"No one heals himself by wounding another." – Saint Ambrose

Hotch was in his office glancing out through the blinds. It was 7.47am. Morgan and Prentiss were both sat at their desks, but there was no sign of Reid. He checked his phone for any missed calls, but found none. He frowned, moving out in the bullpen to approach his colleagues. Morgan and Prentiss raised their gazes to meet him.

"Has anyone heard from Reid?"

Prentiss shook her head. "No, it's not like him to be this late." Officially, none of them needed to be in the office until 8.30am but they all preferred an early start. Reid was usually in around 7.10am, shortly after Morgan.

Hotch's gaze then landed on Morgan who sat back in his chair and shrugged, shaking his head.

"Do you want me to try calling him?" Prentiss asked helpfully.

"No. It's okay, if he's not here by 8.30am I'll try him." Hotch nodded to her gratefully.

Morgan then stood. "Hotch, can I have a word?"

Hotch gestured up to his office and Morgan headed in that direction. Hotch's gaze lingered on Reid's desk for a few moments, there was a nagging feeling in his stomach. He pushed it down and followed Morgan to his office.

He closed the door behind him and sat down at his desk. Morgan followed suit. "Everything okay?"

Morgan frowned; he was clearly deeply unhappy. "No, not really, Hotch." He pulled the letter out of his pocket and pushed it across the desk to his boss.

Hotch gave him a similar expression as Reid had the night before. He opened it up and began reading.

"What is this?" Hotch's brows furrowed in confusion.

"Reid has been writing to Carl Buford."

"Well, I can see that's what it looks like, but where did you get this?"

"From Buford himself." Morgan practically spat. His anger was building again. His nerves were shot this morning. His emotions were stuck in a dangerous combination of fury at Reid and anxiety over what he'd done the night before. He knew he'd completely lost it. But his anger at his former friend wouldn't subside. He was so hurt by his actions; he just couldn't let this slide.

"Right." Hotch said skeptically.

"Is that it?" Morgan said in irritation. "Right?"

Hotch looked at him in confusion. "Well, what do you expect me to do about this, Morgan?"

"I can't believe I even have to- Hotch, he's been writing to the man who abused me." Morgan said passionately.

"Morgan, this letter is clearly a forgery." Hotch said with a small disbelieving laugh, placing the letter back down on his desk.

Morgan's stomach flipped. "What? Wh- why do you say that?"

"I look at Reid's paperwork day in, day out. The language in that letter is simply not sophisticated enough to have been written by him." Then he pointed to the bottom of the letter. "And that's not his signature. It's similar, but it's not his."

"No, no Hotch. He knows stuff about him. Reid has been sharing his life with him." Morgan could feel his hands tingling now with nerves.

"What do you mean, he knows stuff about him?"

"He knows what he studied-"

"Easily found online with a Google of his name."

"That he likes playing chess, reading and Doctor Who-"

"Fairly easy assumptions to make about someone of Reid's intelligence." Hotch said shaking his head.

"Hotch, he knows about his Mom's illness and his Dad leaving when he was 10. Also, that he was bullied as a kid... Reid has clearly been talking to him, man!" Morgan sounded more like he was trying to convince himself now.

"Okay. He knows some information that he shouldn't and we will have to look into that."

"Yeah, because he's been writing to him dammit!" Morgan slammed his fist down on the table. Hotch's eyes landed on Morgan's bruised knuckles and he frowned.

His gaze then dropped to some papers on his desk and he shuffled through them. He picked out a file and opened it, placing the letter next to it and pushing it in Morgan's direction.

"Reid's signature."

Morgan scoffed and shook his head ready to completely disregard it, until he actually looked at the two names in front of him. There were certainly similarities but they were definitely not the same. A single glance could tell him that. A lump swelled in his throat.

"Add that to the fact that Reid prefers handwritten communication and this is a clear forgery."

Morgan looked like he could be knocked over with a feather. "No... no, it can't be." He whispered.

Hotch's face dropped into a scowl. "It can't be?"

