A/N: Wow! I wasn't expecting so many of you to enjoy this story. Because of the responses I've gotten, I've decided to make this a brotherly love type story. If you voted for Moreid though, I do have a one-shot called "Stay With Me" that features a little Moreid fluff, and will probably have more Moreid stories in the future. Thank you for reading this story, and please keep in mind that I'm not a doctor, so I apologize if anything seems unrealistic about it!
It is 10:26 P.M. when Agent Hotchner's phone buzzes loudly on his nightstand. He rolls over with a start, dreading a new case so soon. He squints into the bright light, surprised when an unfamiliar number flashes on the screen.
"Aaron Hotchner," he says in a tired voice. He'd only just fallen asleep twenty minutes ago.
"Mr. Hotchner, I'm calling from the George Washington University Hospital. I have you listed as the health care proxy for Mr. Derek Morgan and Dr. Spencer Reid. Is that correct?"
"Yes, is something wrong?" Hotch sits up on the side of his bed, fear bubbling in his chest. As the team's leader, he's used to remaining calm under stressful situations and keeping his head straight when someone is injured or in danger, but there is no suppressing the adrenaline that courses through his body every time the word "hospital" and one of his agents' names are spoken in the same sentence.
"Sir, there's been an accident."
"An accident?" He asks, already standing up and pulling on his pants, tucking his cell phone between his ear and shoulder. "I don't understand." Confusion floods Hotch's mind as he tries to work out what could've happened to Morgan and Reid simultaneously while they were off-duty. It had been his understanding that everyone was going home to get some rest, and Hotch knows that the team wouldn't act on a case without contacting him first.
"It was an automobile accident, Mr. Hotchner."
"Well are they okay?" Hotch's voice rises, and he immediately regrets lashing out at the woman on the other end of the line, who is just doing her job by contacting him.
"I'm afraid that our security policy prevents us from releasing sensitive details over the phone, but you're welcome to come in."
"Yes, of course. I'm sorry." Hotch rubs his temple. He should've known they can't tell him anything over the phone, but he isn't exactly thinking straight. "Let me make arrangements for my child and I'll be there as soon as I can." Without waiting for a response, Hotch hangs up the phone, throws on a tee shirt and shoes, and practically runs into his son's room.
"Jack, buddy. Wake up. Daddy has to go into work for a little while, okay? I'm going to see if you can stay at Mrs. Jameston's house until I get back." Hotch decides it best to tell his son that it is work-related, because the young boy greatly admires all of his colleagues and he doesn't want to worry him if it isn't necessary. Jack groans something incomprehensible as his dad picks him up and throws a blanket over him, carrying him out of the house in his pajamas.
He walks up the steps to his neighbor's front door, feeling guilty as he rings the bell and probably wakes Mrs. Jameston from her sleep. The older woman has always told Hotch that she'd be more than happy to watch Jack if he is called away on short notice and can't get his usual babysitter, but he's tried to avoid having to ask the favor.
Hotch is just about to push the doorbell again when a light inside flicks on and the silhouette of a small, short lady appears in front of the door. She peeks out from behind the blinds and quickly opens the door once she realizes who has disturbed her at this hour.
"Mrs. Jameston," Hotch begins as soon as the door swings open, "I'm very sorry for bothering you this late at night, but something's come up and I need to go as soon as possible and - "
"Come in, come in!" The woman ushers Hotch and Jack inside, cutting him off from his frantic rambling.
"Thank you," he says gratefully, placing Jack on her couch and kissing him on the forehead. He walks back over towards the door and indicates for Mrs. Jameston to follow, speaking in a hushed voice once he thinks they are out of Jack's earshot.
"It's not work related. Well, it is but...two of my agents have been involved in an off-duty car accident and they don't have any family in the city. They couldn't give details over the phone but it doesn't sound good. I haven't told Jack because he really loves them and I don't want him to worry."
Mrs. Jameston raises a fragile hand to shush the agent. "Aaron, you don't have to explain anything to me. We'll be fine. Now go."
