Current mood:	cynical
Entry tags:	morgan/reid

Miles To Go Before We Sleep, Part Eleven, Morgan/Reid (R/FRM)
Title: Miles To Go Before We Sleep, Part Eleven
Authors: innerslytherin and severity_softly
Pairing: Morgan/Reid
Rating: R/FRM this part (up to NC-17 for the entire fic)
Summary: After Reid goes off the rails in Texas, Morgan decides Reid needs a friend to support him through whatever he's going through. Several cases and "awesomely" bad sci-fi flicks later, they both realize "friendship" isn't exactly what they want...but sorting through the baggage that stands in the way of a closer relationship is more difficult than either of them expected. Starting immediately after "Elephant's Memory" and running beyond the end of "Lo-fi", this is a multi-chaptered, non-WIP fic.
Word count: this part, ~10,000; overall, ~130K
Spoilers: Entire series - specifically Profiler, Profiled, The Big Game/Revelations, Elephant's Memory, In Heat, Tabula Rasa, and Lo-Fi
Warnings: Overall: UST, references to past sexual abuse, drug use/references to past drug use
Notes: Written in RP format. Not currently AU, but it will be after season four starts, as we're writing our own ending to Lo-Fi. :) Also, we're beta'ing this ourselves now, so if you find any glaring errors, feel free to point them out! :D

Previous Parts: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven 1/2, Part Seven 2/2, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten

"Here, turkey, lettuce, and mustard on rye," JJ said, holding a sandwich out to Morgan. He thanked her
and unwrapped it, pressing his leg lightly against Reid's under the table. The longer they were together,
he discovered, the more he craved the comfort of physical contact. JJ finished handing out the
sandwiches and chips Will had brought them, then settled in with everyone else around the table.

"So here's what we have," Morgan said after a few minutes. He outlined what he'd learned from the
bomb and what Reid and Rossi had come up with, then glanced around at the others. "Prentiss, have
you and Bruston got anything to add from the scene?"

"They definitely intended to kill the driver," Prentiss said. "Most of the blast was centralized under the
driver's seat. The rest of the car was damaged, but not too badly. I've seen a lot worse."

Morgan nodded. "So was this a personal attack against Hotch, or was it just that they assumed there
would only be one person in the car?" He glanced at Reid, but it was Rossi who spoke.

"You said the bomb is identical to the one Bales used. That might indicate that the unsubs know they're
dealing with the BAU specifically, and not just the FBI."

"Or they might not care," Morgan countered.

"Is there anyone else here who was in Boston when we got Bales?" Rossi asked.

Morgan shook his head. "I was supposed to be, but I wasn't."

"I was in Boston, but I was in the field office," Reid said, his mouth partly full, then he glanced up from
his sandwich to look around at the table. The team was so different back then.

"Same here," JJ said, shrugging.

"If it's a personal vendetta against the BAU, that would explain why there was no communication with
the NYPD," Reid said. "They only left the tarot card after we showed up."

Morgan flipped open his phone and dialed Garcia. "Hey, baby girl, I need you to get me a list of the
people involved in the Bales case in Boston. And the hostage who died, Marianne Zumer, find out
where her family is now. We're looking for New York City connections."

"I am on it, my prince," Garcia said, her fingertips clacking against her keyboard for a moment, images
and information flying across her computer screen. "Meanwhile, your goddess of awesome has an ID on
your shooter. Robert Hayes Pearson. He's from the Bronx. He has a series of arrests, DUIs, resisting
arrest, aggravated assault. Then get this, he disappears, off the records for the last three months. No
known address, no credit card activity, nothing."

"Sweet goddess, you are magic," Morgan said. "Give me his last known address," he requested, and
jotted the information down. "We'd be lost without you." He hung up and glanced at the others.
"Prentiss, we're going to the Bronx. JJ, you stay here and stay on top of things. Reid, will you and
Rossi follow up on any information Garcia can dig up for us?" He stood, grabbing the rest of his
sandwich. "Let's go."

Reid took one last bite of his sandwich and glanced up at Morgan. "What's up? What'd she find?"

"We've got an ID and last known address on the unsub who shot Cooper," Morgan said. "He fell off the
grid three months ago, but he had a history of arrests." He headed for the door, not waiting for
Prentiss.





The drive to Pearson's last address was tense. Prentiss spent the time going through the case file again
in the passenger seat while Morgan drove. When they pulled up at the address Garcia gave them, they
walked up and knocked, Prentiss scoping out the front of the building. "Middle class, check out the
perfectly manicured lawn. It's small, but neat. Way to hide you have a problem child."

The door opened and Prentiss flashed her badge. "Mrs. Pearson?" The woman nodded. "I'm Emily
Prentiss and this is Derek Morgan. We're with the FBI. We'd like to ask you some questions about your
son Robert."

"Have you seen him?" Mrs. Pearson asked. "We haven't heard from him in so long..."

Morgan glanced at Prentiss. "Ma'am, could we sit down?"

Mrs. Pearson backed up, but didn't sit. "He's been arrested again, hasn't he?" she asked. "He was
trying to clean himself up. He said Joey was going to help with that."

Morgan took her arm gently, guiding her toward the couch. "Mrs. Pearson, I'm afraid Robert was shot
and killed yesterday afternoon. He killed a police officer."

Mrs. Pearson's eyes widened and then she began to cry. "My baby, my baby," she whispered. After a
few minutes she straightened and looked back at them, tears still sliding down her cheeks. "He meant
well. He just had trouble in school, especially after his father died. He made friends with the wrong
sort of people."

"You said he had a friend named Joey?" Morgan prompted. "Was he one of the wrong sort?"

"No, he met Joey about four months ago. He said Joey could help him. He had some sort of program to
help Robert clean himself up, get a job."

"Do you know where we can find this Joey? What's his last name?"

"I don't know, Robert never said. He just...he said he had to move out, to go live in some sort of group
house. I haven't seen him in over two months. The last time I saw him, he seemed so much better,
though. He was calmer, clean-shaven..." She gave them a tremulous smile. "I thought he was doing
so much better. And now you say he killed a police officer?"

