A/N: I wanted to try to write Morgan's POV, and it took longer than I thought it would to write, but I finally got it done! I wanna thank everyone for their reviews, I seriously wasn't expecting it to get so many hits. Thanks again and enjoy!
All grammatical errors are mine, so I apologize ahead for that.
Everything's on Fire
As soon as he slammed the front door behind him, Derek Morgan yanked his to go back off his shoulder and sent it flying across the foyer, complexly forgetting about his lover still waiting in the SUV in the driveway. He didn't really care at the moment. Right now, all he saw was that little boy, if only he could have-
Morgan stopped himself from thinking that. The loud boom of the slammed door and the thud of his bag hitting the wall across the room with such force still resonated in the high foyer. He probably scared off Clooney with the noise. His beloved Pitbull Terrier-Weimaraner mix would have come and greeted him by now. Pushing that thought aside and ignoring the clothes that spilled from his to go bag, he made his way over to the liquor cabinet that took up a small corner of his living room.
Quickly pulling the door open, he reached for the scotch that Rossi had given him for his birthday a few months ago. Watching the amber liquid swirl in the decorative bottle, he reached for a tumbler and filled the glass up with the burning amber liquid.
'He was right there,' ran over and over again in his mind like a broken record. He couldn't get that image out of his head, Jonathan Rolds, only 7 years old, he was so close to him. He was only a few feet away when Dellan shot the boy in the back of the head. Morgan watch as his small body fell limply, how his face just went slack, how life and light just left his body. Morgan brought the glass to his lips and gulped down half of it, letting the burn fill his entire being.
He continued to stand in front of the polished wood cabinet, leaning on his arms in front of it. He didn't hear the front door open and then lock. Hell he didn't even here Reid walk across the wood floors of the living room to him. Morgan closed his eyes, but all he saw was Jonathan Rolds falling dead in front of him. He chased the image away with another swig of the amber liquid, he wanted to forget, no, he need to forget. Once empty, the satisfying fire going down his throat, he slammed his tumbler down with enough force to possibly break it.
He wish he did.
The older profiler poured himself another class full of scotch, not noticing Reid in the doorway. He brings the glass to his lips again, another gulp on the road to forgetting. He hisses as it goes down. Morgan never really drank after a hard case, he usually just held his lover and that usually ended with a passionate night on his bed sheets, full of reassurance and love. That wouldn't do tonight.
No, this wasn't like other cases. A little boy was killed right in front of his eyes, and he couldn't stop it. He was only a few yards away.
He was right there.
"Derek." He faintly hears his lover calling out for him, his voice pleading for him to put the tumbler away and he also feels the warmth of a hand on his bicep, trying be a comfort for him, but the only comfort he thinks he needs is swirling in the glass tumbler. Drinking to forget wasn't Derek Morgan in the slightest, but he'd do anything to make the image of the Rolds boy go away. He moves his arm to break the contact with the other's touch in a brash motion, his lover taking a step back. He didn't want the pity, he didn't want that comfort. He couldn't turn back time and stop that bullet from colliding with his skull.
"Derek, please. Just talk to me," Morgan had to stop himself from scoffing out loud at Reid's plead.
'Talk about what? How I failed? How a kid's life was cut short because I couldn't save him?' He takes another drink while his train of thought continued. 'I failed and just watched another innocent get shot right in front of my own eyes,' he savors the burn of the scotch.
'Just like Dad,' he was trying not to think of his father since the very moment he watched Jonathan Rolds hit the ground, he was taken back to when he was 10 years old, watching his own father, an off duty cop, be gunned down right in front of him.
He felt powerless then, he felt the same now. His mind begins to swirl again, those images dancing in his head. He tries to chase the images away with another gulp of scotch, it does work
"Derek-"
"You weren't there," he hisses at his lover, no wanting to meet his eyes. 'You didn't see what I saw. You didn't watch a little boy get shot right in front of you. You have no fucking clue what I'm going through,' he thinks, closing his eyes. Morgan feels like every word he speaks out loud is opening one more stitch to exploding, all his anger, all his memories, everything coming out at a moment's notice on anyone or anything. At the moment, his lover was his closest possible target. His grip on the tumbler threatens to crack the glass. He puts it down and instead grips the polish wood of his liquor cabinet in order to stop himself from putting his heads on the genius.
