Chapter Text
The music is loud, the lights low, and the crowd around smells like sweat and cheap cologne. Morgan extricates himself from his lovely dance partner, kissing her hand in farewell, and the temperature drops a full degree with each step he takes from the dance floor. This is his Friday night workout, his way of kicking off the weekend to forget the days of chasing serial killers, a reality he could be forced back to at any moment, any phone call.
The night air is cold, colder as it steals the moisture from his skin, and he clicks his FOB to get his car to shout its location. He runs to it, starting the engine to get the vents to blow warmth. Out of habit, he checks his phone, and is surprised to find a missed call. He’s usually good about catching every sound his phone makes, like there’s some psychic connection born of decades of it waking him up to emergencies across the country. It’s from Reid. He plays the voicemail, and it’s clearly an accidental dial as the voices are muffled, and Morgan is about to hang up when he hears Reid’s voice, a little louder and filled with fear, beg, “Please, James, don’t!” Morgan’s entire world zeros in on this voicemail. He turns up the volume, shoving the phone hard into his ear.
“James,” Reid sobs, “it hurts when you’re mad. Please!” There’s a slap and a whimper and Morgan can’t breathe. He can’t risk making a sound and missing a moment. Reid is in pain. “James! I love you! I love you, please don’t do this!” Reid screams. It sounds horrible and squeezes Morgan’s heart. Morgan is shaking now, clutching the phone like he might be able to reach Reid through it and help. Reid cries out, “Hurts! Please, it hurts!” and his voice is cut off with a grunt as he’s hit. He whimpers again, moans helplessly.
Morgan wants to pretend he doesn’t know what’s happening, but the rhythmic slapping of skin and Reid’s sharp answering cries are unmistakable. The voicemail cuts off and he’s dropped into silence, his ears ringing as they desperately try to hear anything more, anything that will tell him how hurt Reid is. His eyes want to cry but he blinks away the tears. He can’t break down. He has to move, has to drive. He has to get to Reid.
He doesn’t know where Reid is, not for sure, but he knows where the kid lives and he’s driving there before he realizes it. He parks at a terrible angle and takes the stairs three at a time and almost bangs on Reid’s door before he catches himself. He can’t seem like a threat. He doesn’t know what’s behind this door, but he knows he’s not expected. No one knows he heard. If this James is still here, Morgan has the upper hand, but only if he’s calm.
He knocks twice, straining to hear anything on the other side. It’s silent for a long time. He knocks again. There are footsteps approaching, it sounds like a single person. Morgan takes in a shaky breath. There’s no reason to speculate, no reason to panic.
The footsteps reach the doorway, the peephole darkens. “Morgan?” It’s Reid’s voice and Morgan feels like dropping to his knees in gratitude, but the situation hasn’t been secured yet. The chain slides off and the deadbolt twists and the door opens.
Reid looks small. He’s in a robe, his hair wet and clinging to his face, and his arms come protectively around his torso. “Morgan, what are you doing here?”
“Is James here?” Morgan takes a step inside, scanning the room. It appears empty. There’s still the kitchen and bedroom suite to check. He steps further, putting himself between Reid and the dark recesses of the apartment.
“What?” Reid stands there, still holding the open door, and he looks hurt, sad.
Morgan will get to that later. He needs to make sure the threat is gone before anything else. “James. Is he here?”
Reid shakes his head, biting his lip. “No, he’s gone. How…”
Morgan sighs. The threat isn’t here. Reid is safe. He takes the door from Reid’s grip and closes it, doing up the locks.
“Morgan?” Reid’s voice is confused, nervous.
Morgan turns to him and runs his hand over his head as he tries to think of how to word this. “Reid, your phone called me. It left a message.”
“What?” Reid is brilliant, but his brain can’t add two and two right now.
“Pretty boy,” Morgan says gently, “I heard what James did to you.”
“No…” Reid’s eyes go wide in horror. He stumbles backwards until he hits a wall and winces in pain. His legs give out, he crumples to the floor, curling onto his side to lean on one leg to prevent putting any weight on his bottom. He’s injured, hurting.
