A/N: This story features an eating disorder as one of its main themes, and I strongly advise you to avoid this fan fiction entirely if you think it will trigger you. This is based partly on experience, both mine and my friends, and partly on other research I have done. Everyone's experience is different, and as such there may be errors. This will be rated T for now, but if at any point someone is uncomfortable all they would have to do is message me or leave a review, and I will gladly boost the rating up to M. There will be spoilers for all seasons up to nine, as this takes place a few months after the season nine finale, Demons. See the end of this chapter for more notes.

Okay, we all clear? Fantastic. Enjoy!

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Derek Morgan could remember the day that Spencer Reid had collapsed to the floor in almost perfect detail.

It had been a tough case for all of them: prepubescent girls raped and murdered, then left hanging out of dumpsters with their limbs attached by barely a thread. They'd managed to save the life of one little girl, but lost the chance to arrest the unsub when he slit his neck from ear to ear, bleeding out before they could even call the paramedics. Morgan had wondered then if the little girl they'd saved - Annabel Spring, eight years old - would ever forget the sight of her captor smiling at her dreamily from the other end of the room, the light slowly fading from his eyes as all the blood in his body spilled out onto the floor.

The air in the jet was anxious. Tense. Nobody slept a wink, even though they all looked like they'd been dragged from hell and back. Reid in particular looked tired, and Morgan counted a few times where the young doctor had almost fallen asleep but jerked himself back to full awareness at the last moment. The last time it had happened, he reached out with a thin arm to grab a book lying on the opposite seat and buried his nose in it, only pretending to read. The pages, Morgan noted, were barely turning. He couldn't blame the kid for wanting to be left alone; everybody else wanted the same. Out of the eleven known victims of Phil Mclean, the BAU had managed to save one. The other ten had died, their last moments full of pain and terror.

Sometimes the BAU lost before they even arrived on the scene.

The air was somehow even heavier back at the office, a sharp contrast to the warm, sunny weather outside. Hotch had told them to go home, get rest, be refreshed for work the next morning, when there'd undoubtedly be some new horrific case for them to solve, and they'd have to push away all their thoughts of little Annabel Spring until she was just a vague memory in their minds. All but one of our minds, Morgan had thought bitterly. Hotch and Rossi had disappeared into their offices as per usual, and JJ had left earlier than the others to have some sorely needed downtime with Henry and Will. Garcia had left only minutes before, and Morgan was left alone with Reid in the bullpen. He ambled over to Reid and tapped his shoulder.

"Hey kid," he said, attempting a smile. "Need a ride home?"

Reid shook his head. "It's fine," he muttered, signing off on a file and adding it to his pile of finished paperwork. "I'll go home in a few hours, I just really want to get this paperwork finished so I don't have a massive pile tomorrow."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "That tiny pile? You could have that finished in five minutes."

"It's been a long day," he replied, not looking back up. Morgan waited for a few moments, then sighed and settled down at his desk, clicking his pen with a flourish.

"Then I guess I'm waiting," he replied.

Reid looked up and frowned. "Morgan, no."

"Yes, kid," he said, earning a loud sigh from Reid. "If we're being honest, me giving you a ride home is more a benefit for me than for you. I need the company after a case like that. We both need it."

"…Fine," Reid replied, though he didn't look happy at all. "I'll wrap this up quickly."

"Take as much time as you need, kid," Morgan smiled, leaning back in his chair. "Where is everyone?" he asked, eyeing the nearly-empty bullpen. "What, did the Director suddenly give the entire BAU staff a holiday while we were away?"

"Fraternization seminar," Reid answered distractedly, closing his eyes and rubbing his temple. "What did you and Garcia do this time?"

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" Morgan grinned when he saw the slightly embarrassed flush in his friend's face.

"Not particularly," Reid mumbled, dropping his pen. "I'm done. Too much work."

Morgan didn't like the way Reid seemed to be almost struggling for breath, and noticed the paleness of his face, the way his fingers kept creeping up to rub at his temple, the slow way in which he was moving. "Kid, you okay?"