Hotch thanks his neighbor once again before jogging back over to his house, already dialing Rossi's number as he gets into his car and starts the engine. The older profiler answers on the third ring. "This better be good," he murmurs in a state of half-sleepiness.
"Dave, Morgan and Reid have been hurt. I don't know how bad. I need everyone at the George Washington University Hospital as soon as possible."
"We'll be right there," Rossi answers, no questions asked. Hotch ends the call and speeds off down the road, confident that Rossi will follow the proper chain of command in order to alert his entire team. They've done it many times before; Hotch calls Rossi, Rossi calls Morgan, Morgan calls Prentiss, and so on down the line until Reid, JJ, and Garcia have all been notified as well. Of course, two of the links are missing, but his team knows what to do in crisis situations. They know how to remain calm, or so he hopes they do.
It doesn't take long for Hotch to arrive at the hospital. Thankfully traffic is fairly uncongested for the time of night, and he only hits three red lights along the way. Hotch barely gives time for his tires to stop rolling before he's yanking his key out of the ignition and jumping out. He rushes through a set of automatic doors with "EMERGENCY" plastered above them in bold, red lettering. He wastes no time in approaching the front desk and demanding answers, putting on his head-honcho attitude in the hopes of getting them faster.
"I'm Aaron Hotchner with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit." He flashes her his credential, which he'd remembered to stuff into the pocket of his jeans before leaving his home. "I got a call about two of my agents - Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid?"
The woman behind the counter types something into her computer and then gets up, walks around the desk, and motions for Hotch to follow her down the hallway. She fills him in as they walk. "Agent Morgan suffered fairly minor injuries. You'll be able to go in with him, but he may not be awake yet. Dr. Reid is in our trauma center undergoing emergency surgery."
She says the words as if they are no big deal, but to Hotch, they cause his lungs to drop all the way to the floor. "I'm sorry...trauma center? What are the extent of his injuries?"
The pair come to a halt outside of a door, where the name D. Morgan has been printed out and taped to the wall haphazardly.
"I'm afraid I can't say for sure," she says gravely. "When first responders arrived, Dr. Reid's legs were crushed under the steel framing of the vehicle. It took firefighters some time to extract him. He'd lost a lot of blood, and took a blow to the head as well as some shrapnel damage. A doctor will be in to see you shortly."
Hotch takes a deep breath as the world around him starts to feel much bigger than himself. He debates calling after the nurse as she walks back towards her station, but he manages to control his temper and turns instead to the door behind him, gently pushing it open and walking inside.
As soon as he enters the dimly-lit, sterile room, a steady beeping fills Hotch's ears. He steps around a curtain to see Morgan lying in a hospital bed, appearing to be sleeping peacefully. Hotch supposes it has something to do with whatever clear liquid drips from an I.V. attached to the back of Morgan's hand. The sight raises new questions in Hotch's mind. Was Morgan able to tell the paramedics that Reid refuses narcotics before they were hauled away in separate ambulances?
After the young agent had been kidnapped and drugged by an UnSub with Dissociative Identity Disorder, he had fallen victim to a ruthless drug addiction. Hotch had noticed the signs, and he was sure that other members of the team had too, but none of them said anything. They didn't want to ruin the doctor's reputation, or their personal relationships with him. Hotch sighs to himself, sitting down in an uncomfortable plastic chair and pulling himself out of his thoughts - focusing instead on Morgan.
A white bandage wraps around the agent's head, likely where his forehead had made contact with the airbag. A few scratches are scattered around his cheeks and chin, but nothing to be alarmed about. His left arm is wrapped in a similar bandage as the one on his head, but is also placed in a sling that wraps around his neck. Hotch notices that the strap of the sling is tangled around the oxygen tube leading to Morgan's nose, and he gently straightens out the mess. Other than those few injuries, Morgan looks mostly unharmed. Of course, Hotch can't see anything past his waist, which has been covered by a thin, white blanket. He can only hope for the best.
