotonous, but considering that all he could see in his mind were crime scene photos and dead bodies…
He walked through the terminal in a daze, stopping only to retrieve a phone number out of his pocket. The name Nicole was written on the back in a fancy calligraphy, a number scrawled on the front. Morgan looked at it for a long moment before tossing it into the nearest trash receptacle; the woman had thought she was being subtle when she'd slipped it into his jacket, but fooling an ex-undercover cop and current FBI agent was a lot harder than it looked.
Morgan absentmindedly grabbed his luggage off of the carousel. He scanned the crowds around him, reading body language, facial expressions, and sudden movements. On some level, he realized that he was defensively profiling complete strangers that posed no threat to him, for no discernable reason. He tried to stop, but a sudden feeling of vulnerability would sweep over him until he resumed his actions. Of course, you couldn't tell this from the outside; one thing Derek Morgan excelled at was appearing calm and collected, even when he was feeling the furthest thing from it.
Once he'd collected his go bag (he hadn't been allowed to take it with him on the plane) from the carousel, Morgan made a beeline for the car rental area. The next thing he knew, he was driving away from the airport in a black SUV. He wasn't quite sure how he'd managed to score the vehicle on such short notice, but he vaguely remembered flashing his badge and maybe mumbling some threats about the FBI under his breath. After that, the car rental company had been more than willing to comply with his request.
All the while, flashes of open eyes, unseeing gazes, played behind his eyelids. They mixed with much more familiar memories, ones of helplessness and desperation, until it was one inseparable mess of pain and confusion.
Once on the highway, Morgan cranked the radio and inhaled deeply, trying to force himself to let go of memories of the past and to focus on the present. The present, in this case, was a mysterious call from someone claiming to be a friend of James Barfield.
Morgan had asked Garcia to do a check up on James after receiving the call, just to make sure that he was okay. Garcia's report had come back positive… well, to her, at least. The news had made Morgan want to throw up. His driving went onto auto-pilot as Morgan slipped back into the memory of that conversation.
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"James Barfield seems to be doing just hunky-dory, my chocolate Adonis," Garcia replied, her voice absent as she absorbed the information. Morgan had just chuckled at Garcia's rather odd vocabulary before pressing the phone tighter to his ear.
"Continue, sweet cheeks," Morgan had laughed, relaxing his shoulders as he walked out towards the plane.
"Oooh, you know how that demanding tone affects me so, you little tease." Garcia's smile was obvious even through the phone. "But fine… I found a newspaper clipping… it says that James is training for a football scholarship, and that – oh, poor thing – his sister was paralyzed in a drive by shooting." Morgan could hear the sympathy in Garcia's voice, and hated himself when he asked her to continue, to pry deeper.
"Anything else, my tech goddess?"
"Nothing big… oh, it says here that James' success in football has been attributed to a Carl Buford, who took James under his wing and 'developed his natural talent.'" A clacking came over the line – Garcia's fingers tapping away on the various keyboards – hiding Morgan's sharp intake of breath.
"Apparently this Buford is quite the saint," Garcia continued; Morgan guessed she was pulling up information on Carl, as well. "He runs a rec center in downtown Chicago, as well as coaching some of these boys to scholarships and.... hon', are you there?"
'Buford is not a saint', Morgan thought, hating how after all these years, he still choked on the name. 'He's anything but.'
"Okay, hot stuff, he's not a saint," Garcia sounded almost intimated by him, and it took Morgan a minute to realize that he'd been talking out loud. "Can I ask what this is all about?"
"Nothing," Morgan replied, knowing that it would do nothing to keep Garcia from wondering, but also knowing that she would never invade his privacy by researching his past. Thank god for that. "Thanks, sweetheart," Morgan muttered absently into the phone before hanging up.
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A horn blared to his left, and Morgan was snapped out of his thoughts. An angry teenager with a green 'N' sticking to the back of his window honked again, clearly expressing his road rage at Morgan for god knows what – actually sticking to the speed limit, maybe?
The small car was packed with teenagers – far more than were allowed with a new driver – and they were all cheering the driver on.
Morgan simply tightened his grip on the steering wheel, refusing to react. On a different day, maybe he'd get out of his SUV, flash his badge, scare the living daylights out of the teens. But today… he didn't know if he had the energy, or the patience, to deal with a crowd of arrogant teenagers.
They followed him for a half block before speeding up and turning onto an adjacent road, streaking away. Morgan exhaled slowly and continued to drive past one block, then two, until he was at his destination.
The rec center looked the same, he noted as he parked across the street. He watched as the older kids in the fenced in yard kicked a soccer ball back and forth, separated from the younger children, who were playing on a rather modest playground.
Morgan ultimately found himself watching a pair of kids; one was James, the other, he didn't recognize. And that was odd, considering that with his yearly visits, Morgan was normally able to name off every kid who visited the rec center. Maybe this is that kid that called me – Damian?
