Chapter Text
Thwap.
Shit.
“Ohh, another one down the hatch for Dr. Spencer Reid, I see--drink, Kid, you lost fair and square,” Derek Morgan chuckled good-naturedly at the sour expression on Reid’s very flushed face.
Emily pressed the green tea shot in his hands while Penelope started up a chant from her barstool, swaying a little dangerously.
“Drink, drink, drink--and there he goes, what is that, Boy Wonder, four rounds in a row?!” she catcalled to the grumpy genius who grimaced at the sickly sweet whiskey sour and Sprite shot as it slid down his throat.
“Yeah, Reid, I thought you might get better with the whole hand-eye coordination thing after a few drinks, but, wow,” JJ said, smirking over her wine glass with a glance at the dismal dartboard.
“I have no idea why you think consuming copious amounts of alcohol would have anything but a negative effect on my already lousy aim,” Reid responded a bit cattily, arms crossed against his chest with a huff. Morgan slung his arm across his shoulder and squeezed, leading the grumpy guy over to the bar.
“Ah, come on, Reid, you know we’re just messin’ with you, you're too easy to rile up…” he nodded at Gloria for another round of pilsners and a few waters for the table. The bartender didn’t even need words to know the Agents’ next round at this stage in their rare night out at O’Keefe’s. He still blew an air kiss at her which she caught with finesse from the tap.
Reid stifled a yawn and glanced at his watch. He was tired and annoyed and ready to be alone already. The man next to him got up suddenly, bumping into him a little hard. He watched the guy leave, attempting a stink-eye glare that made Morgan laugh harder at him.
“Yeah, well, I gave it a shot I guess… four shots, to be exact. And I am feeling them, I really don’t think I need another, Derek, I should probably head home--”
“Hotchner McHottypants! You CAME! It’s my birthday and you CAME, I knew you would--” Garcia the birthday girl squealed when she spied Hotch making his way through the bar. She tumbled off the bar stool to meet the man midway, teetering over on the most dangerous pair of heels she owned to complete her over-the-top birthday ensemble.
Hotch blushed with an indulgent grin when she flung her arms around him in a massive hug.
“Of course I came. I’m sorry I’m late, I had a few things to wrap up at, um, at the Office,” he announced a little awkwardly. He reciprocated the hug before he presented her with a bright pink gift bag stuffed with glittery tissue paper. Penelope squealed again and grabbed it excitedly.
“Happy Birthday, Garcia,” Hotch said with a sheepish grin.
“ Sir-- aw, what is ittt, you big softie,” she said with a gentle love smack against Hotch's chest. Hotch just blushed deeper and shrugged. Reid sat there watching him like he was watching an old movie that should make him feel sad but only made him feel turned on. He realized he was staring and also that he was very likely inebriated. He turned away with a measured breath and focused on anything but Aaron Hotchner.
Penelope made short work of the glitzy packaging to reveal several feather-tipped pens, a snowglobe with the Team’s last group photo tucked inside, and a silk pouch full of costume jewelry Hotch explained he’d found while cleaning out his mother’s attic.
Penelope was messy crying while JJ and Emily tried to help her disentangle two 1960s-era flower power necklaces. Hotch gratefully accepted a large whisky from Rossi after a barrage of Garcia cheek smooches left him covered in bright red lipstick Morgan snapped a picture of immediately.
The group settled into their customary corner booth to continue their evening in even higher spirits than before.
Reid found himself in the middle of everyone with another beer in his hand despite how tired and tipsy he had felt earlier. Now that Hotch was here, he couldn’t very well leave when they so rarely all got together as a Team for such a light-hearted reason.
Then there was the small matter of Reid’s extremely private, extra humiliating crush he’d been trying to quell for years at this point. Five years, four months and twenty-two days, if he were to count down exactly to the day he met Aaron Hotchner at the FBI Academy.
He tried diligently never to think much about the impossible feelings he harbored toward his boss. He had become somewhat of an expert at burying them deep in his mind where no one would ever suspect they could live. But… every once in a while it was nice just to pretend it wasn’t utterly ridiculous.
And now… Hotch was newly divorced. He signed the papers just a few months ago. Reid didn’t exactly feel happy per se, as that would make him feel like a terrible person but… he did admit to himself late at night alone in his bed that it felt better now to have inappropriate feelings for his unmarried boss than it did when he was very much taken.
