Author's note: I hate to give away any spoilers, since presumably you guys read this before reading the chapter, but what follows after JJ mentioning closing her eyes, is all a dream. When she wakes up to Morgan shaking her, that's back to reality. When I read it over, certain parts of the dream sequence seemed confusing, like you weren't sure which was reality or a dream. I hate to so predictably toss in a dream sequence, but it seemed to fit; like the Morgan having lunch thing was getting to her THAT much. Anyway, review and tell me what you think! Thank you! xoxo

His breathing sounds relaxed to me, like he's content. Why shouldn't he be? Everything in his life is going perfectly, in his mind. There's absolutely no reason why he shouldn't be sleeping peacefully tonight, nuzzled against my arm, his hand slung over his stomach. I'm not really sure why when he asked to come over tonight, that I didn't say no; I'm laying here right now, in the darkness of my bedroom with no lights on, wondering why I was missing the strength to decline his offer. I had, however, spent the movie night sulking beside him, coddling the pillow rather than him. We didn't even kiss. He briefly leaned forward and pecked my cheek; I followed it with a quick half-smile, that looked more cocky more than swooned. I think he could tell, but he didn't ask. He did ask, though, to sleep over. "It's really late, JJ, and I'm too tired to drive," he told me. "I've slept over before. Would you mind?" he asked with this pleasant smile like he just knew I'd give in. Normally, I would have; I would have enjoyed his body heat mixed with mine, the softness of his breath landing on my arm or neck, or the sound of his heart beat steady in his chest. But tonight, I welcomed him in my bed with hatred and such coldness; I'm surprised he hadn't asked if there's a draft.

I'm twirling at the frays of my comforter, wondering why he's getting such a good night's rest and I'm laying here pissed off. My blood is boiling, like a pot of water filling with bubbles swimming their way to the surface; my head is throbbing; not physically, but mentally, cramming it full with thoughts and images of where Morgan was hours before he came over to see me. The three or four hours he had between arriving home from the case and coming over here. I'm sure he wasn't alone. I imagine he even had gotten lucky. Maybe that's why he didn't ask me for sex tonight. On a normal occasion, he'd at least ask once, in a subtle way. He'd nuzzle my neck, tickle my shoulders with kisses, kiss me on the lips just once teasingly and say, "You sure you don't want to?" willingly. I'd always say no, that I wanted to wait. But tonight, he followed me upstairs without a word; with the exclusion of him, once settled in my bed, whispering in my ear, "Goodnight", Oh wait, he did say this beforehand: "This is how it's going to be when we're married," then he said, "Goodnight."

I'm bitter. I'm so bitter. All through the case I acted appropriately, neither one of us discussing our relationship for a blink of a second. But that wasn't so strange. When on duty, we treated each other like nothing but coworkers, solving a murder case. Though the case had given me ample time to distract myself, inside I was a furious dog with it's cage rattled and toyed with. Now laying here, I feel dirty. I roll over, and he stirs in his sleep. I fight hard not to ride my leg hard into his. He stirs a little more, makes a soft noise and crawls over to me. He spoons his arm around me and squeezes me for a second, like he wants to squish me. His face falls into my hair and he releases a sigh, then his breathing returns to a steady one, and I know he's back to sleep.

