Morgan stood at the front doors of the BAU building the next morning, plugged into his iPod. (He was listening to Dreaming of You by The Coral, which had been his favourite song for a while, though the words failed to bring him much comfort anymore) He gripped a Starbucks double espresso in his hand. He probably didn't need the caffeine since he was nervous enough already, but it had been his morning routine for so long that he'd bought it without thinking. Or maybe he'd just unconsciously wanted to put off this moment.
People rushed in and out around him obliviously, maybe worrying about whose turn it was to pick the kids up or about overdue paperwork. Not whether every shadowed alley they walked past hid their attacker, waiting to step out and drag them back into the darkness. Or whether they would ever be able to shower, or eat, or turn out the lights again in their own homes without constantly feeling compelled to check every lock on every window or door. Whether they would ever stop jumping at every noise, keeping a mental note of things which could be used as weapons against an invader in every room just in case. Just in case Eric had broken out of his handcuffs and fought his way out of his maximum security prison, and somehow knew exactly where Morgan lived, and was making noises outside his window every night just to torture him.
It was pathetic really, a man his size, an FBI agent scared of his own shadow. But every night the panic attacks, or whatever they were, seemed to get worse, his door and window checking habits more and more obsessive. The only time he'd felt relaxed was last night lying down next to Reid. Those few minutes when Reid pulled Morgan's arms round him had been the happiest ones since they were attacked. When he was with Reid he felt braver, like if Eric dared show his face he'd quite happily smash his head in with his bare hands.
He didn't know why Reid had asked him to stay. Maybe he was scared, or maybe it was the drugs messing up his head. But whatever he was looking for, Morgan obviously wasn't able to supply it, since Reid had asked him to leave shortly afterwards. That stung, no matter how hard he tried not to take it personally. He felt like he'd failed him again.
After he left Reid's house his feet had taken him to a small church a couple of streets away. The lights were on inside, even though it was pretty late. He hadn't been to church in a while, even though he'd promised himself he'd make time after what happened to Garcia. He pushed open the door. There was an elderly couple at the front, and a teenage girl, and a tramp asleep at the back. They looked round curiously when he came in, and he took a seat on the back pew awkwardly.
He'd joined his hands loosely and rested them on the back of the pew in front of him, asked God over and over, why, why Reid? Why did it have to be Reid? Why was he forced to rape the man he loved of all people? The man with the purest heart he'd ever met, the warmest smile, the most funny, generous, endearingly complicated nature of any human being he'd ever known, not to mention by far the most painfully, superhumanly intelligent. What had this fucking beautiful man ever done to deserve this? What had he, Morgan done? They had risked their lives every fucking day to keep people safe and bring murderers, rapists and child molesters to justice.
He knew believing in God was about putting his faith in the fact that he had a plan, and that everyone was part of it. But what purpose could all this suffering serve anyone?
He closed his eyes and prayed for God to answer. But it was no use. He just felt nothing. Like all those times he was dragged to church as a kid and sat among the silent praying adults, trying his best to imitate them and not to fidget, trying to feel the holy connection with God that everybody described. But however hard he tried to concentrate his mind always rushed away on other things, so that he felt it was somehow his fault that it never worked for him, that he must be doing something wrong. Eventually he came to the conclusion that God must hate him for the sins he committed with Carl Buford, for his own emerging sexuality, and it made him feel even more isolated from his family and friends, being rejected by the God they worshipped.
He only realised he'd fallen asleep when the reverend, a short black guy in his fifties with greying hair and a kind smile, gently shook him awake saying he had to lock up the church. Morgan nodded sleepily and apologised. The reverend had asked if he was troubled by something and for a moment Morgan was almost tempted by the idea of trying to explain his insane situation to this man just to see how he would react. Instead he asked,
"Have you ever felt abandoned by God?"
The reverend smiled sadly and said, "Ah. Yes, a few times. When my wife died five years ago I almost left the church, I was so angry. But once I accepted the fact that she was merely waiting for me with God, I realised the foolishness of resenting him for taking her away from me, because she never really left. Do you see?"
Morgan nodded, though several arguments bubbled up in his mind. He'd been brought up to respect members of the church. His grandmother used to slap him round the head when he asked too many questions.
The reverend sensed his doubt.
"Perhaps if you told me what this was about, I could tailor my advice slightly more to help you?"
"I hurt someone. A guy I'm real close to."
"Did you apologise?"
"Yeah."
"Did he accept your apology?"
"He didn't blame me in the first place."
"But you still feel guilty?"
"Yeah." He rubbed his forehead wearily. "And…and I'm scared, all the time. And no matter how much I pray for help, it just feels like I'm talking to an empty room."
"Perhaps that's why we're talking now. He sent you here to ask me instead."
Morgan gave a wry half-smile. "He got any advice for me then?"
"I couldn't say. That's not really how this works." He laughed. "But I would like to remind you that you will always be loved, and that hard times sometimes happen for a reason, to make us stronger or kinder, or more determined to be a better person. For example, if my wife had not died of cancer, the people of my church would not have started a fundraising campaign which over time raised enough to buy a new MRI machine for the Oncology ward of the local hospital, which has saved countless people from sharing the same losses as I did." He laughed again. "Though if I'm brutally honest I would probably smash the damn thing to pieces if it would bring my wife back." He patted Morgan on the shoulder. "We aren't made to be perfect all the time. We can only do our best. If hurting your friend has had this effect on you, you most certainly aren't a bad person."
