Song for this chapter: Breath~ Breaking Benjamin
...
Five days later
It was five o'clock on the day before Christmas eve, the last day of work before the holiday started. The BAU Christmas party would start at half past six on the second floor, with mince pies and mulled wine and eggnog and music. Normally they socialised with the rest of their floor and visited friends at other floor's parties for a couple of hours before the team went to a restaurant to have their own party.
Morgan wished he could skip both. Hotch asked him to embrace the Christmas spirit and think about coming, so as a compromise he agreed to attend the office party, but not the team gathering. He would only bring the mood down anyway, as he pointed out to Hotch. Hotch just gave him a sad look and asked him if he really thought that that would matter to any of them.
Morgan slumped back in his chair. The sound of his own typing was killing his head.
JJ and Prentiss were talking about him. He could tell because they were making a rigid effort not to look at him. It had taken several days of cold shouldering them but finally they seemed to have got the message and left him alone. Still, the tense atmosphere in the office was making him feel nauseous.
He stood up and walked out into the corridor to get a coke from the vending machine. The machine picked that moment to get stuck, so the can was just a few degrees away from falling out of the plastic holster. He swore and slammed his fist against the vending machine five times before an intense pain shot through his hand and he remembered it was the wounded one, now bleeding again. It was a miracle it hadn't got infected by now with the number of times it had reopened.
He kicked the machine and tilted it forwards and shook it, before finally giving up and resting his back against it, panting and frustrated.
"Ahh the eternal epic struggle between man and vending machine, both putting their lives on the line and going to war; for honour, for pride, and for a bottle of coca cola." Came a dramatic voice from the end of the corridor.
Morgan gave a fake smile. "Hey." He said, embarrassed.
"Don't give up. The beast may have won the battle, but the war will be ours." Young smiled, walking up to him.
Morgan gave an approximation of a laugh. "So, you here for the BAU party then?"
"I haven't decided yet. The sixth floor's looks pretty good. They've got pass the parcel."
Morgan laughed. "Oh, very supportive, thanks! By the way you do remember that you don't technically work here right?"
"I consider myself the FBI's guest of honour." Young smirked. "You going then?"
"Yeah probably." Morgan nodded.
There was an awkward silence.
"You've been avoiding me." Young stated. It wasn't a question so Morgan didn't answer.
There was a silence so awkward he decided to respond after all. He shrugged.
"I've been busy."
"Busy avoiding me." Young said.
Morgan shrugged.
"I knew you were still mad at me for not telling you about Reid straight away." Young remarked. "Anger like that doesn't just go away overnight."
"I'm not angry." Morgan protested.
"Oh yes, the man I came across two minutes ago practically assaulting a vending machine looked like the very definition of tranquillity." Young said sarcastically. "I could have mistaken you for the Buddha had you not got such perfectly defined abdominal muscles."
Morgan clenched his jaw.
"So the question is," Young continued. "If you're keeping up this mask of normality at work all day every day, where is all that repressed rage going?"
Morgan shrugged.
"It must take a lot out of a guy. Squashing down that much anger. Though of course, you're a pro at repressing things you're ashamed of." Young said quietly.
There was another silence.
"Hotch knows about the drinking by the way. He called this morning, says it's the fourth day in a row you've come in late, smelling of alcohol."
Morgan looked down. "Things just got on top of me today."
"Please tell me you haven't been driving to work in this state." Young said in a hushed voice as two other workers, a man and a woman, walked past them, the sound of the woman's high heels grating against Morgan's sore head.
"No. I take the bus now. I keep mixing up the timetable. That's why I've been late a couple of times."
Young looked at him. "The bus? What are you, twelve years old?" he sniggered. "Or worse, Spencer Reid?"
Morgan scowled.
"Okay, okay, too soon. Sorry." Young said sheepishly. "Look why don't we go somewhere and talk?" he suggested. "We don't even have to mention 'he who must not be named.' I miss you dude."
"No thanks. And no offence but even if I needed it you're the last person I'm gonna talk to about an alcohol problem." Morgan said meaningfully. Young gave a kind of 'fair enough' shrug. "And you can tell Hotch I'm done jumping through hoops. He can either leave me alone or he can fire me, I don't care anymore. I'm not mad at you but I am officially discharging myself from you as a patient."
"He's not going to fire you for that." Young sighed.
"Didn't think so." Morgan gave a tired smile.