His arm feels wrong around me. I shouldn't have let him stay. Had he been in this position with that girl from lunch a few hours ago? I close my eyes. I can't fall asleep. I'm too filled with anger to close my eyes. I don't want to, but I see it: Morgan with a woman, sitting at a bar. She approaches him. And he can't say no. And besides, he's not getting it from me, so where else is he supposed to go? He brings her back to his place, and as he holds her hand leading her through his house, I spot the little things, the small but familiar surroundings that make Morgan's place feel like home. The photos on the mantel, the almost always unlit fireplace with clean firewood, the white leather sofas, and they're passing through it all. He takes her to his bedroom, leans her against the wall. He kisses her. Long and slow, like he knows I can see; like he's deliberately sticking me with a knife. He touches her thigh, she raises it higher so he can get a better feel. I feel sick even picturing it. It feels so wrong. It is wrong. What right does he have? She kisses his neck, just like I do; that special way I kiss his neck, the special way I make him feel. He says to her, "You do it just right. No one's ever made me feel like this just by kissing my neck," like he's said to me. She grins, pleased with herself. I feel like I got kneed in the gut. He wraps his arms around her appreciatively and brings her onto his lap, until she lands in perfect position. "You don't have a girlfriend?" she'd ask him, when she's not preoccupied by his tongue in her mouth. He'd smile cockily, tilt his head and say, "Does it matter?" No, it doesn't. Because he can't commit. Because he's a one-night-stand only kind of guy. I'm not worth the commitment.

Before my daydreaming gets me literally sick to my stomach, I force my way out of bed. I can't handle quiet; I can't stir silently inside, allowing my pot of water to boil over. I'm not sure what I'm going to say, or if I even have any right not to trust him, but I can't stand his arm around me anymore. It doesn't bring me comfort like it used to, it brings me sickness and heartache. He pops up immediately at my jumping out of bed, and sits up. "What happened?" he asks groggily, rubbing his eyes.

I'm pacing, not sure how to make myself stop. "Am I making a mistake?" I ask, to no one in particular. "God, I'm making a mistake."

He flicks on the light in the lamp beside his side of the bed. "What?" he checks his watch on his wrist. "It's one AM, JJ, what's the matter?"

"I'm making a mistake," I repeat, my breath quickening. He gets out of bed and holds my shoulders, trying to keep me still.

"What mistake? What are you talking about?" he's asking me calmly, like I'm a victim and he's trying to recall a memory. I can't look him in the eye. I can't see him look at me that way, and think he's looked at another woman that way too.

"We can't get married," I blurt out, and somehow untangle myself from the weight of his hold on me. I sit on my bed. "I can't marry you."

He stands there and stares, for a long while. I think he's frozen. I think he's became a statue, and I get the urge to jump up and wave my hand in front of his face, make sure he's still real. "I don't know what I did." he finally says, and sits down on the bed beside me. "I tried to do everything right, I thought since we're engaged now... I didn't even ask you for sex."

"Oh wow, you're actually acting like a decent person," I lean forward, faking grabbing something, and then fake handing it to him. "Here's your award. Congratulations."

He stares at me, and his look is so far away and unrecognizable I'm not sure if he's going to slap me or shake me. He keeps his hands contained on his lap. "Did you take something?" he asks me, all serious.

"No, I didn't take something," I say snappishly. "I'm mad at you."

"No kidding," he says.

"You're not even going to ask why?" I fold my arms, and I'm trying to keep my voice lowered. It isn't until right now that I realize that Henry is sleeping down the hall and could probably hear me pretty well if I start yelling.

"I figured you're going to tell me," he says casually. Like I hadn't just said, "I can't marry you".

I stare hard at him, squinting, trying to piece it together. "You don't care, do you?" I ask him, leaning forward, trying to get a better picture of him. I'm trying to see anything in his eyes; fear of losing me, confusion from the fight, anything; all I see is dullness. He's bored. "You really don't give a shit."

"I'd give a shit if it wasn't," he checks his watch again. "One thirty in the morning."

I jolt up, furious, and throw the comforter at him. "Go to bed then," I say, through gritted teeth, my cheeks burning hot. "I hope you sleep so fucking well."

He doesn't sit up, but he leans forward like he's going to. "Come on, JJ!" he calls out to me.

"Go to bed!" I yell back, and slam my bedroom door. I pace in my kitchen. I pace in the hallway. I pace in the living room. I pace in my backyard. I start talking to myself; I start to cry in the bathroom. It feels like hours have passed and Morgan hasn't come down to check on me. I go back upstairs, creep into the bedroom, and he's asleep. Sleeping possibly more comfortable than when I was in the bed with him. I walk up to him just to be sure. He's making this soft snoring noise that he makes. He couldn't sleep any deeper than if he was dead.

