Chapter 7
I have been ridiculously busy with the holidays and all, hope you guys had a good one. This seemed short to me, but I felt that I had to post something. I'll try to make the next one worth while. Enjoy xx.
The walk back to the cells proved to be miserable. Morgan stayed three people ahead of Spencer in the line and the younger agent couldn't tell if it was due to the prying eyes around them or a more personal reason. The tension in the black agent's shoulders have Reid determining that the situation can't be good.
He's brought from his internal worries when a body slams into him. The group of cons is just one hall away from their destination, stuck among beastly men that shake their cell doors.
The slam lands him flat on the floor- his bruised ribs taking most of the impact. When his eyes flicker upwards, expecting a cruel figure such as Fuentes, he finds nobody. The line is halfway down the hallway, guards just now rounding the corner behind him. He tries not to read much into it, but Morgan hadn't stopped to check on him.
"Problem?" One guard prompts, eyeing his gasping form.
"Tripped." Spencer answers, a hand supporting his side as he gets up.
"Do you need to see the infirmary, boy?" The other sighs. Though he much appreciated their offer, Spencer shakes his head and walks quickly to catch up with the line. He profiles them all- looking for someone's snickers or long glances but he finds none.
They come to a stop in front of their cells, but only a few actually open. Spencer's isn't one of them.
"Today's shower day, ladies." A guard calls out. "Make a line and head up near the infirmary."
They do as told, Spencer giving Morgan his space because quite honestly, his feelings are hurt. It's ridiculous how much he depends on Morgan, but right now, he wants Morgan like he wants Fuentes. Not at all.
Speaking of Fuentes, Reid's smug to notice they don't have the same shower schedule.
The showers, as Spencer feels by just one glance, is his least favorite part of prison. It's a room of twelve shower heads lining the walls, the tile floor on a shallow slope so the water reaches the three drains in the middle. A bin is by the door that each prisoner is to put their clothing in, which will then be swapped for a new one while they bathe. Privacy is nonexistent here- the room is completely open, leaving everyone who enters exposed not only the others in the room, but anyone who looks in the doorway. The four guards are split up- two outside the showers and two at the doors, not paying a moment of attention.
The line is slowly entering the showers, the pause coming from stripping in the doorway. Reid can feel himself heat up and start to tremble at how unappealing this all is.
Two of Fuentes's yard time friends are already in the shower room. They're torturing some short, scrawny man by making him get to his naked knees and open his mouth. Reid turns away, not desiring to see what happens next. It's all barbaric- the way the guards don't mind the foul activities and how the thirteen cons around Spencer, excluding Morgan, are perfectly fine with this.
Spencer's turn at the front of the line has come and he keeps his eyes glued to the ground as his fingers weakly peel his jumpsuit from his body. The room's chill is uncomfortable to the max.
"This basket." A guard says, holding a plastic bin designed to take his only protection away from him. He drops the jumpsuit in, lost on what else to do. His eyes immediately search for Morgan and find him in the back corner, washing off quickly.
The younger agent makes his way over there, his earlier anger at his friend having been taken away with his clothes. Replacing the viciously wounded ego is the fear typically found in a child during a big storm. Each step through the crowded room of bodies is like running to a parent's bedroom while thunder shakes the foundation and rattles the windows.
A hand snaps out, quick as lightning, and grabs at Spencer, hauling him to the right by his arm.
"You can share this one with me." The convict laughs, pulling Spencer under a shower head's spray. The water is scalding hot and a shriek escapes Reid's locked lips. He tries to run away, shaking his head, but the hand holds on tighter, backing him against the wall before a fist flies right into cheek. Spencer gasps, his tears falling and mixing with the water. Crying has never been something Spencer ever felt comfortable doing, let alone in the presence of others, but here the storm is raging out of control. His safety seems to be nowhere to be found. He finds himself pleading internally for Hotch to come save him, ridiculously enough. Reid will never admit how much of a father figure his boss has become aloud but he really has.
Another hit gets Reid right in the jaw, the bone seeming to go soft under the impact. While he's reeling from the pain, he's turned around by the convict's meaty hands and pinned to the wall. The naked body behind him is clearly aroused- the proof rubbing against Spencer's back.
"Please, leave me alone." Spencer whimpers, wishing his body would stop reacting with such heightened fear.
The con is ripped away with such force that Reid almost topples over. Morgan has the guy on the ground and he's pounding his face in, his knuckles flying, showing this man no more mercy than he would an UnSub at work. What Morgan told him that morning rings in his ears.
