Disclaimer – If I owned Criminal Minds… well, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary - This entire story is based upon the scene between Carl Buford (blech) and Morgan in Profiler, Profiled. At one point, Morgan says that Buford killed Damian because he knew that if Damian called Morgan and told him what Buford was doing to James, Morgan would hunt him down. That was all it took for my little fanfiction-addicted brain to wonder, 'what would've happened if Damian and James had called Morgan?' And then, this story was born.

*Notes – This will eventually be a light Morgan/Reid slash pairing, so if you're not a slasher, then this most likely won't be you're cup of tea. That being said, I hope everyone else enjoys!

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"I've done nothing wrong! I've saved this town – I saved those boys! Derek, you know that's the truth!" Dark eyes with a bottomless depth scanned the room until they latched onto Morgan's face, boring into him desperately. "Derek, tell them the truth!"

Morgan opened his eyes and glared at the other man, glared with all he had in him. He was leaning back against a cold cement wall, arms crossed tight against his chest. He knew that the position was defensive, knew that his body language was screaming vulnerability, but he couldn't help it. The reaction was instinctive, and he was too damn tired, too damned sick, to fight it.

"Tell them, Derek!" he yelled, his voice dropping an octave. Morgan pressed his lips together, ducked his head down for the briefest second before straightening, refusing to concede power to this sonofabitch. "Tell them I did nothing wrong! Tell them you'd be nothing – nothing! – without me!"

Morgan opened his mouth, but no words would come out. He swallowed, harsh, feeling his throat muscles work before he took a deep, shaky breath. There was so much to say – so much pain to make up for, so many years of relentless self loathing, confusion, pain. But at the same time, there was nothing he could say; no words could make up for everything that had happened.

"I hope you burn in hell," Morgan choked out, hating how his voice wavered around the giant lump that was blocking his throat. He tried to inhale, but his chest felt tight, too tight. He pressed his back tighter against the wall, feeling a ragged edge of the concrete dig into his back. Focus, it's almost over. He's almost gone. You saved them – that's what counts.

The police finished roughly snapping the handcuffs behind his back before leading him to the exit door. Morgan stepped forwards, away from the wall; part unthinking, mostly defiantly, as the man walked by. A scent wafted towards him, one that brought back too many memories, memories he didn't want to relive. Morgan forced himself to hold his ground through sheer will, fiercely ignoring the trembling that was beginning to ransack his body. Morgan watched as they led him down the hallway, out of his line of sight.

A hand descended on his shoulder without warning, and he spun around on his heel, defensive, blind panic overwhelming him. "Morgan, Morgan, it's me! Derek, it's okay," a soft voice whispered in his ear. Morgan looked into amber eyes, wide and innocent, and dropped the hand that he'd been squeezing too tightly. Reid was staring back at him, bringing a free hand to absently rub at the one Morgan had grasped.

"Spe- Reid," Morgan whispered, looking over his shoulder to see Gideon and Prentiss behind him. "What… what are you doing here?" He took a slow breath, trying to steady his racing pulse and rapid breathing. "I told you all to stay…"

"Morgan, we're profilers," Prentiss spoke up, her eyes warm and sympathetic while a small smile tugged at her lips. "You're gonna have to be come a better liar then that in order to fool us."

"True," Morgan whispered, hoping that none of them noticed his shining eyes. He wanted to say something, but he had no idea where to start. Numbness was descending, eerily similar to when he'd first heard the news about his father's death, and the first time… that had happened. He turned on his heel and walked out of the building, seeing police cars fading to a pinpoint at the end of the long, dark street.

Morgan inhaled the cold air deeply before scrubbing a hand roughly down his face, his breath escaping in a shuddering gasp. He heard footsteps coming down the stairs, the tentative yet firm steps alerting him to who it was.

"Derek?" The word was just a whisper on the breeze, yet it spoke louder then anything Morgan had heard all night. He felt a presence behind him, warm and comforting, never asking for more than Morgan could give. "I love you."

The words were the crack in Morgan's armour. He reached behind him to grasp the hand he knew was waiting for him as silent tears slid down his face. A warm thumb stroked across the back of his hand, a gesture that was more soothing then it had the right to be. He felt his hand being lifted, warm lips pressing to the back of it in a lingering kiss.

