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Seldom did Morgan let his private life show at the office to anyone other than Garcia. There was a time and a place – and though he was close enough with his team members that nothing was a secret, just as J.J.’s marriage, and subsequent baby, were excruciatingly obvious, Morgan did not bring to light that which was not asked for, that which was not directly and strictly related to the job when he was in the workplace. There was no hiding, no trying to hide, simply the unmentioned.
Still, when Morgan bemoaned the idea of seeing the afterlife, and Dr. – not agent – Dr. Reid shut him down; quietly, calmly corrected him, with two, quiet, calm words, Morgan could not help himself. He felt like he’d been caught by a storm at sea, tossed into waves he had no hope of emerging from. He fought to keep composure, had to remind himself to address the doctor professionally. Yet, it hardly mattered, it was the waver that went through the team after he spoke that had him drifting farther out.
“Reid – you never told me that.”
It wasn’t an omission on its own. Any outsider would have assumed Morgan was referring to interactions within their working relationship. Only the astute onlooker might notice the glances exchanged between Morgan’s superior and his colleagues, and it was unlikely that the onlooker would understand what those exchanges meant.
The genius covered with ease, his answer not only logical, but wholeheartedly honest. Dr. Reid was first and foremost a man of science; it was only fitting that he be confused by the strange presence of a something-more in the moment of his death. Still, the confession seemed private – as Reid spoke, Morgan wished it were all old news, wished he had known before the others, wished that he were not suddenly drowning after he’d been cowed into silence with an abrupt kindness.
On the flight back to Quantico, Prentiss and Reid sat together. They were speaking quietly, and Reid ignored the awkward seating arrangement to put an arm around her, his eyes shining. Morgan was passing by on the way to the bathroom when he caught the words, “I’m glad you came back” out of Reid’s mouth, and Morgan knew he meant more than just to the BAU.
Prentiss fell asleep with only an hour left of the flight; Morgan came to kneel next to Reid’s seat.
Reid pulled down his headphones, letting them drape loosely around his neck.
“Hey, Derek,” he said, in a whisper. This wasn’t usually a place for first names, but Hotch was across the plane, reading a book while J.J. napped next to him, and Rossi was staring off out the window pensively; he hadn’t been much for talking over the past few days. No one would mind, and even better, no one was listening.
“Doctor,” Morgan responded, tipping his head in greeting. Reid smiled. “So,” Morgan started, checking again to make sure Prentiss was slumbering away, “are you down to come to my place when we get back? Couple of beers – I might even have enough Vermouth in the house to mix you a Manhattan.”
Reid’s eyebrows twitched quizzically. “Sure,” he shrugged, blinked away.
“Okay,” said Morgan as he made to stand, but Reid put out a hand, fingers catching on the dark skin of his forearm, holding lightly. Morgan froze. Reid opened his mouth, eyebrows now furrowed, as if to ask a question, then removed his hand. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” The agent nodded and moved back to his seat to wait out the rest of the ride in discontent. He noted sourly that the turbulence felt like the ocean.
Rough flight aside, they landed smoothly.
It was dark – nearly eleven o’clock when they got back to the office, but, as always, Garcia awaited them. They filed final paperwork, and Hotch disappeared into his office. Rossi left as quickly as possible, J.J. as well. Prentiss invited Garcia out for a late night, and she said yes, of course, hold on-a second, before she turned her attentions to Morgan.
“So, he’s coming over tonight,” she giggled the moment Prentiss was out of earshot. Before Morgan could ask, she continued, “I don’t have to be a profiler to see the little things. He didn’t go straight to his locker to unload his toothbrush out of his go-bag – funny that you don’t have a toothbrush for him there by now – but that’s not important. Saw him fixing his hair in the door-reflection while you were dropping your stuff off at the lockers. He wants to be cute for you!”
“Penelope, he said he saw a light.”
“What, he thinks you’re an angel? Honey, you’re sweet, but I think you’re more of a –”
“He said he saw a light when he was with Hankel.”
Garcia turned on her heel, folders on her arm, mouth slightly open.
“What?”
“He said he saw a light while he was having that seizure.”