"Why? Why would..." Morgan trailed off, his mouth dropping open.

Hotch looked at him sympathetically. "Morgan, you know his profile. He's used to being in a position of power and influence. He's a master manipulator who knows how to get what he wants out of people. Look at how he was viewed within the community. Now he's in prison with all that power and authority taken away. And the person who took it away from him is you. He's playing games with you, trying to get into your head because he doesn't know any other way of getting revenge."

Morgan looked at him wide-eyed for a few moments. He felt physically sick. Images of his fist meeting Reid's face flashed through his mind, kicking him as he curled up tightly into a ball and cried, him lying on the floor amongst broken glass clutching his shoulder in agony. No. No, he hadn't done it for nothing. He wouldn't do that without good reason. Reid hadn't fought back. He'd taken the beating because he knew he deserved it.

"No. Reid is involved in this. I'm telling you, Hotch!" Hotch stared at him hard for a few moments.

Hotch simply nodded, looking across at Morgan from under his furrowed brow. "I will look into it."

"Aren't you gonna fire him?!" Hotch's jaw tightened.

"I said I will look into it. Leave it with me." When Morgan didn't seem to move, Hotch raised his eyebrow. "Is there anything else?"

Taken aback, Morgan scoffed and stood up, shaking his head in disbelief. This was not how he expected this conversation to go. He expected to have Hotch's full support. For him to be as shocked and disgusted as he was. He needed him to be. But he wasn't. He should have known that Hotch would never come down on his side against Reid. Morgan turned on his heel and left the office slamming the door behind him.

Hotch watched him go, his gaze lingering on him as he made his way down the mezzanine stairs and back to his desk. Underneath all of the anger, there had been flashes of panic and guilt. The sight of it made Hotch's hairs stand on end.

He picked up his phone and dialled Reid. The phone rang out for around 30 seconds before it went to his voicemail. He tried two more times with no success. Hotch's felt a shiver run down his spine. It was completely uncharacteristic of Reid not to call in if he was going to miss work. He rarely missed work, but if he did, there would always be a phone call in the early hours to let him know. Hotch put his phone down on his desk and picked up the letter again. If he had to pick a member of the team to have written that letter, Reid would have been bottom of the list. But Morgan clearly couldn't see that. Buford had managed to lock on to the emotional and irrational part of his brain and planted a dangerous seed. One that, quite literally, blinded him with rage.

He shook his head. As much as he knew it was a forgery just by looking at it, Morgan clearly needed more than that. Hotch stood from his desk and picked up his phone as it buzzed in his hand. He flipped it open to find a text message from Reid. He frowned. Reid never sent text messages; he could probably count on one hand the number he had received from him in the four years he had known him.

'Hotch, I apologize but I won't be in work for the rest of the week. I am unwell. I will contact you later in the week – Spencer.'

Hotch quickly typed back.

'Call me.'

His phone buzzed back with a response.

'I can't. I've lost my voice. Pharyngitis – Spencer.'

Hotch's jaw clenched. Perhaps he was just sick. Or maybe he wasn't, and he knew that if he spoke on the phone with him Hotch would be able to quickly read his words and tone. He didn't want to mistrust his young colleague like this, but something about this whole situation was just... 'off'.

Putting his phone into his pocket, Hotch headed out of his office in the direction of Garcia. If anyone could help him get to the bottom of this Buford situation, it was her.

"Morgan, my office." Hotch called out as he headed across the mezzanine.

Morgan jumped a little at the sound. He had been trying to focus on his work for the last two hours, but thoughts of Buford and Reid had been plaguing him. He'd been circling around in an endless spiral of envisioning them writing to each other, sharing well kept secrets about him, then his vision would flood with hot white anger and his fist would meet Reid's face. His fists would clench and he'd imagine hitting him over and over until he didn't have anything left. Then he would see the expression of fear in his young friend's eyes, the look of betrayal and hurt. The complete shock and horror when he'd showed him the letter and the innocent and clueless expression he had given him. Morgan's hands would shake and his chest would flutter with anxiety and doubt. Then he would try to focus on his work, blocking out all thoughts. Ten minutes later, the cycle would begin again.

