A/N – Okay, so this one is a little different than my previous three. It's a little more serious. Hope you don't mind. I think I was in a poetic mood or something.

Chapter 4 – Re/JJ

Alaska.

"Man, I am not rooming with Reid," Morgan said defiantly, purposely ignoring the chorus of silent glares from the rest of the team.

Reid sighed. It was just like riding the bus all over again. Ew, I don't want to sit with him! The only thing worse than finding seatmates on the bus was when they had to pick sides for teams. In his opinion, the entire system was barbaric, but that was a rant for another day.

He went up the stairs slowly. If he was going to be cast off to sleep by himself, he might as well get first dibs on a room.

. . .

It was nearly a half hour later when he heard the hesitant knocking at his door.

Could it be Morgan? Apologizing?

Yeah, fucking right, he thought, feeling unusually bitter and angry. He had had thirty minutes to brood on his own, and the result was his current mood.

The knocking started again and he sighed to himself as he realized he would have to confront the person whether he liked it or not. Hell, for all he knew, it could be Hotch on the other side of that door, wanting to see if he was okay.

He crossed the room slowly, still hoping against hope that the person on the other side of the door would give up on talking to him and leave him to his misery.

"J.J.?" He asked in surprise after opening the door. "What are you doing here?"

And why are you already dressed for bed? Come to give me a pep talk before you go to sleep?

"Can I come in?" She asked, looking up into his face tiredly.

I'm not mad at J.J. I'm not mad at J.J., he tried to remind himself as he waved her inside.

"You can take a seat if you want," he said grumpily as he made his way back over to the bed.

With his back to her, he didn't see the hurt expression on her face, but he did hear the unhappiness in her voice with her next words.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," she said, giving him a weak smile.

"Yup, good old Reid," he frowned and pushed himself across the bed to the wall. "I'm just like one of those stupid dolls that keep popping back up, no matter how much you smack them around."

"Spencer," she gave him a hard glare and he looked away. "You know that Derek didn't mean anything by what he said, right? He's just tired."

We all are, he wanted to shout back, but wisely decided to keep his mouth shut instead.

One side of him wanted to just ignore Morgan for the rest of the week, pretend he wasn't there at all, just like so many people had done to him when he was a kid. On the other hand, another part of him wanted to get behind him and push him off a cliff, but he knew better than to entertain that line of thought.

"Sure," he grunted after some silence.

"I mean, I'm not condoning his behavior or anything; I just don't think it's worth obsessing about."

No, instead you're just rationalizing it. And of course you wouldn't think so. You were probably the perfect popular princess in high school. I bet no one ever spat in your face or threw glass at you.

Abruptly, he felt a wave of guilt pass through him for his thoughts about J.J. He didn't know what her childhood had been like. She had always been kind to him, and this was how he was repaying her?

Really not knowing what to say now, he finally just shrugged and gave a sigh. "Yeah well, speaking of being tired . . ." he trailed off, trying to make her understand.

"You're not going to sit up and keep going over the conversation in your head, are you?" She asked with a small knowing smile.

"Me?" He raised his eyebrows and tried to look overly innocent.

"Yeah you, Mr. I Don't Forget Anything."

"I've forgotten stuff before."

"On purpose or by accident?" She asked with a smirk.

"Touché," he grimaced, scooting back from the wall to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. "You think Hotch notices when I do that?"

She laughed and he felt the corners of his mouth going up in a real smile. She had a nice sounding laugh.

"I think he only pays attention when it relates somehow to a case," she answered.

"Hotch?" He asked sarcastically.

They both laughed.

"Yeah, he's a little obsessive too," she added, gazing back at him more seriously. "You know, Spencer, you're worth more than you think."

"Sure," he said with a pained smile.

"I'm being honest with you," she said softly, reaching out and grabbing his hand. "I don't know what barriers in your past keep you from seeing it, but it's true. You are an asset to our team, and make a good friend to boot," she smiled at him.

He didn't have anything to say to that, and eventually she left him alone, but not before pressing her lips gently to his cheek and whispering good night.

. . .

He dreamed of J.J.

That wasn't altogether surprising. He had dreamt about various members of the team before, but it had never been anything more than work related.

But this one was different. She was in his bed, wrapped around him like a pair of tight fitting pants. It was fingers tangled together, and skin on skin in a heated maelstrom of groping tongues, sliding limbs and burning need.

She was perfect to gaze at. He could smell her flesh as it sweated next to his, and it was enticing to behold. The angle of the dream skipped around, pushing him into a dominating stance over her writhing body, and then dropping him right back down under her as she brought him to the edge over and over again.

Their bed felt like a trampoline under their bodies, shifting around them as they sought to touch lips to skin and tongues to nipples. It was wet, and it was rough, but it fulfilled him a way he had never thought possible.

Wakefulness slammed into him like a sharp smack to his head, the quiet of his sleep broken by a sudden barrage of knocks from an upset Aaron Hotchner coming to tell him that Penelope had found another victim.

He quickly changed his underwear, throwing on the nearest pair of jeans he could lay his hands on and then hastily pulled on his boots. Making his way downstairs, he saw a hysterical Penelope being helped to a chair by the ever stoic Derek Morgan. She didn't see him and Derek didn't bother to acknowledge him as he moved quickly past them.

The outside world that quietly greeted him was cold, dark and tense as they gathered around and discussed the body of a man who would never breathe again.

He could still feel the blood singing in his veins as he stood there bumping layered shoulders with his teammates. He could still remember the touch of his flesh against another's, despite the fact that a dead man lay at his feet, slowly cooling off from its final exertions.

. . . . .

A/N – Stay tuned for more! Re/PG coming up next.