Author's Note: Well . . . it's not the typical Christmas gift, I'll admit, but . . . hey, 'tis the thought that counts, right?

N'aww, I'm sure some people here don't celebrate this particular upcoming holiday . . . so, Happy Saturnalia, Happy Chanukah, Happy Kwaanza, annnnnnnd Happy Boxing Day! Almost. *Smiles*

Another long-winded chapter of talking, alas. People responded so mixedly to the idea of some potential Hotch-slash that I was a bit confused myself, and had to make some edits. In the end, I'll say this; those of you who shop Morgan and Reid, continue to do so; those of you what want to see Hotch pining after our genius? I won't write anything to stop you.

Happy holidays, my loves. i shall see you before the New Year, I PROMISE.

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 Seven:

Never Again

Inside the same bathroom where he and Morgan had had their private discussion earlier, Reid kneeled before one of the toilets and emptied his stomach.

God.

He hadn't been in denial of his and Morgan's relationship, would never have pretended or lied to anyone, had they inquired about the two. But because he and his boyfriend had always kept the touching to a minimum in the workplace, and because they had never come out and declared it to anyone, well . . . no one had ever thought to ask.

And now, because he wasn't thinking, because he was an idiot, he had slipped up in front of their boss, of all people.

And God only knew how Hotch would handle it.

Reid crouched on the floor, body even paler than usual, shaking from dry heaves, and barely biting back tears.

How had everything gone so wrong?

Hotch didn't even have to call; Morgan stalked up to his office like an animal hunting his prey, and stood just inside of the door, arms folded in a clear don't fuck with me manner.

The two of them stared – glared – at one another for just a moment, before Hotch got up quietly and shut the door. Turning around, he gestured pointedly for Morgan to take a seat.

The younger man continued standing, shaking his head in a clear act of defiance. And, struggling not to let the attitude get to him, Hotch shrugged as if he really couldn't care less, and then sat down himself.

It was an immeasurable amount of time before either man spoke.

"I need to know – "

"What the – ?"

Both paused, and, finally, holding up a hand, Hotch started again. "I need to know what happened between you and Agent Reid, Morgan."

Noticing the way his subordinate immediately stiffened at the mention of his partner's name, Hotch pushed on, "You both seem distracted this morning, and I can't have two of my best – "

"Cut the crap, Hotch." Morgan cut in harshly, his face half-hidden by the flickering shadows in the small room. "Agent Reid? Two of your best? You're trying to make this about work, and we both know it has nothing to do with that, man."

Hotch raised in an eyebrow. "Are you implying – ?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm saying that it's none of your business."

Hotch shook his head. "When it starts affecting the team dynamic, it becomes my business."

Morgan clearly disagreed. "It's not affecting the team, Hotch. No one else – "

"Has noticed? Bothered to look? Cares?" It took everything the older man had not to jump right out of his chair right there and shake the pig-headed youth before him. Instead, he calmly, if a little stiffly, waved his arm over to the window in his office, and pointed through the blinds to the BAU below. "Think again, Morgan. Take a second look. The first thing Emily did when she came in this morning was ask me what was wrong with Reid – who had been here for hours by then. David's already stopped me from interfering when the two of you disappeared for half an hour. JJ thinks that her son's godfather might be feeling sick, and Garcia's been sending out messages and threatening to bring in cookies all day. You haven't associated with anyone besides myself and Reid this entire day, and yet everyone can tell that something's wrong. We're all profilers, Morgan, and you're not as good at hiding things as you seem to think."

Derek's face flickered, unreadable, and for a moment, Hotch thought he might have broken through to the man. But the dispassionate shake of his head let the Unit Chief know that he still wasn't getting in.

"It's nothing, Hotch. We're . . . working on it. Just, let it go – please."

His voice cracked slightly with the plea, but Hotch knew that this was one time he couldn't ignore something big, not when it was potentially harmful, potentially scarring, to one of his agents.

He spoke in a quiet tone, still trying to keep the barely-concealed anger in check. "When one of my agents shows up covered in bruises and so jumpy he can't see straight, I can't let it go."

There was no mistaking the look of guilt that covered Morgan's face – and even though he'd already suspected, the actual confirmation was more than Hotch was prepared for. A feeling of simultaneous nausea and fury twisted his gut, and he only kept his composure and remained sitting in the chair by clutching the edge of his desk so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Morgan was unable to meet his superior's eyes as he confessed, "We . . . we got into it a bit last night."