Morgan sighed. "Ma'am, Robert was involved in the spree of subway and street shootings. He had just
killed a girl at an ATM before he shot the police officer."

The woman began crying again, and Morgan glanced at Prentiss. They weren't going to get any leads
from Mrs. Pearson.

Prentiss gave Morgan a look and then glanced back at Mrs. Pearson. "Mrs. Pearson, I know how hard
this is for you, but did you ever meet this Joey? Could you maybe give us a description?"

Mrs. Pearson wiped her eyes, though the tears kept falling. "No, I never met him," she said, shaking
her head.





When they finally left the house, Morgan sighed. "Well, that was a bust. We know we're looking for a
man named Joey. Can't be more than a few thousand of them in New York City."

Prentiss shook her head and sighed. "Maybe she'll remember something." She tapped her fingers
against the file in her lap. "She said something about a group home. We could have Garcia cross-
reference the name Joey or Joseph with local youth hostels, maybe church organizations with reform
programs, see if anyone stands out."

"Good idea. If we can find him, maybe we can start finding out what Robert's been up to for the past
three months and how he got involved in this." Morgan sighed. "Go ahead and give Garcia a call, and
then can you check with the hospital and see how Hotch is doing?"

He pulled out into traffic and headed back for the field office.



*****

The conference room was so quiet that Morgan jumped and dropped his pencil when his phone rang. He
glanced around sheepishly to see if anyone had noticed, then checked the caller ID. It wasn't a name
he recognized. Frowning, he answered.

"Agent Morgan, this is Christine Pearson. You said if I thought of anything, to call."

Morgan snapped his fingers, trying to get someone's attention, then grabbed at Prentiss' pen. "Yes,
ma'am," he said, flipping his notebook to a new sheet of paper. "What can I do for you?"

"My nephew, Matthew, said that he met Joey once. He doesn't know his last name, but I thought...well,
the police show sketches sometimes, right? So maybe he could describe Joey for you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Morgan said again. "Could we send someone to pick him up, or will he come down to the
FBI headquarters?"

"He'll come there. He said he would do anything he could to help." She paused. "Matthew's a year
older than Robert. He always tried to look out for him, but..." She sniffled, then said, "Please find out
why this happened to my son."

Morgan took Matthew's full name and got his cell phone number, then hung up. "We've got a lead," he
told the others. "Robert Pearson's cousin has met this Joey who was supposedly helping him get
clean." He dialed Garcia's number.

"You get clean by making yourself accountable to the people you care about, not running away," Reid
murmured, ignoring the knowing glances both Prentiss and JJ shot him after that.

"Why, if it isn't my favorite profiler," Garcia answered on the other end of the line.

"I notice you didn't say your favorite FBI agent," Morgan teased.

"Oh, honey, you know how Fox Mulder always gets my blood boiling," Garcia teased back.

"Sassy girl, can you get me a background on Matthew Pearson? I've got his cell number."

"That's like asking a fish if it can swim," Garcia replied, "Shoot." When Morgan rattled off the number,
Garcia started digging. "Matthew Pearson, age twenty five, earned his bachelors in animation at NYU,"
she said, sounding impressed.

"Nothing shady about him? No priors?" Morgan glanced at the others, realized he was still gripping
Prentiss' pen, and handed it back with an apologetic smile.

Garcia dug a little deeper. "Other than a few speeding violations, this guy looks clean."

"All right, thanks, mama. Any luck with our friend Joey and his group home?" Morgan got up and
started pacing around the table, accidentally-on-purpose bumping Reid's shoulder with his hand.

"Three hits," Garcia said. "Joseph Steiner, fifty-six, counselor at a youth center in Yonkers; Joe Pelham,
forty-two, runs a church sponsored rehabilitation center in Brooklyn; And Joseph Swain, twenty-seven,
janitor at a hostel in the Bronx; none of which were ever frequented by our guy that I can find."

"All right, send the details to Prentiss' PDA, and we'll start checking on it," Morgan said, glancing over at
Emily to make sure she heard him. "Thanks, beautiful." He hung up and nodded to Prentiss. "Okay,
Garcia's sending you details on three people named Joseph. She couldn't find any connection to our
guy, but I'd like you to call them, see if you can come by with a photo. Reid, can you get a sketch artist
in here? Pearson should be here in the next half hour, and I want to make sure we're ready to roll with
this. Where's JJ?"

He left the conference room looking for JJ and Rossi to fill them in. Forty-five minutes later Matthew
Pearson had told them what little he knew about "Joey" and was sitting down with a sketch artist. JJ
had contacted the media to arrange a press conference in time for the afternoon news, and Prentiss and
Rossi were on their way to see Joseph Steiner.

Morgan wasn't sure where Reid had got to, but he figured they could both use a fresh cup of coffee, so
he went to see if anyone had some brewing.

Reid was in the conference room with the lights out, though sufficient sunshine was streaming in the
windows to cast broad bars of light across the table. He'd been leaning back in his chair, frowning at
the ceiling for a few moments when Morgan wandered in. "Matthew said Robert called Joey 'dad,'" he
murmured, then turned his head to look at Morgan. "This is starting to feel almost like a cult, Morgan.
Hive mentality, charismatic leader, likely narcissistic personality disorder." He twirled the pen he was
holding through his fingertips. "Fewer than twenty known cults have been classified as destructive
cults, and only a handful of those, like the followers of Osho or Aum Shinrikyo, have been known to
carry out large scale terrorist attacks."

Morgan had paused in the doorway to just look at Reid for a moment, his gaze warming. Reid was so
beautiful, and Morgan loved watching him think. He came into the room and set a mug of coffee in
front of Reid, hoping he'd added enough sugar. "But look at Jim Jones and Heaven's Gate," he said,
taking the seat across from Reid. "It's not all that big a step from murder-suicide to terrorism." He
took a sip of his coffee. "Aum Shinrikyo, that was the sarin gas attacks in the Japanese subway, right?"