Morgan looked up at the dim stars in the sky, and silently thanked god that this was over.

One month earlier.

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"Oh Prentiss, don't deny it. You're just jealous that you can't tap this!" Morgan sprawled out on his rolling chair and spun in a slow circle, grinning enticingly up at the brunette the entire time. Prentiss looked like she was stuck between laughing hysterically and throwing up. Instead, she murmured "Oh dear god… I'm having nightmares tonight," before heading back over to her desk.

"Hey, what's that mean?" Morgan yelled across the bullpen. "They're not gonna be nightmares, baby – you're gonna have fantasies!" Chuckling, he turned back to his desk, but not before catching Hotch's eye, who was staring at him with one brow raised. Morgan shrugged his shoulder in response to the strict gaze before turning to his desk and paperwork, feeling grateful that his dark skin didn't allow his flush to show.

"What'd you do this time?" Reid asked casually as he walked by Morgan's desk, halting briefly. Morgan looked up, the devilish smile on his lips belying his attempts at innocent body language.

"What makes you think I did anything wrong, Reid?" he teased, faking shock.

"Hotch was just looking at you like you managed to light the jet on fire," Reid deadpanned, tilting his head slightly as Morgan laughed.

"Kid, Hotch always looks like someone lit the jet on fire," Morgan chuckled. "You can laugh; you know it's the truth." A reluctant smile broke out on Reid's lips, lighting his entire face. Morgan's chuckle died down as he watched Reid, and he forced himself to look away. A sharp trill caught his attention, and he instinctively reached down to grab his phone before he'd even consciously realized it was ringing.

Morgan glanced at the number briefly before doing a double take. His caller ID read anonymous caller. Frowning, he glanced up at Reid and flipped open his phone before saying, "SSA Derek Morgan with the FBI," in a gruff voice. Hopefully that'll scare off any prank callers.

"Derek?" a young, male voice asked, no more than fifteen years old. "I mean, Mr. Morgan?" Something in the boy's voice, the quiet urgency, caused Morgan to straighten up in his chair.

"Yeah, this is Derek. Who's this?" Morgan pressed the phone to his ear using his shoulder as he grabbed a pen and paper off of his desk. Following a gut instinct, and knowing that Reid was looking over his shoulder, he scrawled down 'Call Garcia, get her to track this number,' before focusing back on the conversation. He vaguely heard Reid open his phone and dial the technical analyst.

"I'm a friend of James… James Barfield," the kid said. "He said you guys are friends?" The voice was hesitant, unsure.

"James and I are friends, definitely," Morgan replied, keeping his voice smooth and even. "Why? Is James okay? Did something happen?" He knew his voice had changed, revealing panic, and that the person on the other end would be able to hear it, but he couldn't help it.

"No, James is okay." Derek's shoulders relaxed, releasing some of the tension that had built up in them within those few short minutes. "I mean, he's not okay, but he's physically fine. I mean… shit," the kid mumbled.

"Hey kid, what's your name?" Derek asked soothingly, pushing his confusion and panic away. "You can talk to me; trust me, okay?"

"Okay," the boy said slowly, taking a deep breath. "M'names Damian, and… The kid fell silent, and Morgan was able to make out the sound of voices in the background. "I've got to go," he said hastily, hanging up before Morgan could protest.

He clicked the phone shut slowly, staring at it as if it could answer all of his questions. A brief second passed before he flipped the phone open and dialled Garcia's number.

"Welcome to my land of wonders; how can I help you, my macho mocha lover?" Garcia trilled as a greeting. Morgan could hear her fingers clacking away on her keyboards as she talked.

"Baby girl, did Reid tell you to set up a trace on the call I just got?" Morgan asked. Garcia pursed her lips even as she leaned forwards in her chair, fingers flying over the keys.

"Yes, yes I did, give me one second," she mumbled, watching the information that was popping up on her screen. "You okay, sweet cheeks?"

"Fine," Morgan grunted, causing the frown lines in Garcia's forehead to deepen. That definitely didn't sound fine. "What've you got?"

"The call originated from Chicago," she said absently as she scanned over the screen. "It came from a payphone… I don't know how much information I was able to retrieve, considering the lack of time I had to set a trace… give me a minute. I'll email you the information, alright?"