He would never, ever act on his feelings, for all the obvious reasons and then some… Hotch wasn’t gay and very likely was not bisexual. He was years older than Reid, he had a son, he lived for his job and… there was the tiny issue that he was also Reid’s direct superior in an environment where intimate fraternization would get them both fired if not killed in the field.
None of his friends had any idea about his own sexuality, either, and Spencer would rather that remain to be the case. Explaining the fact that he was more or less pansexual and only sexually attracted to people with whom he had an established bond was a little more than he felt like sharing with anyone, much less his closest friends and coworkers.
He did allow himself the chance to enjoy being around Hotch in a friendly capacity when the rare opportunity arose. And everyone else was having such a good time that night.
Penelope was ecstatic to have her “furry friends” gathered around her to celebrate, Rossi was paying the tab for the whole crew, Morgan gave him a compliment on his new button-down and told him he looked “ready to score”, whatever that meant… It was really quite nice.
So. Spencer stayed at the bar past his self-imposed curfew and pushed through his tiredness, intending to have maybe one more drink before switching to Arnold Palmers.
Three hours later found Reid giggling nonsensically while trying to remain upright against the table.
Everything was absolutely hilarious and he was absolutely hammered. This much he knew to be true. That and the fact that the world was revolving faster than normal and he was fairly certain his fly was undone after his seventh trip to the bathroom.
“Alright, Pretty Boy, I think it’s time for you to get home,” Morgan said from somewhere to his right. Reid accepted the arm that was holding him up with a grateful hiccup.
“Mhmm, yes, ho-home time, ah--I should not operate any kind of machinery, Mo-Morgan, I am experiencing alcohol-induced hic-hiccups.”
Reid nodded seriously to himself, trying to blink his vision back to normal. He realized two people were supporting him on either side as he floated through the bar and out the front door.
“No one is going to let you near machinery right now, Spencer--hey Emily, can you unlock my car, I’ll drive him home…”
Hotch’s voice is so smooth, how is he so damn smooth all the time…
Emily watched the procession with a sigh, shaking her head at the moppy-headed guy being held up by his coworker and boss after one too many Buttery Nipples.
“Good Lord, Reid. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him remotely drunk before, let alone falling down trashed-- is he okay? Reid, buddy, you good?”
Reid swayed when he tried to give the blurry woman a double thumbs up.
“A-okay, though I do believe I might be intoxicated,” he slurred with a sloppy grin.
“Yuup, Spence, I do believe you are correct, I’m in awe of your powers of deduction,” Emily quipped with a roll of her eyes. Spencer tried to wink at her but really his eyes just blinked crosswise and made him dizzy.
He had never enjoyed the out-of-control feeling of being drunk which is one reason he hardly ever drank but… right now he felt pretty good with Hotch’s hands on him, despite how he couldn’t quite walk in a straight line. Or feel his feet. Or his face…
H ave my hands always looked this weird?
Reid stared in wonder at his long fingers and started to feel freaked out by fingernails.
Hotch carefully guided him to his car and Morgan helped load the gangly young man into the front seat.
“Get some rest and a big glass of water, Kid. JJ and I are set to pick you up at 10 AM to go the seminar, don’t forget,” Morgan said, clicking Reid’s seatbelt for him when it was quite clear the genius could not do it himself.
Reid smiled at him dazedly and waved, still a bit wary of his long fingernails.
“Mkay. Bye-bye.”
Morgan and Emily both laughed as they shut the door and headed over to take care of a very inebriated Penelope and a JJ who was not far behind her. Rossi saluted Hotch for his gallantry in chauffeuring their wasted Boy Wonder home and Hotch pulled out down the road.
Reid was nearly asleep when he realized Hotch was saying something to him.
“...help you upstairs, Spencer?”
He blinked a few times, squinting through the darkness to see Hotch standing there on the curb with his hand outstretched, waiting for him to respond.
“Home already?” he asked incredulously.
Hotch nodded with a small smile but looked a bit worried as he peered in at him closer. The world was still spinning too fast and for some reason, Reid felt very hot around the collar. Hotch is so hot… maybe that’s why. Mhmm yep. Butterflies….
“Reid, are you--”
Spencer doubled over abruptly and Hotch only narrowly avoided being vomited on when he jumped backward.
“Fuck,” Spencer spat in disgust after his stomach was finally finished expelling the multi-colored evidence of his over-indulgence. He heard Hotch snort and looked up through his hair to see him standing there trying not to laugh.