"Yeah," Reid said absently, and reached over for his coffee, finally smiling a little at Morgan. "Thanks,"
he murmured, then sat up in his seat a bit to drink it, smiling a little more at how sweet Morgan
remembered he liked it. As soon as he pushed his focus back on the case though, the smile slid again.
"There are four basic models for cult development: the Normal Revelations Model, when a cult leader
starts interpreting normal events as divine, or supernatural; the Social Model, which occurs when cult
members interest in other cult members gradually increases while their interest in non-cult members
declines; the Entrepreneurial Model, in which the leader tries to start a following by way of
attraction; and then there's the Psycho-pathological Model, where cult leaders develop the cult to
resolve their own deep-seated issues." He glanced at Morgan. "If this Joey's our guy, we need to figure
out what happened to him. What he perceives we did to him, if it is, in fact, aimed at us."

"I'm betting on Psycho-pathological Model for our unsub," Morgan said, scowling. He tapped his fingers
on the table. "My first thought was that there was a Boston connection. But we didn't find anything
there." He looked at Reid.

Reid nodded and propped his arms on the desk. The lack of sleep over the last few nights was starting
to hit him whenever they slowed down. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Heard anything new about
Hotch?"

"His condition is still stable, and the doctors are cautious but hopeful. Nothing else new." Morgan
glanced over his shoulder, then reached out and brushed his fingers over Reid's hair. "You look tired,"
he murmured. He knew they were all exhausted, but they probably weren't going to be getting much
sleep until the case was over.

Reid let his eyes flutter shut at the light touch and tilted his head into it a little. "I'm fine until I stop
moving, and then my body starts vibrating," he admitted, and then a little stronger, "I'm fine."

"Too much coffee, too little sleep," Morgan agreed. "Maybe we'll be able to turn in a little earlier
tonight." He sighed and stroked Reid's hair again, too tired to care if anyone saw. "Man, Reid, I don't
know how Hotch does it. I keep second-guessing myself, wondering if I'm overlooking something, if I'm
using everyone's talents right..." He shook his head. "You'd tell me if you thought I was screwing up,
right?"

Reid opened his eyes again and smiled at Morgan. "You know I would," he said. It had been amazing
to watch Morgan in charge though. Reid almost wished he had time to really sit back and admire how
Morgan was handling himself. He took Morgan's hand and brought it to the table, giving it a small
squeeze. "I think you've been brilliant."

"Brilliant." Morgan snorted, shaking his head, but he smiled back at Reid. "You're biased," he teased,
but his smile faded a little as he thought back to the way he'd been put in charge of the case. "I hate
the way this happened, though," he said more quietly. "I'd rather have Joyner still calling all the shots
then have her and Hotch injured."

Reid's smile faded, and he nodded slowly. "I don't think anyone questions that," he said softly,
squeezing Morgan's hand again.

"I still feel bad," Morgan admitted. "I shouldn't have pushed so much." After a moment he shrugged,
tightening his grip on Reid's hand. "Anyway. I suppose it's a moot point now. Thanks, Spencer." He
looked back up, meeting Reid's gaze and smiling faintly. "You called me your boyfriend," he said,
remembering that suddenly for no reason.

Reid pressed his lips together, unsure whether to smile or not, a wash of nerves hitting him, and met
Morgan's gaze. He swallowed. "That's okay, isn't it?"

Morgan's smile strengthened. "Yeah, it's okay. It's great. You were just...yelling at me, and then
boyfriend comes out of your mouth..." He nudged Reid's leg under the table. "Sort of
distracted me from what you were yelling about," he teased.

Reid smiled a slightly embarrassed smile and breathed a laugh. "Yeah, sorry about that," he said, not
sounding sorry in the least. He squeezed Morgan's hand again and let it go, slouching back in his seat,
but not letting the contact under the table drop away. He twisted his fingers together in his lap and
dropped his gaze. "I love you." He shrugged and looked up at Morgan. "I've never been in love
before."

Morgan had to fight against a sudden urge to go around the table and wrap his arms around Reid.
Instead he leaned forward a little and kept watching Reid's face. Reid might take issue with the idea,
but he was ridiculously adorable when he looked like this. "I've never been in love before, either," he
said, his voice low. "It's not as hard as I always thought it would be. Not with you."

Reid laughed, though he still felt a little self-conscious. "It's easier than I always thought it would be
too." There was always that little voice in Reid's head that told him not to get too close, that getting
close meant getting hurt, but that voice hadn't been able to compete with the swell of emotion he'd felt
for Morgan.

"I guess I always thought you lost something, a part of yourself, if you fell in love," Morgan said. "That
you gave up control of your own life. And that's sort of true, I guess, but...I trust you more than
anyone else in the world. Why would it bother me that I've given you a part of myself?" His gaze
traced Reid's face, hoping he would understand what Morgan was trying to say.

Reid's smile strengthened at that, and he shifted a little to rub his knee against Morgan's, not sure what
to say. "Thank you for trusting me," he said after a long moment. The case was still nagging at him,
though, not letting him fully enjoy this moment as much as he'd like to.

Morgan nodded. "I could say the--" he began, but at that moment both his and Reid's cell phones
began to ring. He blinked as outside the conference he heard the office phones begin to ring as well.
"Oh, shit, what happened?" he breathed as he grabbed his phone. "Rossi?" He listened as Rossi began
barking out information at him.
Reid flipped open his phone. "JJ?" he said, pressing his phone to one ear and his finger in the other to
block out the sudden noise in the field office

JJ's voice was urgent. "Reid, we have a new bomb."

Reid glanced up at the commotion that suddenly seemed to be taking over the office, standing when
Morgan did and following him out of the conference room automatically as JJ went on about the incident
in his ear. It was at a subway station the unsubs had already hit once and ATF and the EMTs were on
their way. "Right, Ja'j, we're on it. Thanks."

"All right, you and Prentiss stay on the Joeys. Reid and I are on it," Morgan told Rossi, and snapped his
phone shut. He grabbed two free agents and pulled them in on the response. He checked his weapon
on the way out the door, then called Garcia. "You got eyes on the scene, baby girl?" he demanded,
holding the elevator for Reid.