"Thanks baby," Morgan responded, about to shut the phone when he heard Garcia's voice call out. He pulled the phone back up to his year, saying, "Yeah?"

"Morgan… what's this about?" Garcia asked, pausing her movements.

Honestly, sweetheart? I don't know. But don't worry your pretty little head about it," Morgan flirted, over-exaggerating a kissing noise into the phone before hanging up. Hopefully, that was enough to fool her. Feeling as if an unnamed weight was pressing down on his shoulders, Morgan stood up just in time to see JJ walking briskly towards the briefing room, calling "We've got a case!" loud enough for the entire team to hear.

Pushing the phone call to the back of his mind, pushing his worry about James away, Morgan rolled his shoulders and followed JJ, not noticing a concerned Reid watching him.

*

*

It had been a hard case. The unsub had been kidnapping female twins, torturing one while making the other watch. One girl was inflicted with both shallow and deep knife wounds until she died of blood loss, while the other was shot point blank in the forehead immediately following her sister's death. One was tortured, the other left physically unharmed. The unsub had killed three pairs of twins, and the team was scrambling to find her before she killed Stephanie and Anna, the two girls she'd kidnapped days prior.

Eventually, after two weeks of no sleep and endless coffee, they'd caught her; a twenty-eight year old woman who'd lost her own twin when she was a child. The trauma had gone deep, and the unsub, Marcie Timmons, had believed she was saving her victims from what was "bound to come."

Morgan flinched as he remembered the arrest. They'd busted into the unsub's empty house before Reid realized that Marcie had to have been keeping the girls away from the house. There was a barn on her property, through wooded areas half a mile away. Morgan, Prentiss and Hotch had ran there, while Reid and Gideon stayed behind, looking through the house.

By the time they'd arrived, they'd been too late. Morgan had run in, gun steady and his mind clear. Marcie had been standing in the middle of the barn, knowing that she was caught, but waving a gun around nonetheless, threatening to kill herself. But it didn't fit the profile; then Morgan noticed that he could only see one girl, not two. The girl he was looking at out of the corner of his eye seemed physically unharmed, excluding the duct tape on her mouth and the ropes that bound her to a wooden post.

"Hotch," he'd whispered, "where's the other girl?" As soon as he asked the question, he realized. "Hotch, this is a diversion. Both of the girls are in here, and one of them must be bleeding out – right now." But they couldn't move, not with the unsub waving a gun around, easily within shooting range of Anna.

Hotch had talked to Marcie, distracting her long enough for Morgan to sneak around back. He found Stephanie directly in Anna's line of sight, behind a stack of hay bails that had hidden her from anyone that came through the barn's front entrance. She was covered in cuts, naked, and bleeding heavily; her blood was a stark red contrast to the brown flooring.

Morgan called the medics, for back-up, but it had been too late. It was always too late. By the time Marice was subdued and the paramedics arrived, the blood loss had been too extreme. Stephanie had simply looked up at Morgan, the panic in her eyes still lingering, even in death. Morgan could still see those eyes, so much like the ones that still caused him nightmares, staring up at him.

"Morgan." The voice floated into his ear, snapping Morgan out of his thoughts. He looked over at Reid, who was watching him with curious eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Morgan replied, a throw back to the curt reply he'd given Garcia over two weeks ago on the phone. "Just glad this case is over," he added, seeing Reid's hurt expression at being shunned.

Reid didn't reply, sinking in a chair next to Morgan instead. His long limbs covered the upholstery of the chair, blocking blue print flowers from view. One arm was flung over the arm rest, and his hand was just centimetres from where Morgan's was resting; he could feel Reid's body heat.

"You're not coming back with us, are you?" Reid asked casually, so casually that it took Morgan a moment to realize what Reid had deduced.

"Whaddya mean?" he asked, fatigue and surprise slurring his words. "Of course I'm coming back to the BAU! You think I'm leaving? Reid, kid, I promised I'd never leave. You know that."

Reid sat back, the gears in his head obviously turning as he examined Morgan. "I never insinuated that you were leaving the BAU," he said slowly, watching as Morgan ducked his head. "I appreciate your vehement denials of the fact, but I was referring to the more immediate future." At Morgan's confused look, Reid elaborated while gesticulating wildly with his hands, as per usual. "I meant that you aren't coming back to Quantico with us on the jet, are you? You have another plan in mind."