“What about this is funny? Jerk…” he mumbled grumpily, wiping his mouth with the corner of his sleeve, too dizzy to care about how unhygienic the action was.
“It’s pretty funny, Reid. I think tonight’s the first time I’ve ever seen you get drunk, throw up and use the fuck word,” Hotch replied drily, still fighting off a chuckle at the unique sight of Spencer Reid half out of the car glaring at him over a puddle of rainbow vomit.
Spencer attempted to pull himself out of the vehicle without stepping in his own sick. He accepted Hotch’s assistance with a grumble even though his touch definitely still sent tingles throughout his entire body.
“Yeah well, there’s a first for everything, I guess… ugh, why does a shot called “Buttery Nipple” taste so good?” Reid whined, leaning heavily on Hotch as they made their across the dark sidewalk to the Langham’s locked front doors. A car door slammed shut somewhere down the block but neither of them paid any mind to the person walking quickly down the alley away from them.
“To entice inexperienced teenagers to drink four too many of them. I see it worked, huh?” Hotch quipped, unlocking the door with his own key.
Spencer blinked and started to argue that he was not a teenager but then he had to stop and wonder why Hotch had a key to his apartment building.
Hotch answered for him after he made sure the door was locked behind them.
“I guess I should tell you I signed the lease on an apartment here this morning. Fourth floor… you’re on the second, right? There was a vacancy and I was running out of time to find somewhere close enough to work, you would not believe the housing market right now…” he trailed off a bit awkwardly and turned to look at Reid who had stopped trying to walk. “Reid?”
“Uh--oh--um, wow, that’s… convenient, I suppose? Huh,” Reid stammered, suddenly light-headed again. The shock must have been evident on his face because Hotch looked concerned and slightly embarrassed.
“Is.. is that a problem? I don’t mean to encroach on your space, I actually forgot you lived in the building until I came for a showing and realized…” Hotch said, rubbing the back of his head. “I should have mentioned it before I signed. I won’t be checking up on you or anything, we both have our own lives, I just, ah--”
“No, no, it’s… it’s fine, you needed to get out of that gross divorce proceedings motel, I know. And hey,” Reid tried not to trip over his own feet as he started walking quickly up the stairs, “Now you can drive me to work and I won’t have to fight public transit every day! SHIT--”
He missed a step in his false nonchalance and would have flown facefirst to knock out a tooth on the stair if Hotch hadn’t been following close behind to catch him.
They straightened up and Hotch kept his hand on Reid’s lower back while they caught their breath.
“Thanks… stairs are kinda steep,” Reid mumbled sheepishly, blushing in the dim stairwell at how close Hotch was and the feeling of his hand supporting him. “And I am… definitely still intoxicated,” he added, turning with a huff to attempt the climb once more.
“Do you want me to come in for a bit? I can make you something to eat. You shouldn’t go to bed without something in your stomach to soak up the booze,” Hotch suggested quietly when they made it to Reid’s door.
Reid’s heart hammered in his chest while he fumbled with his key. He finally got the damn door open with a shaky hand and swallowed thickly, gesturing for Hotch to come in.
“Ah, yeah, sure, food is probably a good idea… and someone other than me should probably make it, I’m dangerous in a kitchen stone-cold sober,” he tried to joke. Hotch followed him inside and pulled the door closed. He flipped the lock but didn’t notice that it did not fully latch.
He was too busy looking around at Reid’s surprisingly well-decorated apartment.
“I’m not exactly a chef but if you have bread, cheese and butter I can manage a grilled cheese. You could use the grease,” he said with a smile when Reid tripped over his shoelaces, cursing under his breath while he attempted to take his Converse off.
Reid finally sat himself down at his messy dining table and leaned back in the chair, feeling a bit ill again as he pinched his nose against the spins.
“I happen to have all three of those things, but the bread is in the freezer and the butter’s in the bell and the cheese is vegan so it melts oddly but Garcia made me buy it after I stole her last Lactaid pill… Ah man, I might get sick again--um--”
Reid started waving around frantically with his hand to his mouth. Hotch grabbed a plastic shopping bag from the kitchen door handle and had it under his head in seconds, his dad skills rising to the occasion masterfully.
Reid pitched forward and threw up unpleasantly for a very long sixty-four seconds. When he was finally done he couldn’t sit up straight. He just leaned over with his head in his hands and groaned in disgust. Somewhere in the back of his drunk mind he was kicking himself over the situation.