"But he's going to have to if you keep on down this road." Young warned him. "Tell me, are you finding it difficult to get through the day without a drink yet? See I've been on this same road as you a long time ago, back when it mattered to people what I did. I know all about the excuses and self-deception, and I know how pretty soon it becomes all you can think about. All you're living for. What'll it be next? Sneaking whisky from a hipflask from under the desk? Bringing vodka disguised in a water bottle? Face it Derek, for a guy in your position becoming an alcoholic sucks as a coping mechanism."
"I'm not-"
"No of course not. They never are." Young said wearily. "You know I'm starting to think alcoholics are actually mythical beings, since not one of my patients has ever admitted to being one."
"Mind your own business." Morgan snapped. "I don't want you interfering in my life anymore."
"Right, and I'm just supposed to watch you systematically throw away or destroy every good thing in your life?" For the first time Morgan could remember, Young looked angry. "A fit and healthy man in his prime, intelligent, confident, working at nearly the top of his field? Do you know what some people would give to be you?"
Morgan narrowed his eyes. "Your inferiority complex isn't my responsibility, Young."
Young laughed sarcastically. "Oh wow. You profilers. You really think you can read minds don't you? My inferiority-Oh my God you're such a dick. My inferiority complex. You think you're so fucking clever don't you!" he practically spat.
"Fine. What is it then?" Morgan folded his arms disinterestedly.
Young smiled, anger lighting his eyes like the moment where a match is struck.
"Your Dr Reid figured it out." He said tauntingly. "Just before he left."
That got his attention.
"Figured what out?"
Young looked into his eyes without blinking.
"Haven't you ever wondered," he said taking a ball out of his pocket and holding it aloft between his thumb and finger. "why I carry this ball around with me wherever I go?"
Morgan fixed his eyes onto it. He nodded. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"Do you officially give up, profiler boy?" Young smirked.
Morgan glared at him. "Yes. What did Reid know?"
Young's smirk grew wider.
"Tell you what…let's turn this into a gentleman's wager." He crouched down next to the vending machine and stuck his arm through the flap. "I bet I can get that can of coke out through cunning and wit, where brute force has failed, and you bet against me. If I fail, you get your answer."
"And if you succeed?" Morgan asked, though it was obvious that Young's arm wasn't long enough, even if he did manage to get it past the anti-theft arm trap.
"I keep the coke." Young said, waggling his eyebrows.
"Fine." Morgan held out a hand suspiciously. "You're on." Young shook his hand with his left, since his right was inside the flap.
Young grinned. He stood up, reached into his pocket and stuck a coin into the slot before poking in the code for the row of the can which had got stuck. It moved along and both cans dropped down into the bottom. Young fished them out and handed one to Morgan.
Morgan scowled. "You cheater."
"I can't believe you fell for that." Young hooted with laughter. "Inferiority complex my ass, I am a freaking GOD. Come and find me when you figure out the answer. Or when your life begins to fall apart, either will do. See you at the party."
He tossed his ball to Morgan before he left.
Somehow Morgan felt even more hung over than he had ten minutes ago.
...
He couldn't focus on his work at all after his conversation with Young, even though a large part of him was reasonably certain that he was just bluffing, using some kind of therapy mind trick to intrigue him into sticking with the counselling. But if that was the case then using Reid as bait was a very below the belt and risky strategy. Somehow it didn't seem like Young's style.
He rolled the ball between his fingers, staring at the unopened can of coke.
Giving up, he opened his desk drawer and dropped the ball into it, shoving it closed irritably. Then he cracked open the can and drank it.
Whatever Young was trying to do to him he wouldn't let it work.
However, though he hated to admit it, he knew Young was right when he said that using alcohol to relieve the stress and anxiety couldn't work for him long term. He never meant to carry it on this long anyway. Whatever Young believed, Morgan knew he wasn't yet psychologically dependent on alcohol to function, but he knew that if he didn't get out of the habits he was forming now then that would soon change.
He gave up on finishing his work before the holiday and decided to go home to eat, shower and change. He decided he'd turn up for the party around eight so he could avoid all the awkward small talk and trying to remember people's names before everybody started knocking back the eggnog.
Garcia came up to him just as he was leaving. His shoulders stiffened.
Why can't you just leave me alone? He thought miserably.