Snapping himself out of his thoughts, he stood and followed Hotch into his office.

"Sit down." He said firmly.

Morgan frowned at him but followed his direction. He was still smarting from Hotch's 'lack of support'.

Hotch placed a photograph down on the desk in front of Morgan. "Richard Maxwell, do you remember him?"

Morgan looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"Do you remember him?"

Morgan furrowed his brows. "Yeah, of course I do. He was that male rape case in Boston from sometime last year."

"That's right. And do you remember how we got him to confess?"

"Hotch, what is this?" Morgan said in irritation. He wanted to know about Buford. Not some random unsub they put away.

"We sent Reid in, as he matched his victimology... young, slim, lacking confidence, 'delicate and submissive', I think were the words he used."

"Yeah, Hotch, I remember.' Morgan snapped just wanting him to get to the point.

"He targeted men who came from an unstable background. Those who had been in the foster care system."

"Yeah, because he had access to the records, I remember, Hotch." Morgan rolled his eyes.

"And do you remember the conversation Reid had with him in order to get him talking?"

Morgan shook his head. He remembered vehemently disagreeing with placing Reid in the same room as the man. He had stormed out refusing to watch.

"He told him that his mother was a paranoid Schizophrenic who couldn't take care of herself, let alone him. And that his father abandoned them when he was 10. That he spent his life being bullied, beaten up and trying to avoid social services knocking on the door by appearing to be the 'perfect' child." Morgan was looking at him curiously. "Would you like to take a guess on who Buford's cellmate is?"

Morgan stared at him for a few moments. His chest clenched.

God, no.

Morgan was practically frozen in horror. His mouth had dropped open. His head started to shake ever so slightly.

"Morgan?" Hotch frowned at his colleague's response. He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"No... it can't be." Morgan whispered. "Oh god." Morgan was suddenly up from the chair and rushing out of Hotch's office.

He could feel the blood thrumming in his neck and hear it in his ears. His world tilted as he rushed his way through the bullpen and out of the double doors. His hands had turned ice cold and sweat formed on his brow. He stumbled his way towards the bathroom and pushed open a stall, collapsing to his knees. His stomach churned as he brought up the contents of his stomach. His whole body shook as Reid's heartbroken voice rang in his ears.

"I haven't done anything."

A sob wrenched out of his chest as he continued to empty his stomach.

"Morgan – please."

"No, no, no." He put his hands to his ears trying to block out the memories.

"Morgan, you're hurting me."

Morgan collapsed back against the wall of the stall resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His breathing was shallow and fast.

He'd beaten Reid. His friend. Someone he considered his best friend. No - brother. He'd beaten him and left him on the floor like a piece of garbage. Thrown his hard-earned Doctorates at him, not caring if they got damaged. Something that meant so much to him, were such a part of who he is. Just thrown them at him like they were nothing. The image of that frame hitting him on the cheek while he lay helpless on the floor would haunt him for an eternity.

The guilt he had so desperately avoided all morning came flooding in like a river. He had been so caught up in his emotions, his hatred of Buford, his past feelings of mistrust and anger, that he hadn't even stopped to think if he was directing it at the right person. Buford got in his head and much like it was when he was a teenager, once he was in, he was hard to get out.

Reid's devastated eyes flashed in his memory and he broke down. How could Reid ever forgive him? He couldn't. He wouldn't. Morgan had proved himself to be like everyone else. Whenever Reid trusted someone, he had it thrown back in his face. And god had Reid trusted him.

"This has to be some sort of prank, right?" He could see the nervous smile on his face, never believing that Morgan could genuinely think him capable of such a thing. That Morgan would never genuinely be that angry with him. He was a friend. Reid had trusted him. And he'd broken that trust in a horrific manner.

"Derek?" Rossi's voice was laced with concern. "Are you alright?" Morgan looked up at his older colleague, complete devastation in his features. Rossi knelt down at his side and put a hand to his shoulder. "Take some deep breaths."

