For a moment after he closed the door Spencer spent a few moments just staring around at the modern furnishings and wondering if he'd just imagined the last half on hour of his life or if he'd actually really behaved that way for real.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose and tried desperately to ignore the flare of shameful heat rising in his face.

He had no doubt that he'd made an utter fool of himself and had likely just done irreparable damage to his and Morgan's friendship. After all, there was really no way to recover from practically throwing yourself at your best friend. Even so, despite the mild tinge of regret he felt, the young genius didn't fool himself into thinking that if Morgan suddenly knocked on the door and said he'd changed his mind that Spencer wouldn't be all over it.

His head was in knots – not a feeling he was used to dealing with. What the hell was wrong with him?

He sunk down onto the edge of the bed and rubbed at his scalp with his fingertips.

Morgan was an attractive guy, sure, but the older agent's physical appearance isn't what had Spencer's stomach doing that weird somersault feeling. No, it was when Morgan brushed a hand through his hair or gently rubbed his hand or gave him that disarming, warm smile that had butterflies exploding in the genius' chest.

With a sinking feeling, Spencer realized that maybe it wasn't Morgan himself that he found so attractive, but the fact that he was John's opposite. Was he just chasing the ideal that he'd decided Morgan embodied? If the other agent hadn't shown him such soft touches and patient eyes would the thought have even crossed his mind to...to...

He growled softly, flinging himself backwards onto the soft comforter of the guest bed.

Ok, so he was messed up in the head a little. That was to be expected after what he'd recently gone through; even for someone of his intellect. He could fix this. He could fix himself. He just needed to separate himself – he frowned – from himself? No, he just needed to step away from the emotional part of it; extricate his rational self from his emotional self.

He blinked up at the ceiling, heaved a heavy sigh and then rolled on to his stomach, using his folded arms as a pillow. There mere thought of John had been enough to derail Spencer's train of thought before he could even start it and his mind turned to even more unpleasant things. He hadn't been kidding when he'd told Morgan that every time he laid down on a bed that he could suddenly feel the phantom weight of John's memory pinning him down. He scrunched his eyes shut, trying to control the irrational swell of fear that rose in his stomach.

John had loved holding him down. He'd loved it even more if Spencer tried to get away. He'd laugh over the smaller man, his calloused hands holding the genius' arms to the mattress as tightly as ropes or chains. Sometimes he'd be pinned with a knee to his back, two hundred pounds of well muscled body keeping him still, so that John's hands were free to push inside him.

He shuddered at the memory of the first time that had happened. John's knee in his back had felt like the weight of a whole building compacted down into a few square inches and at the time it had been impossible to tell what had hurt more; that or John's dry fingers forcing their way into his body.

Spencer pushed himself from the bed before he went any deeper into the memory, not wanting to trigger anything even remotely close to a flashback.

So he paced the room instead, beams of the orange street light shinning through the window.

He decided to focus on the case part of it instead. Case studies he knew. Case studies were a safe area.

The most glaring issue he was having was the fact that he'd not heard a peep from John. No phone calls, emails, letters. Nothing. He hadn't seen any black 71 Nova's crawling by the house or anything else suspicious. Nothing had happened to his mother and his nightly call to the hospital was always the same: That everything was fine and nothing weird had happened.

He dug his teeth into his bottom lip, staring out the window and down at the deserted street.

John had vowed to slaughter his mother if he even thought about leaving or going for help. He'd described what he would do to her if Spencer disobeyed him in such graphic detail that the genius just knew he'd thought it through.

How ironic it was that John himself had eventually been the one to break them apart.

His slender fingers felt along his mostly healed ribs, through the thin fabric of his shirt, still unable to truly understand how he'd gotten to this point in his life. People called him a genius – hell he called himself a genius – but genius' didn't let themselves get trapped in an abusive relationship with a violent man who threatened his family. He started to wonder if John had ever had any intention of making good on his threat. Who's to say the man even remembered what Reid had told him about his mother. Maybe he hadn't even been listening.

He pressed his forehead to the cool glass and closed his eyes.

Would they ever even catch him? Or would he have to just live his life wondering if John would one day reappear to finish what he'd started?

Would it be a week or a year or ten years from now that he was standing in line getting coffee or reading in his apartment or sitting on the subway when John would suddenly be right there again. His eyes filled with patiently restrained rage. He'll have been waiting a long time, regardless, to finally show himself again. That rage will have had time to simmer; any logic would have been boiled off and nothing but a thick black glob of hatred would be left over.

