Author's Note: Well, I guess we've established that actual, regular updates are not going to be something I partake on in this fic . . .

I'm sorry, you guys. Truly, I had this all written by Monday evening, and then I had to work before I could edit and post . . . and then with my finals and a presentation yesterday, I was stressing hardcore and couldn't motivate myself to do anything but study and do miss en plaza and freak out . . . Yech.

But I know you're not here to hear my excuses. Just allow me once more to say that I'm a doof, and I hope that another chapter suffices as my apology. Ish.

Shanks a million for all the reviews. Y'all are so sweet! And even though I can't promise that Morgan isn't going to look like an asshole for awhile, I do know that there will be some sort of happy medium as a resolution. I promise.

But we'll get to that later on. In the meantime, have a wonderful Turkey-Day-Eve, and we'll gather again next week.

Warnings: This fic contains no relevant spoilers that I can see. However, there is going to be some mild violence, much language, and angst as far as the eye can see. And, for that matter, prepare yourselves for a little OOC-ness. I guess.

Disclaimer: The amount of stuff I own grows ever larger and more terrifying. But anything resembling Criminal Minds as a whole has yet to be found. Stupid CBS with their 'rights' and 'contracts.' Grr.

I love reading reviews, but I know people hate writing them. The decision, my lovelies, is yours.

Do enjoy!

Chapter Two:

The Night Before

~The previous night~

Reid and Morgan had stumbled into Derek's ranch-style house a little after 11 o'clock in the evening, both leaning heavily on one another's shoulders. Their previous case, besides being emotionally overbearing, had taken almost a week of their time, and both of the two men were looking forward to nothing more than a good, long rest – well, as much as they could get, considering that they had to work again in the morning, despite their Unit Chief's best efforts to score them a day off.

Dropping his satchel on the floor in a familiar manner, Reid walked Morgan over to the couch, and sat him down, hands firmly on his shoulders. When the older man gave him a circumspect look, the genius shook his head firmly.

"Derek, we've been through a lot right now – "

"Pretty Boy, I really just want to go to bed."

"No." Reid's hand shot out to gently grip his boyfriend's shoulder, pleading him not to move. "I . . ." he bit his lip before continuing. "I don't know about you, but I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep just yet. I . . . I need a minute. To – t-to decompress."

It wasn't an outright lie. His limbs ached, and Reid's mind was strung out and spread thin, as was his patience. He needed a little bit of time to get control of his emotions before even attempting to fall asleep.

But it was Morgan he was really concerned about. The case . . . it had involved kids. Boys, to be exact. And a school guidance counselor who was making appointments with them. And abducting them. And . . .

Reid shook his head. Never again did he want to have to think about that murderous, slightly mad look in the man's eye when they brought him in. About the snide expression on the pedophile's face when he told them that there were plenty of bodies they hadn't found, and that he would reveal their locations only for a deal. A good one.

About the way the expressions on Morgan's face had gone from horrified, to furious, to downtrodden and sad and defeated almost too quickly to categorize, as though his emotions were all stumbling into one another in their effort to be felt.

The case had been – still was – affecting him far more than Reid. And it was bad.

Reid finally returned to the present enough to see his Morgan nodding at him, smiling gratefully – because they were both profilers, and they both knew what Reid was really doing. He forced his lips to turn up for just a moment, and then, one hand lingering on his boyfriend's shoulder, went off to the kitchen in search of something to drink.

They kept a very small selection of bottles on hand for nights such as this; when the casework got to be too much, and the sleep got to be entirely too little.

Grabbing a beer for Morgan and pouring a small bit of vodka in a tumbler for himself, Reid went back out to the living room armed with drinks and refills – not that he expected they wouldn't be asleep after the first glass or so. As he passed into the living room, he saw Derek putting away the small, orange bottle that contained 50 mg. sleeping pills; enough to knock out a horse, as the darker agent so loved to joke.

He wondered if Derek had taken one, and decided against it; his boyfriend knew well enough not to mix pills and alcohol – especially not when they were so close to some sleep.

Oh, and sleep sounded so wonderful right then.

Biting back a yawn, Spencer forced himself not to focus on his own exhaustion right then, choosing instead to smile at his lover and hand over the chilled bottle of beer.

Morgan accepted the drink, and almost as an afterthought patted the seat right next to him, inviting Reid to his rightful place, sitting by his side.