"A bit," Hotch repeated, his voice hard and cold. Disbelieving. "And yet, today, only one of you showed up with bruises on his body."

Just as quickly as it had seemed like the darker agent was opening up, he shut right back down. "Hotch, don't."

"Don't? Don't? Don't what?" The older man's eyes flashed dangerously, and this time, he did stand up from his desk. "Don't notice, don't call you on it, don't care? Morgan, one of my agents – one of my friends – is hurt, and you want my to step down?"

"I want you to let me handle my own problems!"

Hotch snorted. "Yes, we've all seen how you handle things."

"Fuck you," Morgan hissed, posture poised for attack. Hotch responded in kind, his own body tensing as his hands curled into fists at his side.

"What? Are you going to attack me too, Morgan?"

Something murderous flashed over the agent's face, and he began to advance, a predatory look in his eye. "You shouldn't have said that."

Hotch scoffed. "Why? Because now you're angry again? I'm not Reid, Morgan; I can actually fight you back. You'd have to work a Hell of a lot harder to hurt me."

"You're starting to make me want to, Hotch."

"Good. Just try."

Nearly half an hour had passed in the bullpen before a thin, young man came slinking back in, looking as skittish as a newborn deer and hiding his face behind the tangled tendrils of his hair.

Reid tried to scoot back to his desk unnoticed, but was intercepted in a flash by one Penelope Garcia.

"We need to talk, Boy Wonder."

Unable to do anything about the rather tight grip on his arm – who knew someone who painted their nails ten different colors had a grip like the Hulk? – Reid stumbled along after the bright woman until they had reached what she liked to call her 'lair' down the hall. Once inside, Garcia immediately plopped the genius down on a chair and seated herself, crossing her ankles and rocking slightly from side to side as she stared at him.

Uncomfortable under the gaze, Reid squirmed, his fingers playing with the fabric on his knees, until a gentle hand on his leg made him stop. Looking up, Spencer's eyes were met with kind one behind a pair of purple glasses.

"Reid . . . honey, what's wrong?"

He just stared at her, wary, not saying a word. She pressed further. "Sweetie, something's been wrong with you and Derek all morning."

Reid bit his lip, and shook his head, trying to avert his eyes again. He was thwarted by a firm – albeit gentle – hand on his chin, forcing him to keep looking at her.

"Please, please tell me; let me help."

The prickling of tears in his eyes was the only warning. And then Reid leaned forward into Garcia's arms, his entire body shaking as he struggled to cap his emotions.

And the technical analyst didn't lean away from the touch – she wrapped her arms around Reid's back and held him close to her, running fingers through his hair and whispering little cooing noises that, if Reid were actually feeling up to it, the young genius surely would have pointed out weren't actually words.

For a few moments, they remained like that, trying to forget all of their problems in the kind of embrace that only really close friends actually know how to give, and only those truly in need really know how to accept.

Eventually, there was a slight shifting, and Reid turned his head to look at Garcia fully. His eyes searched her, looking for something – what, she didn't know – and apparently found it, because, after swallowing tightly a few times, he spoke.

"I – I t-think I might have – " he gulped, teeth chattering. "I might have ruined things with Morgan."

Garcia paused, more than a little taken aback. As far as the BAU's resident genius and her own hunk of burning love went, well . . . she'd had her suspicions. But never any confirmation. Was Reid . . . ?

"What do you mean?" she asked instead.

Reid's lips twitched slightly in thought. "We had a . . . a fight last night. And it sort of c-carried into work. T-this morning."

Garcia nodded slightly. "I was wondering why Hotch called Morgan into his office."

Reid's entire body language changed. He jolted up from the chair, face rapidly draining of color, and looked at Garica, eyes wide and frantic. He shot out a hand, grabbing her shoulder tightly, and when he spoke, his voice sounded choked, desperate.

"Hotch – and Morgan – in his – in h-his office?" He gasped out.

Having no idea why her little kitten was acting like someone had died, Garcia simply nodded, in shock.

Without a second thought, Reid released his grip and spun around, running out of the office so fast that Garcia swore he left her spinning for a moment. She didn't even have time to call to him, ask what was wrong, why was he acting like this now?