He had Aaron Hotchner in his apartment at 1 am on a Friday night, a literal dream come true, and here he was puking into a bag, drunk off his head after taking too many shots meant for barely legal adults on Spring Break.
“Spencer?”
He looked up at Hotch with a shaky sigh.
“Sorry, Hotch. I uh, I should go clean up… you don’t have to stay, I’ve kept you out too long already, I’ll be fine. Shockingly, this is not the first time I’ve had mild alcohol poisoning,” Spencer said, a touch of self-deprecation to his tone as he stood up unsteadily.
Hotch shook his head with a raised eyebrow tossed at Reid after disposing of the soiled bag in the kitchen trash.
“I live upstairs from you now, Reid. It’s not exactly a long commute. I also have absolutely no food in my own fridge so, I’ll be making us grilled cheese sandwiches while you take a shower.”
His tone brooked no argument and neither did his casually stern glare. Reid eyed him for a moment, noticing the way the buttons of his black polo shirt were all undone and that he had slipped his shoes off at the door like a polite houseguest. He looked younger in his casual clothes with his hair slightly mussed up and a shadow of stubble blooming across his cheeks.
Shit. Why does he have to be so damn attractive. Why did I have to drink so much. Why can’t this just happen like it does in my stupid fantasies….
Spencer heaved a breath and stood up, wincing at the gathering ache in between his eyes.
“Alright. You win. Grilled cheese should help stop the vomiting, I hope. Uh… feel free to make yourself comfortable. I do have a television in that cupboard beneath the bookshelf but I only get PBS and CSPAN so, good luck. Be out in a bit,” he said gruffly, giving up on the silly daydream that maybe Hotch would follow him to the shower and commence a whirlwind romance.
He made it through a very perfunctory shower followed by four solid minutes of brushing the vomit flavor off his tongue and teeth. He half expected Hotch to be gone when he finally came out of his bedroom wearing a t-shirt and his only pair of pajama pants.
Instead, he found his boss at his dining room table reading one of his natural history textbooks about Hawaii with a plate full of grilled cheese triangles in front of him alongside two steaming mugs of coffee.
Spencer sank into the chair next to him and Hotch pushed the plate over across the table, followed by the coffee and a big glass of ice water.
“Thanks,” he said gratefully, his voice a little hoarse from being sick. He ate in silence, chewing the gooey grilled cheese like a robot until he felt ready for a big gulp of water. Hotch just kept reading about volcanoes and tropical flora, smiling at the notes Spencer had made in the margins of the text when he was fourteen.
“I took a class on volcanology on a whim my second year at CalTech,” he finally supplied. Hotch looked up at him, unsurprised but interested. “I was pretty close to tacking on a Geology BA to my workload when Gideon showed up and convinced me to try Psychology. Glad I listened but… volcanoes are really fucking cool, too. And shockingly less dangerous than the human mind.”
Hotch cracked a smile at him, nodding his head with a stretch.
“I’m also glad you listened but I wouldn’t blame you if you ran off to be a Volcanologist one day. You’d probably be off in Honolulu right now, living on a beach studying rocks instead of psychopaths.”
Reid smiled back over his coffee, glancing at the man who sent butterflies through his stomach for real now rather than alcohol-fueled illness.
“I hate the beach. You know that. Even geologically significant volcanic beaches.” He took a sip of the sweetened black brew just to taste something warm and get his head back under control. Hotch matched his sip before he sighed and looked at his watch with a frown. Spencer felt his heart sink but he knew this moment couldn’t just keep on going. He was also exhausted and still kind of drunk. This moment was nothing but a very special bookmark in a story that could never be written.
He’d just have to come to terms with that.
“You should go home. Um. I guess…” Spencer laughed half-heartedly as he stood up, still unsteady on his feet even now.
The thought that Hotch was now his neighbor two floors up would haunt him endlessly. “Upstairs, at least, hah… Oh--” he stumbled a bit but Hotch was once again there to keep him upright.
“Let me get you to bed, Reid,” he heard Hotch mumble from behind him.
So close… he’s so close… bed.
It took every ounce of self-control Spencer still possessed in his inebriated state not to turn around and press his lips to Hotch’s.
He let the man guide him to his bedroom, fumbling at the lamp in the corner, feeling quite embarrassed about the messy state of his rumpled bachelor bed. It was covered in books and bits of paper, too many pillows, his ancient robe, of all things… Spencer spied a candy wrapper sticking out from beneath his blanket and felt his face heat up spectacularly.