He'd seen it a hundred times before; the burnt soul of a person, nothing but blackness in their hearts. He'd stared them down from the other side of a table or window or even at the end of a gun. No one came as far as John had gone and not gone all the way. These people, they always reappeared, some sooner than others, but eventually, they all came crawling out into the sunlight like starving insects, unable to hide any longer.

Spencer might not feel like a genius right now, but he knew that he hadn't seen he last of John.


The next morning, if you could even call it morning, came to pass unpleasantly for Spencer. He fallen asleep around midnight, on top of the covers and still in his clothes and, sometime during the three hours he'd been asleep, John had visited his dreams.

It had been a flash of tearing clothing and bruising hands and searing pain and then he was being shaken firmly and at first he'd struggled, throwing his elbow backwards to try and get John off his back and dislodge his hands but then someone was talking to him and it wasn't John's drunken slur it was Morgan's deep, calm voice. When his brain registered who it was touching him and where he was, it's like the noose of panic around his neck was suddenly cut away and he could breath again. He sucked a ragged breath into his lungs, his head swimming, and twisted away from Morgan's hands.

Residual images of John assaulting him – it was impossible to tell which time it was – bounced around in his head and he pressed his face into his arms, legs still tangled in the blankets.

He could sense Morgan behind him, his gaze heavy, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Instead of rolling over and facing Derek's concerned eyes, Spencer focused on trying to get John out of his head, but the memory of the very real dream lingered like a bad smell. With a flinch, he recalled John forcing his way inside his body, making it feel like he was being fucked with a knife.

No! He refused to think of this! He sat up and cradled his head in his hands, taking deep breaths.

Push it away...push it away...

"Reid?"

Morgan's hand descended on his shoulder and he nearly leapt off the bed.

"Don't do that!" Spencer said, much louder than necessary.

"I'm sorry." Morgan offered, his voice soft. That look of concern was on his face again and Spencer pushed himself to his feet.

"And quit looking at me like that."

"Like what?" Asked the elder agent, his frown deepening.

"Like I'm a three legged puppy or something." He was getting really sick of seeing the pity in his friend's eyes all the time. God forbid, if the tables had been turned Morgan would have lost his mind if Spencer looked at him like that.

Though to be fair Morgan probably wouldn't have gotten himself trapped in an abusive relationship, he realized bitterly.

"You ok?" Morgan asked after a few quiet moments.

"Fine." He answered too quickly and tensed, realizing his mistake.

"Right."

The bed groaned when Derek stood. "You know you could just talk to me." Morgan's tone was light and held a note of condescension that Spencer hoped his muddled brain was just making up.

Spencer glanced over his shoulder, finally looking at the other man for a brief moment. Derek was standing tall and strong and formidable looking in the dim orange glow of the street lights outside; despite the fact that he was only wearing a pair of boxers, he was an intimidating sight.

Spencer looked away, fiddling with his hands. "You said you needed time..." One corner of his mouth twisted down and he sneered, "...to think."

God why was he making this worse by being such a dick? He shook his head. All that time with John had trained him to start snarling and spitting in warning before there was even a threat to begin with.

He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry." Finally he turned around, his arms crossed defensively over his chest, and he raised his eyes to meet Morgan's on the other side of the large bed.

"S'ok." Muttered the older agent.

With the room as dark as it was, reading Derek's facial expression was proving difficult and his tone of voice gave nothing away.

"I didn't mean to wake you up." Spencer offered at length, wondering why Morgan hadn't left the room yet. He was just standing there, staring like he was waiting for Reid to say something specific.

"You can't control nightmares. Trust me, I know."

This was starting to get frustrating. What did Derek want from him anyway? He'd made his intentions clear when he pushed Spencer away earlier.

"Um, ok well...I'm gonna go back to bed then." He stammered lamely.

Derek still didn't move but when a car drove by outside, a beam of white light slid across the man's face. He looked...angry.

Spencer swallowed, taking an instinctive step back, his brain immediately firing off every reason the other man had to suddenly be that furious looking. The most obvious being that he'd used the last few hours to think about things like he said they should and had, understandably, gotten a little bent out of shape over the whole punch to his stomach, tackled to the floor thing.

"Morgan, I'm sor-"

"Don't you ever get tired of apologizing?" The other man snapped. "Why don't you try just not doing stupid shit for a change."

The palms of Spencer's hands started sweating and he wiped them nervously on his pants, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Like a cornered animal, his eyes darted this way and that, trying to find the easiest escape route.

