SquidgeWorld Archive

Of Innocence and Empathy: Illogical Knowledge
by Frogg

Tap-tap-tap.

Reid fidgeted just outside Hotch's hotel room door, dancing from foot to foot and turning his keycard over and over in his hand. The plastic scratched at his palm.

Tap-tap-tap.

A small whimper escaped him, an echo of those still resounding in his head: whimpers of a young boy, from a grown man.

Whimpers of a hellish memory, brought on in the helplessness of sleep.

"Hotch, please...It's Morgan, I..." Reid choked on the words, tears of sympathy stinging his eyes. He raised his hand to knock again, harder, but stopped himself at the sound of footsteps, soft against the carpet.

The door opened a moment later.

Reid fought the urge to snatch the keycard Hotch held and run back down the hall. "I--It's, it's Morgan--"

"I know." Hotch handed over the key, but when Reid moved to take it, he continued. "Be careful, Reid."

Glancing back up, Reid saw concern and a need to help in Hotch's eyes. "I--he, he won't--"

"He might get violent. I'm just saying, as a friend, please call me if you have trouble. Okay?"

Reid swallowed hard and slowly accepted the offered key. "O-okay."

"Go on," Hotch prompted, nodding down the hall and watching as Reid backed away.

"Th-thanks," Reid said, turning and bolting.

~~~

Morgan was a dark shadow writhing in the sheets, skin damp with sweat. Harsh whispers, half-formed words, and throaty whimpers spilled from his mouth, lips pulled back to leave a white slash across a face twisted into a rictus of pain and anguish.

Reid hesitated, chewing his lower lip. Hotch was right to worry; Reid had no chance of fighting Morgan off, not unless -- unless -- he fought with the desperation of a broken teenager, and not the training and experience of the expert hand-to-hand fighter Reid knew him to be.

Even then, it would be more luck than calculation.

Still...

"Morgan, it's, it's me, Reid, it's o-okay." Reid struggled to keep his voice level, soothing. Tried to keep the threatening tears at bay.

Morgan paused in his thrashing, eyebrows drawing together; then the nightmare overwhelmed him again and he turned away.

The keycards hit the bedside table with a tiny snap-click as Reid eased onto the edge of the matress. "Morgan, it's just m-me, y-you can wake up now."

Again, the momentary stillness.

Reid reached out and carefully touched Morgan's shoulder.

Gasping for breath and wide-eyed with pain and panic, Morgan bolted upright, arms automatically coming up in a guard position.

"It's Reid, Morgan, it's just me, just your friend, I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," Reid started talking, keeping his voice low and even, not caring what he was saying. He backed off the bed and across the room, staying in Morgan's line of sight.

Several minutes passed before some of the wildness faded from Morgan's eyes, before Reid allowed himself to pause his comforting babble to swallow hard.

"Reid." Morgan's voice was rough and hoarse.

"Just me, Morgan," Reid confirmed. "Can I, can I come back over there?" he asked plaintively.

Morgan shuddered, sheets fisted in his hands. He nodded shortly.

Stepping carefully, skittishly, Reid made his way around the bed again, pausing before the table before easing back onto the edge.

Morgan still faced the wall, wouldn't make eye contact.

Unsure what to say, what he could say, Reid sat in silent comaraderie, listening to Morgan's ragged breathing, watching the tremors of remembered trauma rippling down his body. Watching his knuckles turn white in the sheets.

Another few long minutes passed. Then Morgan forced himself to let go of the sheet and ran his hand over his scalp, scrubbing at his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's always...always makes me..." He shook his head, unable to suppress a huge sob.

Reid gingerly rested a hand on Morgan's shoulder, rubbing back and forth soothingly over bare skin. Muscles jumped and twitched beneath his fingers, but Reid counted it a good sign when Morgan didn't flinch, didn't pull away. "I-I think...at this point, I, I'd normally try and get you to talk about it," his voice trailed away, and Reid frowned as Morgan shrank away from him. "But I have a better idea."

Morgan didn't answer right away, let the tremors slow, let his rapid, choppy breathing settle. Swallowing convulsively, he tilted his head slightly, glancing up at Reid. "What's that?"

"Hot shower." And suiting actions to words, Reid slid backwards off the bed, holding out a hand for Morgan.

Morgan stared at it for a long moment.

"You helped me once, after Washington," Reid said, holding his hand steady. "Will you let me return the favor?"

Glancing away, then back at Reid's extended hand, Morgan swallowed, fought a losing battle. Finally, finally meeting Reid's eyes, he turned and reached and grasped Reid's hand in his own.

Bracing himself, Reid watched as Morgan hauled himself out of bed. "It's just me," he whispered again, backing towards the bathroom, drawing Morgan reluctantly along.

Morgan flinched at the light, shielding his eyes with his free hand and avoiding the mirror. Reid's hand slipped from his grasp then and he whimpered, then again, softer, as Reid ran a comforting hand down his arm.

"Let me s-start the shower, ok? Can you get out of your sweats?" Reid waited for Morgan to nod uncertainly before he turned away and pulled aside the curtain, turned the faucet on and adjusted the temperature until clouds of steam billowed out across the room.

Morgan had shed his sweatpants, but wouldn't meet his eyes again.