Great. Hotch finally takes me to bed and my bed is a fucking adolescent disaster. Great!
Hotch didn’t mention the mess at all. He just set a glass of water down on Spencer’s crowded bedside table and stepped back to lean against the doorway. Spencer pushed a stack of books out of the way before collapsing against his pillows with a huffy sigh, sleep attacking him now that he was here facing blessed oblivion.
He gazed over at Hotch who looked completely lost in thought. Almost… sad.
“Hotch?”
Hotch shook himself out of his stupor and smiled at Spencer sprawled across his bed with his hand laid absently on a copy of “Great Expectations”.
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
Hotch took a deep breath and looked away from him, the smile fading from his face, replaced by the worry lines and thin-mouthed misery that had so recently defined his expression. Ever since the divorce, at least.
Spencer hated to see him look like that.
“I’m…” Hotch laughed suddenly and looked up at Reid’s coffered ceiling. The light caught his eyes just right and Spencer saw the sparkle of tears unshed pooling against his lids. He sat up in concern, ignoring how the world tilted to and fro from the movement.
“I’m not okay, Spencer. This is my first apartment as… as a single man. Haley and I dated through high school and college… we always lived together. We lived across the hall through undergrad, in a tiny studio while I was in law school, we had a rowhome in the city when I first worked for the Bureau… It took three days, two moving trucks, six movers, her sister and my mother to get us moved into our house when we came here from Seattle.”
Hotch shifted to cross his arms over his chest, sighing shakily as he looked anywhere but at Reid.
“It took me two hours this afternoon to move everything I have left into that empty apartment upstairs. My car wasn’t even full. I don’t even…” Hotch laughed again, bitterly this time, the empty sound of it entirely devoid of mirth.
“I don’t even have a bed.”
Reid swallowed thickly and blinked the sleep away.
He didn’t really know what to say. Hotch was in pain. He didn’t want to say anything. He wanted to get up and hold him until the pain went away. He wanted to offer him his messy bed full of too many books and old candy wrappers. He wanted him to know he wasn’t alone in feeling the loneliness of starting over.
“I’m sorry. You don’t need to listen to my problems, Reid. I’ve ordered a bed, at least, Garcia told me about this website, she had me take a quiz to match me with the perfect mattress, hah. Oh--”
Hotch looked down just in time to find Spencer standing in front of him looking very serious.
“Stay down here, tonight. O-on my couch. I insist, Aaron,” Spencer pressed when his boss looked very close to refusing the offer.
This was what he could do. This was all he could do. And Spencer wasn’t about to let Hotch shuffle upstairs alone to sleep on the floor of an empty apartment.
Hotch sighed and stared at the floor.
“I don’t want to impose, Spencer. I’ll be fine. I have a camp bed for tonight, it won’t kill me--”
“No. Dammit, Hotch, just accept a night’s sleep on a real couch for once. I know you were sleeping in your office for weeks, this is just a step above that and a lot cozier, your office couch is abysmally uncomfortable. Stay,” Reid set his jaw stubbornly and grabbed Hotch’s elbow to squeeze him for good measure. Hotch looked ready to argue so Reid doubled down.
“You’re my friend. You helped me get home tonight, you fed me, you made sure I didn’t aspirate on my own Buttery Nipple vomit… let me help you, now. Please?”
Hotch took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Reid loosened his tight grip on his elbow, worrying at his lip that maybe Hotch didn’t think of him as a friend he could trust. Maybe he was just worried about his stupid young Agent who didn’t know how to handle himself when it came to mind-altering substances….
Then Hotch blew out a big breath and nodded.
“Alright. So long as you’re sure it’s okay, Spencer.”
Spencer grinned stupidly and shook his head.
“Jesus Christ, it’s fine , Hotch. Let me get you some blankets, I have a lot of blankets…”
Spencer perfected a makeshift bed on his extra-long leather couch made to sprawl on. He actually tended to sleep more on his couch than in his bed anyway. He knew it was what Hotch needed at the moment, to be somewhere comfortable and set in stone rather than the limbo he’d lived in for months. It gave him a sense of purpose to set the older man up and back out quietly, even if his instincts were screaming for him to invite him back to his bedroom instead.
That scenario could never happen. But he could still be Aaron’s friend.
“Um, well. Goodnight, Hotch.”
Hotch smiled over at him as he stripped off his polo shirt and folded it on the coffee table.
“Night Reid. Thank you.”
“Sure.”