Reid grimaced and muttered a barely audible reply. "Headache," he said, so quietly Morgan almost didn't hear. He nodded; he remembered the year that JJ had been gone, and he especially remembered Reid telling him about the splitting headaches he'd been quietly enduring for most of the year. Morgan had thought they'd began to thin out over the past few years, but apparently he was mistaken.

"How long have they been back?" he asked, worry tingeing his tone.

Reid shrugged. "They never really left," he said, standing up from his desk and slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. "They didn't happen as often, but they've always been here."

"Reid, why didn't you say anything?" Morgan asked quietly.

The younger man shrugged again. "They were getting better," he said simply. "Can we go?"

Morgan nodded and turned towards the exit, making a mental note to mention the headaches to Hotch if they ever got too bad. Unless Hotch had already noticed, in which case Morgan wasn't as good a profiler as he originally thought. He didn't realise that Reid wasn't following him until he turned around and saw him leaning over his desk, breathing heavily, with one hand pressed to his forehead.

"Reid?" Morgan asked, trepidation creeping into his chest. "What's wrong?"

"I…" Reid's face had taken on a grayish tone, and his eyes were glassy and unfocused. "I'm f-fine, really…"

And then Reid's eyes had fluttered closed, and he fell to the floor before Morgan could even think to catch him.

"Reid!" Morgan rushed over to his friend, trying to overrule the natural panic that was beginning to take over. "Reid, can you hear me?"

Reid's eyes fluttered open at the sound of Morgan's voice. "..chest hurts," he murmured weakly, sending Morgan's brain into overdrive.

"Hotch! Rossi!" he bellowed, pulling out his phone to call 911. "Get down here!"

Hotch was kneeling down beside him in an instant, calmly but quickly checking Reid's pulse, tapping his cheeks firmly, calling out Reid, can you hear me? all the while Reid seemed to get paler, his breathing shallower. Rossi was the one who guided the paramedics over to them, giving them details like Reid's age, medical history, discreetly informing them of his past addiction in the same quiet tone Hotch had used when his unit chief had told him -

- all while Morgan sat there uselessly, holding Reid's listless hand with the long, too-thin fingers and the inexplicable calluses and small scabs dotting his knuckles.

There were no arguments as to who was riding in the ambulance with Reid. Morgan clambered in the back with his phone in his hand, promising to call Hotch if there were any…changes in the young doctor's condition. In return, Hotch had promised to call the others as soon as he could, and had thusly scurried away with Rossi to an SUV.

They were about half way to the hospital when Reid opened his eyes, blinking sluggishly and wincing as he cleared his throat.

"…Morgan?" he croaked, gazing at the older man with glazed, confused eyes.

Morgan breathed a small sigh of relief and responded by gripping the younger man's hand even tighter. "Spencer," he breathed, watching his friend frown in confusion. "It's all right, you're going to be okay. We're on our way to a hospital."

Reid frowned further. "Hospital?" he managed to rasp out. "I…why?"

"Pretty Boy, you collapsed," Morgan told him, smoothening his hair down.

Reid's eyes began to glaze over again, his grip on Morgan's hand weakening. "…Not pretty," he whispered, before his eyes closed and his fingers became completely limp.

Morgan looked up to the paramedics in panic. "Is he okay?" he asked, feeling his friend's limp wrist for a pulse.

The paramedic glanced at a few monitors and nodded tersely. "Low blood pressure," she explained, giving Morgan's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "He needs medical care urgently, but we won't lose him."

Morgan's throat felt dry, rougher than sandpaper. "Thank you."

Beneath them, Reid lay unmoving on the stretcher, paler than snow itself.

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The next chapter is already half-written (and longer than this one) so that can be expected in a week or two, if I manage to stick to my schedule and finish all my other projects on time. (Which, let's be honest, will probably not happen, but a girl can try, right?)

Reviews would be adored, even if it's only brief. Thank you for reading! :D