"Look who's all nervous. What are you gonna do, Reid? Hm? Outrun me?" Derek laughed, the sound cold and hard.

Suddenly, before Spencer even had time to process it, Derek's face was an inch from his, snarling.

"I'd love to see you try."

He was abruptly thrown onto the bed and before he could even get his bearings Morgan was on top of him, a knee driving hard into his lower back to pin him in place.

Just like John used to do. But there was no way Morgan would do this to him. This wasn't what the man was like. He was different. He was better than that.

Right?

"Stop!" He cried, trying to keep the tremble of betrayal from his voice and failing miserably. "Morgan, please don't do this!"

Thick fingers slipped under the waistband of his pants and tugged them down roughly, exposing the bare skin of his backside to the cool air. He sobbed into the sheets, trying to get out from under the larger man's weight, but, just as with John, the more he moved the more it caused the knee in his back to grind painfully against his spine.

"Morgan, stop, please..." His voice was strained, hitching when he felt fingers probing between his cheeks.

He was abruptly flipped on to his back and found himself staring up into Derek's enraged eyes.

"Shut. Up."

His arms were pinned at his sides and he felt despair clawing its way up his throat. Morgan wouldn't...not this. Not this...

"Please, stop!" He sobbed, pushing with everything he had against Derek's muscled chest.

"Reid!"

"Get off me!" His arms were shaking but even if they hadn't been, Morgan was just too heavy and too strong; he felt like he might as well be trying to lift a marble statue.

Instead he darted his arm out, aiming his fingers right for Derek's eyes. It had worked on John, why not Morgan? But the larger man moved just as fast, catching his wrist in an iron grip. He howled in frustration, his back arching in an effort to at least unbalance the man, to no avail. It was getting harder and harder to breathe and he sobbed brokenly, struggling for freedom and air.

He couldn't do this again. He couldn't. Morgan had told him it was over, that he wouldn't have to go through this kind of pain ever again. This was wrong, it was all so, so wrong...

"Spencer, stop! You're dreaming!"

Bullshit, the genius told himself. He'd been just dreaming a second ago, apparently. He should have known this set up was too good to be true. He should have known that Morgan's patience would eventually run out. He should have known he'd have to pay for staying here.

He should have fucking known.

He stared up at Morgan's face in panic, wondering if he would be as rough as John; but even through his panic, Spencer's well trained eye caught the change in his attacker's face and he stilled, his chest heaving, feeling light headed.

Morgan's face had changed. He looked worried – beyond worried – and terribly sad.

And all at once Spencer understood what was happening.

"Get off me." He whispered, tears carving cold tracks down his face.

A nightmare inside a nightmare. His treacherous mind playing tricks on him. Telling him that he couldn't trust anyone; not even his best friend. John had said all he was good for was sex and apparently his subconscious had taken that to heart.

Once the larger man understood that he was awake he got up immediately and stood at the end of the bed, looking unsure of what to do.

"Sorry I woke you up." Spencer said to the ceiling, his voice dull.

He was tired of this. So tired. He could so clearly remember what life had been like before he'd met John. No jumping at shadows, no flinching when people made sudden movements, no nightmares of his friends assaulting him.

Perhaps a distraction was in order. Coffee would have to do, though he really wished he could get his hands on something stronger, and if Morgan had still been asleep in his own bed instead of standing at the foot of Spencer's, the young doctor did not delude himself into thinking he wouldn't be looking up old contacts right this very second.

Morgan was still staring down at him with a worried frown creasing his brow, so Spencer stuck out his hand, waggling his fingers expectantly.

With the barest of smiles, Derek grabbed the proffered hand and hauled him off the bed.

"I'm going to make coffee." The genius informed the other man, padding from the room.

"It's like midnight."

Derek sounded bewildered but Spencer could hear him following close behind.

"Yeah. So?"

He set about helping himself in Morgan's kitchen. Pulling a pathetically small container of coffee from the cupboard and shooting Derek a look over his shoulder as if to say, "Really?"

"Hey, not all of us have replaced water in our diets with coffee." The man said defensively.

There was silence between them while Spencer went about brewing, his fingers dancing over the many, many buttons of Derek's super fancy coffee machine as if he'd used it a million times. The younger man went slow, deliberately drawing out the time until he pressed the go button on the machine because he just knew that was when Derek would start insisting they talk.

True to form, as soon as he jabbed the green button and the machine started rumbling, Derek was speaking before he even turned around.

"So we gonna talk about what just happened?"