Together they sat, silence taking up the room as the only noise became the sound of their lifting their respective drinks and sipping, both taking the peace to reflect on everything that had happened over the past few days.

Next to him, Reid could feel the body of his boyfriend tensing up, the muscles straining, and he realized that even with the late hour and addition of some alcohol, Derek was in no way ready to relax himself or get some sleep. Not even close.

Setting down his glass, the genius turned to his companion, and spoke gently.

"Derek?"

When there came no response, Reid tried again, scooching a little closer on the couch, and raising his voice minutely. "Derek?"

Still nothing, and Reid could feel a rising tide of worry in the pit of his stomach. He reached out, as lightly as he could, and brushed Morgan's arm.

That got a reaction. The older man nearly jumped out of his seat, and in an instant, his head snapped towards Reid, his arm defensively clapping on the genius's shoulder – whether to protect him or fight him off, even Reid wasn't sure.

Breath hitching slightly, it seemed to take a moment before Morgan could recognize his worried boyfriend's face, and he immediately calmed and loosened his grip on Reid's collar – which made the other man un-tense his shoulders. He leaned in closer, trying to offer nonverbal comfort through his proximity to Morgan, but he didn't touch him again.

"Derek . . . are you alright?"

Swallowing tightly, the older man shook his head.

"Do you . . . Will you talk to me about it?"

His lower lip trembling imperceptibly, Morgan again declined.

Carefully, Reid moved in closer still. "I know it's not . . . I know it's hard, Derek. But even a few words can help. And I want you to get some rest tonight. So can we just – ?"

"Spencer." Morgan's eyes were begging, shining with his effort to keep too many emotions in check. "Please. Just let it go, and let's go to bed."

Reid hesitated a moment, and then shook his head. "I can't, Morgan. Not tonight. I know you need to – "

"I think what I need," Morgan cut in again, his face hardening with resignation, "is another drink." And before Reid could stop him, the older man had gotten up off the couch, and slipped into the kitchen, where Reid could hear bottles clinking together as the refrigerator was opened.

Running his hands through his hair in discontent, Reid wondered vaguely if he should just call it a night and guide his boyfriend back to bad.

But he couldn't, he knew. He had had cases hit him hard, right in the heart, had had to suffer the nightmares and the dissolution of his emotional walls when something so awful demanded his attention . . . He couldn't put the man he loved through that, couldn't live with himself letting Morgan suffer through the nightmares.

Even if it was just a word or two, jus a hug . . . Reid made his decision that somehow or other, he was going to comfort Morgan tonight.

Said man entered the living room again at last, a snifter of much harder stuff in his hands that matched the harder expression in his eyes perfectly. Standing before Reid, he took a moment to gather his bearings before he spoke.

"I think that maybe you should just go, Reid. I'm probably gonna call in tomorrow, get some rest . . . So . . ." he drifted off quietly, his stomach twisting with a strange mixture of relief and irritation when his boyfriend started shaking his head.

"I'm staying, Derek," Reid spoke past the lump in his throat that had somehow gotten lodged there when he heard the man he loved call him Reid instead of Spencer.

Ever since they had committed to one another, it had always been Spencer . . .

Angered by the selfish direction of his thoughts, Reid shook his head clear before again meeting the dark eyes of Derek Morgan. He moved a little bit closer, his arm snaking up the shoulder of his boyfriend, coming to a rest near his neck. Morgan jerked again, and then stilled, forcing a layer of calm over the storm he could feel brewing beneath the surface.

Not seeing his inner turmoil, Reid took the man's silence for acquiescence, and moved closer still. "Let's just talk things out a little bit, sweetie. Just a few minutes, and then," he whispered, his grip unintentionally tightening just a bit as his warm breath brushed against the back of Derek's ear, "we'll go to bed."

The hand on his collarbone was barely more than a light flutter of fingers, but it was enough. Suddenly, with the voice saying words that were all too close to the ones he'd heard as a child from someone he trusted, with the unwanted proximity and just enough alcohol in him to make things slightly fuzzy, suddenly Derek Morgan wasn't in the living room of a house he had pined after for years with the man he fully intended to someday marry.

Suddenly, he was cowering in the back of a cabin, unfamiliar with the taste of wine and the strange feelings stirring in his gut, hiding as someone he was supposed to trust went stomping around the grounds, looking for him so that they could do things, nauseating things, calling out "Derek, Derek . . ."

"Derek?"

