Morgan finally let his arm go, and Reid hastily snatched it back, rolling his sleeve down.
He had to regain his composure. Holy shit this was bad. Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.
He needed his brain right now.
He looked away from Morgan and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears to stop. They finally did minutes later.
"Reid... Spencer..." Morgan started hesitantly.
Mustering up as much venom and indifference as he could, Spencer finally responded.
"What? Are you happy now? I told you it was nothing. You can leave now."
Morgan was in shock. That was not at all the response that he was expecting.
"The door is over there. Lock it on your way out."
Was Spencer Reid dismissing him? And did he honestly think that he would just go?
Reid, meanwhile, had crossed his arms across his chest and was glaring at Morgan. His attempt at being menacing would have been comical if it weren't for the current situation.
Finally, Morgan answered.
"No, Spencer. I'm not happy, it's not nothing, and I'm most certainly not leaving."
"Hmph."
"Let me see your arm again." The words were spoken in a kind fashion, as if he was speaking to an injured child.
"No."
"Let me see it"
"Why?"
"Because I need to see if you did any serious physical damage"
At this point Reid rolled his eyes very dramatically.
"I'm a fucking doctor, Derek," he used the first name in a mocking tone, "I'm not stupid enough to cut deeply enough on my wrists to do any long-term damage."
Morgan had to admit that he had a point. He still felt that he had to see them again, inspect them, understand them. He felt as if maybe if he saw them closely enough he could fix them. He had to.
At that second the profiler in his brain switched on. Reid's words were replaying in his head.
"On your wrists?"
Reid's head dropped almost unnoticeably at that statement. He fumbled to answer.
"Well, yes, because on the wrist there are very superficial veins, arteries, tendons, ligaments, and other important structures. To cut through those could potentially have long-term or permanent effects. The dense fibrous cartilage that tendons and ligaments are made of is relatively avascular, so they have a much harder time repairing themselves than, say, the dermis or..."
"REID!" Derek cut off his rambling. "You said on your wrist. Does that mean that you have other... injuries... elsewhere?"
Reid glared at him. He fucking hated working with profilers.
"None of your business."
"Where, Reid?"
"It doesn't fucking matter, because I'm not about to show you."
"It matters."
"You can leave now."
"I could."
"Goodbye."
Morgan sighed exasperatedly, "Look, Spencer, I am going to figure out where they are and I am going to see them. There is no way around that. It would be a lot less unpleasant for both of us, however, if you at least tried to cooperate."
Reid looked away.
"I can use force or I can call Hotch, who you can be damn sure will."
Reid was defeated. That didn't mean he had to like it. "A bit on my legs. It's nothing though."
"Bullshit. Let me see."
"It's on my thighs Morgan. I'm not about to strip and show you."
"Uh-huh. I'm sure that's the only reason you won't show me."
The young genius was sick of this game. Maybe if he just showed him, maybe if he just saw that they weren't so bad, maybe he'd just drop it and go away.
He pulled his pajama pants down to his knees, trying to ignore the fact that he was in his boxers in front of his best friend. Previous best friend, anyway.
It was then that he noticed that one of last night's lacerations had opened up and was bleeding again. Fuck, Morgan would see that.
Morgan had seen that. He wasn't sure what was more disturbing, the blood running down the young agent's leg, or the hundred of other cuts covering his pale thighs. Some of them were angry red and some of them were faded pink. He couldn't even begin to count them all. 100? No, more. Maybe 200 cuts. He wasn't able to count accurately, some were fading and some cuts were on top of older ones. His eyes returned to the bleeding wound. It was a deep red line on Reid's right thigh, but above it there was 5 or 10 shallower, recent, cuts that hadn't opened.
Realization struck him. It wasn't one cut at a time. It was groups of cuts. Each group of cuts, he could see them now in the spacing, they were all the same angle, a bit different than the other groups. Each group must have been a night that Reid went to bed later than them. Each group was a day that was too much for Reid. Each group was a day that Morgan hadn't asked him what was wrong. Hadn't checked up on him. Hadn't come to his apartment to figure out what was wrong.
"Uh, do you mind?" Reid stammered out, gesturing to his first aid supplies, breaking Morgan's trance. Morgan nodded.
"Um, privacy?" Reid asked, expectantly.
"I can't trust you with privacy right now, Spencer."
Reid sighed and began his work.
Morgan watched as he started to pour rubbing alcohol on a towel. "Hey, ki-...Reid. You know peroxide doesn't sting as much."
Reid rolled his eyes. That was the fucking point. "Yes, but unlike rubbing alcohol, peroxide prevents wound healing. It destroys new cell growth." Granted, it was not a lie, but it still wasn't his main reasoning.
Morgan nodded, and continued watching as Reid worked.
First, he wiped the old blood away and poured some more alcohol into the cut to disinfect it. Then Neosporin was rubbed onto the cut using a Q-tip. Then, a box marked "butterfly closures" was pulled out. Reid deftly applied one while pinching the skin together to close the wound. Finally, a layer of gauze was taped over the wound.
Morgan was amazed by Reid's skill. He did not falter, but instead treated it like a professional, taking care of it swiftly and competently. He'd done this way too many times, Morgan decided.
When Reid was done Morgan took as an opportunity to evaluate the damage.
"How long have you been doing this?", he asked, as he looked over the young man's cuts. He tried not to show his shock at how deep some of them were.
"A few years."
That was the end of their conversation as Morgan then began to inspect Reid's arm. There were the old, faded needle marks from the dilaudid. Morgan was grateful that there were no recent ones.
The bruises that covered his arm carried shock value. They weren't clean and precise like the cuts, but instead showed anger and unbridled frustration.
The cuts on his arm didn't seem as awful when they were viewed after those on his leg. Still, Morgan knew that each and every one of them was a story of pain.
Finally, much to Reid's relief, he was done with his inspection.
"So now you can see that they are not infected, and they are not an immediate danger, or a long-term one, to my physical health. Can I be left alone now?"
Morgan looked Reid in the eyes.
"No. Obviously I wasn't here when I should have been. I'm not going to make that mistake again."
A/N: Yeah, so I wasn't particularly fond of this chapter, but bear with me, it was necessary for the plot to continue.