It is only ten minutes later when Agent Rossi walks into the room, his salt and pepper hair disheveled on top of his head. "What happened?" He asks breathlessly. He must've ran all the way from his car to Morgan's room.
"I don't know," Hotch replies in a hushed voice. "Reid is in the trauma wing undergoing surgery. Morgan looks okay, other than an arm and head injury. Are the others on their way?"
Rossi turns his attention to the bed, his heart sinking at the sight of their strongest agent looking so vulnerable in a hospital gown and bandages. He hasn't moved a muscle since Hotch first arrived, but the steady beeping of his heart monitor provides reassurance.
"Yes," Rossi informs his boss, pulling up another chair next to Morgan's bed. "Emily was already in her car by the time we got off the phone."
"Good," Hotch says, not meeting Rossi's eyes and instead looking at the gray tiles on the floor. He ponders in his head how to break the news to the rest of his team, but doesn't have time to come up with anything before Emily is rushing through the door, followed closely by JJ and Garcia.
"What happened?" JJ and Prentiss ask in unison as Garcia gravitates to Morgan's bedside with a gasp. She gently picks up his hand and places it in hers, and then looks to Hotch and Rossi for answers.
"There was a car accident," he begins.
"Where's Reid?" JJ demands, preferring to save all the details for later. She'd always been close friends with the genius, despite Morgan's jokes that Reid has a crush on her.
Hotch sighs and looks down at his hands. At work, it is usually JJ who acts as a liaison and delivers unpleasant news to families and the press. In this moment, Hotch is starting to realize how difficult her job truly is and how easily she seems to do it. He reminds himself to appreciate her more.
"He's in surgery," Rossi finally answers for him. "That's all we know right now."
"What about him?" Prentiss asks, nodding her head in Morgan's direction. Garcia still stands beside him, making no effort to move or at least get a chair. JJ retrieves one from the corner and sits it down next to Garcia, who looks at her gratefully before sitting down.
"He's going to be fine," Hotch reassures his team, trying his hardest to regain his posture. "He's on a morphine drip, but he should be waking up soon."
As if on cue, a small but audible grunt comes from the sea of white blankets on the bed. Garcia leans forward in her chair in anticipation. Morgan's eyes open slowly, blinking in confusion a few times before finally becoming fully alert.
"Baby girl," he says in a low, dry voice. "What happened?"
"You don't remember anything?" Prentiss walks around to the other side of the bed, scooting past Hotch and Rossi, who stay seated and let the women work their motherly instincts.
"You guys look…" He trails off, his eyes closing once more. JJ shares a glance with Prentiss from across the bed, who leans closer and whispers his name in his ear. Morgan opens his eyes again, this time turning his head in Prentiss' direction. "You guys look beautiful."
Prentiss raises her eyebrows, leaning back and looking over at Garcia and JJ, who stare back at her with the same perplexed look. Behind Prentiss, Rossi tries and fails to stifle a laugh. She turns and gives him a menacing look.
"What?" Rossi asks incredulously, raising both hands in defense. "It just amazes me that he's still so charming, even under the influence."
"Yeah, charming." JJ rolls her eyes. "More like the biggest player this side of the emergency wing."
Some of the heaviness dissolves amongst the group as they all share a laugh before turning their attention back to Morgan, who seems to be oblivious to their joke as he blinks up at the ceiling quietly.
"Morgan," Prentiss says again, putting her hand on his shoulder to get his attention. "What's the last thing you remember?"
"I...I…" He licks his lips as he struggles to find the words in his drugged up state. Garcia picks a styrofoam cup of ice water up off the bedside table and instructs him to take a drink, not giving him any option as she forces the straw into his mouth. The water seems to give him a little bit of life, and he winces in pain as he forces himself to sit up straighter in bed.
"There were sirens," he starts. Garcia squeezes his hand tighter in support, satisfied when he holds her hand back. "I remember climbing up a hill and then…" Morgan goes to rub his forehead with his injured arm, gritting his teeth as pain shoots from his wrist to his elbow. He looks down at the sling as if it is the first time he's realized it's there, and then around the room at his co-workers.