“That was like five years ago,” Garcia said, biting her lip and rearranging the folders. Morgan knew they were already in correct order. She arranged them back as he held the door open.
“I know. I don’t think he told anyone until now.”
“Don’t push it, Derek,” Garcia warned, as they rounded the corner and Reid’s desk came into sight. She kissed Morgan’s cheek and made her way toward the elevators. Reid was sitting with his feet propped up, mismatching socks peeking from his ankles. “Have a good evening,” she called to Reid as she exited the office, sliding into an elevator with Prentiss.
“Hungry?” Morgan asked, picking up Reid’s go-bag. Reid reached out to take it, but Morgan did not relinquish his grip. The doctor pursed his lips, then relaxed them into a tiny smile.
“Quite.”
“I have leftover spaghetti carbonara in the fridge – I’ve been practicing since Rossi taught us.”
Reid laughed appreciatively.
There was no traffic on the road, but neither of them spoke to fill the silence. Reid had begun to nod off before they exited the interstate. “If you’re tired, we can just go to sleep,” he began. Reid woke with a jolt, blinking his eyes hard.
“No, no. I want to try the spaghetti.”
They settled at the table, Clooney thumping his tail against Reid’s oxfords. If it was anything to go by, Reid never fed the retriever, making him the perfect houseguest in Morgan’s book. Reid had insisted upon red wine if they were going to eat the spaghetti, so Morgan gave up on the Manhattan (probably for the better, since he wasn’t actually sure if there was any Vermouth in the cupboard), and poured a Malbec.
“It’s delectable,” Reid said when they finished. “Just enough flavor, but nothing over-powering. I’d like to watch how you emulsify the eggs, but it tastes like you did it correctly. Rossi would be proud.”
“If I didn’t have garlic breath right now, I’d kiss you,” Morgan said after a minute. He nearly did, in fact, but the two-words of the previous day crept back, and he hesitated. Reid laughed unabashedly, face flushing a bit, but perhaps that was just from the wine. “Later, then,” he said, beginning to clear the dishes. “Pretty boy,” Morgan chided, “I got that.”
“You cooked, I’ll clean,” came Reid’s voice from near the dishwasher. “But if you do have some sort of dessert you’re willing to whip up, I’m not averse to that.”
“I’m not averse to that,” Morgan mimicked, “Oh alright. Secret sugar freak. Ice cream sound good? And, yeah, it’s peppermint.” Morgan pulled the carton out of the fridge without waiting for an answer and began scooping green goodness into a bowl. “Want me to start a movie or you good with just dessert?” He grabbed two spoons and stood next to Reid while Reid deposited a couple fat pinches of detergent into the dishwasher. “Start it running,” Morgan instructed. “I’ll wash the bowl when we’re done. I—will.”
“No movie,” Reid said. “I want to talk.”
Morgan paused, prepared to argue. Then, with a slight shake of his head, “Okay. Table or couch?”
“Couch,” Reid said, taking the bowl and a spoon. He looked meaningfully at Morgan as they crossed into the living room. “Don’t be scared.”
Morgan almost laughed, but instead slowly released the breath he’d been holding in. He watched as Reid dropped into the couch next to him, waited as he spooned a dab of ice cream into his mouth. Reid left the spoon there, twisting it slowly as all the sweetness melted off and away, leaving only the tang of metal.
“You want some?”
“Spencer.”
Reid’s mouth curled a small smile around the spoon before he removed it. “It’ll keep your mouth busy. So you don’t interrupt.” Morgan shot him a look, but took the bowl, regardless.
Tapping the now-clean spoon against his jaw, Reid’s gaze focused on something Morgan could not see. The furrowed brow returned. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I definitely do.” Morgan force-fed himself a bite, restraining himself from speaking. “I just. I didn’t know what it was.” Morgan winced at the subsequent brain-freeze and Reid backtracked to clarify the subject, gesturing with the spoon, “When I was having the seizure, that is.” Morgan tried not to choke.
“It was a light. Or maybe it was more than that. I don’t know how else to describe it. It was just – there. How do I explain that? I can’t. I don’t think there’s an afterlife. But there was a time when I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing it. The whatever-it-was. But. It wasn’t the same, it wasn’t as bright, and part of me wanted it to be so much brighter, wanted to be swallowed up by it, wanted the warmth to take hold.” Reid chewed his lip and his eyes focused back into reality. “It was my death. And it was beautiful.”