Reid followed them into the elevator, only half listening to Morgan on the phone with Garcia. When they
got down to their SUVs, multiple sets of sirens and lights started as Morgan pulled out with Reid in the
passenger seat.

"All right, we're assuming these attacks are deliberate, psycho-pathological in nature, that the unsub in
charge of this group, this 'cult', is carrying out a campaign of terror for his own ends," Morgan said
when he got off the phone with Garcia. "My girl is analyzing the footage leading up to the explosion,
but she didn't see anything that raised a red flag until it happened, which means they probably used a
timer switch again." He glanced at Reid briefly, but focused most of his attention on weaving in and out
of traffic. "Why did he hit here again? Why an explosion where he's already killed? When we thought it
was a political terror cell, we thought they were just using the shootings to gauge response time. Is
that still the case?"

"Maybe... First attack takes out civilians, the second takes out the first wave responders," Reid
breathed, the words rolling off his tongue without much thought. "Unless the place holds some sort of
significance to whoever's leading the operation, there's no other reason. And if this tunnel does have a
special significance, we would have seen something other than a single, clean, unemotional shooting
there last time." He glanced at Morgan. "We need to let NYPD know they might be in danger and get
them to secure the entries in and out of the tunnel. They'll know about when to expect us all there."

Morgan nodded. "Call JJ, let her know. She'll be in touch with the responders." He glanced at Reid
again. "Put on your vest. Do not take it off." He still had nightmares sometimes of Reid taking
off his vest when he and Elle were hostages on the train. He wished he could tell Reid to hang back
when they got to the scene, but he knew he couldn't. He wouldn't be able to hang back himself, and
Reid had a job to do just like he did.

Reid gave Morgan a look, but didn't say anything. He got on the phone to JJ, and soon they were
pulling up outside the station, pulling on their vests and walking down into the tunnel. It was hazy from
smoke, but there wasn't a whole lot of damage done to the train car. "Looks like another small charge,"
he said, starting to get a very bad feeling about this. He shook his head and said exactly what he was
thinking. "This subway car wasn't their primary target." He glanced over at where EMTs were helping a
handful of people with injuries that didn't look good, but were far from lethal, then looked back at
Morgan.

Morgan frowned. "Then they're after the emergency responders," he said, scanning the crowd and
looking for anyone who appeared less shell-shocked than the rest.

Reid checked his weapon and turned to look the opposite direction of Morgan, scanning the crowd as
well. When he saw Detective Bruston across the station, he started off towards him. He'd just lost his
partner and would have a vigilant eye.

Scanning the crowd, Morgan made his way over to another police officer, warning her that they were
expecting another attack on the responders. He turned in a slow circle, his gaze sweeping everyone in
the station. The area was filled with smoke and noise, voices echoing, some people moaning. It was
barely-controlled chaos. He glanced over at Reid and Bruston, hoping they'd seen something.

That was when he saw a shadowy figure in the door of the subway car. He frowned, squinting, and
started in that direction. He'd been told the car had been evacuated. As the figure raised its arm, he
felt a sick jolt in his stomach. He was looking at one of their unsubs. The man was holding a
handgun... and he was behind Bruston and Reid.

Morgan sprinted towards the subway car, one hand grabbing his own weapon. "Get down!" he shouted,
and threw himself at the unsub in a desperate attempt to tackle him before he got off a shot. He hit the
man's midsection hard, gunfire exploding right over his head just after they made contact. Morgan
swore and knocked the gun out of the man's hand. Then he leaned on the guy's torso, holding him
down and making sure he was subdued before reaching behind him for his cuffs.

"Reid!" he shouted, trying to restrain the unsub so he could turn and see if the shot had made contact.
"Reid, a little help!"

Reid had seen Morgan running, heard him call out, but a split second before he could turn to face the
source of the problem, Morgan leaped behind him, and then a spasm of pain ripped through Reid's body
and blood spattered from his shoulder. He gasped and whirled anyway on instinct, drawing his weapon,
but in the process he staggered back a few paces and fell to his knees as a wave of nausea washed over
him from pain.

He tried to aim at the unsub, but his shooting arm wouldn't cooperate. A moment later, he could see
that Bruston and two other cops had drawn their weapons, and he stopped trying, slumping back on his
heels and refusing to look at where warm blood was beginning to soak through his shirt and roll down
his arm. "You're not getting out of here," he managed to tell the shooter, his voice a lot weaker than he
would have normally wanted it. He drew a shaky, ragged breath, and forced more words out through
the pain that was slowly fogging his mind. "If you struggle, it will only be worse." Which was a stupid
thing to say, he realized a moment later--these unsubs didn't care if they made it out alive--but Reid
couldn't think.

Reid's tone of voice didn't reassure Morgan. He snapped the cuffs on the unsub's wrists, then pushed
him down hard against the platform. The man went still, watching them calmly. What the hell?
Morgan wondered. How were these people so willing to die for whatever cause this was? He
turned, his gaze automatically searching for Reid, and another awful jolt hit him in the gut.

"Reid! You're hit?" The unsub wasn't going anywhere. Morgan took several long strides to reach Reid's
side and knelt, lifting a hand to touch his cheek firmly. "Hey. Hey, look at me." The fact that Reid was
in an upright position was good. But his eyes were a little wider than usual and he was breathing hard.
"Reid." He raised his head, looking for a free medic. "Hey! I got an agent down!" he called, and
someone headed towards them.

Reid's eyes darted to Morgan, and then fluttered shut because it was getting hard to focus. He knew it
wasn't a hit that would do any long term damage, but it hurt. "I'm fine," he breathed. A moment later
he remember he shouldn't close his eyes and forced them back open, then he moaned in pain, clenching
his eyes shut and his jaw tight as the EMTs got to him and applied pressure to his wound. "Should get
them to check the cars-- could be more of them," he managed to say.

"Yeah, we will," Morgan said. He tried to remember if Reid had ever been shot. "Bruston, can you take
care of searching the rest of the train?" The detective nodded and hurried off. Morgan flipped open his
phone, still watching Reid's face. He told JJ to go ahead with her press conference, and to add that they
had someone in custody. "Release the sketch, and try to make it sound like our suspect is the one who
gave the description," he added.

