"...perceptions are really nothing more than a habitual tendency, Terence. I look at you and I think to myself, 'you're a rather nice looking woman. All curvy and baby-faced.' But then I realize that such a reaction is merely a part of a classification system that society has taught me to use when I look at women. Do you understand?"

"I…I think so. I think I do."

"So you understand that I don't really think that you're a nice looking woman."

"Um, thank you?"

Morgan didn't know if he could stand another minute in Percival's presence. He had heard the man's twisted rants on Buddhist philosophy and would have found it interesting had the man not insisted on using them to justify his cruel ways. 'Since, according to certain philosophies, nothing actually exists then you shouldn't have a problem with me un-existing your child's life. Thirteen years and it's like they were never even there!" He had once said to a sobbing mother. Months later Percival still couldn't understand why Morgan grew cold in his presence. Jordan, on the other hand….

Morgan watched her watching him with her arm looped carelessly around Percival's waist. In one hand she held a glass of Chardonnay which she barely sipped at, a sign that she wanted to be fully sober for the rest of the night. It was a little signal that they had come up with a few nights after their first rendezvous.

"Terry!" Percival had to raise his voice to be heard over the sound of the band. As usual, it took Morgan a second to remember that he was supposed to respond when the name Terry was called. He turned away from Jordan and glared at Percival. He sometimes wondered if Percival was privy to his girlfriend's infidelity. She certainly was privy to his. "The company hasn't seen you in a while. We miss you in the land of Counting and Chaos."

"Funny," Morgan said. "I haven't missed you."

Terrence smacked her palm against her face.

Of course, Percival wouldn't be caught dead letting someone read his emotions on his face. He simply smiled at Morgan with his surgically modified teeth as if they were best friends. As if best friends were constantly in the mood to go after each other's throats.

"I miss you, Terry." Percival lamented a bit too dramatically for Morgan's comfort. "You float in and out of my life – it's like I don't even know you. What say we have a little date tonight?"

"I'll be busy," Morgan said. Jordan snickered.

Morgan was sure Percival would have pounced at his throat had not there been a sudden commotion on the staircase. Everybody looked up in confusion as a young man crashed into the adjacent wall and fell onto the floor. Even the members of the band dropped their instruments and looked hesitantly at Percival. He really didn't enjoy having people crash his parties and so, with the thought of having the stranger reprimanded later, he raised his hand and smiled gracefully.

"Someone had a bit too much to drink!" Percival said in a smooth voice. The man on the staircase threw a hand on the rail and attempted to stand up. Terrence noticed Morgan's eyes suddenly become riveted on the face. "Go on, boys. Keep playing!" Percival waved at the stage and immediately the music started up again. He turned back towards the staircase and squinted his eyes. "Now I wonder who that is…" he muttered. Reid stood up and bent over the staircase, his chest heaving in pain as he scanned the crowd. Finally his eyes found the small group of four and he stared between Percival and Morgan upturned faces with wide eyes.

"Cowboy!" Percival said in delight just as Morgan cried out, "Reid!" The two thugs finally caught up to Reid and wrenched his arms behind his back but not before Morgan saw the distrust that flared in his eyes when he looked at him. Before anyone could stop him Morgan had slithered through the satin-clad crowd and shoved the two men away.

"Easy my man, easy." He said with one arm around Reid's shoulders and the other held protectively in front of him. Cyrus snarled and took a step back.

"That's Percival's property right there and we were specifically told to guard it."

"Plans have changed," Morgan growled as he helped Reid to his feet, "Now back off. You don't want to make me angry."

This was true. Neither Cyrus nor his partner wanted to get involved with a man whose eyes could grow so black and hateful. They took a step back, glanced once at each other, and then turned on their silver heels and walked away.

Reid closed his eyes and pushed Morgan away. "I'm okay," he said in a rough voice. Morgan steadied him as he tried to walk away, his steps scattered and clumsy. Reid shrugged Morgan's hand off of his shoulders but Morgan simply walked around him and put his hands on his chest.

"No, you're not. What happened to you?"

"Pecans."

"Pecans?!"

"Yes, pecans."

"What'd you do, take their money?"

"Very funny," Reid winced and dry heaved. "I need to get out of here. But I'm going to do it on my own, excuse me." Reid tried to push past Morgan but he barred his way with an upturned palm.