"Derek?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. He turned to face her. She held out a flat square present wrapped in cartoon reindeer wrapping paper. "I know that just because it's Christmas it doesn't mean you have to forgive me or anything, I just…I wanted you to know that I love you and I'm always going to be there for you no matter what you're going through."
Morgan nodded without meeting her eyes, took it and left.
"Merry Christmas." She called out after him, but he pretended not to hear.
...
He arrived at the party in a cab wearing black jeans and a black shirt with a grey tie and his leather jacket, with a few tequila shots already humming through his system, loosening the knot of tension in his stomach. He couldn't drink much since he knew Hotch would be watching him the whole time, but once the team left for the restaurant he'd be free to knock himself out.
When he got there Hotch, Rossi and Strauss were standing together talking, holding cups of mulled wine. Strauss had had plenty of that already by the look of things. Hotch waved and Rossi nodded and raised his drink in acknowledgement when he walked in, both were giving him the kind of look which said "Run, run for your life. It's too late for us but you can still escape before she notices you're here." He waved back, but took the hint and went off looking for somebody to talk to. He stopped and felt sad when he realised that the face he was scanning the crowd for was Reid.
If he'd been writing their lives as a story or a television drama, Reid would've been there, dressed in a tuxedo, waiting to surprise him. The only Christmas present he really wanted. But of course, he wasn't.
He saw Will and JJ with Henry on her hip, with Garcia fussing over the little blonde boy, who seemed fascinated by her Christmas themed accessories. She saw Morgan and smiled and he froze and for a moment he felt torn between how sick and angry and bitter she made him, and not wanting to be lonely any more.
Just in time he caught sight of a guy he vaguely recognised as a friend of Kevin's, who was, if he remembered right, a data analyst for ViCAP. He was tanned and muscular, of similar height to Morgan with blue eyes and dark hair cut in a neat military style, with a neat black strip of moustache above his top lip.
Morgan had noticed him around the bullpen a few times and though he had a stern, serious appearance he seemed like a very chatty, dynamic and fun sort of person. He was wearing a grey blazer buttoned over a white shirt, with tight maroon coloured jeans and expensive looking black leather shoes.
He went and introduced himself to the guy, who was putting packets of sugar into his warm wine.
His eyes lit up when he saw him. "Yeah I know who you are," he said, looking him up and down. "Derek, right? You're a pretty popular topic of gossip amongst the ladies in the office. Is it true you were stuck in a love-triangle with poor Kev and his girlfriend?"
Morgan laughed. "Hell no. Me and Penelope we're just…" he didn't know what to say. "I don't see her that way. And neither does she."
"Oh thank God!" He laughed. Morgan raised his eyebrows.
"I just mean…no offence or anything but that lady's dress sense rather offends my eyesight. It would significantly impair the delicate aesthetic balance…and thus my artistic enjoyment, of staring at your ass if she was in the frame." He smirked.
Morgan chuckled. "Oh really? Does that happen a lot then? You staring at my ass?" he asked.
"Why d'you think I'm always the one volunteering to run errands for the people on my floor?" The guy winked and took a sip of his wine, still holding his gaze. He screwed up his face a little. "Ugh I've added like a ton of sugar and this still tastes like piss."
Morgan smiled, then felt a sad twinge in his gut, reminded of how Reid put about ten sugars in his coffee when he needed to use his brain without resting.
He reached into the inside pocket of his waistcoat and showed Morgan the top of a bottle of Bacardi.
"You wanna find a quiet little corner to sit in and get smashed and make fun of everybody's dancing?" He asked with a cute grin, stroking a finger down the edge of Morgan's tie seductively. Morgan swallowed, stepped back quickly and looked around. Nobody was watching but he couldn't take the risk. He shook his head, even though he was desperate for a drink. And for the company.
"It's okay I get it, you don't want anybody to know. That's cool. We'll be discrete." He said quietly and let his hand drop by his side.
Morgan knew he should stop himself from going down this route. He'd felt so disgusted with himself after the thing with Sean. He'd stayed in every night since then to avoid that kind of temptation. He knew it wouldn't make anything better, it just made him hate himself even more.
But he was drunk and lonely, and this guy was hot, and funny…and hot. He found himself nodding and sitting down with him and his friends, passing the Bacardi back and forth and listening to him wittily dissect the fashion choices and romantic lives of everybody in the room.
His quick stream of speech and his need to find faults in others strongly indicated a lack of self-esteem, but Morgan figured it could also just be nerves or overexcitement.