Morgan raised an eyebrow, the silent question 'how did you know?' dangling between them. Reid simply held his gaze for a moment before dropping his head and tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, his awkward disposition back.

Morgan cleared his throat, prepared to lie about how he needed to visit his family, but found a partial truth coming out instead. "There's something… something I need to take care of." The admission surprised him, and Morgan chalked it up to a lack of sleep. Not admitting, of course, that it's because something about Reid makes him feel less vulnerable, more trusting. Of course not.

Reid looked as if he was going to press it, but patted Morgan's shoulder before standing up instead, his fingers brushing against the worn cotton of Morgan's shirt. Morgan's shoulder tingled at the contact. He refused to admit that he was attracted to Reid; it simply wasn't possible. Not because Reid wasn't handsome enough, or funny enough, but because he was his colleague. They were friends, family, and Morgan refused to do anything that could risk that. So what if Reid's smile could make his heart go a little wonky? He was willing to keep their relationship at the status quo. That way, no one got hurt. (Especially not me).

The arrival of the team broke Morgan out of his thoughts. He rose out of the chair, walking across the hotel's lobby to meet Hotch, Prentiss, and Gideon. Reid was standing away from the group with JJ corner, talking to her animatedly about… well, Morgan had no idea.

"I am so excited to sleep in my bed tonight," Prentiss said, watching as the team nodded in agreement. "Hell, I'm just going to be happy to sleep!" The laughter from the team was forced; everyone's mind was still on the case.

"Come on, let's go," Hotch said, his face as set and serious as ever. The team all brushed by him as they headed out the hotel doors. Hotch turned to follow, but was stopped when Morgan said his name.

"What's going on, Morgan?" Hotch asked softly – well, softly for Hotch – looking at the agent with a tinge of concern in his gaze. Morgan had been… almost off, recently. There was no other way to describe it. His work had been as impeccable as always, but he'd seemed borderline distracted. Hotch had figured the case was just getting to him – it had gotten to all of them – but his worry for the younger agent had lingered.

"Can I have a couple days off?" Morgan asked, deliberately keeping eye contact.

"Sure, that's fine. You have more than enough sick days and vacation days stored away," Hotch replied, before adding in, "Why?"

"I just need some personal time," Morgan covered, ignoring Hotch's concerned gaze. Profiling team members was strictly prohibited, but Morgan knew as well as the rest of the team that it wasn't so easy to just turn off the part of them that caused them to excel in this career. He knew that Hotch was watching him, studying him to see if he was okay. "I just… I want to visit my family for a while."

The slightest relaxing of Hotch's facial muscles showed that Morgan's few words calmed him immensely. Hotch believed him, because Morgan wasn't lying. He did want to visit his family, to take a brief step back from the horror and brutality that was their life. He just also wanted to check up on this anonymous phone call that had been on his mind for the past two weeks, as well as checking up on James Barfield and the rest of the kids at the rec center.

He'd called his mother as soon as the team had finished debriefing the case, in order to check up on James. His gut told him that the kid that had been on the phone with him, Damian, been telling the truth, and that James was fine. But either way, he wanted to make sure. James was a good kid, and considering everything he'd gone through (everything he's going through…) Morgan stopped that train of thought before it could go any further.

Hotch patted him on the back before following the team, startling Morgan back to reality. He pulled out his cell phone, scrolling over the email that Garcia had sent him two weeks ago regarding the information on the call she'd traced. It had originated from a payphone, just outside the rec center.

Morgan read the already memorized information one last time before he slid his phone into his pocket and headed for his rental car, fingering the two, Chicago bound plane tickets that were inside his jacket pocket.

He slid into the front seat of the cramped car, pulling out a pair of sunglasses and putting them on before turning the car on. Backing out of the parking spot, he drove out of the parking lot and headed towards the airport, determined to figure out what the hell was going on, and what causing his gut instinct to warn him that something nasty was ahead.

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Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated! The good, the bad, the ugly… I'll take it all. I know everything may seem a bit confusing, but it will all be explained in time, I promise. Let me know what you think, even if it's to tell me that I should never be allowed CM characters and a laptop again! And I'll end this rambling A/N before it becomes embarrassingly long.