With a renewed interest, Morgan studied their body language and quickly realized that there was a lot more going on then just a friendly game of catch. James was clearly standing defensively – almost fearfully – with his chin tucked, instinctively protecting his neck, and his entire body hunched in on himself. Even with the distance separating them, Morgan could see the tenseness emanating from James. Meanwhile, the stranger (Damian, Morgan was assuming), looked like he was… pleading, almost, with his hands open, leaning ever-so-slightly into James personal space, making his presence known without intimidation.
He was about to get out of the car to approach them when a burly, dark skinned man stepped out of the center and headed over to the boys. Morgan watched, paralyzed, as he approached James and rested his hand casually on the boy's shoulder. A wave of pure hatred shot through Morgan's veins, and his hands clenched tight around the steering wheel.
He watched, that stupid fear thrumming through him, as Carl urged James back into the rec center. When James's companion hand shot out, knocking Carl's hand off of James's shoulder, a sliver of surprise briefly numbed Morgan's swirling emotions.
A look passed between the three of them; Morgan only dimly make out their facial expressions from the distance, but when he combined that with their body language, he was able to read them. Carl was frustrated (Morgan refused to think why), James seemed hopeless and resigned, while his companion looked disgusted and angry, all of his rage directed at Buford.
Morgan watched as James reluctantly followed Carl back into the center. He was considering getting out of the SUV and talking to James's companion when Carl turned around, his gaze landing right on Morgan's partially opened window.
The flood of emotions that those dark eyes inspired in Morgan caused his stomach to clench, a wave of nausea sweeping over him. Before rational thinking could kick in, he slammed the stalling vehicle's gear into drive and shot down the street, refusing to look into his rear view mirror, knowing that Carl's gaze would be following him down the street.
*
*
When he pulled up to the hotel, Morgan slumped against the back of his seat as a bone-deep weariness hit him. After leaving the rec center, he'd driven around aimlessly for hours, trying to drive fast enough to leave his past behind him.
He hadn't quite managed to do that, but he did manage to drive past his old neighbourhood, as well as the neighbourhood where his mother and sisters currently lived. He'd been tempted to pop in and say hi, but he hadn't for two reasons. One, he knew that his family wouldn't leave him alone until he explained why he was in Chicago, and that involved too much lying for him right now. Secondly, he didn't have the energy left in him; all he wanted was a long, hot shower and a cold beer.
Morgan grabbed his two small bags from the SUV before locking the vehicle and heading into the hotel. It wasn't five stars or first class, but he knew that it had a warm bed and decent service; right now, that was all he was asking for.
He headed straight for the front desk, booking himself a room for the next two days, figuring he could always extend his stay if necessary. After all, this visit was more out of curiosity and a desire to check up on the youth of the neighbourhood, more than anything else.
He smiled weakly at the clerk when she passed him his room key. Turning around, he found himself blinking in surprise when he saw Reid sitting on one of the lounging couches set in the lobby. There was a book settled in his lap, and he was reading at an obscenely fast pace. Morgan let his gaze wander over the doctor, feeling a loosening in his chest at the familiar sight.
As if he could feel Morgan's gaze, Reid placed a bookmark to hold his page before shutting the book and stuffing it in the satchel he was never without. Morgan had tried to buy him a, well, less ugly one a while back, but Reid had politely refused, claiming he wasn't going to replace what wasn't broken.
Reid stood, and Morgan felt an involuntary smile cross his face. Between the nightmares he'd suffered the night previous, seeing Buford again, and the endless hours of driving, the sight of a familiar and smiling (and perfect) face was just what he needed.
Morgan adjusted the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder before walking over to Reid. He was about to embrace the other agent before a sobering, and obvious, thought washed over him, saving him from the potential embarrassment of randomly hugging his colleague.
"Pretty boy! What are you doing here? Hell, how did you even know I was here?" Morgan asked, studying Reid carefully and waiting for a response.
Reid ducked his head and scooped a chunk of hair behind his ear, collecting his thoughts. Morgan was more than used to it, and simply waited the pause out. After a minute, Reid looked back up and started explaining. However, Morgan was distracted by how Reid's greyish-green eyes were framed by dark circles and pale skin. The younger agent looked utterly exhausted.
"… and I knew something was off, so I called Garcia and, um, convinced her to tell me where you were, and what was going on. By the way, Hotch and Prentiss will be here tomorrow," Reid finished, looking up at Morgan with wide, innocent eyes. Morgan tried desperately to drag his mind off of his worry for Reid and onto the conversation at hand; a few words that the doctor had uttered caught his attention, causing Morgan's brain to focus.
"Prentiss and Hotch are coming here? Why?" Morgan practically hissed, feeling the weight of yet more stress hit his shoulders. "What business do they have here? "
"Well, if you had paid attention to the first approximate forty-seven point five seconds of my explanation," Reid began, oddly defiant, "you would know that it's because they were – we were – worried." Reid's defiance slipped away almost as quickly as Morgan's sudden rage did. "I'm sorry if you don't want us down here, but you're our teammate, Morgan. We know something's going on; you're not the type to let a phone call get to you, unless you think something's going on. You're our family, and we want to help."