He'd never felt the need to break something so strongly before, whether it be glass, wood, or bone. The anger was consuming him, he knew that for a fact, and he really didn't care. Just like he didn't care when he emptied his clip into Dellan's heart. Morgan never felt so cold. There was no remorse, no guilt, just the mantra in his head telling him to, 'Kill, Kill, Kill.' It still wasn't enough. He didn't flinch when the other came in and saw his glock trained on their unsub's dead body, he didn't feel anything. He didn't want to feel anything.
"Drinking is not going to solve this," he hears his lover say softly. 'Heh, but Dilaudid did the trick for you a few years back,' he almost said his pleading lover. That would have twisted the knife a bit. "Derek, just-"
He couldn't take it anymore; he didn't want to hear it. His fists remained clenched tightly at his sides as he pushed off the cabinet, his knuckles almost turning white. Morgan turned sharply to Spencer, who was about to place another hand on him in an attempt to comfort him. He looked at his lover with such intensity, speaking silent words to the genius. He couldn't help but glare at the younger man, with such venom, but in that stilled second, he didn't care. Morgan didn't need comfort or pity, all he wanted was to forget and release all his emotions.
Staring intently into the hazel eyes of his lover, he saw blossoming fear. Spencer took a step back, speechless, in shock. Morgan continued to stare intensity into the eyes that on any other pervious nights, he would have found comforting and loving, but looking into his lover's eyes, he felt nothing but anger.
"You were not there, Reid," he said lowly. It was in a lingering moment that he came to a realization. He said Reid. Not Spencer, not Baby, not Pretty Boy, but Reid. He didn't care. Not now. Grabbing the tumbler off the counter, he shoved passed Reid, much harsher than was really necessary. Walking down the dark hallway that lead to the master bedroom, he felt the grip on his glass grow tighter as the images of his childhood and today's events filled his head. Slamming the bedroom door behind him, he quickly locked it; he didn't want Reid to come in a stop him.
He stood in the bedroom for a moment, the quiet suffocating him like a wet blanket. Morgan quickly finished the remaining scotch in the glass as images of blood came to his mind. He saw his father. He saw Jonathan Rolds. He couldn't stop them from dying. He couldn't save them. He let his mother, his sisters, hell, even himself down that day. He was the one that wanted to go to the park that morning. He was the one that convinced his father to take him using a guilt trip.
"It's not fair! You're never home, you're always working!"
"Son," his father turned to him, a kind look in his eyes, "The first day that I'm off, we'll go to the park and toss some ball."
"Promise?"
"Of course." And when that day came, his father wasn't feeling well. In fact, he had wanted to reschedule their father-son bonding time because of how ill he felt, not from sickness but from something else, is what his mother told him years after his death. But a young 10 year old Derek Morgan wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.
"You promised, Dad!" It has been that guilt trip combined with "You're never home! It's not fair!" That had convinced his father to go out, despite his ill feelings. As soon as he walked out that door that morning, Derek never thought it would be the last time his mom and sisters would see their father alive.
Morgan had always held that guilt that if he hadn't been such a pain, that if he hadn't been so childish in wanting his father's attention, his dad would still be alive. He would have seen his 40 year anniversary with his mom, would have walked Des down the aisle, and been there at all of their high school graduation and his FBI graduation. But instead, his mother, his sisters, and him watched at his body was lowered into the ground. Derek could still remember clearly the way the blood pooled around his father as he laid there on the concrete sidewalk, how his shirt was soaked crimson, and the sobbing cries of his mother and sisters when the officer came to the house to give Fran Morgan the news of her husband's death. He couldn't count all the times he wouldn't be able to sleep at night and would pick up on the faint sobs and sniffles of his mother crying in the dead of night. That had killed him, to even think about that still kills him.
Earlier that day, he saw the death of his father all over again in the death of 7 year old Jonathan Rolds, how powerless he was to stop it, how he let another life be cut short right in front of him. It was coming back to haunt him, everything kept replaying in his head, that same voice in his head dancing in his mind: 'You let this happen.' `'It's your fault.' 'They're dead because of you.'
He didn't even think before flinging the glass tumbler across the room, hitting the wall across from him and shattering into hundreds of small shards on the floor. The scotch that was in the tumbler now decorated the wall where the glass had made impact. He ran his hands over his scalp, still seeing red, the anger boiling his blood, Morgan then made his way over to the bathroom that he and Reid shared. His hands resting on the porcelain of the sink, he began to run some water, splashing his face with some to calm down.
It wasn't working.