The voice slammed into him, shattering the pleasant haze that Lunesta and Captain Morgan had created, and when he was overcome with the familiar and horrible feelings making his skin crawl, for the first time in a long time, Derek Morgan slammed back.

His hand shot up, wrapping around the wrist by his throat, and wrenched it away so forcefully that he heard a yelp from the body next to his.

"D-Derek?" The voice was worried, the breathing slightly hitched, the sound fearful.

But Morgan didn't notice anything, because to his ears, the sound was not a question of concern coming from the man he loved; instead it was slick, dark, oily and deep, rich with perverted desire and sickening pleasure. It was the sound that would haunt his nightmares as a fourteen-year-old boy when he lay in bed, crying and disgusted by himself.

Disgusted by the man before him.

Carl. Carl Buford.

Positively shaking with rage, Morgan's grip tightened.

On the couch next to him, Reid was struggling, trying to angle his body as far away from Derek's as their conjoined hands would allow.

What had happened? One moment, he had been having a fairly common argument between the two of them, hashing out that they needed to talk when one of them was trying to shut down and cap their emotions – it wasn't the first time they'd had this tiff, and Reid had even been on opposite sides before, as the one who wanted to be left alone. Which was why he was being so persistent now.

Something the genius was just very vaguely beginning to regret, as he stared into the seething, unseeing eyes of his boyfriend. He tried to speak again.

"Derek – ?"

A mistake, a huge one. Something dark and unrecognizable flashed in Morgan's eyes, and Reid found himself yanked forward, dragging across the couch – and then Derek's face was threateningly close, inches from his own as the other man glared at him, the undisguised rage making his breathing heavy.

"Don't call me that."

Reid cocked his head slightly to one side, the confusion evident on his face. "W-what? Derek, I always call you Derek, I – "

I want to see you take off your clothes, boy. Go on, do it.

"No!" The scream that Derek had been unable to say all of those years ago ripped from his throat now, starling Reid and scaring him even further, proven when he again tried to back away, tried to pull his arm out of Morgan's grasp.

But he was thin and small, and his partner far bigger and stronger; it was nothing for Morgan to keep his hold with one hand while the other curled reflexively into a fist by his side, barely containing the urge to attack.

Reid was taking in deep breaths, huge ones, trying to force himself to calm down from Morgan's sudden mood-swings and the unwanted proximity that was scaring the Hell out of him.

Obviously, the case and the alcohol were affecting his lover more than he had thought they would. Derek had been right; they would go to sleep tonight, call in tomorrow, and spend the whole day and as much of the weekend as possible resting and healing from this.

From all of this.

Forcing himself to keep the tremble out of his voice, Reid lowered his volume by about half an octave and spoke slowly, smoothly, and as calmly as he could.

"Derek, it's okay; we can go to bed."

The other man froze, and thinking he was making some progress, Reid reached up his free arm to gently grip Morgan's shoulder, squeezing in a way he knew the other man liked.

"Let's just go to bed, and . . . sleep."

Derek's eyes widened.

Take off your clothes, then we'll go to the bedroom. We can sleep later.

It was all beginning to get to be too much; the case (there had been a case?) with the kids (what kids, what other kids?) and the late night after a long day, and then there was Reid, saying those words in that damn voice of his and making him feel things that were wrong, wrong, wrong.

Wrong again.

He shook his head, trying to clear the fog that had begun to settle over his mind, the wash of memories . . . but nothing was becoming any easier, only a single voice breaking through his barriers.

"Derek, please – "

I ain't askin', boy –

"– let's go – "

We're going –

"– to the bedroom."

– to bed.

And just then a light touch on his shoulder, just another unexpected memory resurfacing –

No. No. NO!

And just like that, it all became too much, far too much.

In a single fluid move, Derek whirled himself off of the back of the couch and, still holding Reid's wrist in a death-grip in his hand, slammed the younger man against the wall behind them, some hidden part deep within him roaring approvingly when the younger man whimpered in pain.

Good.

Why should he be the only one hurting?

Reid couldn't hold back his gasp as he suddenly found himself held up by his collar, one of Morgan's hands digging painfully into his neck and shoulders while the other one continued to grasp his wrist so tightly that he could feel the blood flow cutting off, making his hand simultaneously numb and tingly.

He never panicked when he was in Morgan's presence, never had any reason to think he was unsafe or in danger at all . . .

. . . But that familiar comfort was starting to perish, every time he looked into those once-warm brown eyes and saw something unfamiliar and disturbing in them. Something scary. Something that likely had everything to do with the way Morgan's breath reeked of alcohol, and crushed white power on his teeth.