"It was a nightmare, Morgan, nothing more." He tried to sound as dismissive as possible, hoping the other man would take the hint and leave it alone. But when he took a seat across the island from his friend, Derek had the same look on his face that he wore whenever an unsub was being stubborn with his confession.

Morgan was ready to wait hours if it meant getting the truth from him.

He decided to try a different tactic. "You have nightmares, Morgan. We all do." It was kind of a dick move but if it meant he didn't have to talk about what had just happened out loud then he was willing to be a jerk.

Morgan merely laced his fingers together. "I've never had a nightmare where one of my friends tried to rape me."

Ow, that shot had hit it's mark. While Spencer struggled to fill his suddenly empty brain with words to argue Morgan's point, the older man just kept talking.

"I might not be as smart as you, Reid, but I'm not stupid." He paused, his face open and honest and sincere. "Spencer, I would never hurt you."

Humiliation flared hotly up his neck and over his face and Spencer broke their eye contact. "I know that, Morgan." He whispered at the table top, wrapping his arms around his torso.

"Do you?" Derek asked, his voice soft. "You flinch whenever I touch you. You always make sure you don't turn your back on me -"

Spencer opened his mouth to interrupt, intending to say that that wasn't true because he'd had his back to Morgan just an hour ago. Then he remembered that was a dream...which had turned into a nightmare when Derek tried to...

"- You look scared when I talk too loud."

"Oh, come on." Spencer said, his hackles rising with the last accusation.

"You do." Morgan restated simply. "You don't see these things in yourself, Reid, because you don't want to. I see them because I'm looking for them. We're both trained to spot these kinds of things in other people but I know better than most that when you're on the inside looking out, things aren't so cut and dry. And I know you know that too." He added at the end.

He knew Morgan was right. He'd read it in half a dozen textbooks himself, not to mention had years of first hand experience seeing people deny what was right in front of their eyes. Still, it was difficult to accept when it concerned himself. He'd always prided himself on his logic, but the mind was a dark and devious place that could not always be trusted.

"I need you to trust what I'm telling you when I say that you're not ok."

A moment of silence passed between them; a thousand different words flashed in front of his eyes but Spencer couldn't be brought to say any of them. Trusting other people – especially when they wanted him to believe there was something wrong with himself – was not something that came easily to him.

"Tell me what happened in the dream."

"No."

He'd had no problem getting that word out, it had lept past his lips before Morgan had even finished speaking.

But the other man looked as if he'd expected as much and patiently tried another tactic. "I don't want you sitting alone in your head trying to work through this by yourself because I can see you twisting yourself in knots." He paused, giving Spencer enough time to reply. When the genius remained stubbornly silent he said, "Hotch wants you to see a counsellor."

"Absolutely not." He muttered at the table.

"Well you have to talk to someone, Reid." Morgan pushed. "Trust me when I say it's easier to talk to a friend than a stranger about this kind of thing."

He stared at the older agent across the island, knowing that he wasn't going to let him get away without talking. But the thought of telling Morgan what he'd done in his dream made his stomach roil.

"It wasn't real." He said. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does." Countered Derek immediately. "It might not register to you on a conscious level but John's abuse has wormed its way into your subconscious whether you like it or not. That's what people like him do, Reid, they brainwash you. They cut you down. They make you think you're nothing and that everyone is going to take advantage of you so that you have no choice but to trust only them."

Spencer heaved a sigh, glancing around the dark kitchen before quietly admitting, "You said you wanted me to run." If it meant not having to hear about how he'd let John manipulate him, Spencer would tell him whatever he wanted.

Morgan looked confused so the young genius elaborated. "In the dream, you said you'd love to see me try to outrun you."

A few blinks to steady himself, likely blindsided by the genius' sudden co-operation, and then Morgan was nodding for him to continue.

"You..." He swallowed, unable to look Morgan in the eye, "You held me down. You got my pants off." He saw Morgan shift in his seat out of the corner of his eye. "I tried to fight you off." He laughed, the sound itself self-depreciating. "Of course you had no problem holding me down."

Silence lingered between them for a few moments and Spencer waited patiently. Morgan had asked for the details but wanting something and actually getting it were two very different things.

"It was a dream, Spencer." Derek said quietly. "I would never do that to you. Ever."

Spencer nodded. "I know."

More silence. Spencer refused to lift his gaze from the counter, afraid of what he might see in Derek's eyes. Pity. Concern. Sadness. He didn't want to see any of it. He rubbed at his arms absently, as if chilled, just for something to do with his hands.