Everything clicks into place all at once and Morgan seems to sober up in the blink of an eye. He lets go of Garcia's hand and rips the oxygen tube from his nose. The swift action causes the pulse oximeter to fall off his index finger, and a high-pitched frequency replaces the steady beeping that once filled the room. Hotch and Rossi both stand and prepare to restrain Morgan if he tries to get up, but two nurses rush into the room and usher them out of the way.
"Sir, I need you to lie back down. Everything is fine," one of them says, softly but with a sense of urgency.
"Reid!" Morgan mutters, appearing to be talking to himself as he fumbles with the I.V. in the back of his hand. "I need to see him. I need to - "
"Mr. Morgan!" The other nurse says, louder than the first. She manages to get Morgan's attention, who looks up at her with nostrils flaring.
Hotch makes a move to intervene, but Rossi puts out a hand to stop him. He is confident that Morgan wouldn't hurt an innocent being, especially a female, no matter what kind of medication he's on.
"It's Agent Morgan," he snarls. "And I need to be with Dr. Reid."
"Okay, agent," the nurse reassures him. Her change in tone calms him, and the two of them are able to push him back into a lying position. "Look. I'm going to stop this medicine, okay?" Morgan watches closely as she flips a switch on a metal pole next to his bed and then unplugs a tube from the contraption on his hand, leaving the needle in place in case he needs more medicine later.
"Now, you're probably going to feel some discomfort in your arm once the morphine wears off. I can give you some painkillers for it if -"
"No," Morgan interrupts coldly. "What you can do is take me to Reid."
"Sir, I understand that you are worried about your colleague, but -"
"He's my friend," Morgan says, ignoring Garcia's attempts to calm him down.
"My apologies." The nurse smiles sweetly as she puts the oximeter back onto his finger. He doesn't resist her, but his facial expression shows that he isn't too happy about it either. The beeping starts back up, a little faster this time than before all the chaos ensued.
"I understand that you are worried about your friend, and I promise that we will take you to him as soon as we can. But you need to relax and let the morphine run its course, okay? You have a mild concussion and it isn't healthy for your blood pressure to spike like this. Just calm down, and I promise I'll be back to get you and take you to Dr. Reid."
Morgan doesn't say anything. He doesn't even nod. He just closes his eyes in frustration, feeling desperate and weak since he can't do anything other than lay in an uncomfortable bed and take orders from someone who doesn't understand what he's going through. He hears one of the nurses say something about only one visitor at a time, someone else say Garcia's name, and a series of well-wishes before a door is shut and everything goes quiet. It's a few minutes before anyone speaks again.
"Derek, please tell me what happened. I want to help you but I can't if -" Garcia stops mid-sentence, tears streaming down her face as Morgan turns to look at her. Relief washes over her as his hand comes up to swipe her tears away - it is the kind-hearted man that she's always known and loved like family, despite their frequent flirty behavior. The BAU is family, and when one of their own is hurt, they all are.
"None of that, baby girl. You wouldn't want to ruin your makeup."
"I - uh...I'm not wearing any." She self-consciously looks down at her lap, only just becoming aware that she didn't even try to fix her messy blonde hair before leaving the house in her pajamas and robe.
"Hmm…" Morgan says playfully, "I thought you looked prettier than usual."
"You don't look bad yourself, Chocolate Thunder." Garcia laughs, but sadness returns to her eyes as she looks up at Morgan. "Please...please tell me what happened." Morgan sighs and looks away from her.
He allows his eyes to close as he thinks back to everything that he could remember. He tells Garcia about his exchange with Reid in the elevator, waking up in his car, and climbing up the bank to get the paramedics. "It was all my fault," he says sadly, thinking back to the image of Reid asleep in the passenger seat and how he'd tried to wake him up. "We were only a few minutes from his house."
"No," Garcia says flatly. Morgan looks at her in confusion as she continues. "This isn't your fault, Derek. You could've been hurt just as bad as him." She regrets the words as soon as they leave her lips.
