This chapter is dedicated to criminalXXXmindsXXXfreak, whose wonderful story "Fractured Hearts and Lullabies" inspired it. Thanks Sweetie for being my muse...

Chapter Ten

It was past midnight when Morgan knocked on the motel door. A middle-aged man answered, "Agent Morgan?"

"Where is he?"

The man stepped aside, and gestured toward the bathroom. Morgan instinctively put his hand on his gun, and walked through the room. The bed was rumpled, pillows thrown to the floor. The TV blared a late-night news update: two convicts escaped from Tennessee, believed headed east. A bottle of Scotch half-empty on the desk, two glasses.

"I found your card in his wallet, I didn't know who to call . . . "

"Reid?" The light in the bathroom blared down on the figure huddled between the toilet and the tub. He was nude. His tousled hair covered his face, his arms wrapped tightly around his drawn up legs. His head was resting on his knees. He was completely still. The empty vial was on the floor, the syringe sat on the closed toilet seat. "Spencer?"

"What did you do?" Morgan heard himself yell, as he pulled Reid's head up to look in his face. The eyes were half-closed, non-focusing. Reid was breathing through his mouth. Morgan heard the breaths come fast and shallow. He pried open Reid's mouth and saw that his tongue was gray. Oh God. "REID!"

Morgan sensed the man standing behind him, watching. "How long has he been like this?" he demanded.

"I don't know. . . "

"HOW LONG!" shouted Morgan.

"Uh, forty-five minutes, maybe. He shut himself in here. I didn't know he was doing drugs."

"And you didn't call 911." It wasn't a question, but a statement that Morgan spat with disgust.

Then Morgan realized that calling for help would mean Reid would lose his job. It would be on record. He felt for a pulse – fast, irregular. He could try one thing before making that call himself. He reached into the tub and turned the faucet full on cold. He lifted Reid's limp body and dragged him into the tub, then peeled off his own shirt and turned on the shower. "Come on Baby Boy. Reid!"

After fifteen agonizing seconds, Reid gasped softly and stirred, turning his head away from the cold blast of the water. Morgan sat watching him, waiting, although he wasn't sure what for. After five minutes he took Reid's jaw in his big hand, "Open your mouth Reid," and tipped the chin upward. The tongue was pink. Reid, screwing up his features, wrenched his chin out of the hand that held it. "Fuck you," he muttered.

"Uh, I'm going to take off now, looks like he's okay," said the man, still gawking from the doorway. Morgan was on his feet in a flash, throwing him out of the bathroom and pinning him against the adjacent wall.

"Why was he here?"

"What?"

"You know him HOW?"

"I don't! I uh . . . I picked him up. I didn't know he was a fucking Fed!"

"In a bar?"

"On the street."

"WHAT?" Then he hissed into the man's face, "You aren't too bright are you?"

The man trembled as Morgan held him to the wall, while Morgan let the words sink in. "What did you do to him? Did you use protection?" Morgan was screaming into his face now.

"Yes! We did! Please, I didn't hurt him!"

"Was there money exchanged here?"

"Uh . . . not yet." The man couldn't meet Morgan's piercing glare. "Look, I didn't have to call you," he whined, "I could have just left him here. . ."

Morgan threw him into out into the room, and the man tripped against the corner of a bed and fell, catching himself and getting to his feet, moving fast. He grabbed his keys and wallet off the desk as he made his way frantically toward the door. Morgan threw his shirt at him. "Go home to your wife! I should take you in, Asshole!"

The man turned at the door, panting with fear and exertion, clutching his shirt to his chest. "For what?" The safe distance now allowed him to use a cocky tone, "I didn't pay him yet, you can't prove I would have. And no one made him get in my car! It was his idea!"

Morgan started toward him, and the man fumbled with the door handle, crazy with fright, and stumbled out into the night. Morgan stood for a moment, staring after him at the half-open door. He was numb with what he had just heard. Reid, selling himself? WHY for God's sake? Morgan looked around, the nightstands, the floor, and found two empty condom wrappers. He glanced into a wastebasket and saw the used rubbers. He breathed out, relieved.

He ran back to the bathroom. Leaning into the tub he turned off the water. Reid was shivering now, but awake. He hadn't bothered to remove himself from the stream of cold water pounding down upon him. His forehead lay against the tile, his eyes staring. But his breathing was deep and even now.

"Reid," Morgan whispered, touching his shoulder tentatively. Unlike the usual Reid, he didn't jump at the touch; he didn't seem to register it. The man who had always shied away from touch, even reluctant to shake hands with a stranger, had allowed a stranger to . . . Morgan shook the thought from his head. He grabbed a handful of towels and covered Reid. Then he went in search of his clothes.

~~/~~

Back at Reid's apartment, Morgan looked at Reid curled into the corner of his sofa, clutching a blanket. Reid hadn't spoken, not when Morgan dried his body, not when he helped him step into his boxers and trousers, not when he buttoned his shirt. He hadn't fought either. Now he merely cooperated, drank the water Morgan offered, took the blanket when Morgan had brought it, and never met Morgan's eyes. It was as if there was nothing left in him to fight with. Morgan's heart was in his throat throughout, and now he found himself also speechless. He felt a slow-growing burn behind his eyes that he had been fighting since he had loaded Reid into his car.

Now he sat on the coffee table and covered Reid's hand with is own. "You scared me, Man," he said. Reid didn't flinch. He didn't ask questions, already understanding that Reid was incapable of answering them. After several minutes passed, he walked to the chair opposite where Reid had tossed his jacket as they came in. Without caring that Reid might be watching, he dug his cell phone out of a pocket. He walked into the spare room and closed the door.