He looked up and met his own reflection in the mirror, anger, hatred, and disgust in his eyes. 'You let them die,' began to play around in his head, repeating like a mantra. "Stop," he whispered to no one, "God damnit, stop," his hands coming to his head in an attempt to cast out those thoughts, but it wasn't working, his conscious was haunting him. He saw blood, the cold eyes of Jonthan Rolds and of his father, he felt the sick empowerment of ending a life and the dead pleasure of emptying six shots into Dellan's chest. If only-
"God damnit!" His hand reached out for the hand towel next to the sink, twisted his hand in a quick motion and them just as quickly, his covered fist collided with the mirror , shattering it. A second hit, a third, a forth, a fifth until all the mirror shards were sitting in the sink, his fist rested against the metal backing which was now dented. Morgan took several deep" breaths, trying to calm himself, all his anger, left in the broken shards of mirror that filled the sink and lay on the tile floor. He stumbled a bit backwards, his back against the wall, his body shaking almost uncontrollable from the after effects of his rage. He let the silence wash over him, he let it consume him, trying to lull his the remaining emotions to a deep sleep of sorts.
It took him a moment to realize his fist was throbbing. Slowly, Morgan made his way over to the bedroom, perching himself on the edge of the bed, facing the door. 'Spencer's side', he thought in his head. In the far reaches of his mind, he wondered if his lover heard the chaos he caused in the restroom. Looking down, he looked at his right fist which was currently covered with the green hand towel. He let the said towel fall to his feet, inspecting his throbbing hand. His knuckles were being to turn red from his outburst, he wouldn't doubt there would be a bruise within a few hours.
The haze of emotion was fleeing his mind, leaving only the slight haze of alcohol that was in his system. He simply sat there on the edge of the bed, looking only at his hands. Derek didn't know how long he stayed in a blank state of mind, his anger fading into regret, or something similar to it.
He then heard the knob of the door turn slowly. He remembered he had locked the door when he first came into the room. He stood and walked over to the door, his hand merely inches away from the knob, but he froze. He knew it was Spencer on the other side. He just couldn't let him see him like this, haunted by his past, by the case. No, he was supposed to be so much stronger than this. Instead he rested his forehead against the wall next to the door.
"Morgan." He hears his lover from the outside his own sanctuary, the room. He wants to let him in, to let him know that he's alright, but he just can't find the voice to say it. "Derek." There's a bit of strain when he calls him that time, he's pleading, but Morgan still wouldn't budge.
'You don't want to be near me, Baby,' he almost says out loud, 'I might hurt you, Spencer. I wanted to earlier.'
"Leave," Morgan finally vocalizes, praying to someone or something that his lover would leave. He didn't know if he could stop himself from hurting Reid the next time he felt that violent, that if he felt that cold again, that he'd be able to control himself.
"I'm not going anywhere."
That's what gets Derek, he feels his chest fill up with warmth and then begin to become too much for him to handle. He pushes himself off the wall and over to the other side of the room. He doesn't know what to think. He hears the footfalls disappear down the hall, to the guest room.
"What am I doing?" He feels more anger rise in him, then confusion wash over him. Morgan wanted to throw open the door and pulling the young genius into his arms, but he stopped himself, like times before. He didn't understand why something was stopping him from going to his lover. Then it hit him.
He was weak. So pathetically weak.
He couldn't save Rolds, hell, he couldn't even control his temper and rage. He was weary to look in the restroom and the destruction he caused in a blind rage. Morgan felt like a child in a sense. He felt so lost. Morgan was lost in his raging emotions that crashed upon him like waves, taking a part of him away, eating him up. But he didn't stop it. He felt like this was the punishment he deserved, his own personal hell.
Morgan felt his jeans for his phone. Quickly finding it, he dialed the number he knew by heart, placing it to his ear, listening to the rings.
He needed her, he just needed to hear her voice. She helped him out of a similar hole all those years ago, maybe, just maybe, she could help him up again.
"Hello?" Derek's heart stopped for a moment at the sound of the tired reply. He let his head fall forward, another wave of emotions about to crash on him. He sat on the edge of the bed in an attempt to try and steady himself.
"Hello?" came again on the other line with a hint of frustration, still a bit of sleep laced in her voice.
"…..Mama?" The word was merely a whisper leaving his lips, but he was sure the woman on the other end heard.
"Derek? Baby? I know I told you to call anytime," came a soft giggle from his mother, "but Baby, its nearly 1 in the morning over here."