Kevin came and joined the group and looked surprised to see Morgan hanging out with them.
"Hey Derek." He said awkwardly, obviously having heard from Garcia that he was giving her the silent treatment. Morgan nodded in greeting at Kevin, who sat down in the chair next to him.
They all went through the "Enjoying the party?" "Any special plans for Christmas?" line of small talk before Kevin ran out of things to say. Finally he asked, "Look, Penelope hasn't really told me anything but I can see that this fight is really upsetting her."
"Good. She deserves to be upset." Morgan said coldly.
"She said exactly the same thing." Kevin remarked sadly. "But she adores you, I can't imagine her doing anything to deliberately hurt you." He sighed. "I know I wasn't the biggest fan of how close you two were, but I prefer that to seeing her like this."
Morgan clenched his jaw. Kevin's words made him feel guilty, which made him angry. What right do you have to say that to me when you have no clue what your stupid, interfering girlfriend did to me and my best friend?
He stood up and stormed away from them. The room suddenly seemed too crowded and small, like everybody was looking at him. He'd apparently drunk quite a bit more than he thought he had. He was looking for the exit when he saw Young, wearing three pairs of brown felt antlers and hiding crouched behind a desk, looking sullen. Morgan went over and sat on the desk.
"What're you doing?" he asked, slamming a hand onto the desk. Young jumped, startled and squawked in alarm, before falling onto his ass.
"Oh thank God! I thought you were Emily!" Young let out a big breath, one of the pairs of antlers falling down to his chin. "I'm spying on her and that blonde, muscle-bound mutant she brought as a date" he scowled.
"Oh, you mean Jarvis?" Morgan followed Young's eyesight to where Emily stood next to the tall, handsome cop, who had embraced the Christmas spirit with a dorky knitted jumper and a Santa hat. They seemed to be having a good time, though if Morgan's instinct was correct, Jarvis was a lot more keen on Prentiss than she was on him. It actually sort of felt like she was over-responding to his smiles and jokes, putting a flirty hand on his arm when she normally wouldn't.
Morgan grinned. Perhaps she has a very good idea of the fact that somebody may be spying on her.
"You mean you knew!? You knew she was seeing him and you didn't bother to tell me?" Young sat up angrily.
"Sorry man. Didn't think you'd be interested." Morgan feigned innocent confusion. "You said you didn't want her that way."
"WELL I WAS LYING OF COURSE!" Young said loudly, obviously not quite grasping the concept of stealth. "Call yourself a profiler!?"
He flopped back onto the floor with a dramatic sigh.
"What are you sixteen years old?" Morgan shook his head. "She finds someone far more emotionally mature, who treats her way better than you ever did, and now you want her back? Do you love her?"
Young hiccupped, and nodded miserably.
"Then you should accept that she's moved on and found somebody much hotter than you, who can give her more stability and security in life than you ever could, and that you're just going to have to spend the rest of your life regretting and mourning for what could've been, had you not been such a stupid ass." Morgan said solemnly.
Young looked at him like he'd just killed a puppy.
"Like hell I am!" he cried, standing up unsteadily. "I'm not going to let her slip through my fingers without a fight!"
Morgan smiled. Reverse psychology. Young wasn't the only one who could play mind games.
Young marched towards Prentiss and Jarvis.
Morgan watched the events unfold with amusement.
It looked like Young was giving a dramatic declaration of his feelings, Jarvis just looked confused and Prentiss looked like she wanted to kill Young. Then everyone in the room turned to look at them as Young declared very loudly that he and Jarvis should duel for her affection.
People crowded around them so Morgan couldn't see what was happening anymore, and then suddenly his interest in the situation waned sharply as he saw the hot guy he'd been talking to earlier giving him a naughty smirk and gesturing towards the door of somebody's office.
Morgan hesitated but found himself sliding off the desk and following him into the small office, almost in a daze. Anxiety and guilt clawed at his gut, but he was too drunk and wanted it too badly to be able to collect his thoughts enough to turn those feelings into a conscious decision. The door clicked shut behind him and the shutters were closed. In the dark and the privacy of some poor guy's office, he gave up any notion of struggling and let his animal instincts take over.
That's what he felt like, anyway. An animal. Greedy and horny and selfish, driven by need. It was such a relief to accept that, to let go.