He wanted to keep staring but he forced himself to turn around and go back to his room.
Spencer settled back into his messy bed with a sigh.
It had been an interesting night.
He had no idea what the morning would hold.
…
The sun was just barely making its way over the endless urban sprawl when Spencer Reid’s apartment door creaked open.
The man who pushed it open took a deep breath as he approached his end game. The door was fully open now. He was in.
He would have to be rather efficient. The dynamics had changed. Now, there were two at once when he planned to take them one at a time. It wouldn’t really matter, in the end. So long as he could play his little game, he would be satisfied.
Silent footsteps ghosted along against Spencer’s hardwood floor. He took his time admiring the artwork and the books.
The mess. The dirty plates on the table… it was exactly as he pictured, down to the dust coating every surface of the place. He had only been inside twice. And he could never take as much time as he wished he could take. He took his time now. Just a minute extra. That was all he required.
Then he refocused on the task at hand. There would be more time later to reenact his fantasies with Spencer Reid, but he had to follow through on his original intentions first.
It would only take a moment to subdue Aaron Hotchner.
He observed the man currently passed out on the couch. It was almost too easy after all of his research. He had never expected to find such a storied agent in such a vulnerable position. The fact that he was in Spencer Reid’s apartment, well… That just made it all more fun.
The needle was in his hand already. His backup arrived in the doorway, ready to carry the bodies. The security cameras throughout the place were now disabled, all according to plan. The van waited in the alley, under the ruse of repairing an electricity transformer. It seriously was almost too easy.
He held up a hand. His well-paid lackeys waited in the early morning silence.
He wanted to enjoy this part. The prelude.
One step followed another and he knelt beside the sofa, smiling softly when Aaron Hotchner twitched in his deep sleep. He raked his eyes down to the man’s ankles where that ever-present holster girded him in false security, the little glock nestled fully loaded at all times… It would be of no help to him now.
He had to relish that thought. It tingled throughout his body with the promise of what was to come later.
“Ready or not…” he whispered as the needle disappeared into Hotch’s arm.
Hotch's eyes opened, dilating rapidly, his mouth ready to scream but the drug was too quick for his faculties. He could only blink and gasp before his eyes rolled back into his skull and everything went dark.
He snapped his fingers for his men to remove Hotch as he made his way to Spencer Reid’s bedroom. He felt giddy with feverish excitement when he pushed the door open and found the genius in his pajamas, clutching a pillow and a book to his mouth like a pacifier in his sleep.
“Here I come!”
…
“Call his house phone again, Der, he’s probably just hungover and embarrassed. I’ve never seen him get that drunk before,” JJ said, hiding behind her sunglasses with a big green smoothie cradled against her chest.
Morgan chuckled and rolled his eyes, pressing the call button for Spencer Reid on his fancy dashboard for the second time.
“I seem to recall a certain someone singing that “Be a Man” song from Mulan last night with absolutely no shame and no microphone, so, uh, I dunno if we should be judging right now, Miss Thing.”
“Shut upp…”
“You have reached Dr. Spencer Reid. I am unable to take your call. Please leave a message and I will call you back!”
BEEP.
“Reid, man, you better be awake when we get there or we’ll be late. I know you can hear this, I set the phones up, even if you’re actually in your bed for once you can hear my voice now, Pretty Boy--” Morgan turned off the main road to a quieter alley, taking his usual backway to get to Reid’s place without the gridlock.
“I’ma be at your apartment in two minutes and you best beli--JJ, get dow--!”
CRASH.
Rumble.
Scream.
Silence.
Morgan groaned when he came back to consciousness after the sudden impact.
He had no idea what had happened. He couldn’t remember anything beyond a flash of light streaking toward his truck. JJ’s scream. His own.
He couldn’t move.
He could hardly breathe.
Someone was talking to him. Pulling at him.
He squinted, painfully, trying to see through the blood dripping into his eyes.
“Wh… what.. H-happened…” he wheezed, very aware of how hard it was to speak.
Broken ribs. Shit.
“You were in an accident. Stay calm, Sir. We’re getting you out. Your passenger is alright.”
Okay. Okay. JJ’s okay. Just… stay calm… but… what… what happened….
Morgan couldn’t stay conscious after he felt a sharp prick in his arm from the paramedic. He felt his mind drift away from his body and knew no more about anything.
He didn’t hear JJ screaming to be released. He didn’t hear the abrupt halt to her desperate pleas.
He didn’t hear anything at all.