Morgan tried to follow his guidance but every time he seemed to calm down, a bleeding and terrified Reid would enter his mind. He would see him being victimised as a child, going home to an unresponsive mother and a distracted father, then as a teenager, covered in bruises as he tried to hide from students much older and larger than him. Then he would see Reid as he knew him now, shielding himself from Morgan's fists. Bleeding and hurting. The sobs would come again. No matter how much hatred he had felt yesterday, it couldn't compare to the hatred he had for himself right now.

"Come on, Derek. Breathe." Rossi said calmly, rubbing his shoulder.

This felt wrong. It felt so wrong. Rossi was comforting him like he was the victim. Like he deserved the support. He didn't. He didn't deserve anything. He deserved to lose his job. He deserved to go to prison. He deserved to be in a cell right next to Carl Buford. He was no better than the people he spent his life chasing. They always had 'good' reasons for doing what they did too. And even this morning, he had truly believed he'd had a good one.

He shrugged Rossi's hand off his shoulder and brought himself up to his feet, pushing his way out of the stall and the bathroom. Rossi moved quickly to follow him. "Derek!" He called after him, but Morgan was fast down the stairs and heading away from the BAU. Rossi went to call for the lift, figuring he couldn't beat Morgan down the stairs but the lift might give him a good chance of catching him in the lobby.

"Leave him."

Rossi turned to find Hotch stood at the glass double doors. His expression was stern.

"He's a mess, Aaron." Rossi argued back.

"Dave, I said leave him." Hotch's tone left no room for argument. Rossi looked at him curiously, but he knew better than to push Hotch when he was like this. He was the one person who could get the unit chief to open up. But even he knew when Hotch wanted a subject to be dropped.

He held his hands up in surrender. "Okay." He walked past him opening one of the glass doors, eyeing him carefully. Hotch knew that Rossi wouldn't drop it for long, but for now he was following his order and that would have to do. Today, he had other priorities.

Reid was lay supine on his bed, staring dully at the ceiling. His shoulder was constantly throbbing. He'd awoken at some point yesterday evening to find himself surrounded by EMTs and police. Once he'd regained enough consciousness to understand what was going on they'd told him the neighbour below him had called the police when she heard a loud thud coming from upstairs. She knew Reid was normally a very quiet tenant, so when she saw an unfamiliar black male leaving the premises she became suspicious and called the police. On their arrival they had found Reid unconscious in the middle of his living room surrounded by broken glass. They had been unable to locate the man she had witnessed leaving the apartment block.

They had tried to coax a statement out of him, but he point blank refused to talk about what had happened and who was responsible. In the end they left him with their card and a leaflet for victim support.

The hospital had offered him sedation to reset his shoulder but he had refused, knowing he would be kept in if no one could collect him. It had been agonising without the sedation or any narcotics; he'd practically screamed and cried his way through it. But it was worth it in order to be released from hospital by 4am. They had taken a chest x-ray which revealed two cracked ribs and applied multiple stitches to his face, arm and side from his collision with the table and Morgan's fists.

By the time Reid was home, he was completely exhausted. He had dragged himself to his bedroom and collapsed on the bed. His whole body seemed to ache. The combination of Tylenol and Advil did little to relieve his discomfort.

He'd remained in that position for most of the day, only moving when Hotch had called him and when he needed to visit the bathroom. Otherwise, he had drifted in and out of restless sleep. Nightmares had plagued him. Morgan's angry face; his eyes, black with fury, tormented him; his cruel words stabbed at his heart. He would awake in a cold sweat, shivering with tears running down his face.

He could never go back to work after this. Even if by some miracle, Hotch didn't believe the letter, Morgan would never want to work with him again. He hated him. And Reid wasn't so sure he didn't hate Morgan right now. He felt like such a fool. He'd let Morgan in. Trusted him, even grown to love him like family. He thought Morgan had felt the same. But obviously not. Who would love him? Some oddity who didn't get social cues and was obsessed with facts and statistics. It was incredible that someone like Morgan had even entertained him in the first place.

