As Reid pursued the ever expanding history of modern day crime with the expert and ever-so-curious Penelope Garcia he began to unravel the mystery of the Company. Of course, the purpose of the Company wasn't explicitly stated on any website. Trails had been obliterated and speculations had risen only to be washed away with the smallest amount of residue snaking its way about the internet. But he did have the report forwarded to him by Hotch and with it he was able to form certain theoretical connections that unbeknownst to him weren't too far from the truth.

Here's what he knew so far: the Company had been active since the 1920s. He couldn't pinpoint the exact starting date but he guessed that a smaller version had been active before that. There was a rather peculiar trend that he and Garcia had picked up after hours' worth of digging. Whenever there was a significant drop in the amount of scandals or abuse of upper-political order in a country the documented crime rate would drop. In calling uncomfortable police chiefs and having a worried Garcia unlock documents that were meant to be forgotten Reid found that the crime rate itself didn't drop but the procedure used to document and hunt down the criminals was purposefully botched and sometimes completely ignored. This trend only happened in spurts before bouncing to a new country and eventually finding its way back.

"The Company is made up of a bunch of violent criminals that gain leverage from politicians by disposing of anything or anybody that the politicians may see as an obstacle. Add to that a few side jobs and the whole thing is just…fodder for the best conspiracy novel." Garcia said quietly. Reid stared at her skype screen with tired eyes as she began to twist at one of her pink sparkly toys excitedly.

"It's genius. If the politician has a dangerous affair that's threatening his campaign he can have someone from the Company obliterate the other person involved. In exchange the person from the Company can commit a crime to his or her liking and the politician can easily pull strings to get it cleaned up."

"But the politician can never expose them because the Company already has dirt on him or her."

"It's incredible," Reid said quietly as his eyes roamed over the map of connections that he had discovered. The map had little red lines that had taken up twenty pages of paper with over one hundred names.

"It's icky. Reid you gotta tell Hotch… this….this is some deep doggy doo-doo. And I don't mean the kind at the park, I mean the kind that you step in on the way to your interview because some jerk decided not to-" Reid shook his head. He hadn't told Garcia about his run in with the Company. He knew that she would alert the team and, though he knew that it was foolish, he felt that it was his job to dig just a little deeper into the affair before he brought the others in. Over a hundred men, women, and children had been murdered at the hands of the Company. Their blank faces would haunt him if he didn't submit himself to the case one hundred percent first.

"Not yet, Garcia," he said simply. She watched his face with sympathy. His eyes were ringed with circles darker than she had ever seen and he could barely keep his chin from drooping to his chest. If she could she would have reached through the screen and smoothed his tousled hair but, as much as she loved her technology, it was infuriatingly primitive in the fact that it did not allow her to adequately comfort friends in New Orleans. But right as she was about to make some ridiculous reference Reid's head snapped out of his hands and simultaneously a miracle happened.

A chocolate god of thunder with enough beauty and muscle to make a thousand souls scream in ecstasy stepped up behind the couch where Reid was sitting and settled a pair of strikingly deep and endearingly curious eyes on her. Well, not on her exactly but the screen where she was rapidly turning a dark shade of pink. She couldn't have known that, if things had turned out differently and the man had turned his mind to fighting crime instead of participating in it they would have developed a sweet and playful relationship that would have lasted throughout the years.

"Gotta go, Garcia. Bye!" Before she could get her adequate fill of the smooth patch of hairless chest visible beneath the man's unbuttoned collar Reid closed his screen and cut her off from the most beautiful thing that she had ever seen.

"Who's baby girl?" Morgan asked, tilting his chin. Reid noticed the slight slur to his speech and the way that he swayed indecisively on the balls on his feet. It didn't take a genius like him to guess that it had something to do with the drink in his hand.

"Friend of mine out in Quantico," Reid said as he gathered his papers together. It was only then that he noticed how big of a mess he had made in the pale yellowish light of Morgan's living room.

"Bit of a sassy lookin' woman," Morgan said with a note of appreciation. Reid laughed.

"You have no idea,"

He watched Morgan sway into his office beneath the stairs. After a minute he stood up and followed him to the door where he watched him stretch his arms with a fatigued sigh. "Why are you up so late?" Reid asked. Morgan shot him a look that barely masked his disturbed nature.

"I just can't sleep, that's all." The gruffness in his voice didn't faze Reid. Morgan pushed past him and was about to walk into the kitchen when Reid's next words stopped him dead in his tracks.

"You have them, too?"

"What?"