Never mix alcohol with –

Oh, God.

"D-Derek," he said, his voice tight because of the way his chest was constricting in panic, "You h-have to let me g-go. Now."

The older man's face turned thunderous. He leaned in, and, reflexively, Reid recoiled trying to keep more space between them as Morgan's voice, dark and heavy with anger, whispered in his ear.

"Don't tell me what to do."

The grip on his wrist tightened.

"You don't ever get to tell me what to do, do you hear me?" That horrid voice continued to hiss in Reid's ear, and he shivered, wondering how everything had turned so bad so fast, how it has escalated so easily.

"Carl."

At that, Reid's eyes shot up, and he glanced over Morgan's face not as a friend or lover, but as a profiler.

Tense facial features, heavy breathing, pale, eyes darting about wildly . . . It was an expression that made Derek's face nearly unrecognizable, that twisted the normally friendly gaze into something feral; an expression that shook Reid to his very core, as it was one he recognized all to well from those early days after Tobias, after Georgia.

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

He was having a flashback. That was what it had to be; Reid had seen the man drink, had partaken with him a fair few times, and he knew that Morgan could hold his liquor like no one else.

But apparently, this case had been rougher on him than any of them had thought, and now, with just a little bit of the hard stuff, he losing it.

Reid couldn't afford to do the same.

He took a deep breath, trying to quell any looks of fear on his face, and then met Morgan's steely gaze, his hand reaching up to grasp the man's shoulder in a similar but far more gentle way.

"M-Morgan, it's okay, it's j-just me. Spencer."

"Liar!" Morgan shoved Reid against the wall again, so hard that it knocked the breath out of him, and the genius fought not to struggle, to panic. He knew it would only push Morgan further into his delusion, and that he needed to keep a cool head if he wanted to talk the man he loved out of this.

Fighting back a wince, certain he could already feel bruises forming, Reid tried again. "Morgan, it's me, Spencer – your boyfriend – "

Right then, something in Derek's face cracked, his resolve crumbling as the swarm of bad memories, the torrents of ill-feelings and forgotten nightmares swarming over his mind and replacing the man Spencer Reid had loved for years and years with a creature of pure, instinctual, animal rage.

"You don't get to call me that!" He shouted, his tone and volume making Reid flinch again before he took a firm grip around the other agent's waist and threw him to the ground, hard.

Reid scrambled backwards from the towering, furious man above him, terror and confusion making his hands shake, but it didn't matter. In seconds, Derek was hauling him back up, whirling him around so he could slam him against the door.

Reid's face collided with the frame, and he gasped in pain, barely able to see from the stabbing behind his eye and temple. There was going to be a black eye from that tomorrow, that was for sure . . .

But he had bigger things to worry about, when Morgan's grip grew so hard that his nails dug into Reid's neck, and he found himself suddenly unable to breath.

Pinned down he was, when Reid tried to free himself by reaching out and scrabbling blindly, it was nothing for Morgan land a well-placed kidney punch and keep the younger, paler body beneath his quite still again.

"You don't get to say that, you don't get to do that, not after what you did."

Reid squirmed against the arms holding him down, still gasping for air after it had been knocked out of him, looking anywhere but in his boyfriend's eyes.

He could feel something happening, something slipping away from right between their fingers, but he had no idea how to stop it.

"Not after what you made me feel."

The arms around his neck began to squeeze, and Reid realized that he had one last chance to snap Morgan out of it – otherwise, there was a good chance he would never get to.

"M-Morgan," he shot out, his voice a whisper, barely audible over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, "P-Please, I – I . . . I l-love you . . ."

It wasn't the first time he'd ever said it, but it might very well be the last.

He didn't feel the hands lessen their chokehold on his neck, and he didn't feel them move to his shoulders. But Spencer Reid certainly did feel being slammed so hard against the wall behind him that his head bounced off if it. He did feel the slight ache and mounting pressure building in the back of his skull as he stared at Morgan – though the other man appeared to be speaking, and Reid tried to listen, he really did, everything was coming in warped and garbled, and he couldn't understand. He felt the chill overtake his body for a brief second before turning into a searing pain, and then he felt it as his body went slack and he tumbled to the floor bonelessly.

He didn't feel much else, because right then, Spencer Reid blacked out.

Author's Endnote: Ew-kaay . . . lemme have it . . . *runs away*