It had taken months, (76 days, 13 hours, and 9 minutes to be exact,) of awkwardness, sidelong glances, and fake smiles for Spencer Reid to come to terms with his feelings for Derek Morgan. He had almost died. Well, technically he had almost died several times. It was only this time, though, that he realized that the one constant in his life was Morgan.

Morgan was always the one who was there when he woke up, always the one that rode with him in the ambulance. It was Morgan's voice who broke through the haze of pain and confusion and that damn tea kettle sound. It buried itself in his subconscious and wrapped itself around his heart.

At first he tried to ignore it. That was an impossible feat. Anytime Morgan would pat his back or ruffle his hair or call him pretty boy his stomach would flip flop and his breathing would speed. The next thing he tried was rationalizing it. Hero worship. That had to be what's going on. He'd simply put Morgan on a pedestal because his was the first voice he heard when he regained consciousness in the ambulance. Classic idealization. Easy. Cut and dry.

The little voice in the back of his head whispered at him that made no sense. Alex was the first person he saw when he woke up. Penelope not only fed him, but saved his life as well, killed a man for him. So if he were to follow that logic he would have to be in love with had idealized one of them. That idea was out the window. On to the next one.

Maybe this was what brotherly love was. Spencer had been an only child, he didn't know what it was like to have a brother to love. Maybe this was how it felt. He had always loved his friend, but as a friend. Loving someone like family is different, and having male family to love was a new experience for Reid. He shoved the thoughts that brothers don't look at each other the way he looked at Morgan, that brothers don't feel butterflies upon making eye contact, that brothers don't have to fight the urge to lean into one another's touch to the back of his mind.

Those thoughts were easy to ignore until he had the first dream. The carefully constructed walls came crashing down and he was forced to consider the fact that maybe he had feelings – real feelings – for Derek Morgan. So he shut down. He didn't look him in the eyes and avoided talking to him at all costs. He flinched away when Morgan leaned over to muss his hair or steal his glasses. Morgan got the hint.

Well, not really. Morgan thought Reid was mad at him. He began obsessively thinking over the last few weeks, trying to figure out what he had done or said to hurt Reid. He came up blank, which was endlessly frustrating. He moved on, thinking something else must be bothering him. Could it be Maeve? Was he using again? Was he seeing someone new? Nothing properly explained his behavior. He began to quietly panic, desperate to get to the bottom of his best friend's obvious distress.

It was late Saturday night, or early Sunday morning depending on how you look at it, when Morgan made the decision to confront Reid. He drove to his apartment, working out in his head what he would say, revising the words in an attempt to make them sound less selfish. I mean, how was he supposed to go about this? "Hey, Reid, have you been avoiding eye contact with me lately?" That sounded so stupid. But something in his gut screamed warning signs at him.

Reid was reading. Or, trying to at least. He couldn't focus on the words, his thoughts drifting to Morgan. He knew this couldn't go on forever. Something had to give. He'd either have to get over it or tell Morgan how he felt. Or he could bury it so deep that no one could convince him it was even real. The latter was very tempting, but then he would drift to Morgan's lips and what they would feel like against his, or Morgan's hands and how they would feel running affectionately through his hair, and he knew that this wasn't something he could forget about. At least, not in this lifetime. There was a knock at his door.

His stomach fluttered as the profiler in him immediately identified the confident, sure, single knock against his door as undoubtedly Derek Morgan's. He walked slowly, glancing at his reflection as he passed the mirror in the hallway. He was a mess. His hair was tangled and wild from him running his fingers through it. His eyes were clouded with exhaustion, rimmed with dark circles. He tried to pat down his hair, to no avail. If anything it looked worse. Making a disgusted face at himself he turned away and answered the door.

He wasn't expecting Morgan to be so close to the door and jumped back in surprise.

"Ahh! Morgan! Were you planning on breaking down my door?"

Morgan swallowed and shifted his weight, "you didn't answer."

"You knocked twice!"