Something stiff and hard is on my side of the bed, and I tug at the comforter to take a peek. All I see is something dark, something I can't make out without a light on. I pull the comforter down more. A heap of dark hair pops up from the comforter, instinctively touches Morgan's cheek. "Baby, what is it?" and smiles at him. I want to scream, I want to kill him. Maybe I would, if I hadn't been flashed into reality by something shaking me.

"God, are you alright? JJ, you're breathing so heavy," Morgan tells me, his hand on my side, shaking me softer the more I come to. "Were you dreaming?" his voice sounds groggy and sleepy, but molded with concern. Once I raise my head and blink around the room, he puts his head back down on the pillow.

"I was dreaming," I admit, panting.

"Yeah," he says with a short laugh. "I'd say it was pretty scary." and starts stroking the back of my head. He tries to pull me down with him; I won't take his hand.

"Get up," I say slowly, sitting up. "Get up. We need to talk."

I imagine this going on just like my dream. But to be sure, I grab flesh on my arm and pinch. I cry out and curse it hurts so bad. He's staring at me now, sitting up, turning the light on. Though it went so horribly in my dream, I say the same words: "We can't get married," I breathe in and repeat, "I can't marry you."

For a second, he's like dream Morgan, reacting like he's unconscious. But then he blinks and sadness fills his eyes, and he looks like he's being drenched of the security and happiness he had when he was sleeping next to me. He looks so sad I almost feel like taking it all back.

"You... why?" he touches the fabric of my comforter. "Is it because I slept over? I didn't try anything, JJ, I swear-"

"God no, it's not because of that," I crawl back into bed, sitting beside him. "It's that I didn't tell you what Emily told me a couple of days ago."

He raises his eyebrows suspiciously. "Emily? What did she tell you?" he already looks mad at her, and I feel bad bringing her into our problems. I'll have to remind to apologize for it later.

"She told me that she saw you out with another woman the other day,"

He sighs. "I never went out-"

"To lunch?"

He looks away, and I can see he remembers it now. "JJ, how are we supposed to get married if you can't trust me?" he looks extremely hurt, but not guilt-ridden. I'm not a profiler, but I can see, clear as day, that he's not feeling bad about anything he's done. He feels bad because he's got a fiance that doesn't trust him. My heart aches everytime it beats in my chest.

I raise my shoulders, expecting myself to say something that'll fix everything, I drop them and say, "I don't know," I can't stop the words from coming out; I can't stop myself from realizing that they're true. "I don't trust you. I don't. You never stay with one woman and that's a fact, everyone knows it. I keep expecting you to bail out."

"Dammit JJ, I'm not going to bail out," he's getting angry now. "You never believe me."

"So why didn't you tell me about lunch with this woman?" I don't want to know. I don't know what's scaring me more; hearing that he's seeing women on the side, or that I'm wrong not to trust him and now I just lost him for good. I wish I could close my ears and shut my eyes like I did as a kid when my parents would fight.

"It was nothing," he sighs heavily, but he won't touch me. "It's nothing, really. I would have told you, but it wasn't anything you needed to know. Believe me."

I feel so overcome by one single emotion. One single sentence that is so harmful to our future marriage that it hurts me to even say it. "I don't believe you."

"Ever? Or just now?"

I inhale, "I don't think I can ever one-hundred percent believe you," I admit. I feel tears fill my eyes, because it's so true, as much as I wish it wasn't. "Considering your past, I don't think I can."

His eyes droop like they're getting too heavy to hold up, and he resembles a beautiful painting soaking wet and dripping colors. He's only dripping in black and white, lifelessly; the beauty and life getting sucked out of him. "JJ, I swear, nothing happened," he touches my hand, but his touch feels cold and harsh. "I've done a lot of shitty things in my life. Things I'd do over, things I wish I'd never done. But there are two things I've never done to a woman. I've never hit one, and I've never cheated on one."