"Look, if you can walk three steps without stumbling I will let you go and never bother you again. If you can't then I'm going to help you in every way that I can whether you like it or not. Now come on, pretty boy. Show me if you can walk."

Reid was getting tired of the man. He was sick, weak, and ready to fly back home but instead he was on the staircase of a hotel full of horror, playing drunk for a man with a too-white smile. He gave Morgan an angry look, took two steps, and promptly fainted.

With a laugh Morgan picked Reid up and carried him to his car, unaware of the fact that Percival was watching him the whole time.

XxXxXxXx

"That's the point, Terry! Percival saw you helping an FBI agent – not only helping him but getting all…I don't know. Touchy. And looking at him funny as if you guys were, I don't know, close or something. And now Percival's super suspicious!"

"Hey, hey. He's awake. How are feeling, Reid?"

The first thing that Reid saw when he came to was a young woman leaning over him with a bag of pills in her hand. She couldn't have been more than eighteen and yet the look of pure loathing that she wore on her face as she looked at him made her look so much older. He tried to shift his body into a more comfortable position but she held him in place.

"Uh-uh-uh," she said, "Stay on your side in case you vomit. I hope you do."

"You know what, Terence? I think it's time you left."

Reid looked up at Morgan who sat perched on the edge of the couch where he lay. Terrence stood up (Reid suddenly noticed the rings that lined her cuffs) and, with one last look of disgust aimed at him, left the room.

Morgan sighed and went to close the door after her. Reid sat up and put a hand to his chest which was bandaged and aching terribly. "Where am I?" he asked, looking around the resplendent room. Above him was a glass dome that poured forth a golden sunlight onto the multi-leveled room. Though lavish with fine and ornate things Reid couldn't help but notice the lack of a personal touch. There were no pictures of family or friends and the only colors in the room were white and gold which gave the setting a rather drab touch.

"Where am I?" He whispered. It still hurt to breathe.

"Chez Morgan, my humble abode. Welcome. Whoa, easy! " Morgan said suddenly when Reid bolted up and stumbled to the door. He threw it open and looked around outside. A dirt road leading past two fancy cars and through a wall of thick, leafy trees was all that greeted him. He turned around and eyed Morgan with distrust. He had seen him standing with Percival and for that he knew that he could never trust his handsome grin again.

"Who are you?" He asked in a low voice. Morgan stared at him for a moment in surprise before slipping his hands in his pockets and ducking his head but not before Reid saw the anger that flashed in his eyes.

"A man that everybody wants to know for all the wrong reasons," Morgan left the room and came back with a large, rectangular object in his hands. "I saved you from a pack of wolves more dangerous than you can imagine. I'm guessing from the way that they handled you back there that those men are upset with you and, trust me, you do not want to be the target of their rage. Besides I risked my ass back there protecting you. But I can understand if you still don't trust me, really." Morgan dropped the object at Reid's feet with a jarring thump. It was a phonebook. "221 Heathrow Lane. The numbers for a taxi are somewhere around page 402. You have a phone, right?"

"No." Cyrus and the other man had taken on one of his attempts to leave the room. Morgan dug around his pocket and pulled out his own cell phone and a few slips of cash.

"Don't go scrolling through the pictures," he said with a smile as he handed it to him. He then put his hands back in his pocket and turned his back on Reid. "And don't go back to the hotel – you know that. If you need medical attention go to St. Jude's medical clinic. It just opened and I doubt they'll be watching it. I'd also suggest you stay with someone that you trust for a few days until you feel safe enough to leave, although keep in mind that they may become a target of the Company, too."

With that Morgan strolled away. Reid watched him walk into a large office-like space beneath one of the staircases until he turned the corner and was out of site. A song started playing from an unseen radio and Reid could hear Morgan begin to hum quietly to himself. There was something oddly soothing about the sound.

"You could always stay here for a while," he called out at one point.

Reid picked up the phone book and dialed the number, all the while attempting to map out a course of action. He was getting tired of planning. He was getting tired of feeling like every corner that he turned hid a corrupt criminal with a loaded gun and a threat-bearing tongue. He was getting tired and he knew he wouldn't be able to rest until the web of corruption behind it all was exposed to him. But in order to expose it he had to be sure that he was safe from it first.

"Hello. Speedy Dean's taxi service. How may I help you?"

"I need someone to pick me up at 221 Heathrow Lane."