The guy locked the door behind them, said he'd taken the keys off his boss since he was much too drunk to drive (conscientious citizen that he was). He clawed off Morgan's shirt and jacket but left on the tie while Morgan undressed him quickly. The guy dropped to his knees and started to give him a blowjob, his mouth wet and fast and practised. Morgan closed his eyes. Part of him was still fighting to run away.
It's not too late to say no.
But another voice just laughed and said it was too late, it had always been too late, because this was who he'd always been, a dirty slut without a single shred of self-respect who practically invited people to take advantage of him. Why fight it? What reward was there now to be good and wholesome? Reid still left him. Reid figured out what kind of person he was and he ran to the fucking hills.
So what was there to do except wallow in filth and ecstasy?
There was a lot of whispering, giggling, fumbling in the dark, Morgan's back rubbed sore with carpet burn, staring up at the underside of the wooden table they were shagging under. They were both so tall that they had difficulty fitting under it. For the first time in a long while Morgan felt himself being physically dominated by a partner, pinned down by his sheer weight, feeling his legs and lower body lifted like he weighed nothing. It rarely happened to him and it was kind of a turn on.
What his partner in crime lacked in patience and consideration he made up for in enthusiasm, touching and kissing his body all over like a blind man trying to 'see' him through touch, while whispering smut and filth in his ear constantly, trying to get him to talk dirty.
"Tell me how much you love having my huge cock rammed into your ass." He whispered playfully, kissing his neck.
"Dr Reid. Tell Agent Morgan you want him to fuck you."
"C'mon, don't be shy." he laughed, running his hands over Morgan's stomach muscles lasciviously. "I wanna know how much of a filthy slut you are."
At first Morgan just shook his head but then the guy smirked and started only making small, frustrating jerks with his hips, which were uncomfortable and maddening. Morgan gave in.
Through gritted teeth he forced out the words, "I love…having your huge cock…ahh!" he gasped involuntarily, hit by a wave of pleasure as their previous rhythm was forcefully resumed. "rammed into my ass."
"Please…I-I want you to…to…"
"Yes Dr Reid?"
"to fuck me."
"Like a dirty whore."
"to…fuck me like a dirty whore."
He could hear himself speaking but the words didn't seem to mean anything, like he was hearing them underwater. Some of the things he ended up saying were really stupid and depraved and humiliating but he found himself not caring. Accepting the role of submissive meant he didn't have to think for himself, didn't have to carry the guilt and worry with him the whole time. Being abused made him feel less like the abuser.
When he came it was like being carried on a warm blue wave, beautiful and euphoric and at peace with himself. And then it was like being dashed onto rocks when the realisation hit, as it always did, that the period of satisfaction never lasted more than a few seconds, and that sex never seemed like such a good idea when you were on the other side of that wave. The feeling of warmth, heat, frantic desire to be close to someone and the naïve conviction that the experience would change something, that somehow this was the person who would get him out of the lonely grey rut he'd fallen into, it all shattered at this point and he realised how stupid he'd been to fall for it again.
And the shame was too much to bear.
He sat there under the table, numbly heard the door swing shut as the other guy left. Tucked up his knees and wrapped his arms around them, sitting up like that in the dark, waiting for the shock to fade from his system, patting himself down both mentally and physically. He felt sick and shaken up and just...bruised. Everywhere, in his heart and lungs and in more intimate places.
Technically he'd consented, he knew that, but somehow he still felt violated.
He was desperately trying to remember the man's name, or if he'd even told Morgan what his name was. Somehow that made it even worse.
He pulled his pants and shirt back on. Leant his head back on the edge of a chair, arms folded, elbows resting on his knees. He closed his eyes and thought about killing himself. He had his gun with him. He could do it right there. Let Hotch and the others run in to find him there clothes scattered around, brains scattered further. They'd call Reid and tell him he was dead. Reid might come back for his funeral, or maybe he'd run even further away. He'd definitely blame himself, knowing Reid. The team would all look out for him and tell him it wasn't his fault, but he wouldn't believe them.
A sick part of him wanted that. Wanted Reid to cry and feel guilty about his death.
Not really but sort of.
Tears came to his eyes. He started to button his shirt, slowly and with full concentration. Nothing pointed to an office shag more than shirt buttons done up the wrong way. He couldn't get fired on top of everything. His job was all he had left.
What the hell happened to me? He wondered. Before all this he would never have dreamt of having sex in his place of work, no matter how drunk he was. An office of the FBI for God's sake! They probably had CCTV in every office. Thank God they'd only taken part in the most incriminating stuff under the table. That was a surprisingly practical choice by his companion.