Instead, taking a moment to get over the extreme reaction, the technical analyst shook out her hands, and turned back to her computers, swiping at the monitor until it gave her a full-span view of the bullpen.

Then, she sat back and waited.

Reid burst into the bullpen only moments after fleeing Garcia's office, calling a lot of unwanted attention to himself when the glass doors slammed open so hard that they might have shattered.

Not that it mattered to him – nothing did right then, except for stopping whatever was going on between his boss and his – his –

his lover.

It made Reid's heart stop to think of it like that, because he knew it was all messed up, that they were all messed up, but he couldn't let Morgan's job – his life – be affected by this. By him.

He took the stairs two at a time, again ignoring the looks he was sure he was receiving, and thrust Hotch's door open frantically, stumbling inside.

Two men looked up at him, surprise replacing the fury that had been carved over every inch of their faces.

Reid took no notice of this. "Don't!" he gasped out, snapping the door shut behind him and taking a moment to lean against it, forcing his exhaustion back.

"What?"

The voice was familiar, but he wasn't sure whose. Panting slightly, Reid took half a second to glance through the tangled tendrils of his hair, watching as Hotch and Morgan both took steps towards him, mixtures of concern and fright flickering over their features.

Reis stumbled back, pushing himself further into the hard surface behind him as though it would provide protection. "Please, please don't," he gasped again.

A pause, and then, . . .

"Don't what, Pretty Boy?"

Morgan. Definitely him. Reid's insides quivered – whether in pain or apprehension, the genius really couldn't tell.

He forced himself to look away from the direction where the voice was coming, and instead focused all of his energy on Hotch.

"Hotch, d-don't. You can't. D-Derek, it's – it's not his f-fault."

Hotch raised an eyebrow as the younger man stumbled into him, hands grasping at his collar desperately, a wild look in his eye.

"What can't I do, Reid?" he asked gently.

"Don't punish him – he s-shouldn't be in trouble. It was me, all m-me."

"What was?" Both men asked, but again, Reid only focused on Hotch.

"We had a – a f-fight. Last night" Somewhere to the right of them, they heard Morgan's intake of breath, but both men continued to ignore him.

Reid's fingers grew tighter on Hotch's collar. "Hotch, it was my fault – none of this would have happened if not for me. And I'm okay, there's nothing bad, but –" he gulped roughly "please, please don't punish Morgan over this. It's not his fault."

Lies. It was nothing but lies spilling from those beautiful lips of the beautiful man he loved.

And yet, Morgan found himself to shocked to say a word, as Reid's little declaration dissolved into desperate tears, and Hotch allowed his subordinate to rest his forehead on his shoulder for a few moments, collecting himself.

Both seemed to have completely forgotten that Morgan was in the room – which suited him just fine. After several minutes of silence, Morgan quietly stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him and turning to face the bullpen – and the many agents below who were all staring up at Hotch's office while trying to pretend that they weren't.

"Need something?" Morgan asked gruffly, and the change was immediate; people went back to their conversations, their phones, their computers, and, in general, their jobs.

Wiping off a tear he didn't realize was on his face, Morgan stomped down the steps and quickly retreated to his desk. Collapsing down there, the SSA breathed in deep, trying to collect his distorted thoughts.

There was no doubt in his mind that he and Hotch had been this close to having it out; a full-on, all-out brutal physical fistfight in the middle of their work.

Someone would have been fired.

Someone, meaning himself.

And yet, Reid – the boy he loved beyond a doubt, the man he had hurt – had come in and taken the bullet for him.

Morgan shook his head. Not literally, of course. But Reid had stopped the fight from happening, had directed Hotch's attention, had shouldered the blame and made himself the target.

Hotch would never hurt the young man, of course – of course, Morgan reflected bitterly – but Reid was still getting him to leave Morgan alone, putting himself in a position to be vulnerable or potentially reprimanded.

Well, certainly that.

And here he was, storming out on his lover, refusing to talk to anyone, and throwing a hissy fit by shutting down because – because what? He'd gotten dunk last night and attacked Reid, and the man was having a hard time forgiving him?

Morgan shook his head, snorting at himself derisively. "You're an idiot," he mumbled to himself, stopping at his desk, and glancing once more back up at Hotch's office.

The blinds were closed. He couldn't see a thing.

Newly determined, Derek sat down at his desk and began planning.