"Sorry, kid. Do you have a minute?"

Reid licked his lips and stepped aside, gesturing for Morgan to enter. He stepped through, his presence effortlessly filling the room.

"Do you…" he swallowed, "do you want something to drink?"

"I'm alright, kid. Thanks."

They spent a moment awkwardly facing each other, unsure of what to do.

"Is everything okay?" Reid asked.

"Is everything okay with you?" Morgan countered.

"What? Me?"

"Don't answer a question with a question. Somethin's up, kid. I can tell."

"I don't uh, I don't know what you're…I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's just me, pretty boy."

"Exactly." Reid mumbled, then clasped his hand over his mouth, hadn't having meant to say that out loud.

"I knew it! What'd I do? I'm sorry."

"How can you be sorry if you don't even know what you did?"

"So I did do something. What was it, kid? Cause I can guarantee I didn't mean to."

"Oh, believe me, I know you didn't mean to."

"Would you just tell me, please?"

"Morgan…it's not…um, it's not your problem. Don't worry about it, okay?" Reid forced a smile, but it looked briefly like tears were swimming in his big brown eyes.

"You're gonna have to do better than that, kid. I'm not stupid. Just tell me. What did I do?"

"It's not you."

"So what's wrong?"

"You."

"Well, that clears things up."

"God dammit, Morgan! I like you, okay? I look at you and I want to kiss you but I know that you would hate me if I did that and you probably hate me now and I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."

"You…I…huh?"

Reid didn't actually say anything back, just stared like a deer in the headlights, looking like he couldn't believe he'd just said that. There was a painful silence in the next few moments as Reid tried as hard as he could to make himself disappear and Morgan pondered his friend's sudden proclamation.

"No." Morgan's voice broke through the silence, too loud. Reid flinched back and gazed at him, wide eyed.

"What?" He whispered, voice shaking.

"That's ridiculous. What's the catch? You don't like me. You can't be that stupid."

Reid recoiled like he'd been hit, eyes filling up with tears.

"I'm sorry."

Morgan took a threatening step towards him and he shrank back.

"Stop saying that. Stop looking at me like I just broke your damn heart. I am not the bad guy here." Reid was frozen, much like a cornered animal, too afraid to move.

"I'm sorry. I'm…I'm sorry."

"I said stop. Saying. That."

Reid's timid gaze darted between Morgan's angry face and the floor rapidly as he lowered his head and hunched his shoulders, intentionally submissive in posture. He even raised his hands slightly in the air like when he confronted an unsub.

Reid's thoughts whirled around in his head, a tornado of adrenaline and confusion and fear. He finally settled on his favorite old clock, ticking away just like it always did.

Tick Morgan was gritting his teeth

Tick Morgan clenched his fists

Tick Morgan took a step forward

Tick Morgan grasped his shoulders

Tick He was thrown against the wall and his world exploded in pain

Tick His door slammed shut.

He was sitting on the floor, breathing heavily, too shocked to move. He stared at nothing, trying to process what had happened. His whole body hurt, but not nearly as bad as the agony that accompanied every heartbeat. Never before in his life had Spencer Reid wanted to die as badly as he did in that very moment.

When he finally gathered enough strength to move, he pushed himself away from the wall. His ribs gave a painful twinge and he gasped in response, only worsening the sharp ache. Yep, definitely fractured. He stumbled his way to his bathroom, yanking open his medicine cabinet. His eyes focused on the small vial of Dilaudid. He reached into the cabinet.

Shoving the vial out of the way, he curled his fingers around a bottle of sleeping pills, twisting the lid off and pouring several into his hand. He swallowed them without water and staggered to bed, collapsing on top of the covers in a heap and shutting his eyes. He fell asleep just like that, all curled up into himself. As if, if he could just curl up tight enough, he could use his own body to fill the hollowness in his chest.