"You still want some coffee?" Derek asked, already pushing away from the counter.

His stomach rolled at the thought of ingesting anything after their short conversation and he quickly shook his head. "No, I'm good, thanks."

"You...don't want coffee?" Asked Morgan, sounding as disbelieving as if Spencer had just announced he was leaving the BAU to join the circus.

"Stranger things have happened." Spencer muttered. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the marble top and pushing the palms of his hands into his eyes and rubbing hard. God, could this night get any worse?

There was suddenly a heavy hand on each of his shoulders and Spencer's heart lurched into his throat. He sprung from his chair, twisting around to dislodge the hands.

"Hey, hey..." Derek said, holding his hands aloft as if there was a gun pointed at his face.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?!" Aftershocks of alarm were still ripping along Spencer's nervous system and he pressed his back to the edge of the island, trying to put as much space between Morgan and himself as possible.

Why couldn't the man just respect his wishes and keep his hands to himself? Not everyone needed to touch or be touched a hundred times a day like Morgan did but he'd only just gotten his breathing under control when the man was reaching for him again.

To his credit, Spencer only flinched a little when Morgan's large hand descended slowly onto his shoulder and he resisted the urge to twist away, meeting Derek's eye pointedly.

"I'm not challenging you, Reid." Said the larger man, his hand squeezing slightly in reassurance. "I just want you to know that you can trust me...and that just because someone touches you doesn't mean it's going to hurt."

Heat flooded his face again and he shrugged his shoulders in a half-hearted attempt to dislodge Morgan's hand, but it held fast.

"And before you say you know that already..." He moved his hand from Spencer's shoulder to his face, his eyes going sad when the smaller man flinched again. He brushed a thumb across the genius' heated cheek. "...Your head knows," His hand moved downward and settled over his chest. "But your heart doesn't."

Goosebumps flared over his skin where Derek's hand rested and spread outwards in every direction and he was sure that the older agent felt the shiver that ran through him.


Two days later, Spencer was woken up by the sound of the front door closing solidly and then someone hissing, "Shhh!"

He grimaced, wishing that he was still asleep. For once he'd been deep in a dreamless slumber and not having any weird dreams that left him questioning his sanity. The clock said it was just after three in the morning, which meant he'd at least gotten a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. He stared up at the ceiling, now wide awake and debating the merits of getting out of bed to pee.

In the end, he knew he'd just lay there coming up with reasons to not get up until he couldn't ignore nature's call anymore and was forced to get up anyway.

He grumbled all the way to the washroom, hissing in irritation when his bare feet touched the icy floor. He'd have to talk to Morgan about relaxing his freakishly rigid rule regarding the thermostat.

When he opened the bedroom door, he frowned. He didn't know why Morgan was so weird about the temperature in his house, or why he insisted on recreating Arctic like conditions inside his house. Probably because he was such a huge beast of a man. With his stupid, chiseled muscles and rock hard biceps...not that he'd noticed really. Well, he'd noticed because how could you not? It was Morgan. But lugging around that massive frame meant burning way more calories than the average person and generating a lot more heat.

Still, not everyone in the house was a walking boiler room. Maybe he could get Derek to compromise and stop wearing shirts.

Spencer rolled his eyes at himself as he shuffled down the hallway towards the washroom.

It was too early – or late – for this highschool bullshit.

He had his hand on the doorknob to the bathroom when muffled voices from downstairs made him pause. They were coming from the kitchen. All deep and rumbling and purposely low.

His hand slipped from the door handle and he crept to the top of the stairs. Morgan didn't strike him as the kind of guy that had a lot of other guy friends. If anything, he would have expected to hear some high pitched giggling coming from the kitchen at this time of night.

But there were three distinct voices and all of them were male.

Did...did Morgan have some male friends over? Spencer had to clap a hand to his mouth when he pictured Derek entertaining two guys like he'd seen him entertain women. He didn't know why the idea seemed so funny...maybe it's because it was three on the morning and he hadn't had a decent night sleep in like four months.

Yeah, that was probably it.

Still...his curiosity, as it often did, was pushing him towards trouble. Or what would, at the very least, turn out to be a pretty awkward situation. But hey, he was Spencer Reid, awkward situations were kind of his thing.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and moved silently down the hall that lead to the kitchen. About halfway down, he was able to make out the voices and froze.

"How are things going anyway?"

That was Rossi, which meant that the other two men were most certainly Hotch and, of course, Morgan himself.