He flipped open the phone and with shaking fingers he punched in "E. T. H. . ." The name "Ethan Hunter" came up. Morgan breathed in deeply, steeling himself, and he pressed SEND.

~~/~~

Morgan had helped Reid into his bed at some point during the night. He was glad that it was early Saturday, and he prayed that they wouldn't be called in. He didn't know what he was going to say to Hotch. Reid was breathing evenly, eyes closed, the minute he lay his head on the pillow. Morgan sat on the edge of the bed and gingerly placed his hand on Reid's back. "Don't do this to me again."

On the way out of the bedroom he stopped in Reid's bathroom to wash his face, wanting a splash of cool water to rinse away the stress of the day. He nearly stepped on the vials as he flipped on the light. Dozens of them, scattered over the rug, having been dumped from a shoebox. A box of syringes sat on the floor beside them. Morgan let his legs bend, and his back slide down the wall, and sat on the floor. His eyes flitted over the vials – so many little bottles, all full, so many potential highs. Spencer's hoard. Morgan thought about dumping them, outside, far away, where Reid couldn't find them. But he knew that quitting fast now could kill him. Morgan put his hand over his eyes and cried.

~~/~~

Morgan slept fitfully on the sofa. He kept looking for the clock to say 7:00 a.m., thinking that if he waiting that long he would be able to find a grocery store open and get Reid some decent food in his refrigerator. At 7:04 he rose and grabbed his jacket.

Four hours later he stood before the kitchen counter, stirring eggs with a fork. Even while it was expected, the knock on the door startled him enough that he dropped the fork, flipping it onto the floor. "Damn." He toweled his hands dry as he crossed the hall to the door.

Ethan stood leaning against the door frame. He didn't say a word when Morgan opened the door, but smiled slowly and just as slowly stood straight. He was not what Morgan imagined. He was as tall as Reid, lean but well-muscled. He was dark, a full beard covering the lower part of his face. Smooth skin, full lips, large deep eyes. He was nearly as pretty as Reid, Morgan thought wryly. Other than that, he looked too rugged to be a pianist. He put out his hand, "Derrick?"

But Ethan moved like he was all man. He swaggered as if he had been a college athlete. He strode into the living room and collapsed onto the chair on top of Reid's jacket, legs sprawled, arms resting on the arms of the chair as if he sat in it every day of his life. "Long flight," he said to Morgan, as if Morgan would automatically empathize.

Morgan cleared his throat. "Uh. . .thanks for coming. I'm making breakfast. You eat?"

"Sure, I could use something." Ethan looked around then. "You were here all night?"

"I didn't want to leave him." Morgan said, and headed into the kitchen. He made some large omelets with mushrooms, cheese and onions, and poured orange juice. The smell of coffee brewing lightened his mood a bit. He glanced at Ethan from time to time, still sitting in the chair, his head back, resting. He hadn't asked about Reid, noted Morgan.

"Food's on," announced Morgan, and set two plates on the table. He put Reid's omelet in the warmed oven to keep. Ethan shed his jacket on top of Reid's, and shuffled casually into the kitchen.

"Thanks for this," he said, and sat down. He picked up his fork, took a mouthful, chewed it slowly and then asked, "Why did you call me?"

"You're his . . . friend. I don't know how to reach him. He's in trouble, Man. I thought you'd have some ideas."

"And you couldn't ask me for ideas over the phone?"

Morgan felt uneasy, perturbed that Ethan would imply that it was a chore to come to Reid's assistance. "He needs a friend here."

"You aren't his friend? He tells me you are."

Morgan looked up, surprised. Of course, he would think that Reid would consider him a friend, but he was somehow surprised that Reid had spoken of him in those terms to Ethan. Morgan put down his fork and leaned into the table."Look, I need help here. He won't talk, won't listen. He fights. I picked him up at a hotel room last night, where he had taken a john."

"A what?" Ethan stopped eating.

"You heard me. He picked up a . . .guy somewhere. Then he shot up in the room, and the scared the shit out of the jerk."

"How do you know this was. . . uh," Ethan chuckled, "a paid arrangement?"

"The guy told me."

Ethan's smile faded. He looked back down to work on his eggs.

"He was unconscious when I got there. His color was gray. He was fading. I threw him under the shower. I would have called an ambulance in another five."

"What did he have to say about it?"

"Not a word."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, not a word."

Ethan finished his omelet and sat back, sipping his coffee. Morgan was growing impatient with the laissez-faire demeanor. He'd surely made a mistake to call Ethan. He'd done it impetuously, he should have known his first instincts were right, that this "old friend" didn't have Reid's best interests at heart.

"What happened yesterday?" Ethan asked suddenly.

"What?"

"What happened before he ended up on the street soliciting?"

Morgan hesitated to give away too much, suspicious now of Ethan's motives. But this was the only option he had, to find a way to Reid's mind and a clue how this self-destructive spree had begun. And perhaps a way to help him end it.

"He had an argument, with a co-worker." Morgan didn't mention that it was the first of two arguments, the second being with Morgan himself.

"About what?"

"About his godson. About . . being allowed access to his godson."

'What do you mean?" Ethan trained the dark eyes on Morgan's.

"J.J. felt that in Reid's current condition he isn't . . . he shouldn't be taking care of Henry. Reid flipped."

Ethan cleared his throat, and looked at Morgan for a long minute, and then he set his cup down abruptly. He stood and said, "Excuse me," and disappeared down the hallway.

Morgan gave it five minutes before moving to stand at the end of the hallway, listening. He heard nothing. He slowly crept down toward Reid's open door, and looked in. Ethan sat on the bed, his arms wrapped around Reid as if he were a long lost child, holding him tightly to his chest, rocking him. Ethan's lips murmured into his ear, soothing. And much to Morgan's amazement, tears rolled down the man's face into his beard.