Oh.
Morgan laughed bitterly and covered his face with his hands as he realised that he probably wasn't the first naïve, closeted Special Agent to be invited into that particular office. Everything his new friend had done had just seemed a little too slick and rehearsed.
Testing a hunch, he ran his fingers down each of the table legs. On one there were five notches scraped into the wood, suspiciously consistent widths apart.
"My boss was too drunk to drive home so he gave me his keys." Like hell he did.
Oh well. What did it matter anyway? It wasn't like he'd started planning their wedding or anything. He'd wanted an easy fuck and that was what he got. What he deserved.
He had no right to complain when he hadn't even bothered to get the guy's name.
He got to his feet, put on his jacket and tie and left the office. He walked back to the party to find Hotch and the rest of the team gone except for Young, who was sitting with a kind older lady from HR who was holding an ice pack to the right side of his cheek, which had a large reddened swelling on it, and dabbing a cotton square over a cut above his eyebrow.
"What happened to you?" Young asked huffily.
"What happened to me?" Morgan laughed. "Says the man with a cheek the size of a softball! Was that from Jarvis or Prentiss?"
Young looked uncomfortable. "Technically neither. I apparently overestimated my ability to balance upright under the influence of alcohol. Not very much alcohol I might add." He looked sad. "Anyway I…sort of shoved Jarvis, which I regret by the way, as he and I chatted afterwards and he really is a marvellous fellow, so pleasant and charismatic! And he can balance a teaspoon on his nose. But when he shoved me back I sort of stumbled backwards, tripped over somebody's handbag and fell face first onto the corner of a desk. It was all quite dramatic, there was a big gasp and I think everybody thought I was dead so…well I stood up quickly and did a little 'I'm alright!' tap dance, not realising that I had blood pouring down from my forehead into my eyes, making me look like some kind of bloodthirsty dancing zombie. And a word to the wise, small children do not like zombies. Apparently. Neither do elderly women with pacemakers."
Morgan chuckled, feeling a sudden rush of warmth for Young. However much he screwed up his life, he could count on Young to multiply it by a thousand and add a theatrical flourish to the end, failing so spectacularly and conspicuously that everyone's attention was completely drawn away from Morgan. He nodded to the HR woman and took over icepack/face dabbing duties from her. She patted Young on the shoulder, told him not to give up on the woman of his dreams, and left them alone.
"So where the hell were you while I was heroically risking my life back there?" Young asked haughtily.
Morgan's face fell. "I'm sorry for leaving, I just felt funny. I had to get some air." He said quietly, unable to meet his eyes.
Young was silent for a while, trying to read his expression.
Finally he just said, "Man this is the worst Christmas party I've ever been to. I should have stayed in with the wife. Dear Mrs Sugar-Tits Young has probably got a nice dinner going for me on the stove. Well, if you count beer and a handjob as dinner." He narrowed his eyes and nodded vigorously. "Which I do."
He took a swig out of a small bottle of cheap vodka he'd snuck into the party with him.
Morgan looked confused. "Okay…I can't tell if you're concussed or if you're just deliberately talking shit to fuck with me."
Young gave a wry smile and looked at the floor. "Nah. I was just having a little joke. My life eh? Ha ha. Hilarious."
Morgan gave him a weird look.
"I think it's time we called it a night, don't you?" he said, confiscating the vodka bottle mid-swig.
Young stuck his bottom lip out in a forlorn pout, but then nodded in agreement.
Morgan phoned a cab for them to share and bundled Young inside. They dropped Young home, and Morgan, after propping him up until he reached his front door, got back into the cab. But when he leaned forward to give the cab driver his address he found himself reciting the address of Reid's apartment rather than his own.
Reid had left him the keys to look after so he was able to let himself in.
He turned the lights on and closed the door behind himself softly, wringing his hands with nervous energy. He wandered from room to room, treading lightly, looking at Reid's stuff but not touching it. He felt like an intruder but he couldn't bring himself to leave. He couldn't explain why he felt compelled to be here, when he knew Reid was long gone. It was like…if he couldn't be with Reid then at least he could be where he had been, sit where he'd sat, walk where his feet had flattened the carpet over the years.
