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Morgan is going to die on this bus.
The BAU has split up and, along with local PD, have planted themselves on the trains and buses to attempt to catch a spree bomber targeting the local public transportation. It sounds like something he ought to be able to do with relative ease. It's just a bus, after all. He avoided them as a kid, preferred to walk, but it ought to be easy to just sit on a bus and be ready to strike.
He can't breathe. He really can't. The civilian in the seat next to him is keeping him trapped against the window.
Morgan gets really nervous in small spaces. He doesn't know what it is-- a fear of losing control or being crushed or what, but he hates it. Even bathroom stalls freak him out.
Reid is across from him, having somehow snagged an aisle seat. He's fiddling with his fingers and has been for the last ten minutes or so. He's scanning the bus for potential subjects, but not with any particular finesse. If Morgan didn't know him better he'd say Reid is getting distracted.
At that very moment, as if he's heard Morgan thinking about him, Reid looks in his direction. "You OK?" He asks, leaning across the aisle and talking past the civilian next to Morgan. Reid knows well Morgan's bizarre fear of enclosed spaces, having been trapped in not one but three supply closets, a confessional, and an elevator with Morgan.
"Yeah," Morgan says, unconvincingly. It's nigh on impossible to lie to Reid.
"Take my seat," Reid says, without a moment of hesitation. "We need you on top of your game." He gets up and holds onto the standing bar until Morgan has sidled past the disgruntled businessman sitting next to him. They switch.
"Better?" Reid asks. He looks genuinely concerned.
"Better," Morgan says.
"Good. Didn't want a repeat of the Confessional Incident," Reid says, and yeah, Morgan remembers that one. He'd been so freaked out he'd clung to Reid like a child.
"Shit, the door's jammed-- shit, shit, what do we do?" Morgan thrashes against the door, and then against the walls. He even rattles the grate you'd use to talk to the priest.
Reid is freaked, too, but he's holding still. "Close pressure tends to calm people down. It was proven by Temple Grandin, when she tried it on cows, and then later again in further human trials-"
"Reid? Shut up."
"Would it help, though?"
Morgan isn't thinking straight. "What? Sure. Whatever. Oh my God-"
Reid's arms wrap around him. It's really, really weird. "Is it helping? Reid asks."
It is, a little bit. "Yeah," Morgan says, and clings to Reid like a buoy in the storm. He tries to convince himself this is more for Reid's benefit than his own.
When the team gets the confessional open, the two of them do their best to spring apart in the limited space. They don't talk about it again.
"Thanks, kid," Morgan mumbles, and takes a deep breath.
"Of course," Reid says. He's fiddling again. And he's blushing. He looks almost as relieved as Morgan feels.