"I won't ever let someone hurt you like that."
Three big guys that must be acquaintances to Reid's assailant jump in to stop Morgan, throwing fierce punches of their own. It's a scene from a horror story- fog, blood, and unfathomable brutality.
"Stop it!" Spencer hisses, throwing himself on the nearest guy, his arms wrapping around his neck into the choke hold Morgan taught him long ago. His grasp is weakened when the man runs backwards into a wall- resulting in Spencer's ribs and spine exploding with pain. The con turns around and fists rain down until the guards have come to their senses and stop the chaos with their batons raised. Once the man is pulled off the young doctor, Spencer raises his arms in front of his face in surrender, silently pleading for the guard not to hit him.
The motion doesn't work, though. The baton is brought down, harshly, cracking against Spencer's raised arms, hitting his wrist with brute force. The young doctor swears he feels it crack.
"UP!" The guard screams at him. Spencer wobbly gets to his face, noticing that the water running to the drains is pink rather than clear. A steady red stream is snaking its way down Reid himself, but the adrenaline and fear is peaking too high for him to truly feel the blood's origin.
He follows the guard's orders to get to the exit and then he dresses eagerly after quickly patting down with a towel. It didn't do much other than dot the white fabric with bright red.
Morgan suddenly appears by his side, his knuckles bloody and swollen and his face already forming bruises.
"Here." Morgan says, voice tired and sad, pressing a clean towel to Reid's lip and a tender spot that Reid's slow mind pieces to be his nose. He goes to help apply pressure, but his wrist recoils at the slightest pressure. Morgan notices and frowns. "Broken?"
Spencer shrugs, which they both know actually means "yes" and they head off to the infirmary together when a group of guards come for them. The others hurt in the fight are being led to another infirmary to avoid conflict. Morgan nudges Spencer's arm and nods his head towards one guard. It's then that Reid realizes it was Caldwell, his back turned to both of them.
One of Morgan's arms wrap itself around Spencer's midsection to help him walk faster. Reid greedily leans into it, his mind clouding but not quite letting itself shut down.
CMCMCM
Five guards supervise the nurses. They immediately wrap Spencer's wrist tightly, weakly explaining that they can't put a cast on it right then. He'd have to go to a hospital for that. The women wipe the blood off his face, the cool wet clothes causing irritation rather than comfort. One pokes at his jaw, voicing her worry that it could break if he's not careful. As if getting punched in the face was just a silly accident.
Morgan just needs his knuckles wrapped up with some cream to stop infection from setting in before the pair are sent back to their cell. As soon as they're inside, Spencer feels Morgan's gentle hands on his shoulder.
Shockingly enough, the hands pull Reid to him until the lanky man is against his chest. The warm arms wrap around him in an embrace that would normally be given to Garcia and absolutely no one else.
"I'm so sorry, kid."
"For what?" Reid mumbles, his eyes drooping. He seems to be able to breathe easier here in Morgan's grasp.
"For being mad about Yates kissing you." Morgan responds, his voice filled with guilt and shame. "I ignored you when you needed me."
"W-why did it bother you?"
"C'mon, pretty boy, we both know having a relationship with an UnSub won't lead to anything good. It's unfair that you're being forced into this." The arms drop and Spencer sits on the edge of his bed to keep Morgan from looking him in the eye as he spoke.
"I was wondering if the CIA is right. Yates- he's not a bad person. At least, I haven't seen it if he is. He offered me protection if I'd keep him company. When he kissed me it wasn't like the guy in the shower's- he wasn't mean or forcing me to do a thing."
Morgan's silent for a few minutes then kneels in front of Spencer's trembling form.
"Reid- are you crushing on Yates?"
"I- I, um, can't, uh-"
"I didn't even know you were gay." Morgan chuckles. The reaction is unexpectedly light hearted.
"You don't, um, mind?"
"I don't care about either, kid. You can't control who you like," Morgan says with a sad grin, one hand reaching up to trace the gash below Reid's lip, "I know all about that one. Now why don't you get some sleep before you fall over? You'll be feeling it all tomorrow."
The older agent climbs up in his own bed, leaving room for nothing further to be discussed. Reid leans into his pillow, trying to find some kind of control in his life but finding none. He can't control the pain pulsing through his body nor the fluttering of his heart.
It's beyond maddening.