My heart feels full. I want to say I'm sorry, but the words won't come out. I want to kick myself for being so stubborn. I want to kick myself for ruining the good thing I was too dumb not to appreciate. "I'm s-"

"You don't have to say it," he crawls out from under the comforter and walks to my bedroom door. "It's not your fault you don't trust me. It's mine."

Now I'm frozen, reacting unconsciously, sitting in my bed. I hug my arms; I'm freezing. He's leaving. "I thought you were too tired to drive?" I say to him, my tears beginning to spill over and down my face. I don't think he can see them from that far away.

"I'm awake now." he says, and I can hear him downstairs gathering his boots and his keys, and the front door shuts.

The tea kettle roars in my kitchen. Henry is still asleep, but I'm preparing breakfast for him anyway. On nights where Morgan sleeps over, he usually eats breakfast with me. But today, there's extra bacon and eggs, and no one to share them with. The kettle whistles to me, getting louder it seems, until I shut it off and it settles down. The front door swings open and I whirl around, and it's Morgan. He's in his jeans and boots and puffy coat and he looks like he's freezing. I grab him an extra cup, as he starts taking his coat off.

"I have tea made," I tell him. I begin preparing him a plate, even though he never said he was staying. It gives me something to do besides staring at him, like he is doing to me.

"I went to lunch the other day with Mrs. Cleveland," he informs me. I almost drop the plate I'm so surprised. The tea and food can wait, I need to know more. Thinking back, Mrs. Cleveland was pretty young-looking. "I'm not sure what Emily thought she saw, but we were just talking. I invited her out with me. It wasn't my idea to eat at a diner, but she said she wanted the meeting to be cival. She knows I helped put Michael away. Given what happened, she thought I was trying to get her on something."

I pull out a chair and sit down. For a second, I can forget how horrible I was to him earlier. "Why did you want to talk to her?"

"For sex, of course," he tells me, bitterly. I look down, ashamed. He sighs and reluctantly pulls out the chair beside me and sits down. "Because something's been going on. I didn't want to tell you because everything's been going great. Or it was going great. At the time, it was. All I wanted was for you to relax and plan the wedding, I didn't want you getting caught up in everything again," he sighs and fiddles with the table cloth absentmindedly. "I thought if more bad things happened, the more you'd deter from wanting a family with me."

"Bad things? What bad things?" I touch his hand, to bring him back to focus. "What's going on?"

"Michael's brother contacted me recently," he says. "Half-brother, actually. Mother's son with a different father."

"Why did he contact you? How did he contact you?" I'm so confused I just blurt out, "What?"

"He apparently got into great terms with Michael after Reid left the family. Michael's half-brother, Jason, was - let's say - Reid's replacement. Jason became Michael's buddy, just like Reid was."

"What does Jason want with you?" I shift in my seat. For right now, things feel semi-normal. It's almost easy to get up from my chair, sit on his lap and feel myself getting tangled in his embrace. But I know subconsciously that if I tried that, he'd nudge me away.

"To put it lightly, he's not happy Michael's in prison," he shrugs halfheartedly. "He's said some things to me, but I'm not too concerned. I got Hotch involved, to help me out. We can't do anything about it per se, because as far as I know, he's never committed a crime."

"From a profiler's perspective, do you think he's capable of what Michael's done?" I ask him.

"I haven't spoken to him long enough to say officially, but yeah, I think he has it in him." he leans forward, like he can immediately feel my body tense. He touches my hand, pulls it away from my other one and slips his fingers through. His hand feels nice and warm in mine, and I think right now's a good time to cry and say I'm sorry, but I'm too frozen to speak. "I didn't want to bring you into this. I got you into so much chaos with Michael, and all I wanted was for us to have a normal life."

I nod slowly, understandably. "This is why, if we have a child together," I pretend like the argument we're in the midst of is temporarily nonexistent. "I can't work at the BAU anymore. It's too dangerous. Too time-consuming, too."