Reid held Morgan's gaze, even as a flush spread across his face. Even though he maintained eye contact, Morgan could see him fiddling with his bag out of the corner of his eye.
"You're my family, pretty boy?" Morgan finally managed, wishing he could replace the word 'family' with something a lot more intimate. "Then c'mere." Morgan held an arm up and out, looking at Reid expectantly. When Reid stared back, looking confused – a rare expression for him – Morgan looped his arm around Reid and pulled him in for a hug.
Their bodies pressed flush against each other, from shoulder to thigh. Heat tingled wherever they touched, even through layers of clothing. Morgan felt Reid's breath against his neck, warm puffs of air against his skin, causing even more of that warm tingling. Reid's arms looped around Morgan's neck, while Morgan's rested on Reid's back, feeling lithe muscle beneath the corduroy jacket.
Morgan had initiated the hug, and he knew that he had to end it, but he didn't know if he had the willpower to. Reid pressed against him, all warm and comforting and masculine, felt more right then anything else had in months. Another moment passed, infinity in a second, and Morgan reluctantly stepped back.
Reid immediately blushed, the color spreading across his face and down his neck before disappearing into the skin covered by his shirt. Morgan himself felt hot, overheated, but knew his dark complexion kept his flush from showing; unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to stop the sigh that escaped him. Great, Morgan… you're doing a lot to keep this relationship platonic.
"So," Morgan said awkwardly, watching as Reid rubbed a hand up and down his arm rhythmically. "Are you staying here?"
"Here as in this hotel, here as in the lobby, or here as in the general vicinity of Chicago?" Reid asked suddenly. If it had been anyone else, Morgan would've laughed and made a joke, but he knew that Reid was being completely serious. "My plans were originally to stay in this hotel, but I haven't booked a room yet. Actually, did you know that there are 236 active hotels within the Chicago area? The majority of the hotels are-"
"Reid!" Morgan chuckled, cutting off the genius before he could continue to babble.
"Relevant information only. Sorry," Reid responded instantly, ducking his head before walking up to the front desk, stopping only to grab his duffel bag off of the ground, where it had been resting by his feet. Morgan followed him shamelessly.
They were able to, luckily, rent a room for Reid as well. The clerk at the desk had asked if Reid and Morgan would mind sharing adjoining rooms, since the only other option was for them to be placed on different floors. Reid had readily agreed, before glancing back at Morgan to gain his approval. By then, it was too late for Morgan to say otherwise; not that he had a problem sleeping with only a thin wall separating him from Reid, or anything. Oh no, there was no problem at all.
*
*
Morgan practically collapsed onto the bed, throwing his arms wide across the bed and shamelessly arching his back, stretching. "Oh god, this bed feels good," he practically moaned, moving slightly to snatch a pillow from the now mussed up pile. He cracked an eye open to glance at Reid, who was watching Morgan with a look of something on his face. "Pretty boy? You in there?"
Reid jolted slightly, a flash of surprise and that something crossing his face before being replaced with a more alert expression. "Sorry, I was just thinking, did you know that…" Before he could continue, a pillow was lobbed at him, sailing just over his head. "What was that for?" Reid asked indignantly.
"That, genius, was for forgetting our 'relevant information only' deal." Morgan smirked, keeping his eyes closed and allowing himself to focus only on the banter (the flirting), and not on the memories that had been assaulting him all day.
"How do you know that what I was about to say wasn't going to be relevant to the current conversation?" Reid exclaimed, his voice rising adorably withl- no, rising just with indignity. "My next statement could've very well been extremely relevant to the topic at hand!"
"Yeah, it could've been relevant, but was it?" Morgan asked, propping himself partially up on his elbows, back resting against the pillows, and grinning at Reid with the smile he couldn't summon up for Nicole on the plane earlier that day.
"That's beside the point," Reid managed, knowing he was beat. "But I'm going to have a shower – want me to leave the door unlocked?"
Morgan's mouth hung open for a brief second, wondering why Reid would want to leave the bathroom door open while he stripped naked and showered. But after a long moment of Reid looking at him in confusion, he realized that he was referring to the door that separated their individual rooms.
"Oh… yeah, sure," he replied hastily, hoping his companion hadn't noticed his blunder. He glanced at Reid just in time to see him wave awkwardly before heading into his room. Morgan let his gaze linger over the doorway for a moment. There was something about Reid that allowed Morgan to let go of his problems and just be in the moment. Maybe it was his innocence, something he should've lost considering his childhood, and their job. But whatever it was, Morgan knew that being around was what had made it possible to enjoy his evening.
Morgan flipped onto his stomach, cheek pressed against a pillow as he allowed his eyes to drift shut, regardless of the fact that it was only 7:30 in the evening. The small smile on his face at Reid's antics was replaced with a frown when he thought of the team coming here, to the one place where his secrets could be revealed after all these years of hiding.
With that in mind, Derek Morgan drifted off to a restless sleep.
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Once again, I'm so so so sorry for the delay between chapters! I promise, next chapter will not take this long. With that said, please review? They really do make finding the inspiration (and time) to write a lot easier!