"Are you that fucking detached from human emotion..."

Reid had always thought he felt emotions just fine. He couldn't always read them in other people, but he thought his own emotions were relatively normal. Obviously not. People clearly saw something else when they looked at him. Someone who didn't feel the way they felt; didn't understand the depth of human emotions to the same extent they did. And how could anyone truly relate to or love someone like that? It must be like trying to love a robot.

"He's so lifelike."

Reid closed his eyes as more tears came. Everything had been going so well. He had a job he loved, was surrounded by people he felt at home with and for the first time in his life he had felt respected. How could he have gotten it so wrong? Things were never this good. He should have known. Such happiness wasn't for him. It was for other people.

A knock at the door startled him out of his negative thoughts. He groaned as he shifted himself to manoeuvre off the bed. He dropped his legs off the side and pushed himself up into a sitting position. His ribs ached dreadfully as he did. He felt sick. His head spun slightly and all he wanted to do was lie back again.

Another knock came from the door and a sudden pang of panic hit his chest. Could it be Morgan? He didn't want to see him. If he was still angry, he really couldn't take another beating. Reid froze on the edge of his bed, unable to move. He almost stopped breathing in the irrational thought that if he made no noise at all the person at the door wouldn't hear that he was home and would go away.

The hope was short lived as another knock came and a voice on the other side called out. "Reid?" It was Hotch. Reid's heart leapt into his throat. Hotch couldn't see him like this. He knew he should be home. He told him he was unwell. Where else would he be? Reid wracked his brain desperately... He could say he was at the doctors. That would work. His chest relaxed a little as the excuse ran around in his mind. He could message Hotch later and tell him he had visited the doctor. He would assume that when he knocked, that's where Reid was. That would definitely work.

Then he heard a key in the lock. "Reid, I'm coming in."

No, no, no, no!

Of course, Hotch has a key. How could he forget that Hotch has a key for emergencies? Reid felt like his whole body was hit with electricity. His nerves were dancing as he heard the door click open. His throat tightened as he desperately tried to figure out what to do about this unexpected intrusion.

Hide.

He tried to get himself to his feet but his head was spinning. The combination of anxiety, pain and exhaustion was too much.

Suddenly Hotch was at the bedroom door with his gun drawn. He lowered it instantly upon seeing his youngest colleague.

"Reid." He breathed in relief, but it was short-lived. He looked at him in shock as he took in his appearance. He struggled to replace his gun in his holster as he examined his subordinate. "God, Reid. What happened?" Reid kept his gaze down, mortified that his boss was seeing him in this state. "Who did this to you?" Reid just closed his eyes and shook his head. Hotch sat down next to him on the bed. "Reid?" He said gently. "Look at me."

As usual, Reid couldn't disobey an order from his boss. He dragged his eyes up to meet Hotch's. The older man's expression was uncharacteristically soft and it made Reid want to lean against him in the hope of a hug. Touch was never something Reid was fond of. But god, he needed a hug right now. He resisted the urge but Hotch seemed to read him and wrapped an arm around his back resting it on his uninjured shoulder pulling him in.

"Who did this, Reid?" His gaze dropped down again. He hadn't planned for this conversation. He didn't expect to be going back to work. He much less expected that Hotch would let himself into his apartment to check on him.

"I was mugged." He said in a weak voice.

"You were mugged." Hotch repeated incredulously. "And the mugger came into your apartment and broke your table." He said sarcastically.

"No, sorry. Mugged isn't the right word." Reid shook his head in frustration with himself and struggled through another explanation. "They followed me into my apartment."

"They?" Hotch asked curiously.

"He." Reid corrected. "He followed me."

"Okay. And what did he take?"

Reid looked at him with his brows furrowed. "What.. what did he take?"

"Well, if he followed you, he must have wanted something." Hotch said coolly. He knew this was a complete fabrication.