The shrill beeping of his alarm clock stirred him from his drug-induced slumber. He fumbled around for it, mind cloudy. He slid his hands over it until he found the cord, which he ripped out of the wall. He was shivering, still laying in his jeans and undershirt on top of the covers. It took all his energy to open his eyes, swing his legs over the edge of the bed, and stand.

He made his way slowly to the bathroom, not bothering to look in the mirror as he brushed his teeth and hair. Throwing on the first clothes his hands touched, he grabbed his bag and book and rushed out the door, not bothering to lock it behind him.

When he got to the office, he made the executive decision to take the stairs instead of the elevator, on the off chance he get trapped in there with Morgan. He kept his head down when he walked into the bullpen, walking swiftly to his desk. He gently placed his bag next to his chair and sat. Grabbing the top file on his large stack, he got to work, not once bothering to survey the room. He knew from the tension-filled electricity in the air all he needed to know; Morgan was there.

"You alright, Spence?" JJ's soft, concerned voice broke into his thoughts. He glanced up into her pretty blue eyes, glimmering with worry.

"Yeah. Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"You just seemed quiet, that's all."

"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm fine." He forced a smile that looked more like a grimace and trained his eyes back on his desk, chewing his lip.

"Fine? Now I know you're lying. What's up?"

"N-nothing. I'm just tired. I, uh, didn't sleep that well last night."

"Okay..." her voice was skeptical, and she smiled meaningfully at him, "but if you need to talk, I'm here."

"Thanks, JJ."

"Of course."

The day passed uneventfully, with Reid painfully quiet and the rest of the team members eyeing him nervously. Well, all except one. When he finished with his last file, he immediately stood up and, eyes downcast, darted towards the elevator. The office was slowing down, the majority of people having left. He tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, hoping that if he could just get to the elevator unnoticed, no one would bother him and he could just leave, go home, sleep.

"Reid?" Spencer cringed at the sound of his name, slowly turning.

"Hotch?"

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You're limping."

"Oh…yeah, I uh, I fell. At my house. I fell."

Hotch studied him intently while he squirmed. "Alright, well, if you need anything…"

"Right. Thanks, Hotch." The two men faced each other for a moment, Reid's gaze anxiously darting around while Hotch carefully observed his every move.

"Have a good night."

"Thanks. You too."

Hotch met his eyes before turning and walking back to his office, still unable to shake the feeling that something wasn't right. It was more than the stiff and careful way Reid moved. It was the way he flinched whenever anyone got near him, hands subconsciously moving as if to protect himself from being hit. Mostly, though, it was the glassy blank stare he held all day, not really looking at anyone or anything. But if Hotch knew one thing about Spencer Reid, it was that pushing him would not make him open up. He needed time and space, which Hotch would give. Another thing that struck him as odd was that Morgan didn't ask him what was wrong. Hotch sat down at his desk, pondering what that could mean.

The next day, Morgan cornered him while he was getting coffee.

"Reid."

Reid jumped and spilled coffee on the counter, shakily placing his cup on the counter before turning to meet Morgan's gaze.

"Y-yes?"

"You gotta stop jumping around like a caged rabbit whenever someone comes near you. It's getting suspicious. We – I – don't need any questions being asked. So just…be normal, okay?"

"I'm sorry."

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Don't be sorry. Just stop it."

"Okay. I'm…okay." His voice was so soft, timid and sorry.

Morgan nodded once and turned around, walking out.

What Morgan hadn't realized was that it wasn't about the one incident. It was about the years and years of being shoved into lockers, yanked into storage closets and being doused with dirty mop water. It unlocked a deep instinct borne from so much time of being pushed and pulled and smacked around by people just like Derek Morgan. Alpha males, intimidated by nothing and no one. It had taken him years to unlearn the behavior, and that all came crashing down the second his back had hit the wall.

It took another five days of Reid re-teaching himself to not shy away any time he sensed a presence near him and practicing forced smiles in the mirror until they no longer looked painful before there was a familiar knock apartment door. Strong, confident, and sure.

Derek Morgan.