When he hung up, he smiled at Reid. "JJ says not to pass out," he said, trying for a teasing tone of
voice.

Reid tried to laugh, but wound up only coughing and offering a return smile that was more like a
grimace. "Easy for her to say," he managed. He considered protesting when the EMTs lifted him onto a
gurney - he couldn't be too badly hurt, and Morgan shouldn't be here alone - but in the span of a few
heartbeats, pounding insistently against his ribs and in his ears, Reid knew he needed medical attention,
whether he wanted it or not. "Careful," he whispered, holding Morgan's gaze.

Morgan winked at him and stood up, hoping Reid understood the things he couldn't say aloud in front of
these people--that Morgan was worried about him, that Morgan was angry the unsub had shot
him...that Morgan loved him. "I'll be there as soon as we're done here," he said instead, and nodded at
the EMTs that they could go.

He handed the unsub over to the support agents and joined the teams searching the train, but he didn't
think there would be any more. This guy had been expected to take out the response and probably die
in the attempt, but the ringleader of this group wouldn't want to take too many losses at once.

They didn't find any other shooters, and once ATF was on the scene to deal with the bomb fragments,
Morgan didn't see any reason to stay. He took the suspect back to the field office and spent several
minutes talking to him and getting absolutely nothing in return. The man didn't say a thing--not his
name, not a demand for a lawyer, nothing. Morgan finally left the interrogation room, trying to get a
handle on his temper.

Rossi was waiting for him outside. "Let me deal with him for a while," the older agent offered. "You
should go see how Spencer's doing."

Morgan narrowed his eyes a little. "You think I'm not being objective?"

Rossi shook his head, smiling a little. "I think you're trying too hard to be objective," he said. "Hotch
would've ridden in the ambulance with him."

Morgan wasn't sure that was the case, but he let Rossi win. He wanted to go see Reid, anyway,
so if Rossi wasn't going to bust his chops about it, he wasn't going to argue. Twenty minutes later, he
was at the emergency room, asking how to find Reid.

Reid was half asleep in his hospital bed. He'd been out of surgery for a while, and the surgeon had
explained the extent of the damage to his shoulder. They assured him he'd be able to leave the
hospital, probably today, but he wouldn't be able to shoot for some time, as his arm would need to be in
a sling while it healed. He'd refused the pain medication that had been keeping him mostly out of his
head the last time they offered it. He wanted to get back on the case. With Hotch and Joyner out, they
couldn't afford to lose Reid too. The result, however, was that now he was shifting in bed every few
minutes, trying to find a comfortable, less painful way to lie, and failing no matter where he moved.

The door to his room opened, and he cracked his eyes open to see Morgan coming inside. "Hi," he
murmured, smiling faintly. "I think I might ask to keep this gown. It's comfortable."

"Hey, pretty boy," Morgan murmured, dropping into the chair next to Reid's bed and reaching for his
good hand. "That'll be quite a fashion statement." Seeing Reid like this, looking rather fragile in his
hospital gown, sent a pang of guilt through Morgan. He hadn't been fast enough to prevent this, and
then he'd made Reid come to the hospital on his own. "How are you feeling?"

Reid' squeezed Morgan's hand, noting the drugs hadn't worn off quite yet by the way the
sensation tingled in a completely unnatural way. Which of course meant this was going to hurt worse in
short order. "Like I've had a bullet tear through my shoulder," he murmured. "Managed to miss both
the glenohumeral joint and the axillary artery, though. Actually, it just torn through some muscle."
They'd told him it might require some physical therapy, but they'd have to assess that as it healed. He
was lucky, they said, that it hadn't actually go through his shoulder at a less superficial point. That
would have taken up to six months of recovery and likely would have resulted in reoccurring pain or
numbness throughout his life. "Get anything from our shooter?"

"I got a whole lot of nothing," Morgan said. "Garcia's working on an ID. However, I do have good news
from the nurses. Hotch is stable and awake." He grinned faintly. "I guess I'm gonna be waiting on you
hand and foot now, huh?"

A wash of relief flooded Reid and a smile bloomed on his face, one he was sure was stronger than it had
any right to be considering how he felt. He shook his head. "No time," he murmured, a hint of teasing
in his voice. "Have you seen him?"

"Haven't seen him yet," Morgan said. "You're more important." He tightened his hand a little on
Reid's. "I should have come with you," he murmured, wishing he could put his arms around Reid. "I
should have got to the guy faster." He lifted his free hand and brushed Reid's hair back from his face.

Reid closed his eyes, enjoying the touch, but shook his head anyway. "You can't blame yourself. I'm
lucky you got to him at all." He opened his eyes and looked at Morgan. "Do you think they'd let me see
him?"

"I think you can keep your ass in this bed and get some rest," Morgan said. "But I'll tell him you said
hi." As long as Reid was down for a while, he should get some sleep, and Morgan didn't intend to let
him push himself.

"They said they'd let me out," Reid murmured in protest, closing his eyes again and leaning into
Morgan's touch. "I'll consent to being pushed in a wheelchair until then."

"You'll consent to what you're ordered to do," Morgan said, smiling a little but not afraid to pull rank. "I
need you sharp, and that means I need you to get some rest."

Reid opened his eyes and gave Morgan a weak glare, but then just let out a heavy sigh. "Fine," he said,
though he wasn't really happy about it. He considered asking one of the nurses to wheel him to Hotch's
room after Morgan left. "What time is it?"

"Almost seven," Morgan said, glancing at his watch. "Just relax, genius." He stroked his fingers over
Reid's hair, and smiled faintly. "You know, now that you've been shot, you shouldn't have any problem
with getting a tattoo that says 'Property of Derek Morgan'," he teased.

Reid snorted, but didn't open his eyes. "I'd prefer to avoid this sort of pain again," he said, shifting a
little uncomfortably. "You should go get some rest too."

"I can rest just fine here," Morgan said. "I am not leaving you." He hoped his tone didn't leave room
for argument, though he knew how stubborn Reid could be.

