*Thank you to reviewers!*
Morgan grasped his friend's shoulder, shaking hard. "Reid," he said, "You have to wake up."
Reid rolled over and buried his head in the pillow.
"I'm serious, Reid. Get up."
Reid didn't respond, but just continued to snore. Morgan glanced at the clock; it was nine in the morning.
"Reid, we've got a lot to do today." Morgan knew that he could get called on a case at any minute; he wanted to at least make sure that Reid had food in his house. He felt like he somehow owed it to him. "We can go back to the office, too," Morgan said, "That might help you remember a bit."
Reid's eyes barely flicked open. "What office?" he muttered.
"The BAU office," Morgan replied..
"What's the BAU?" Reid asked. Morgan froze, frowning. "Reid," he began. He pointed to himself. "It's Morgan."
"What's a Morgan?" Reid mumbled into the pillow.
Morgan grabbed Reid's arm and pulled him up. "Stop playing games, man!" he hissed angrily.
Reid tried to pull his arm away. "Where am I?" he asked, his pupils dilating in fear.
"You're home!" Morgan felt panic rising in his stomach. "You're in your bed!"
"But I—oh," Reid stopped speaking as realization dawned on his face. Then he said, "Derek Morgan."
Morgan nodded slowly. "What happened?" he asked, as Reid sat up.
"You startled me," he muttered. "It's all confused after I wake up. When did I get home?"
"Yesterday," Morgan said, "Remember?"
Reid was silent for a moment, thinking. Then he nodded. "Right," he said, "With the drugs."
Morgan nodded slowly.
"I'm sorry," Reid mumbled, "It's just all screwed up again. My head, I mean." He put his face in his hands. "It's just—I'm all fucked up."
"You'll feel better after you have some coffee," Morgan said with determination, helping the young man out of bed.
"Okay," Reid muttered, "Thanks, Derek." Morgan frowned at the young man as he got to his feet. He wondered how much he actually remembered, and how much he was pretending to remember—Reid had never called him "Derek" before now.
They sat in silence eating their breakfast; which consisted of pudding cups and cookies, since Reid apparently didn't have anything else. Morgan couldn't help but glance at the door every few moments. Hotch had called him to notify him that there had been no sign of Tucker since the murder last night. Morgan had barely slept; he was too paranoid, worried that at any moment the brown haired youth would burst through the door.
"You look worried," Reid said.
"No, I'm not," Morgan said quickly. "I just had a tough night, you know."
Reid looked concerned. "Where did you sleep?" he asked.
"One the couch."
"Was it uncomfortable?" Reid asked sharply.
Morgan shook his head. "I was fine," he said.
"You could sleep in my bed, with me," Reid offered.
Morgan raised his eyebrows, fighting back a laugh.
"Would that be weird?" Reid asked, as if this had only just occurred to him.
Morgan nodded. "Yeah, kind of."
"S-sorry," Reid muttered, looking embarrassed. "But me and my brother would sleep in the same bed sometimes, that's why I thought of it."
Morgan frowned. "You mean you and Tucker."
Reid nodded. "Yeah," he said, extending his spoon into the pudding cup.
"Tucker isn't your brother, Reid," Morgan reminded him.
The spoon stopped. He was silent for a long moment. "I know!" he said eventually. "I misspoke, that's all."
Morgan folded his arms and leaned across the table. "Hey," he said, "Cut this out. You can trust me. If you don't remember something, or you're confused, just tell me and we'll get it sorted out. You don't need to pretend."
Reid finished his pudding cup in silence. "It's just in the mornings," he said eventually, "It takes awhile for it all to come back."
Morgan nodded. "Of course," he said. After breakfast, Reid went to take a shower, so Morgan called Hotch.
"Any news?" Morgan asked quickly.
"Nothing," Hotch replied darkly. "We can't find him. Garcia thinks she's beginning to narrow down his identity, though."
"That's good," Morgan said.
"How's Reid?" Hotch asked.
Morgan bit his lip. "He's alright," he said. "He wants to remember. And he wants us to think he remembers. He's still pretty confused, though. He didn't even know who I was when he first woke up. He says that he can't remember very well in the mornings."
"That's probably common with retrograde amnesia," Hotch said, although the other man still sounded worried.. "I'm sure he'll be fine eventually."
"Right," Morgan muttered, "Eventually."
Hotch shut the phone, pocketing it, then turned back to the case file. He was utterly bewildered. It didn't make any sense; when did Tucker go from the friendly, cautious youth who he had first met to a violent killer who stabbed teenagers with medical scalpels? He put his head in his hands. He just wanted this case to be over, so that they could all get back to their lives.
His phone buzzed, so he took it out again, glancing at the caller ID. "What have you got, Garcia?" he asked.
"Well," she said, sounding surprisingly cheerful considering the circumstances, "I've got an identity, for starters."
Hotch raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure?" he asked.
"Oh, it's definitely our boy. Tucker Davies has lived in DC his whole life…he was on the honor roll at his public high school until he mysteriously dropped out midway through tenth grade. No biological father in the picture here; oh! Mom was sick," she said, "She died of cancer when Tucker was seventeen. That's when he disappeared. His older sister filed a missing persons report a week later."
"A whole week?" Hotch asked.
"She claims she thought he had run away…"
"What's his sister's name?" Hotch demanded.
"Miranda Davies, but don't get your hopes up. She died of a drug overdose a year ago." He heard some furious typing.
"So Tucker is almost eighteen around the time Buchannan's son dies," Hotch muttered, "Which is what gets him abducted. After a few years, he sends Tucker back to school…" Hotch trailed off. "Now that Buchannan is gone, Tucker is in crisis. He's panicking. We need to find out where he would go." Hotch bit his tongue, thinking. "Are there any other living family members?"
"Doesn't look like it, sir," Garcia said, "But I'll keep looking."
"Thanks, Garcia," Hotch muttered shutting his phone. He was about to call Morgan, but the phone went off again before he could even dial the number. Gritting his teeth, he answered hurriedly.
"Hotchner."
"Agent Hotchner, another body has been found in a motel three blocks from the last crime scene." The police detective sounded tense.
Hotch wanted to moan in frustration. "Another teenager?"
"Fifteen year old boy, sir," the man said. "He had been choked to death and stabbed eighteen times post mortem. This time the scalpel was left at the scene."
Hotch put his face in his hands. "We'll get down there now," he said, "Thanks, detective."
*So things are getting a bit more fun. Sorry it was short, but I hope you liked it anyways—reviews are, like always, quite appreciated."