His shoulders fell. Talk about anti climactic. Damn, he'd really wanted a good distraction from his own problems and catching Morgan bringing home not one but two guys would have been the perfect ammunition that would have lasted him all week. At least. Not to mention provided some pretty juicy blackmailing potential should he ever need someone that wasn't himself to do a coffee run at work.

He heaved a sigh, put on his 'What-Sleep-Deprivation?' face and prepared to make his presence known when Morgan's answer to Rossi's question made him pause.

"Honestly...it's been rough."

"What do you mean?" Hotch asked. His voice was level but there was an underlying sincerity behind the words that made Spencer wonder if Morgan was perhaps not being as honest or as punctual with progress reports as their boss would like.

"Not to go into detail but...he's struggling. He jumps whenever I try to touch him. He has nightmares every night. He isn't really eating anything..." Morgan heaved a sigh.

"Is there something else you're not saying?" Hotch pressed. It was less a question and more the Unit Chief saying 'tell me before I find out on my own.'.

"Yeah, no offense, kid but you've been off all night." Rossi added casually.

The sound of a glass bottle being set down on the marble counter was the only noise for a moment. And then Morgan cleared his throat and it sounded hesitant and awkward.

"Well, a couple days ago we sorta...I mean, Reid and I kind of..." He cleared his throat again and Spencer felt ice cascade into his stomach.

'Don't you dare, Derek Morgan!' Spencer shouted in his head, resisting the urge to just burst into the kitchen.

"What?" Asked Rossi, sounding like he was getting impatient. "Did you sleep with him?"

Morgan was suddenly overcome with a coughing fit and Spencer was finding it a bit difficult to breathe as well, leaning into the wall and slamming a fist to his chest to dislodge the invisible hand of panic squeezing his lungs.

"No! We just kissed!" Spluttered Morgan. There was a beat of silence before he continued quietly. "Er, well, that is, I sort of kissed him."

Hotch was the next one to make a noise; a long suffering sigh that likely ended with him pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Morgan..."

"Look, nothing happened Hotch. I didn't let it go any farther than that. I swear."

"You know the Bureau's policy on-"

"I know, Hotch, I know."

Another moment of silence passed between the three men in the kitchen and Spencer stayed rooted in place. Terrified of either moving forward or back, desperate to get away from the conversation but at the same time dying to know what Morgan would say when he thought he wouldn't hear.

"Look," Derek continued. "Maybe if it were under different circumstances you might have something to worry about, Hotch but...I put and end to it. I'm not...I can't..." Morgan huffed a frustrated sigh. "I can't be with a domestic abuse victim..."


Spencer didn't remember going back to the guest room and he didn't remember if he'd been quiet about it or not but he couldn't be bothered to care. He didn't think that it would be possible to feel this terrible.

Growing up he was 'The Genius Kid'. At the FBI he was 'The Naive Doctor'. With John he was 'The Fuck Toy'. And now...now he was 'The Abuse Victim'.

Spencer swallow around the bile pushing up his oesophagus.

He had an eidetic memory so he knew very well what had happened between him and Morgan in the living room. He remembered in perfect detail how the larger man had wrapped his arms around his small waist and pulled him close. How he'd kissed hard and passionate and tangled his fingers in his wavy hair. He remembered Morgan pushing him away suddenly and having to convince himself not to continue. At the time, Spencer had assumed it was because he'd maybe just had a surprise sexuality crisis, or maybe just hadn't been ready to admit he had feelings for his co-worker. Or maybe he'd just thought that Spencer needed time before jumping into another sexual relationship.

He never considered Morgan had pushed him away because...because...

'Because what? ' He thought to himself, picking absently at the blanket. 'Does he think I'm dirty? That I'm damaged goods? Used up? Some mentally unstable domestic violence survivor? '

'Well, he's right, isn't he? ' Added a vicious voice in the back of his head.

Spencer turned robotically and crawled under the sheets, curling into a ball on his side and staring out the window, the only light that of the street lamp. He noted numbly that he only ever seemed to be awake during the night now-a-days.

He wasn't sure when Hotch and Rossi left but it was hours after Spencer had crawled under the covers that he heard Morgan walk past his room, pause outside his door and then continue to his own bed room, closing the door softly behind him.

Despite the fact that he felt exhausted, like his body was full of sand and his head stuffed with cotton, Spencer was unable to fall asleep. His eyes stayed wide and staring out the window as the hours ticked by, the same sentence echoing between his ears over and over again.

"I can't be with a domestic abuse victim... "