Reid frowned. Well, that ruined the idea of going to see Hotch. Maybe they'd send him back to the
hotel with pain medication tonight and he'd see Hotch before he left. "You can rest better in a
real bed," he insisted. "I'm fine."

Morgan leaned in. "I know you're fine. But I'm not fine. I had to watch my boyfriend get shot today.
I'm feeling a little needy." He knew there was probably a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, but he didn't
think Reid would be able to resist him. He couldn't really order Reid to let him stay the way he could
order Reid to stay in bed.

Reid opened his eyes and held Morgan's gaze for a long moment, then finally nodded. He did think it
was better for Morgan to go back to the hotel, but he understood how Morgan felt and appreciated it,
even if his wished things had gone differently today. "Okay," he whispered, giving Morgan's hand
another squeeze. "But if you're not letting me go back to work, I need something more for this." He
tilted his head towards his shoulder, hoping Morgan would understand without him having to explain. "I
doubt I'll be good company."

Morgan nodded. "I'll get the nurse in here," he said. "And I'll even smuggle you in some coffee." He
stood up. "You want me to tell Hotch anything besides hi?"

Reid smiled faintly. "That if you weren't so stubborn, I would have told him myself?"

Morgan laughed. "I'll tell him." He paused, his grin fading a little as he looked at Reid. "Are
you...gonna be okay, you know, with the pain meds?" he asked softly. It wasn't that he didn't trust
Reid. After their last conversation about the drugs, he was confident Reid wanted to be clean. But he
didn't want this making it more difficult on him.

Reid's smile slid off too. He'd not drank the night he was so angry at Morgan, and he knew that his
cravings had been lessening in severity now that he had Morgan to turn to completely, but he couldn't
deny there was a nice familiarity with whatever they were giving him here, and he didn't know what
that would meant for him once he left the hospital. He swallowed. "All I know for sure, is that I won't
sleep without it," he admitted.

Morgan nodded. "Okay. I'll be back." He left the room, hoping Reid would understand the trust
Morgan was showing. And that Morgan wasn't going anywhere, even if the pain meds did
complicate things.


*****


Reid didn't remember a thing after the nurse came back with painkillers, which was probably why he
wasn't released. He woke up slowly the following day with a morphine hangover, a terrible pain through
his shoulder and arm, and an undeniable and thoroughly disappointing desire for more morphine that he
knew wasn't entirely due to the pain. He rolled his head to the side to see Morgan still asleep in the
chair near his bed, and smiled softly even though he did feel a little guilty that Morgan slept in a chair
because of him.

"Morning handsome," he whispered, wondering if Morgan was awake, but not wanting to wake him if he
wasn't.

Morgan shifted a little, then winced and opened his eyes. Jet sleep was infinitely more comfortable than
visitors-chair-in-the-hospital sleep. But when he saw Reid smiling at him, he smiled back, feeling better
already. "Morning yourself, handsome," he replied, sitting up. "How do you feel?"

"Terrible," Reid said honestly, but he only smiled a little wider at the compliment. "I want out of this
bed, though."

Morgan grinned. "Ungrateful thing," he said. "I want in that bed." He stood up and, with a quick
glance at the door, leaned in to kiss Reid softly. "Did you sleep all right?" He sat on the edge of the
bed instead of returning to his chair.

Reid nodded, taking Morgan's hand with his good one. "I slept fine. Great, actually." He glanced up at
Morgan. He couldn't remember Morgan even coming back into the room the night before.

"Good. I need you at your best." Morgan smiled and squeezed Reid's hand. "They said they'd release
you first thing this morning. And Hotch wants to see you before we get back to work. He's gonna be
okay."

Reid breathed a sigh of relief and licked his lips. "Good," he breathed, and glanced around before giving
Morgan's hand a little tug in a silent request for another kiss.

Morgan leaned in, pleased, and kissed him again, longer this time. "I thought I was going to lose you
yesterday," he whispered. "You've scared me twice in about as many days." He lifted his free hand to
stroke over Reid's messy hair. "I wish I could protect you better. But I know part of why I admire you
is because you're brave, and you're determined. You're dedicated to this job." He kissed Reid again,
hoping to keep him from protesting. Of course, Reid probably didn't really understand why Morgan
wanted to protect him. He always seemed to think it was because Morgan thought he couldn't protect
himself. It was really because he was so important to Morgan.

Reid hummed into the kiss. "You did protect me." Morgan hadn't said where the shooter had been
aiming, but if it fit with the other shootings, Reid didn't have to ask. "I'm sure you'll get a chance to
even the score and scare me a few times before all is said and done." If Morgan ever jumped off a
building again though, Reid might just have a nervous breakdown.

"God, Reid, I love you," Morgan breathed. He closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against Reid's.
"Spencer."

"I love you," Reid replied, squeezing Morgan's hand tighter. "Let's get me out of here," he said.

Morgan went and got a nurse, and Reid was given a sling and told how to put it on. He spent entirely
too long trying to get dressed, as it was difficult to do one handed. He didn't want just some nurse to
see him in his underwear and he knew asking Morgan to help would raise a few eyebrows. When he
finally emerged from his room, he looked more disheveled than usual, but he only swallowed enough
pride to ask Morgan to fix his tie, which was the only thing that was completely out of place.

He'd turned down the prescription for more painkillers. He knew the feeling he'd woken with too well.
Instead he swallowed enough Tylenol to equal the prescription strength, and headed down the hall to
Hotch's room. He knocked quietly and then poked his head in the door. "Hi," he said, a new smile
blooming on his face at the sight of Hotch awake.

Hotch's bed was in a semi-reclining position. He turned his head slowly to look at Reid, a tiny smile
tugging at the corners of his lips. "Morgan says you tackled one of our shooters," he murmured, his
words a little slurry from the painkillers. "I hope he looks worse than you do."

Concern flashed across Reid's expression for a second, wondering just how out of it Hotch was, but then
a moment later, Reid realized Hotch was teasing him. Hotch didn't joke often, and there were a rare
few people he did joke with. Reid couldn't help but like that he was sometimes one of them. He
breathed a small laugh and walked into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. "You're one
to talk," he said, moving closer. It almost felt unreal that Hotch was awake and smiling at
him. "How do you feel?"