He stopped, glanced over at Morgan through his bangs. “Derek, you know, I don’t often find myself without words.” Reid’s lips pursed in a grin. Morgan relaxed minutely, letting loose a small snort. “I don’t often find myself without science to explain something to me that I don’t already understand – I don’t often find myself unable to understand. Yet there I was. I had come back from something I didn’t even know existed. And I had to cope with that. To find answers when all the while I was aching to find other answers. While I was aching for other things. The dilaudid gave me the same warm feeling, and for some reason, it comforted me as much as my need for it scared me.”
Morgan set down the bowl. He slid forward on the couch and rather than pulling Reid to him, wrapped himself around him. “I could’ve helped – we could’ve worked it out,” Morgan whispers.
Reid shook his head before resting against Morgan’s chest.
“No. It’s for me alone to wrestle with. You will never see what I saw. No one will. That’s why I never told you. Or anyone. I’m not religious, you know that. I felt little need to share it with a religious community; likewise, why share it with those who completely reject an idea of God or the afterlife?” Morgan made to protest, and Reid quickly retraced his steps. “Sorry, when I say reject, I don’t mean for it to be harsh – for those who don’t participate in religious activities.”
Morgan broke in, unable to help himself. “Just because I don’t believe in something doesn’t mean we can’t talk about it.”
Morgan knew that Reid’s need to compartmentalize sometimes organized his emotions into odd, asocial, sterile arrangements, and though he strove to understand, he was occasionally caught off-guard by it. And occasionally, it hurt.
“To me there was no reason to share what no one else would understand, until this case. Emily knew, even if she saw something different.” He inhaled, a long, near-silent pull of air, before turning his face into the curve of Morgan’s neck. “I’m sorry if you felt like I hid it from you, or didn’t trust you. I know we can talk about things. Of course we can. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you in front of the team.”
“No, no,” Morgan said. “I’m just used to knowing everything about people. We’re profilers. It’s what we do. And you’re you – I like to think I know you better than any un-sub.” He huffed a breath and stared at the ceiling. “Just please don’t go looking for it.”
Reid was close. Arms looped around shoulders, with his fingers pressing into Morgan’s skin.
“Don’t worry, Derek. It will be there when my time is right, whether it be a bullet or a disease or simply what some people like to call old-age, which, actually can be a different number of things but – ”; he caught the look on Morgan’s face - “I don’t plan on getting shot or sick or old any time soon.” Reid pressed a kiss on the broad expanse of Morgan’s shoulder. The agent nodded slowly.
“Good.”
They sat, twined together in silence for a while, until Reid spoke again.
“Thank you.”
Morgan pulled back, took a good look at the doctor.
“For what?” He didn’t bother to hide the incredulity.
Reid extricated his arms, laying his hands in his lap calmly. One still clutched the spoon.
“For this,” he said, giving a sheepish, wide grin. He gestured to the both of them, eyes flicking lazily across the scene – from the ice cream on Morgan’s face, to the spoon, to the ice cream bowl, to the way his knee bumped up against Morgan’s thigh, to Clooney curled up on the floor, to the ice cream, to the goosebumps on his arm where Morgan’s fingers lingered, to the bowl, to Morgan again. Morgan was furrowing his brow, despite Reid’s grin.
Reid slowly released his grip on the spoon and set it aside to take Morgan’s head between both of his hands. Morgan exhaled heavily, like he’d still been holding his breath, even after all that time. After five years, maybe. He tilted in, dipping his lips against Reid’s mouth, and Reid nodded as he felt Morgan pull him in. Reid moved with him, falling comfortably against Morgan's chest, until they were both still.
Morgan listened as their frantic hearts calmed their frantic pace, and remembered the time when Reid told him that sometimes he counted their heartbeats. So Morgan tried to, too. He lost count and was half-asleep when they finally began to beat in sync, but still he smiled when he felt Reid kiss him through his t-shirt.
Anchored together amongst the now-calm waves of their rising and falling chests, neither was afraid of drifting at all.