"I- uh- I don't know." Reid fumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. He was making a complete mess of this. He pulled himself away from Hotch and brought a hand up to his bruised eyes and rubbed. Reid's face was a mess. He had cuts on his eyebrow and lip, a huge bruise on his chin and temple and his left eye was completely black.

"Reid." Hotch said calmly and softly. "Tell me the truth."

Reid shook his head anxiously. "That is the truth."

"Okay, have you reported it?"

"I don't want to." Reid said quickly.

"Reid, you need to. He could do this to someone else."

Unlikely.

"No. No, I don't want to. The police were here last night. I've already told them I'm not interested. I just want to move on." Reid said firmly.

Hotch frowned at him. "Reid, you are an FBI agent. You can't just let someone go on to do this to someone else. You have a responsibility."

Reid just shook his head, his face scrunching up as if he wanted to block out everything Hotch was saying. Hotch sighed and pulled Reid back into him again, gently rubbing his shoulder. He could feel the shivers running down Reid's back. They sat like that for a good minute. Reid seemed quite content to not discuss it any further.

"Morgan did this, didn't he." It was a statement rather than a question. He felt Reid's body instantly tense up and he pulled away again.

"What? No!" Reid looked mortified at the suggestion, but there was a hint of something else underneath it. Fear? Embarrassment?

"Reid." Hotch looked at him seriously.

"No! Morgan would never- he wouldn't. He just- wouldn't." Reid stood up, he winced as he did, making Hotch quickly stand up next to him. Reid gasped through the pain. He didn't really know why he was protecting him. Perhaps there was a bit of him that hoped that Morgan was sorry and he didn't mean it. Or maybe if he admitted it, it would make it real. Or perhaps the consequences were just too terrible to imagine. Despite this, he couldn't see Morgan arrested. Losing everything he had worked so hard for. He couldn't see the life he had dreamed of as a child ripped away from him thanks to his abuser.

But he abused you.

He shook the thought away.

"Okay, Reid. I can't make you tell me. But I just want you to know that you have my full support in whatever decision you make regarding this." Reid looked at him through cautious eyes then headed out of the room. He couldn't stand up straight as his abdomen ached. Hotch watched him with a frown then followed. "Reid, let me take a look at you."

"I've already been to the hospital." Reid said quickly.

Hotch gave a small smile. "I can see that." Reid's cheeks flushed for pointing out the obvious. "I need a record for our files."

"Wh-what?"

"Don't worry, it's confidential. New protocol to make sure agents don't return to the field before they are ready. We have to document any injuries and illnesses."

Reid looked skeptical. "I haven't seen any new protocols being issued." He would know. He reads them all. For a moment Hotch forgot who he was talking to. He had to quickly think on his feet. He feigned discomfort.

"Strauss mandated it after Foyet. She believed I returned to the field too quickly." He knew Reid wouldn't argue with that. As expected, Reid's gaze turned sad and he nodded in acceptance. Hotch guided him to the couch and sat him down.

"My shoulder was dislocated and I have two cracked ribs. I've had stitches in my arm, side and face – as you can see." He tilted his head up a little. "The rest is just bruising." He said in a detached manner. Hotch looked at the sling and the bandages on Reid's arm and his jaw tightened. His gaze dropped to Reid's abdomen, pulling out his phone.

"Show me." Reid visibly paled.

"What? No!"

"Reid, that's an order." Hotch said firmly. Deep down all he wanted to do was comfort his youngest colleague, but the FBI agent and ex prosecutor was winning. Evidence was key, and if Reid ever did change his mind, he wanted to make sure he had the records to prove it.

Reid's cheeks flushed and his head lowered. The shame and embarrassment radiated from him. He reached his hand down to his shirt. The same blood covered one he had been unable to change out of since the 'incident'. He pulled it up to show Hotch his abdomen, sucking in a self-conscious breath as he did.

Hotch's face paled as he saw the dark bruises marring Reid's body. They made him feel sick. The thought that Morgan had done this to Reid had him light headed with fury.