Morgan smiled and thanked him. What he said made some sense. It made him feel slightly less hopeless anyway, and not so alone. He figured maybe somehow this was meant to make him stronger, or a better profiler?
That night when he got home he went his first night without taking any morphine. But it was hard to summon that strength now he was actually here, about to step back into the building which had sent him into the clutches of the Faradays. He wanted so badly to go back to bed and hide from everything. But he was determined to do this, to prove to himself that what they did to him hadn't changed him, hadn't damaged him.
People were starting to look at him oddly. He took his earphones out and stepped through the doors into the sharp cold air conditioned reception. A couple of people he vaguely recognised smiled and said hello. He smiled back, trying not to show his anxiety. He got into the lift and pressed the button. He wondered what he would face when those doors opened. He wouldn't put it past Garcia to throw him some kind of surprise party, which would most likely give him a heart attack. No. Hotch knew how he would feel about that. He and Rossi would keep her in check.
Then he wondered if Reid was there yet? He didn't think he would be. Judging by the state he was in last night he doubted Reid would be strong enough to show up at all. He wished he'd gone and checked on him this morning after all. He'd looked really ill. But he didn't want to make him feel awkward about the night before, on top of the stresses of coming to work.
The doors opened and he walked into the BAU. It was pretty quiet since he was there quite early. Hotch was there of course, on the phone in his office. Did the man ever leave?
He sat down at his desk and opened the file Hotch had given him. It was a bad one. Not that they were ever good. The body of an eleven year old child, Maria Goldmund had been found mutilated, sexually assaulted and left in a ditch to rot. Garcia had entered the details into their database and connected it to another missing child in the area, a month before. Both girls, both blonde haired blue eyed, both around the same age.
JJ and Prentiss arrived while he was skimming through the details again, though he'd practically memorised them the night before.
"Morning ladies." He grinned, settling back into his role as the confident, easy-going charmer.
They gave rather unprofessional squeals of delight, and promptly attacked him with hugs.
"YOU'RE BACK!" JJ said.
"ALREADY!" Prentiss said. "How on earth did you get Hotch to agree to that?"
"I have no idea. I guess he finally realised how much the team needs me." He smirked as they hit him playfully. "So, this new case, care to fill me in on what we got so far?"
They looked at each other.
"We pretty much only have what's in the file. The trail's gone kinda cold. We can't find anything that links these girls other than age and appearance, and we've yet to establish any distinguishing signature." JJ said regretfully. "We've talked to the families and there's nothing, no shared staff, they went to different schools, no known grudges held against the families."
"You mean we've got to wait until he takes another one." Morgan said grimly.
"Yeah. Sorry, I know this is a real shitty case for you to come back to." Prentiss sighed.
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Garcia, which initiated another round of hugging from all three women, and emotional weeping (just Garcia). Rossi came out of his office to see what the noise was about and they were catching up, when suddenly Reid walked through the door and everyone fell silent.
He was dressed immaculately in a white shirt, black tie, brown slacks and waistcoat, his hair was combed back rigidly into its neat side parting, but that didn't hide his tired looking eyes, or the anxiety in the way he was holding himself; looking at the floor, clutching the strap of his satchel with his elbows glued to his side, looking hunched and harassed. The corners of his mouth gave them the barest jerk of a smile, devoid of any warmth. He gave his colleagues a tense nod, looking for all the world like he'd prefer it if nobody acknowledged his existence.
JJ spoke first.
"Hey Spence, great to see you back." She smiled nervously, and went to give him a tentative hug. He didn't pull away, but it was obvious that he wasn't comfortable with it. Morgan felt a flash of triumph. After all, Reid had actually sought intimacy with him night before.
The moment the thought entered his mind he despised himself for it. Was he actually glad that his friend was shrinking back in fear from physical affection from his friends?
No, of course not. Just the blonde pretty ones.
Pathetic.
They were rescued from awkward silence by Hotch, who came out of his office with a grimmer-than-usual expression on his face. They all knew what he was going to say before he'd said it.
"We just got a call from the Ohio police department. Another child matching this description, Lucy Davies was reported missing an hour ago. Let's go."
Hello again readers (: I am back. Sorry this chapter is a little short and filler-y, but I thought it'd be best to get it uploaded. Next one will be better. And longer. With more Morgan/Reid sexual tension *cough cough* erm... I mean dealing with emotional trauma. ^^ As promised, plenty of Morgan angst! ooh and may I just point out my use of the term 'slacks' instead of 'trousers' when describing what Reid was wearing. Yay for using correct colloquialisms! I sometimes wonder if it's obvious that I'm english from what I write? especially since my other story is set in east london, and when I write while I'm tired sometimes I get the accents mixed up in my head. xD which is interesting. Please continue to tell me what you think, and I will work hard to get this next chapter up! xxx