"Better than I have any right to," Hotch replied. He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at Reid
again. "How are you?" he asked quietly. He meant more than the shoulder--he really wanted to know
if Reid and Morgan had worked things out after their argument, and if Morgan was doing all right leading
the team. And he wanted to make sure Reid's shoulder wasn't too bad.

"Ah." Reid glanced down at his arm. "I might not be able to be out in the field for a while," he said,
though he knew that wasn't really where his strength lied anyway. He shrugged his good shoulder. He
had the sudden impulse to tell Hotch Morgan was doing a good job, but swallowed it, unsure if Hotch
would think him biased now.

Hotch shook his head, unsurprised and a little amused that Reid had answered only the literal question.
"And Morgan?" he asked, glancing at the closed door. He had a feeling Morgan would be leaning against
the wall outside, arms folded across his chest in his typical tough-guy pose, waiting for Reid to finish in
here. He couldn't say he entirely approved, because what they were doing risked both their careers if
anyone outside the team found out, but he did think they were good for each other.

Reid swallowed and rocked on the balls of his feet once, following Hotch's gaze before looking back.
"He's fine. He's, ah, he's doing a great job on the case."

"And you two got everything sorted out?" Hotch pressed. In a sense, it wasn't his business, but he had
to know if it was going to interfere with the workings of the team. He didn't think it would, but they
couldn't have repeats of last night. Or whatever night it had been. He shifted a little, realizing his
painkillers were beginning to wear off.

Reid nodded. There it was. He had a feeling Hotch wanted to know more, but Reid had been unwilling
to be the one to bring it up. As much as he cared for Hotch, and as much as he liked to think they were
close, Hotch was still his boss. "Yeah, I think so," He said, then paused and looked at the tile
patterns on the floor for a moment. "It just happened, Hotch. Neither of us wants to leave the BAU,
but I'm not--" He glanced back up at Hotch. "I don't think either of us wants to end this. I'd go before
I let Morgan leave." He hadn't exactly planned to say that but he knew it was true as soon at he said
it. He didn't know what he'd do, but he wouldn't let Morgan get fired, not after the way he'd been
handling this case.

Hotch closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "This is the best team I've ever had," he murmured.
"I'm not going to break it up because of this. As long as it doesn't interfere with your work, we're fine."
He smiled. "Morgan's doing a good job, then. I knew he would. He'll probably run the unit while I'm
out." He shifted again and grimaced at the pain.

Reid felt his shoulders loosen, wondering when they'd gone tight, and he smiled a little when Hotch did.
Hotch smiled so rarely, it was always infectious when he did.

God, he hoped Hotch wasn't just saying all of that because he was drugged.

Reid's smile slid a little when Hotch shifted again and he took and instinctive step forward, toward the
bed. "Do you need something?"

Hotch wanted to slip back into the relief of sleep. He took a slow breath. "I think the morphine's
wearing off," he said. "Reid, be careful. And watch out for the rest of the team. I'm counting on you all
to get these guys."

Reid nodded. "We're getting closer." A wry smile crossed Reid's lips. "In fact, now that I've been shot,
we have a new profile." He hesitated, and made one half-way movement before he finally just reached
out and covered Hotch's uninjured hand with his own. He looked down at Hotch, his lips parted and his
brows drawn, and Hotch opened his eyes again and gazed up at him. Reid knew this probably seemed
like a strange gesture, but he didn't let go.

There was so much Reid wasn't to say, that he was glad Hotch was okay, that he'd been terrified he
might lose another man he felt he owed so much to. That he loved Hotch. His eyes prickled slightly,
and he opened his mouth to speak, but then just closed it and swallowed. Hotch's lips curled just
barely. He gave Reid a tiny nod, and Reid knew he understood without words and nodded back,
buttoning up the raw emotion on his face once more.

"I'll get a nurse." He gave Hotch's hand a gentle squeeze and started towards the door, pausing just
inside it to look back. "And, Hotch?" he said, catching Hotch's gaze again. "Thanks."

Morgan was leaning against the wall across from the door, his arms folded across his chest. He pushed
away from the wall, smiling, when Reid came out. Hopefully Reid would feel better now that he'd
actually talked to Hotch.

Reid met Morgan's gaze and smiled back. "Well," he said, moving towards the nurse's station. "Neither
of us are getting fired." Of course, that wasn't the reason he'd wanted to see Hotch, but he wasn't sure
what to say about the rest of it.

Morgan's eyebrows went up and he laughed. "I'm very glad to hear that," he said. "Come on, pretty
boy, let's get to work."





The rest of the team was already at the field office when Morgan and Reid showed up, Morgan carrying
the donuts and coffee he'd picked up on the way from the hospital. At Reid's appearance, everyone else
burst into applause. JJ came over to hug him gingerly.

Morgan grinned and set 'breakfast' on the table, then settled in and gave everyone a few minutes,
listening to them asking Reid how he was.

Reid was smiling. He really couldn't help it. He hadn't gotten this much 'fanfare' in... well, probably
ever. Once he was back at work, the lingering pain was easier to ignore, as well. He answered a few
questions, and said 'when' JJ poured sugar in his coffee. He drew the line at letting her stir and stirred
it awkwardly with his left hand. "There might be something to this getting shot thing," he teased.

Morgan laughed. "All right, we're going to have to keep an eye on Reid, or he'll be throwing himself in
front of unsubs if he thinks we're neglecting him," he joked. He leaned back in his chair and took a sip
of coffee.
Reid grinned at Morgan, but somehow that made him think of Owen Savage, and he wondered for the
first time if that had been a 'cry for help.' He'd do it all over again in a heartbeat, but still, if that was
what that had been, it worked, hadn't it? He eyed Morgan for a moment, and then cleared his throat.
"Seriously, though, let's save all the fanfare for Hotch," he said, giving them all an appreciative and
slightly uncomfortable smile.

Morgan shook his head, still grinning, and sat forward. "All right. Reid thinks, and I agree, that these
attacks are all connected in some way to the FBI. Maybe even to the BAU. Rossi, have you got
anything else out of our subway guy?"