Clenching his teeth momentarily, Reid rid himself of his own sleepwear, kicking the tangled garment into a corner. Then he reached out, one hand beneath Morgan's jaw, and gently, firmly, forced Morgan to look at him. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, do you hear me?" Reid's voice was harsh and gritty, his usual stutter gone. "None. It's all on his shoulders, Morgan." He watched as the words hit, watched Morgan's breath catch, eyes roll back, another tiny whimper making his jaw vibrate beneath Reid's fingers.

"It's so hard...to believe that," Morgan whispered, accepting Reid's support in climbing into the tub.

Trying to act like showering together was an everyday occurance, and not driven by need and desperation, Reid climbed in after, ignoring Morgan's seeming attempt to drown himself in the hot spray. As he lathered the washcloth, Reid debated whether or not to say something, and what he could say that wouldn't make the situation worse.

Morgan was shaking his head, water droplets flying, when Reid turned back to him, having settled on humor.

"Did you know that an order to, quote, 'put Kiwi on your boots', unquote, doesn't involve fruit?" he asked, warning Morgan with voice and proximity before he swept the washcloth over broad shoulders. "It's number fifty-five on The 213 Things Skippy Can't Do in the U.S. Army."

Morgan's shoulders hitched, though whether in a laugh or a sob, Reid couldn't tell.

'Let's try another one,' Reid thought to himself, keeping close attention on Morgan's physical reactions; he doubted he'd get much in the way of verbal cues. "Poor Skippy can't call block the chain of command, either. That's number seventy-eight." Reid allowed himself a small laugh. "I know I've been tempted to call block the BAU before..."

That one got a snort, then a sneeze as Morgan apparently inhaled a bit of spray.

Even so, Reid could feel the tension slowly fading, the muscles beneath the washcloth, beneath his hands, unknotting. "He can't refer to the first sergeant as 'Mom'. I wonder how Hotch would react if I called him that at breakfast tomorrow."

"Better not," Morgan rumbled in answer. "If looks could kill..."

"Hmm. Maybe I should try calling Gideon 'Dad'. That's number eighty-nine. Or rather," Reid continued, "Skippy can't refer to the commander as 'Dad'."

All the tension that had fled Morgan's body from the shower and Reid's ministrations rushed back two-fold.

Realizing the misstep too late, Reid silently castigated himself. 'Damn, damn, damn.' Morgan was too still, heart racing beneath hot water and hotter skin. "Morgan?"

A high, thin keening filled the tiny space as tremors rippled over Morgan's frame.

'Maybe...?' Reid gently reached out, keeping his touch light, platonic, and turned Morgan, unresisting, to face him. "Morgan?"

Eyes dark with pain and guilt and anguish watered. Arms raised as if of their own volition, wanting to hold, to reach for comfort, but stopped.

"It's okay, I'm here, it's okay to cry," Reid whispered, meeting Morgan halfway. Too narrow to offer the kind of enveloping support he wanted, Reid felt Morgan wrap himself around him instead, hands digging painfully into his shoulderblades, face buried in the hollow of neck and shoulder. Reid ran soothing hands up and down Morgan's back, feeling the muscles there shift and shudder with every heaving sob.

Minutes ticked by in the hissing spray of water, slowly diminishing heat, lessening tension. Over it all, Reid could hear his own voice, cracking, hitching with each new wave of grief that ripped through the man in his arms, could hear Morgan's choking sobs, feel the tears against his neck and collarbone, hotter than the water sheeting over them both.

The water had grown pleasantly cool by the time Morgan stilled, breathing still ragged, still clinging to Reid as if he were the only stable thing left in the world.

"Morgan?" Reid changed the stroking of his hands to a soft pat, trying to get the older man's attention. "Water's getting cold. Can we get out and dry off?"

Morgan rumbled unintelligibly into his shoulder, slowly, painfully prying himself away. When he would have let go entirely, Reid caught his hand, reaching out with the other to shut off the rapidly chilling water, then sweep the curtain aside and gingerly step backwards out of the tub.

"Come on," Reid urged, pulling Morgan against him before reaching for a towel. Careful to keep skin-to-skin contact, Reid tenderly blotted Morgan dry, then gave himself a halfhearted going-over with the damp towel. "Bed?"

Swallowing hard, Morgan turned bleak eyes to him, nodding slowly in agreement. "Only..." he coughed, turning away. "Only if..."

"Morgan, I'm not going anywhere. You couldn't get me out of here with a crowbar." There was steel in Reid's voice; he wasn't going to budge.

Another shudder wracked Morgan as he relaxed suddenly, leaning most of his weight on Reid's slender frame. They wobbled and swayed together for a moment until Reid managed to brace against the extra burden.

"Come on, bed. Sleep." Reid painstakingly maneuvered them back through the door and to the bed before pausing, pulling the blankets down. "Which side do you want?"

Morgan sighed, nudging Reid until he took the hint and climbed in. Taking an extra moment, Morgan straightened the sheets, then slid beneath and closer to Reid.

"Just me, remember?" Reid asked, letting Morgan arrange them to his liking, until Reid lay flat on his back, Morgan's body tucked against his side, head pillowed on Reid's shoulder. "Sleep. I'll keep the nightmares away," he whispered, praying no more would come, praying he'd wake first, wake fast.

The last of the tension slowly drained as Morgan succumbed to sleep, breath puffing out across Reid's chest at regular intervals.

Reid lay awake a few minutes more, wondering at the trust Morgan had in him.

Wondering at the warmth suffusing him, the protective instincts that no one else had ever stirred.

Wondered if this was what it was to be loved.

To be in love.

end