Morgan sits cross-legged a few feet in front of him, “Reid? I need you to stay with me, okay?”
Reid’s eyes are distant, but he nods.
“Where is James?”
Reid twitches at the name. “He’s gone.”
“Where did he go?” He keeps his tone light, his face encouraging.
“I… I don’t… I don’t know where…” His voice tightens with tears, “I don’t know.”
“That’s okay. That’s okay. We’ll deal with that. First, I think we should get to a hospital. Okay?”
Reid shakes his head, “I already took a shower. There isn’t any evidence.”
“Reid, I think we should go to the hospital in case you’re hurt.”
He shakes his head again, pulling in tighter to himself.
“Kid, I know it can be scary, but I’ll be with you the whole time-”
“Please,” Reid begs, and it sounds so much like his voice on that message. “Please no.”
Morgan backs off, hands placatingly raised, “Okay, we don’t have to. It’s your choice. We won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”
Reid’s breath hitches and comes out a sob. He drops his face, a miserable keening rips from his throat.
“Oh, Pretty Boy,” Morgan feels his heart breaking. “What can I do?”
“I don’t know,” he tries to control his breathing, takes in a huge breath and it gets stuck in his lungs, coming out in fits. His body shakes. “I- I was okay b-before-” He can’t finish, but Morgan understands. He was okay when he thought his secret was safe, that no matter how awful what he went through was, at least he didn’t have to face the shame of someone finding out. Morgan understands all too well.
“It’s okay. I’m here for you and I just want to help.”
He sniffles, “I was washing my sheets.”
That’s more evidence destroyed. Damn it. “Okay, would you like help with that?”
He shakes his head, “They’re in the dryer.”
That means the attack occurred at least forty-five minutes ago. Morgan could check his phone to see for sure, but he can’t take his attention from Reid right now. The kid is shaking still, but at least he’s present. They can get through this as long as they can work together. “Kid, I’m not comfortable leaving you here alone. Can I sleep on the couch?”
Reid shakes his head and Morgan feels his stomach drop at the thought of abandoning him now, but then Reid speaks, “I don’t want to sleep where…”
“Can I take you to my place? I have a spare room you can stay in as long as you’d like.”
“Yes, please.”
“All right, we can go now. I’ll help you pack. Do you want help standing up?”
With another shake of his head, Reid leans heavily against the wall to get himself to his feet. He draws his hands down his face, wiping away the tears. He walks gingerly into his bedroom, the stripped mattress a monument to the words he can’t yet speak. A ripped shirt hangs off a dresser handle, where it landed when it was torn from his body. Reid grabs it and throws it in the far corner, out of sight. He grabs clothing at random, shoving them into a bag from his closet. He looks around, lost in his own home, “I need to find my phone…”
“It’s near the bed.” Morgan regrets the words the instant they leave his mouth. He only knows this because of what he heard on that voicemail. Reid winces, turning away, and Morgan decides he can apologize for this by finding the device himself. He crouches by the nightstand, looking under the bed. He lifts the mattress from the frame, and the phone is loosened from its hiding place and falls to the floor. “Got it.”
Setting the mattress back in its place, an image flashes in Morgan’s mind, one that matches the audio he heard in that dreadful message, with Reid crying into the pillow and some faceless mass above him, hurting him. Morgan squeezes his eyes shut against the violent scene but it doesn’t help, the picture is inside his head.
“Can we go?” Reid asks meekly. Morgan is too close to where it happened, staring at it like he can see, and it feels like its own violation.
Morgan snaps himself to it, “Of course, Pretty Boy. You get your toothbrush?”
Reid gives a small nod.
“All right, lets go.” He follows Reid out of the room, sighing in sympathy at the limp Reid has developed around the pain within. “Are you gonna be okay walking downstairs?”
Reid pauses. “It’s not too bad. I’ll be okay.” His voice is soft. Talking about this is humiliating. He starts walking again, and he’s slow.
“If you want a head start, you can hand me your keys and I’ll lock up. The car isn’t too far.”
Reid obeys, pulling them off the hook and dropping them into Morgan’s outstretched hand. Morgan shuts off the light, pulling the door closed on this part of the night, and locks it away.