He opened his phone. "I need to document this." Reid gave him a pleading look but finding no surrender in Hotch's gaze, he submitted. He sighed, closing his eyes, feeling completely exposed. He could hear the snap of the camera coming closer to his face and he flinched away opening his eyes a little.

"Keep your eyes closed. I'm nearly done."

A shiver ran down Reid's spine but he followed the instruction, squeezing his eyes shut. Hotch must have taken around 20 photos.

"Please don't show these to anyone." Reid whispered.

Hotch's eyes stung a little with tears. Reid had no reason to feel so ashamed. He didn't ask for this and he certainly didn't deserve this.

"I won't." Hotch said softly, putting his phone away. "Okay, I'm done."

Reid gingerly opened his eyes again, when he looked at Hotch he was taken aback by the sadness in his expression. Reid blinked a couple of times, trying to stop his eyes from watering up, with little success.

Hotch reached around Reid and put his hand to the back of his head, pulling him in. Reid tensed a little then allowed his forehead to fall onto Hotch's shoulder. Hotch wrapped his other arm around Reid's back and rubbed gently in a comforting gesture. Reid tried to hold it together, but a shudder ran down his body and tears started coming. He'd never been comforted like this before. No one had ever cared enough. To have someone look at him with such understanding and attentiveness broke him. He was soon crying into Hotch's shoulder as the man held him tightly.

A tear ran down Hotch's cheek. Anger burned in his chest. How could Morgan do this? He had clearly lost it. He knew that Morgan had anger issues but for the most part he controlled them. It was part of who he was and it was often an asset to the team. It made him assertive, determined and passionate about the job. But this? He never could have foreseen this. The size difference between Morgan and Reid alone infuriated him. Morgan knew Reid was not a fighter. He knew he wouldn't stand a chance against him. Yet he had beaten him mercilessly. Hotch always saw Morgan as a protector. He trusted him to look out for his younger colleague, not beat him senseless.

He looked around the room taking in the drops of blood on the floor and the smashed glass table and his fists clenched.

Reid pulled away from him now, looking at him nervously. He clearly felt the tension in Hotch's body. Reid wiped at his eyes, sniffling.

"Are you okay?" He asked unsurely.

Hotch couldn't answer that. He wasn't. He was furious.

"I'm going to clean this up." He said, standing and moving towards the table.

"Hotch, no, you don't have to."

"I'm not leaving you like this." He moved around the space, finding his smashed PhDs on the floor. He picked one up, there was a large rip through it and his heart broke. He held it up and looked to Reid.

"It doesn't matter." Reid said quietly. "It's just a piece of paper." Hotch's chest twisted.

He then picked up the undamaged one and went to hang it back up on the wall where there was a clear gap.

"Just leave it on the side." Reid said shaking his head. He didn't want to look at it. If it wasn't for those damn PhDs, Morgan never would have believed him capable of contacting Carl Buford. It was all thanks to his abnormal intelligence. Like everything bad in his life had been.

Hotch stared at him for a few moments and then nodded, placing the framed certificate on a side table.

"Do you have a broom?" Reid shifted like he was going to stand up. "Stay where you are." Hotch then headed towards the bedroom and returned with a pillow, placing it behind his young colleague. "Sit back." Reid looked at him uncomfortably.

"Hotch, I don't-"

"Stop. You're going to sit back and I'm going to clean this up. And then we're going to get you cleaned up, get you fed and then you're going to rest. No arguments."

Reid opened his mouth to protest. This was his boss. He couldn't sit and watch while his boss cleaned up his apartment for him. It was mortifying.

"I said no arguments." Hotch said firmly. He put a hand to Reid's shoulder pushing him back into the pillow behind him. Reid's lip quivered as Hotch looked at him sympathetically for a few moments. His touch lingered on his shoulder then he brought his hand up to stroke Reid's head gently, making him tilt it back and close his eyes. Hotch's eyes stung with tears again, as he stroked the young man's head. He was such a gentle character, how anyone could do this to him was beyond him. Much less Morgan. Giving his head one last stroke, he pulled away and headed to the kitchen in search of a broom.