"Mama….Mama I- ," he didn't know how to begin. 'I'm the reason a 7 year old boy is dead,' he thought about saying, but no words left his lips. 'I feel so vulnerable.'
"Derek, honey. What's wrong?" Fran Morgan's voice dripped with worry. She gently pushed a bit more, "Baby, did something happen?"
He took a deep breath, hoping it would fill him with some type of courage. "Mama, I didn't get to save one," Derek said softly, his voice threatening to break.
There was a bit of silence on the other end of the line before Mrs,Morgan softly consoled her son. "Oh, Baby," Derek could imagine her there with him, at his side , a hand running circles around his back. "Derek, I know how hard your job is, you see unimaginable horrors every day and deal with the most wicked of people, but even you told me one time that in reality, Baby, you can't save the all. It's tough and heartbreaking, but sometimes you can't get in the way of it."
"He was right there Mama," he let out another shaky breath, gripping his phone tightly. "He was right in front of me when he died. I.." he faltered a bit, unsure whether he should continue, but he did anyways, "It was like I was with Dad all over again."
"Oh, Derek," she started gently, "I know what you're thinking, and you better stop it, young man." Morgan couldn't help but let the faintest of smiles appear in his face, " You know better."
"But Mama-"
"Don't 'But Mama' me, Baby," her voice turned from a playful scolding to a gentle seriousness. "Derek Anthony Morgan, I never, ever, once blamed you for your father's passing. I never have, and I never will, and I'm pretty sure your daddy would tell you the same thing." Derek felt a tear escape at the mention of his father and his mother's words. "Derek, you are not at fault for any of this. You need to understand that. You were trying to save a victim, you had nothing but good intentions on your mind, Baby," she let out a sigh. "You need to take comfort in the fact that he's not suffering and that he's in a better place, Der. Do you understand me?"
A small smile graced his lips as he shook his head at his mother's last statement which was filled with so much order, yet covered in gentleness. "Yes, ma'am," he whispered into the cell phone, things seeming to get a bit lighter. ' He's in a better place now.' 'Not your fault.' 'He's not suffereing.'
"Derek," started his mother again, "While I love to hear from you and such, how's Spencer coping with this?" Just as Morgan felt like the sun was breaking though, he walked into another heavily clouded place. Everything began to slowly dift back to Morgan as he talked to his mother, but then he was remimded of his lover and how he acted towards him. He remembered that anger that just filled his entire being and almost made him hurt his lover….almost.
"I don't know, Mama."
"What do you mean you don't know," she seemed slightly annoyed, "Baby, you better not have pushed him away." Derek let out a heavy sigh. He did push him away, his anger made him do so. "Der, I know how you get when you're really hurt or upset," Fran said, "This was a really hard case for you, Derek. I know you don't tell me all the details of being a profiler so save me for worrying about more than I already do, but Dr. Reid, Spencer," she corrected herself, "is in the same lot as you Baby, and he's got your love and you've got his." Derek stayed silent for a moment, she was right. Mama was always right. "Baby, while I do love hearing from you, and you know I'm always here for you no matter what, but I think you'll find a lot more peace of mind finding what you really need in Spencer."
Spencer's face flashed in his mind, warmth filling his chest. What he needed all along was something he pushed away out of fear, out of anger. He hears his mother say over the line, "You feel lost and hurt, and only the person who holds your heart can help mend it. I should know. Your father was exactly the same way, Derek," he feels something tug at him at the mention of his dad. "When your dad was on the force, he had his fair share of 'those days'. And every time he had one, he always sought comfort from me, and when the you and the girls were born, the first thing he always did when he came home was hug all three of you so tightly, remember?"
Derek smiled at the memory. "Yeah, I do."
"Baby, anger may seem to take you up, but it's love that makes it better," Fran stayed silent for a while, a soft yawn heard over the phone. "Go to him, Der."
"I love you Mama, thanks."
"I love you too Baby, I always will." The line went dead then. Slowly lowering his phone from his ear, Morgan just stared at it for a minute. There was suddenly a burning urge to go his lover, to apologize, and to just be with him. It took his mother to tell him that much.