"Nightmares."

Morgan turned around and stared hard at the young man. With his hands held limp in his pockets and the almost sinisterly dark eyes that held his gaze unflinchingly, Reid looked as if he could have been a killer himself. Never before had Morgan been looked at with such fearlessness. It was as if the young man had looked into the face of pure evil time and time again and yet his gaze wasn't threatening. It was simply curious, if a bit guarded, and it was only the shadows cast by the lonely lamplight that gave it that devilish look. Or was it? Morgan wondered…

"What would you know about nightmares?" Morgan challenged him. Reid still hadn't blinked.

"More than I need to know…" much to Morgan's disappointment Reid shifted his eyes to the clock on the wall and rocked back on his heels, "I had a mentor. His name was Jason Gideon. I used to be ashamed of telling people that I had them because, honestly, I didn't want people to treat me any differently because of them. But then they became unbearable and repetitive. The same thing over and over again. They made me feel like I had to do something and if I didn't they would continue to haunt me. I told Gideon about them and, I know it sounds cliché but," Reid swallowed, "I felt better. I mean, they never stopped and the haunting feeling never went away but…I guess what I'm saying is if you need to talk about them, or anything, really," Reid looked over at him again and shrugged his shoulders, "I'll be here for a while, me and my nightmares."

Immediately Reid began to regret what he had said. He had only ever shared such intimate aspects of his life with Gideon and his mother. For the life of him he couldn't understand why he had felt compelled to tell Morgan. The watchful expression on Morgan's face seemed devoid of all human sympathies and the room seemed to echo his words in a loud, uncomfortable way. Then suddenly Morgan turned away and walked into another room. Reid cursed his stupidity. He would have left then and there had not the necessity of his accommodations held him back. He threw himself onto the couch and pressed his palms against his temple. Sleep wasn't a possible reprieve, he knew, so he picked up the phone to call Ethan.

"L…is for the way you look at me.

O….is for the only one I see.

V…is very, very….EXTRAordinary

E…is even more than anyone that you adore-

And love…is all that I can give…to you…"

The smooth voice of a classic jazz singer forced him to put the phone down and look up just in time to see Morgan step out of the room with his arms spread wide and a true, pearly white grin to match his mischievous eyes. Reid watched in horror and curiosity as the man stepped swiftly to the beat, his heels and toes tapping impressively coordinated patterns onto the hardwood floor.

"Come on. Pretty boy like you, I know you can dance."

"Morgan, I don't think this is the time –"

"One in the morning when neither of us can sleep? I think now is the perfect time! Come on, let me show you a few things."

Morgan pulled a protesting Reid up by his hands and dragged him into the kitchen where the music was playing. He reached back to turn the volume up just loud enough to be heard all around the property without making the setting uncomfortable. Reid pulled away with an apologetic stutter and began to move towards the door. When Morgan asked him why he simply replied, "I can't dance." All previous joviality melted from Morgan's face and he stepped away from Reid just long enough to turn the radio down.

"Alright, listen. I let you stay at my house no questions ask when you needed it the most and I don't regret that. Now I'd never make you do anything that you don't feel comfortable doing but I would be honored if you let me teach you how to dance."

"Why?" Reid asked. Morgan thought a moment.

"Because you're not going to have nightmares tonight. Not if I can help it, kid."

Reid smiled. He stuffed his hands in his pocket and then, after a moment of contemplation, took them back out and offered them to Morgan. "Show me the way, pardner." Morgan's smiled reappeared.

"That's what I'm talking about. Okay, you give me…this hand and, it's alright, put that one right there, on my hip. Alright, now when he says 'L' you put your foot right there – ouch, no not there-"
"Sorry,"

"When he says 'O' you…there you go. See, genius? You already got the hang of it!"

Reid thought the complete opposite. He felt like a highly uncoordinated octopus that had been flung out of its realm. Touch had never really been a pleasurable experience for him and even now his hands felt like cold, deadweights in Morgan's own but he promised himself that he would see it out to the end just so that Morgan could have his little fun. And so he stepped when Morgan said step, turned when Morgan said turn, and when Morgan quickly slid his fingers behind his ears and confidently brought their lips together there was nothing more or less that Reid could do. Unaffected by the display of emotion above, his feet continued to stumble and trip to the music as Reid's lips stumbled against Morgan's until suddenly he had to break away.

