They found a motel by the time the sun went down, one that didn't ask questions for the right price. The room was small, dated and musty, but clean with a double bed and a bathroom attached. He led Reid into the room with his hand on the small of his back, keeping him from bumping into anything.

"You use the bathroom first. Take your time," Morgan said, leading him around to the doorway. "I won't put the light on, so you can take off the blindfold and adjust. Just make sure you put it on when you come out, okay?"

"Thanks."

Morgan listened as the man locked the door, and a while later the shower turned on. The walls were thin and he could hear the man's footsteps and a muttered 'fuck', and he felt like he was intruding, so he turned on the small television in the motel room. He rolled down the blind over the window and began to empty his pockets and onto the small wooden tablet; cigarettes, a lighter, phone, wallet, a clip of money and a clip of bullets for his main weapon. He'd also brought in his weapon and the two he'd taken from their pursuers. He'd also brought in the medical kit, and opened it before he took his shirt off to inspect the bullet graze on his side. It stung, but it was a flesh wound, and he'd be able to clean it when he got in the shower.

He picked up his phone and opened it to flick through his contacts, hesitating on Emily's number and then later Penelope's, knowing he couldn't call to find out if they'd got out fine, in case the line was compromised. It was likely if they'd made their exit that they'd disposed of their phones, anyway.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of the bathroom door opening, and Reid stepped out, blindfold back in place, hair damp and a towel around his waist, holding his clothes in his hand. The wounds on his wrist looked a lot better, and weren't bleeding any longer.

"There's clean clothes in the bag on the bed," Morgan said as he crossed the room. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "Much better."

Morgan lightly touched the man's shoulder as he passed him. "I'll be out soon."

The bathroom was small and warm, full of steam from prior use. He noted the dressings Reid had taken off his wrists, bloody in the trash can under the sink. Morgan shed the rest of his clothing and climbed into the shower, stepping into the stream of water when it was at the right temperature and letting it fall over his head. He braced an arm on the wall and rested his forehead on the tile, using his other to gently clean his wound, watching as the water swirled around the drain streaked with blood. Now he was still, he registered how much his body hurt from a mixture of driving and exertion.

He closed his eyes as he remembered the last time he'd seen them: Emily had just cut her hair into a bob that ended at her jaw and wasn't sure if she liked it. Penelope's internet business had just won several awards for best start up project. Their little boy Lucas had just told them he wanted to grow his hair out 'long like Marley' after sitting through a documentary on Bob Marley. Their new child, Clara, was growing strong, an alert five month old.

When he came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, the room was empty. With a jolt of panic, he hurried over to the bed to find a set of the clean clothes he'd laid out gone, as well as a pair of sneakers, his wallet, car keys, and the money clip from the table and one of the guns.

"Shit," he hissed, hitting his forehead with the heel of his hand. He should have known it was too easy, should have anticipated that the man would get scared and do a runner.

He heard someone opening the door he rushed for the table, grabbing one of the guns and levelling it. On the other side Reid stood, with one hand pulling the edge of his blindfold down into place, the other holding a plastic bag.

"Reid?"

"I didn't think it would take me this long to-" he paused, feeling his way into the room and clearly registering the tension in Morgan's voice. "Didn't you see my note?"

"Your note?"

"On the TV."

Morgan looked, and sure enough, there was a note folded on the top of it. He crossed the room as Reid shut the door and took the note to read it.

'Gone across the street for Chinese food, be back soon'

"I didn't see this," he admitted.

"And you thought I'd run?"

"Logical conclusion, when you took money and keys."

"I checked your wallet, you only had a ten so I took the clip," Reid said as he felt his way to the tablet and took out the aforementioned items. "I got soda and smokes too." He paused again, and suddenly his body language changed, his shoulders scrunching defensively. "Is-is that okay?"

"Yeah," Morgan said, frowning with concern at the man anticipating his anger, "it's fine, kid."

"Oh." He relaxed visibly. "I didn't take your keys, though."

They turned out to have slipped onto the chair that was pushed under the table. As he got dry and dressed Morgan watched as Reid slipped out of the sneakers and began to unpack the bag, feeling for the edge of the table so nothing fell off. The man held out a carton of food and Morgan took it, gently linking his other hand around the man's wrist to lead him to the bed.

"Sorry you can't watch the TV," Morgan said as they tucked into the food.

"It's okay. You still think we might get found, don't you?"

"I'm preparing for the worst. If they find us and think you're cooperating they'll hurt you or kill you. If they think I've, I dunno, stolen you to be my sex slave, they might not." The words, even in a hypothetical made his skin crawl. "And If I get away, you won't be able to identify me."

"If they find us again, I don't think it would matter," Reid said, as he reached between them to take a spring roll from the box. "I didn't have much access to the apparatus I would have required at my last place, but if my new owner is as sadistic as rumoured I should come across something I could use to commit suicide sooner rather than later."

"You'd do that? Kill yourself?"

"I told you what this guy would do."

"Yeah," Morgan nodded, "you did."

"When you're living like that, suicidal ideation becomes normal," Reid said, almost conversationally. "There's no measure of normalcy anymore; men are using your body like you're an object. No, like a person. They know you're a person, a living, breathing, sentient person. But you're their person. They own every last inch of you."

Morgan couldn't take his eyes of the man as he talked. As sick as it made him feel, he had no intention of stopping him. Talking was healing, and Spencer was hurt beyond measure. Reid stabbed at his noodles with a plastic fork, his chopsticks lying untouched between them.

"Wanting to die becomes normal. It becomes a dream, a fantasy, because most slaves don't have the opportunity to actually do it. You can't even make the choice to end your own life. You try to hang yourself, they take your sheets or your bed. You try to cut yourself with something, they tie you up. You try to bash your head on the walls or floor, they restrain you, or stick you in a padded room. And they punish you. Some tell their slaves if they obey, if they're good, that they'll free them some day. Some don't want you to accept being there, they want you to fight. Most sexual sadists can't get off with a willing victim, so they're the ones that tell slaves they're going to die. Sociopaths are more common; they like twisting their victims into someone who will do anything sexually by creating dependency. Like a lot of models of intimate partner violence."

"You know a lot about this," Morgan said. "I mean, even for someone who's been through it."

"I wanted to become a Profiler."

"A profiler?"

"They profile behaviour of criminals to catch them. Serial killers, rapists, terrorists."

"Wow," Morgan said, impressed.

"And what about you?" Reid asked, mouth full of noodles. "You haven't done this all your life, have you?"

"I wanted to go to college, but I couldn't get a scholarship. Juvenile criminal record. My mom couldn't afford to send me, so I started out as a legitimate courier. Then my younger sister wanted to go to college, and someone said I could make some more money running things off the books. After a few years I was in deep. I stopped talking to my family; I think they were ashamed of me, because they knew what I was doing wasn't legal. And it was easier to protect them if I didn't have contact with them. I thought once I was done, once I had enough money saved to give us a comfortable life, I'd get back in contact. I guess I can't now, without putting them at risk."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. Even if I wasn't helping you, I think they'd try to get rid of me anyway to clear up the mess."

Reid lifted a hand to scratch at the edge of his blindfold, and Morgan fought the urge to reach across and untie it. As much as he wanted to, as much as he wanted to completely humanise the man sitting next to him, he knew if they were found that Reid stood a better chance of not being killed on the spot or punished if he seemed to be an unwilling captive. At least maybe then one of them would make it out of this alive.

"I'm not going to let them take you back, you know," Morgan said into the hush. He couldn't promise it, and they both knew it.

Reid made a little amused sound, and he was smiling. "Thanks."