After glancing over at the clock on the nightstand, he stood and quietly opened the door and made his way to the guest room. Derek hesitated for a minute when he got to the door, he thought about turning back, possibly taking the bottle of scotch with him back to the master bedroom, but he stopped himself. No, he needed this. He had been pushing away his lover's warmth since the incident, he felt like he needed to be reminded that he was here, not in the backyard of the Rold's residence. Opening the door, he caught sight of his beloved dog asleep in the hardwood floor at the foot of the bed, keeping Spencer company. Derek scratched Clooney's head, which resulted in the mix wagging his tail against the floor, delighted that his master was somewhat back to former self, then kicked off his shoes, leaving them scattered on the floor. He took in the sight of Spencer sound asleep, hugging a pillow to his body, his gentle breathing filling the room. What caught Morgan's eyes though were the worry lines and frown that graced the genius' delicate features. Had he caused that? Spencer shifted a bit, his grip on the pillow he was hugging himself into becoming tighter.
Making his way around the bed, Derek slipped under the covers, fully clothed , trying not to disturb Reid as he wrapped his arms around this sleeping lover's lithe body, spooning up against him. Derek felt the other shift in his arms, and watched as he abandoned his hold on the pillow and, instead, turned to face him, his eyes fluttering open ever so slightly, trying to bring himself back from the realm of sleep. Large hazel eyes met his own, reading every emotion in them as a hand reached for his face, finding its place on his cheek, fingers stroking the skin there. His eyes, they held so much love for him. Derek began to feel himself start to break at the simples of touches. He tried to regain himself from completely shattering under the pressures of the previous day and the unwavering love and compassion that Spencer gave off, despite everything that had happened.
"Baby," he started out, savoring the warmth of his lover's palm, looking straight into those doe like eyes of his genius. "I'm-" 'I'm sorry I acted the way I did,' he meant to say, 'I'm so sorry I pushed you away, that I wanted to hurt you, I'm so fucking sorry .' Those words never came out though, they couldn't. He closed his eyes in frustration, feeling so bare to his lover.
"I know," those words made Derek look back into those eyes of his lover. "It's okay, Derek." A whisper, a touch to cradle the back of his head, those were the unraveling points for him, the flood gates were about to burst, but Derek tried to hold him back, he wouldn't break, no, the last time he did was in his youth, when God wouldn't answer his prayers, but this was entirely different. He couldn't burden Reid with his, he couldn't-
"He was right there," came the words before he stop them. 'I couldn't save him.'
"You did what you could," his lover's voice was reaching him through his haze of confusion and regret, try to comfort him.
"But is wasn't enough," Derek moved forward to rest his forehead against Spencer's shoulder, his arms keeping an iron grip on the other. He has seen a life lost, he wasn't going to let another get away, even if it was childish believe that by just holding on to that person for dear life, he could prevent it.
He felt Spencer's arms wrap around him like a cocoon, protecting him from the darkness, from his emotion, from the horrors of his job. Everything felt like it was breaking around him, like the rage, the confusion, and the sadness were tearing him into little pieces, but Reid was holding him together. "We can't save them all." 'I know. I told you that, Spencer. But it still fuckin' hurts.' "You did everything you possibly could do. And I love you for it," he felt Spencer nuzzle the crown of his head, one of his hands cradling the back of his head, the other around his shoulders. Everything was becoming too much too fast for the older profiler.
"Spencer," his lips moved against the other's collarbone 'I can't lose you. I never wanted you to leave. I can't even bear to think about it,' but again those words wouldn't escape his lips, he couldn't utter them, not with him on the verge of shattering like the tumbler he threw against the wall, not like the mirror in the bathroom. He let his movements speak for him as he gently tightens his arms around the genius. He didn't register the shaking of his own body from all the pent up emotions of the past day.
"I'm not going anywhere, Love. I love you." That's what broke him, what shattered the fragile glass that was his very being. He felt the tears begin to fall. Tears for Jonathan Rolds, for his father, for Spencer, and for everything else. It all came crashing down. He was so open, so naked even with clothes on him, but in his lover's arms, he wouldn't be judge, wouldn't be considered weak, only human. He felt so warm after spending the last hours in the cold cloud of anger and emotion. It was love, oh God, it was love. He felt Spencer's lips at the top of his head, while he embraced the darkness, welcoming him into sleep, listening to the lullaby of the faint beating of Spencer's heart.
Come morning light, he'll talk to Spencer, but right now, he was safe and sound in his lover's arm, the memories of yesterday fleeing his mind, even if it was just for this moment. He was safe, wrapped in his Spencer's love.
-x-X-x-
Reviews?
A/N: I'm really tempted to write another story to go along with this, I want to call it "Remind Me" and let it take place the morning after. So keep an eye out for that. Again, thanks for reading! You guys are amazing!