Work Text:
Of Innocence and Empathy: World Wise
by Frogg
Feeling oddly like a recalcitrant child sent to the principal’s office, Morgan paused just outside the door.
Gideon sat in the corner reading a book, backlit by the single window. Bouquets and gift baskets were lined up on the radiator and around the edge of the room as far as could be seen.
A soft knock on the doorframe had Gideon looking up over the top of his glasses. The book was set aside as he got to his feet. "Come in, come in." He ushered Morgan through the door.
Fighting to keep from looking at too pale, too still figure lying in bed, Morgan stepped inside and swallowed.
Taking pity, Gideon spoke up. "I was wondering when you’d get here."
Morgan’s brow furrowed. "When?"
"Whatever made you break it off with Reid didn’t have anything to do with how you felt about him."
Teeth clenched at the reminder, at the sudden shock of pain and guilt, Morgan shut his eyes and looked away. "It wasn’t just me," he whispered after a time.
"What wasn’t just you?"
Confusion and hope in his eyes, Morgan dared look back at Gideon. "Do you believe in fate?"
Gideon raised an eyebrow. "Personally? I don’t know," he admitted.
Morgan held out the copy of the newspaper he’d picked up on the way. "Read the article about his rescue yesterday."
Eyeing the paper suspiciously, Gideon took it, turning to the article. He glanced between Morgan and the paper a few times, then adjusted his glasses and skimmed it. "Okay...and?"
Morgan handed him a single sheet of printer paper.
Gideon read it, blinked, looked closer, read it again. Then he held it up next to the newspaper and glanced between them. Color draining from his face, he looked back up at Morgan. "Why didn’t you tell anyone?"
Morgan shrugged. "I told Garcia on the way here."
"That’s not why."
Lips thinned, Morgan caught his breath in his throat. "Mark...Mark Dunham was my roommate in college." He shook his head.
"He knew about Carl." Gideon didn’t ask.
Morgan nodded. "I had nightmares. He...did for me what Reid’s been doing, badgered me into talking to him about it." Swallowing hard, he looked up at the ceiling, as if it held answers. "He’s...a lot like me. If I’d introduced you, he would have..."
"He would have made sure Hotch and I knew," Gideon finished for him, keeping his voice soft. "Like you did for Reid."
A sharp, painful nod, then a tortured laugh. "They didn’t tell me they were coming. I guess it was supposed to be a surprise or something, but I would have taken time off to see them if they had." He bit his lip, turning away, finally, finally looking at Reid.
Reid lay silent in the bed, much the same as he’d been in his apartment a few nights before. Curled up on his side, back to the door. Only the hospital gown, stark white sheets, IV and monitors attached to his skin were different.
"How is he?"
Gideon tilted his head, almost nodding. "He’ll be fine. He tore most of the stitches in his back. Gave himself a few first and second degree burns, lost quite a bit of blood. The doctors were concerned about the possibility of infection, so they’re keeping him here for a few days."
"They’re keeping him sedated?"
"Yes, for now."
"Good." Morgan set the cd case on the table, sliding it between a bouquet and a small tower of foil-covered boxes bound in red and gold ribbon. He could only imagine who had sent all this stuff: stuffed animals, fruit baskets, the tower of whateveritwas, enough flowers to have wiped out Hotch’s extensive gardens. A bunch of helium balloons hovered near the ceiling in the corner opposite the door. "What in the world is he going to do with all this?"
"I don’t know. I imagine he’ll eat some of the fruit and sweets and donate the rest."
"And give himself carpal tunnel writing thank you notes," Morgan added.
Gideon chuckled. "And that."
Morgan contented himself with watching the heart monitor on the wall, watching the slow, almost imperceptible rise and fall of Reid’s chest as he breathed. Behind him, he heard Gideon step back to the chair in the corner and sit down.
Several minutes passed like that, Gideon watching Morgan watching Reid.
Then, Gideon shook out the paper again. "I have a question."
Morgan made a humming sound deep in his throat, indicating his attention.
"Usually godparents aren’t listed in a birth announcement."
"Legally he’s my godson," Morgan said slowly, his voice distant.
"Oh?"
"Mark...found out he couldn’t have kids of his own a few years after he and Tracy got married."
Gideon stilled. "Charlie’s your son."
"He’d be dead if I hadn’t...let Reid go." Indirect affirmative.
"Yes." Pause. "Yes, he would."
Morgan wrapped his hands around the guard rail, eyes trained on Reid’s pale face.
"And now?" Gideon asked gently.
Morgan bent his head, his knuckles turning white as pain lanced through him again at the thought of being without. "It hurts too much," he whispered. "I want him back, Gideon, I don’t know how, I...can’t do this anymore." Prying one hand from the bar, he reached out, brushing strands of sun-bleached brown silk from Reid’s face, tucking it behind an ear. His fingers skimmed Reid’s cheekbone before he could bring himself to pull back.
Reid shifted in the bed, drugged sleep disturbed.
Mortified at having woken Reid, Morgan stepped away from the bed.
"Mrg’n?"
~~~the end~~~