He slipped his shoes off and padded into the bedroom. The ivory cotton duvet was pulled back and rumpled up. Reid obviously hadn't had time to make the bed that day. Morgan placed a hand in the slight impression of where he lay on the mattress, imagining it was warm, imagining Reid sleeping there. Imagining sleeping there next to him.
He took his hand away, feeling like a criminal and a stalker. You have no right to be here.
He made Reid's bed, smoothed the quilt and sat down on the edge at the right side. He unscrewed the lid off of Young's bottle of vodka and took a long drink to quell the surge of panic rising up inside him. The glugging sound of the vodka, the gulping sound his throat made when he swallowed, made him feel ill.
He felt so disgusting.
"How could I do this to you?" he asked the empty room, drunkenly, tears in his eyes. He was referring to Sean and the man he screwed at the party, but it occurred to him that he had asked himself that same question before. Right when this whole ugly, sordid mess first started.
"I'm so sorry." He whispered. He put the bottle down and started to press down on the bandage covering the cut on his hand. "I'm so sorry Reid." He said again, hardly able to speak, rocking backwards and forwards in pain. He dug his thumb inside the wound, feeling the weak scab split and the sore flesh start to weep again, but this time he didn't stop. He worked at it until the bandage was saturated and came off, falling onto the floor, and blood ran down between his fingers, dripping off onto his knees.
He lay back on the soft bed and let the blood fall onto his own clothes so he wouldn't stain Reid's furniture.
A strange feeling of calm settled in him, the weight of the gnawing guilt and shame lifted from his shoulders and his mind went blissfully blank. His conscience seemed to accept his blood sacrifice and allowed him to take a moment's respite.
He drifted into a better sleep than he'd had in months.
...
Hello beautiful followers. I'm sorry for the wait for this chapter, I've been feeling quite ill recently and just a heads up, I might have to go to hospital for most of next week. I know that sounds bad but it's not really. I mean I'm like 99% confident that I will not die from it, but with the state of our NHS at the moment it's hard to say for sure. Some poor guy literally died of thirst in a hospital because the nurses were too busy to get him a drink. o_O
Also apparently torturing myself over using the word 'sofa' was totally pointless because Americans use it too xD thank you for putting my mind at ease.
Ooh and in exciting news, patriciacarson has kindly offered to translate The Faraday Case into French so that non-english speaking readers can read it! So if anybody knows any French Criminal Minds slash fans point them in this direction:
'L'affaire Faraday': s/9040361/1/L-affaire-Faraday
Wow the title looks so nice in French! ^^
Reviews~
AlienTourist - Yeah the English population is like America in that respect, it's just that once foreigners settle down here they seem to absorb the same xenophobic British mentality as the natives. I knew an old Indian woman who dressed in a full on sari every day, who moved to England, lived next door to us for two years and by the time we moved away she was honest to God the biggest racist you ever met, always going on about the horrible illegal immigrants taking jobs from taxpaying citizens. It's a British thing idk xD we just don't like change.
Von Monroe -wow you're enthusiastic xD very glad to hear that you looooooooooooooooovvvvvvvvvv vveeeeeeeeeeeeee my story!
Nikita Lake - Aww I'm glad you liked that paragraph so much! Thanks for pointing out the bit you liked :)
alleykatz12 -I checked my favourites for you, and this oneshot is very funny and adorable s/7030014/1/ and this is a sweet story about when they first met and where Morgan hates Reid but Reid tries to seduce him and it's quite cute. s/5777369/1/ I don't have any longer ones, sorry. I don't tend to read fanfiction of a fandom I'm writing for because if it's too well written I get jealous and lose confidence xD Hope you like these two anyway x
Hisuiko - Aww your comment was lovely! I'm trying very hard to handle this story sensitively. And I want to leave people with an overall feeling of hope, even at the darkest points in the story.
Nice to know my foreshadowing is being appreciated ;D you must tell me what you picked up on and if you were correct!
Undertaker Lau - Aww bless. xD You sound so worried about Derek. I'm sorry! He's going to get better I promise! (Eventually. ^^)
racbec - I'm glad you liked the scene between Morgan and the girls! :) I was worried I made Morgan's outburst a little too overemotional for him, like normally he would never let somebody see how much they'd hurt him, and in that scene he was almost using that hurt as a weapon against them. But it felt right to me anyway since he was really pushed to his limits by what they did, taking away Reid (his coping mechanism), and unleashing his demons.
Thank you for your compliments. :)