"Alright. And where do you need to be dropped off?"

"I don't know. I'll have figured it out by the time you get here."

Reid pressed the little red button and dropped his hand to his side. The wait for the taxi would be around twenty to twenty five minutes. He walked over to the couch and settled down on the cushions, weighing his options. He wanted to trust Morgan – he did trust Morgan. There was something about the familiar way in which they spoke to each other that made Reid feel that theirs could be one of the few relationships in his life unburdened by awkwardness or feigned sympathy. Yet his logic – bold and relentless as usual – coldly reminded him of the fact that he had seen Morgan casually conversing with Percival. Aka, he reminded himself with some bitterness, the man who tried to bite your lips off over a plate of scrambled eggs. Like Spock, Reid was a sucker for logic.

And yet when the taxi finally arrived Reid found himself at the door of Morgan's office, his mind a sudden captive of something unspeakable when Morgan looked up at him with curious brown eyes. Reid swallowed, suddenly aware of the patch of skin visible beneath his unbuttoned shirt.

"Thank you," was all that he said. Morgan gave a nod of his head and turned the radio down.

"Any time."

Reid looked around the office as Morgan watched him patiently. It's not that he didn't know what to say, he just wasn't sure that he wanted to leave yet. Although he was still suspicious of the man he was more than appreciative of all that Morgan had done for him. To add to the feeling of not wanting to part, Reid could still remember the time that they had spent together on the bridge. He wasn't of the sentimental sort but still that rainy evening stood out in his mind in the most comforting way. He pursed his lips, something that Morgan was quick to notice.

"What are you reading?" Reid asked, nodding at the newspaper in Morgan's hands. Morgan flipped it over and let him read the headline. Reid leaned in closer and squinted at the tiny writing, mouthing the words to himself as he did so. Morgan snickered.

"It's just a newspaper, my friend. You don't have to devour it."

"It's how I read," Reid said dismissively. Morgan was about to laugh and say no kidding but decided against it. "Eric Thompson….he was the manager of the bar where Ethan worked….it says that he was strangled to death." Reid suddenly noticed the name scribbled in red ink in the margins. "Who's Kevin Hartley?" Morgan suddenly closed the newspaper and placed it in an open cabinet.

"A story that was never finished." He said after a sigh. Reid would have found his words odd had not his mind been somewhere else completely at the time. He heard the taxi driver honk his horn impatiently.

"Listen –" He said quickly. Morgan held up his hand to silence him.

"You want to stay. I already told you that you're more than welcome."

"Thank you." Reid said in relief. "I only need a few days at most and then I'll be out of here. And…" I think I trust you. If I'm going to get out of this alive I can't solely rely on my instincts and wits. I need someone who knows the city, the good and the bad of it, and the people in it. You strike me as an honest man with secrets. And who doesn't have secrets? But instead he said, "If I'm going stay here I need you to answer one question. That woman – Terrence, I think - called you Terry. But you told me your name is Derek Morgan. Who are you?"

Morgan smiled and picked up a glass of brandy that had been sitting nearby. He held it up to Reid who shook his head. "You know, it's on and off with me. Brandy is the poison that I started taking in order to seem more like the privileged men and women whose anonymity offered me security and protection. But I actually drank quite a lot of Kombucha when I was young, it came before the Brandy. Up until I met you I had forgotten all about the basics of an honest, non-intoxicating drink but still…I've gotten so used to drinking Brandy that I've forgotten what the other one tastes like."

"That doesn't answer my question," Reid said. Morgan smiled at him.

"It does answer your question. You're not thinking hard enough about it. A genius like you, don't you like riddles?"

"So long as they don't have to do with Kombucha and Brandy," Though still slightly irked, Reid was quick to suppress the laughter that threatened the burst forth. Morgan, however, gave a muffled laugh and shook his head.

"Your taxi's still waiting," he said, lifting the hand holding the glass of brandy to point at the front door. "I would hate to be in that man's position."

"Hm?" Reid looked in the direction that he was pointing. "Oh, right. I should probably take care of that."

Reid turned to leave but Morgan called him back with a sharp voice. It was then as he stared at Morgan did he realize just how handsome he was with his fine eyebrows, perfect lips, and mercilessly perceptive eyes. Handsome, that is, until he said his next words.

"If I wanted you dead you'd already be ten years in your grave."