He nods. "I know," he lets go of my hand and sinks back into his chair. "I said that when you thought you were pregnant with Will's kid."

I remember. Taking the pregnancy test, believing I was expecting. Wanting to be expecting. I want to be happy. I want to be married and pregnant, and not having to worry about serial killers. I want to feel safe, because I haven't in so long. "What has Jason said to you?" I ask.

"Nothing to worry about," he shrugs again. "I'm handling it."

"I can handle it, too," I assure him.

"Not this time," he shakes his head at rapid speed. "I've got it under control. Hotch is helping too. There's no way if this Jason kid is up to something, that we won't catch him."

I don't know what to say. I guess I have no choice but to go along with it. "Okay," I say quietly. "I have breakfast made. There's tons, if you're hungry."

"I went to a diner across town that opened real early, I ate there," he says. I nod and start preparing myself a plate. I want to cry. Stuffing an excessive amount of eggs onto my plate is the only thing that's keeping actual tears from falling.

"But I could eat more," he says behind me. "If there's really a lot left over."

I smile, plopping the food down much more cheerfully, knowing he at least doesn't hate me to the extent that he refuses to stay. "Morgan, I have to say this-"

"You don't," he says, cutting me off. I'm startled when I feel his arms circle around my waist and he pulls me close. I put my head back and smile. "I get that the little things I'd say at work about girls and about past relationships-"

"You've had relationships?" I say jokingly.

He smirks and nibbles my earlobe. "You're too much," he says seductively, hissing in my ear. I remind myself that Henry cannot hear me moan, as much as I want to. "Maybe we shouldn't get married."

I make a whining noise. "I didn't mean that." I whisper to him.

He kisses my neck. "I hoped you didn't," he says, his voice muffled over my skin. "It damn near killed me hearing you say that."

I saw it, when I told him. I put my head back and reach my hand backward, scraping my nails down his neck. "I'm sorry," I say softly, my breath hard to catch.

He sucks lightly on my neck, reaching my collarbone. I let out a sound, then slam my mouth closed. I hope Henry didn't hear me. I don't think so, because his bedroom is upstairs. Morgan pulls his face away from my neck and I can feel him staring at me. I turn around to face him. "I've never heard you make a noise like that before," he says.

"I've made noises before when we've kissed," I tell him, pulling my arms around his back. "I'm sure I have."

"Not like that," he shakes his head, starry-eyed and appearing very turned on. I meet his eyes with a strong gaze.

"Well I'm saving my best for our first night," I say teasingly, using my best sex kitten voice. He looks almost pitiful, like my teasing him is too much. "You can wait," I tell him. "You'll be glad we waited."

"It might kill me first." he insists, pouting pathetically. I laugh. I think I can hear something in the distance, something I can't register.

"Do you hear that?-" I ask him, and a loud clinking sound like kitchenware wrestling erupts our embrace, along with Morgan falling over. There's a man, appearing behind Morgan's frame after hitting him over the head with a pan, staring down at him. I scream. What's that going to do? My immediate thought is Henry. I'm not sure if I should run upstairs and hold him, or act like there's no child here, so he won't think to go upstairs.

Morgan's on the floor holding his head, that's pounding in his hand. "Shit," Morgan says under his breath, then charges his boot hard into the man's leg. He drops the pan and falls to the floor. "JJ, get out of here. Seriously. I've got this."

I know I should get Henry and leave, but Morgan doesn't have his gun attached to his hip. Mine is upstairs. Locked. The man pulls out a knife, grabbing Morgan's wrist. It's clean skin and not a single mark on them, but as the man - who I assume is Jason - hovers over his wrist threateningly, with it's sharp glistening blade, I react. Morgan screams at me not to, but I do. I charge forward, and the sunlight outside dances off of the blade and there's so much noise around me, that I don't even know what my charging is going to do. I feel like I'm jumping forward with my eyes closed, falling. All I can hear is Morgan yelling something - don't! Just go! - and I see blood; I'm not even sure who's blood it is. It may even be mine.