The two men stood with their arms still crooked haphazardly around each other. All they could do was laugh around unplanned sentences at how ridiculous the whole situation was. When Morgan reached out to Reid again he was met with a surprisingly eager pair of lips pressed against his own with a clumsy anxiety. The idea of love hadn't crossed either man's mind. The idea of stumbling through dim lamplight interlocked in an uncomfortably tight embrace just felt right.

But then their playful pecks and klutzy kisses took on a singularly dark edge. For the first time in his life Reid felt as if he had lost complete control of his body. His hands kneaded and spread the fabric of Morgan's white button up shirt. His morality, paranoia, and logic fled in fear as his devilishly traitorous hands even went lower than that and tugged aimlessly at Morgan's black belt. The alcohol on Morgan's tongue made Reid's stomach churn in disgust but he couldn't care less. He just wanted Morgan closer and Morgan, surprised but delighted, was willing to comply with the new sensation. So, without hesitation, he let his hand wander over to Reid's thigh but as soon as he did the young genius jumped and shoved himself away.

"Sorry, I can't…I, I mean it's not that I don't want to but- holy cow!" Reid dropped one hand on his hip and ran the other through his hair. Morgan found the look of utter confusion, anger, and exhilaration on the man's flushed face endearing but beautifully wizening, too. In that moment he realized that he wasn't just attracted to the young man: he felt oddly humbled by him, too. Morgan raised his hands in respect and fixed Reid with an uncharacteristically honest gaze. "Hey, hey. It's okay. You did nothing wrong."

"I know that. It's just that I want it but I've only ever done something like this once before." This surprised Morgan and he wanted to hear all about Reid's experience but he realized that it wasn't the right time. Instead he took Reid's hand and kissed the man's cold fingers before covering them with his other hand.

"You sleep well, pretty boy."

"You, too," Reid said in the same serious tone.

"How can I not after having met someone like you?"

Reid wanted to curse himself for not giving in to his impulse and kissing the man again. He didn't care if it was sloppy and potentially meaningless. He just wanted it. Besides, he thought as he watched Morgan accidentally ram his shin into the coffee table where Reid's papers were still spread out, such an unthinkable possibility for romantic shenanigans may never happen between them again.

Morgan was reading the newspaper spread over Reid's files, his eyes dark with concentration. Reid remembered the headline from that edition 'Metairie Man Put On Display in Warehouse– Scandalous Records Exposed!' There had been only the faintest hint of a connection between the man, Jim Spurrier, and the Company. Reid had pursued the possibility like a bloodhound, even going so far as to manipulate the NOPD into granting him restricted access to the case.

"You heard about that?" Reid asked after a jaw-burning yawn. Morgan's eyes remained riveted on the paper.

"Spurrier…not a lot…" he mumbled, "the guy was stabbed and hung. Wonder why…"

"Right," Reid said slowly. Morgan continued to read the paper, his eyes roaming greedily over the fresh black print until Reid walked over and stuffed it into his bag along with the rest of his papers. "It's really grim stuff, I don't know why I read it." For a second Reid thought that Morgan wasn't going to respond but the man shook himself out of whatever reverie had taken over him and kissed him again.

"See? That right there is nightmare fodder," he gestured at the scowling satchel which had swallowed the newspaper like a hungry beast, "Listen, if you do have any bad dreams tonight…my rooms the first one on the left at the top of the stairs."

He winked, turned on his heels, and climbed slowly up the stairs. Reid noticed that the dark mood had taken over him again for his eyes had begun to brood and a frown had slipped over his wonderfully soft lips.

xXxXxX

Later that night Reid untangled his limbs from the damp sheets and wriggled, with some disappointment, out of Morgan's tired hold. A thought had woken him and, after simmering for a while in doubt, it drove a hook through his stomach and tugged him downstairs. His bare feet sounded so loud against the cold hardwood floor and it wasn't until he sat down on the couch in the dark that he realized that he must have ran his toes into something at least three times. The dimmed light from his laptop spit a blinding light into his retinas and shot spears through his head but still he navigated through file after government file until he found the one on Jim Spurrier's death and the rules for the following media coverage. Suddenly his heart dropped in horror and his hands went limp over the keyboard.

The media hadn't been allowed to report on the specifics of the murder scene. Not even the journalists had known that Spurrier had been hung. Reid thought back to the moment in the hotel where he had seen Morgan talking with Percival and Jordan.

"Spurrier…not a lot…the guy was stabbed and hung. Wonder why…"

Morgan had been at the crime scene before the journalists and the response team. Morgan was close to Percival. Morgan used an alter ego. Reid cursed and stood up.

Morgan was a part of the Company.