"He still isn't talking, but Garcia has an ID on him." Rossi reached out and dialed the speakerphone in
the center of the table.

"Yo," Garcia answered over the speakerphone. "Reid there?"

Reid glanced around the table and cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Scare me again, you naughty boy, and you're getting a spanking." Reid blushed and slid down his
seat, and Garcia went on as if nothing unusual had been said. "Okay, guys, your shooter is Malcom
Bragg, age thirty. Just like Pearson, he has a string of arrests, though his are a bit more dramatic that
Pearson's. He spent some time in Juvie for grand theft auto. He was released at eighteen, several drug
arrests, vandalism. About a year ago he was charged with vehicular manslaughter, a warrant was
issued and he disappeared, just like Pearson."

"A year ago," Morgan said. "This has been a long time in the making. So we're looking for BAU cases
with New York City connections that happened at least a year ago. Garcia, can you work some magic
for me? Maybe cross-reference that with a Joey or Joseph?" He glanced around the table to see if
anyone else had something to add.
"I am already on it, dear heart," Garcia said. "His father's name is Joseph. Bailed him out on his first
two drug charges, but not again after that."

Reid shook his head. "No, that's not him. We'd see an increasing level of involvement, not a
decreasing one. Keep digging."

"I'll do it," Garcia assured him, and then the phone clicked off from her end.

"Hang on, guys. Are you sure this is about us?" Prentiss asked, frowning. "What if we're just
collateral damage?"

"Collateral damage to what? They haven't targeting anything large. They came after me and Hotch
specifically, the second time they lured us to a scene. They probably realized their first attempt
failed to kill its intended target and thought they'd take a more hands on approach the second time,"
Reid said, the last part feeling strange to say. He wasn't used to being part of the vicimology of a case
that he was actually working on. "They didn't start messing up until they got to us either. That
indicates a certain level of emotional involvement, clouding the judgment of whoever's leading this
thing."

"What if Emily's right?" Rossi asked mildly, leaning forward. "What happens if we investigate this as a
personal attack on the FBI and it turns out to be a terror group?"

"Look at it this way," Morgan countered. "What have we got to lose if we investigate Bragg? He's
obviously not the ringleader of this group--the person at the head of this, whether it's a personal attack
or a terror attack on the city, is organized, charismatic, highly intelligent, probably narcissistic. He's
going to want to talk about it. He's not gonna sit in an interrogation room with his mouth shut for
twelve hours. So we follow our leads on Bragg, Pearson, and this Joey guy, and we might just end up
finding the ringleader of this group."

Reid nodded. "Have we shown the sketch to Bragg?" he asked, glancing over at Rossi.

"We have," Rossi replied. "He didn't even blink. This guy is good, I'll give him that. However he's
getting these guys to kill for him, he's got their complete loyalty, and they're completely calm. There's
no doubt. There's no fear."

Morgan frowned. There had to be a chink in the armor somewhere.

Reid's lips pressed into a thin line. He glanced at Morgan. "I'd like to take a look at the subway footage
from yesterday, and then talk to Bragg myself."

Morgan's frown deepened. He wanted to protest that it wasn't a good idea, but he didn't like the idea of
contradicting Reid in front of the others. "I'd rather you and Dave refine the profile of our group
leader," he said after a moment. "Bragg isn't giving us anything. Not unless we go in there with more
than just a sketch."

Reid hesitated, unsure he wanted to question Morgan, but then plowed on, because he was never afraid
to press Hotch if he thought something was a good idea. "I'm more that a sketch. He's already
familiar with how this is all supposed to work, and what he's supposed to be doing, but if we show him
he failed at what he was supposed to do yesterday in a way he can't deny... Maybe..." He
shrugged his good shoulder. "It might not get us anything, but it's worth a shot."

Morgan still didn't like the idea, but he nodded slowly. "Dave, you and Reid talk to Bragg, then. I want
to take a look at the fragments ATF has given us, see if he's still copying Bales design." He glanced at
Prentiss. "Did you make it contact with that third Joey lead yesterday?"

"No, he wasn't at home," Prentiss said. "I'll head back there today."

"Sounds good. JJ, do we have anything from the tip line yet?"

JJ shook her head. "The usual. Mostly false leads. This city is in a panic, but we haven't gotten
anything we can actually use yet."

Morgan nodded. "Why don't you go with Prentiss. Hopefully we'll find something." He glanced at Reid.
He wanted to be the one who went in with him to talk to Bragg, but he knew better than to suggest it.
He might lose his temper; Rossi would be able to stay calm. He nodded and stood, taking his coffee
with him to look at the evidence ATF had collected from the subway explosion.

The team scattered and Rossi and Reid got Garcia to send them the surveillance footage from the
subway yesterday. It turned out to be harder to watch than Reid expected, and he went quiet for a
moment, watching as Bragg strode purposefully up to Reid with his gun aimed steadily at the back of
Reid's head. Between the morphine he'd had at the hospital and the images on the video screen, in his
mind, Reid was staring down the barrel of Hankel's--no, Raphael's-- gun again.

On screen, Bragg was down under Morgan so fast the camera could hardly keep up, and Reid was
spinning and staggering back to his knees. Reid nodded slowly. He could almost feel Rossi watching
him. "Okay," he whispered, more for himself, then went to refresh his coffee and take a minute to
compose himself before going to talk to Bragg.

Rossi was waiting outside the interrogation room when Reid got back. He put out a hand, resting it on
Reid's good shoulder. "Are you sure about this, Spencer?" he asked softly. "This probably won't do any
good."

Reid swallowed and looked up to meet Rossi's gaze. He nodded. "We've got nine bodies," Reid said,
counting both Cooper and Pearson among those numbers, "and two agents in the hospital. It's worth a
shot." That didn't mean his heart wasn't racing, or that he felt calm about this. Then again, he'd
managed to pull things out of suspects before when he was under great stress.

"All right. You take the lead, then. I'll just go in and loom." Rossi smiled encouragingly and gestured
for Reid to go ahead.

Part Twelve