"What do you mean, 'just as bad as him?'" Morgan sits up in his bed again. He doesn't try to get up this time, but he glares at Garcia angrily, waiting for an answer.
"I…" Garcia begins nervously, unsure of what to say. Morgan deserves to know what's going on with Reid, but she doesn't want to cause him any more pain than what he's already in.
"Penelope," he warns. "Tell me."
"Okay," Garcia says in defeat, not meeting Morgan's eyes as she tells him everything that Rossi and Hotch had told her. "He's...he's in surgery, in the trauma center. We don't know how bad."
Morgan's eyebrows furrow as a look of intensity crosses his face. He looks like he is about to explode, but Garcia is saved the drama when a soft knock comes at the door and an older doctor in a lab coat enters the room, JJ trailing behind him and gesturing for Garcia to follow her out of the room. Garcia glances between JJ and Morgan, torn between going out with the rest of her team and staying with Morgan.
"Go ahead," Morgan encourages her, giving her hand a squeeze before letting it go entirely. Reluctantly, Garcia stands and kisses Morgan on the cheek before walking out with JJ, leaving just the doctor and Morgan alone in the room.
"How's Reid?" Morgan asks before the doctor has a chance to say anything.
"Agent Morgan," he says cheerily, reading over some paperwork attached to a wooden clipboard in his hands. "My name is Dr. Ramirez." He reaches a hand out for Morgan to shake, who just stares at it. He isn't pleased that no one will answer his questions about his best friend.
"You're a very lucky man, Agent Morgan. Accident reconstruction says your car overcorrected and rolled at least six times down a steep embankment before crashing into a tree. You walked away with a mild concussion and four stitches to the left arm."
"What about my passenger?" Morgan tries again, taking a more friendly approach this time. Clearly, being angry at everyone isn't getting him anywhere. The doctor sighs in dread, taking a seat in the chair that Garcia occupied just moments before.
"I was just telling the rest of your team that he came out of surgery moments ago. There were...complications."
"Complications?" Morgan asks, his stubbornness melting into fear.
"Dr. Reid was on the side of the car that received the most damage," Dr. Ramirez explains. "He got the initial impact as well as the tree, which thankfully stopped the car from rolling into a lake. The front end of the passenger side caved in on Dr. Reid's legs, nearly severing them just below the knee."
The machine next to Morgan starts to beep faster and faster as panic takes hold. He grips the metal bars on his bed until his dark knuckles turn snow-white, ignoring the pain starting up in his head. "You said...nearly severing?" He tries to stay hopeful, but the look on Dr. Ramirez's face makes it difficult.
"We were skeptical at first, but my team of surgeons were able to save them both without resulting in too much blood loss."
"What's the bad news?" Morgan asks. There's always bad news, and for some reason, doctors always save it for last.
"The weight of the car did a number on his nerves. It cut cleanly through the Tibia on the left leg, and crushed the Fibula on the right. We were able to reconstruct both bones, but it is too early to tell how extensive damage to the nerves and muscle will be."
"W - what are you saying?" Morgan is sure he already knows the answer to his own question, but he prays that he is wrong.
"I am saying, Agent Morgan, that there's a chance that your friend will not walk again." Dr. Ramirez pauses, allowing time for his words to sink in, though he knows that news like this never feels real - not fully, anyway. "Would you like to see him?" He asks in an attempt to take Morgan's mind off of what he's just been told.
Thousands of things race through Morgan's mind so quickly that it's impossible to catch a single one and make sense of it. Reid. Crushed. Nerves. Surgery. Not walk again. "All my fault…" he starts, but barely gets the words out before he's bent over double and dry heaving as he struggles to get a full breath of air.
Dr. Ramirez places a bedpan in his lap just on time. Nothing but bile spills into the plastic container as Morgan chokes on his own vomit, making him throw up more. Sweat and tears mix on his face as the world closes in around him, making it more and more difficult to get any oxygen into his lungs. The fit lasts for about thirty seconds, but to Morgan, it seems like a thousand lifetimes.
"Take me to him. Take me to him now."