Author's Note: Alrighty, then, my sweet little dearies — this is where we part ways. Tomorrow, I start all of my classes again, and with the three research papers I've already been assigned, I can't guarantee for cereal just when the next story is coming; my only promise is that it'll be something with Spencer Reid. (DUH.)

Anyhoo . . . I really love every single one of you who read, favorited, followed, and reviewed; as awful as I was about responding to almost everyone, I did read all of your thoughts, and am totally bombed by the thoughtfulness and insight offered by so many of you wonderful people. This story was way outta bounds for me, and I hope another author can do this story a helluva lot more justice than I ever did. In the meantime, . . . Annber03, pochette, silverwrym, Sue1313, snuggy29, Inuhime1, omgnotagain, Accalya Wolfriend, woolyjumpers, Castianamicheals, SO MANY Guests, and especially my plot-predictor marcallie; you guys are stabulous, and made a weird time so much better for me. Thank you SO MUCH for that. *Grins like an idiot*

Warnings: This fic contains no relevant spoilers that I can see. However, there is going to be some mild violence, much language, and angst as far as the eye can see. And, for that matter, prepare yourselves for a little OOC-ness. I guess.

Disclaimer: The amount of stuff I own grows ever larger and more terrifying. But anything resembling Criminal Minds as a whole has yet to be found. Stupid CBS with their 'rights' and 'contracts.' Grr.

I love reading reviews, but I know people hate writing them. The decision, my lovelies, is yours.

Do enjoy!

Chapter Ten:

Final, Final

Maybe gone wasn't the right word. That implied something . . . dreadful. Something permanent.

Morgan knew things were bad, but he didn't think they would be forever. He was an optimist like that. And it was with no small amount of hope that the man had earlier leapt into his car and revved the engine, determined to find the person he cared about most in the world as quickly as he could.

Like it was that easy.

He had started out small – checking both of their apartments, the diner where they'd had their first date, a used book-store that Spencer was always going on about . . . but, two hours and several pointless conversations later, he had nothing to show for his efforts but the ticking hand on his watch and a lot of frustration.

It was then that, somewhat saddened by the fact, Morgan had started to think not like a lover, but like a profiler. He looked at the facts, and removed the so-very-many feelings from the equation.

Reid was hurt – emotionally mostly, but certainly physically. He was stressed, probably exhausted . . . he had no money that Morgan knew of, because in his haste he'd left his wallet back at the BAU . . . and he was Spencer Reid.

Spencer. Shy, swift, intelligent, beautiful –

Morgan shook his head of the last thought. Right now, he couldn't afford to think like that. He had to find his Pretty Boy.

Reid. Right.

God, he hoped he hadn't gone and gotten himself lost somewhere . . .

And then, in that moment, it came to Morgan, so quick and obvious that he could have smacked himself for not thinking of it earlier.

The park.

He pulled the car smoothly into drive.

Right near Spencer'a apartment, there was a public park that was frequented by mothers with small children, college-age kids and their girlfriends, and lots of couples taking romantic strolls through the flower gardens.

And chess players – there was a private pavilion near the center of the park that had a number of gorgeous marble boards installed with hand-timers and chairs. A geek's heaven, really, the best place to discover and develop your own game.

Morgan sighed, smiling at the memories. Rumor had it that it was that very park where Jason Gideon had first discovered the then-one-doctorate-holding Dr. Reid, and eventually recruited him to the FBI. It was where they'd had Garcia's first forced team-gathering, when she insisted Emily needed to be initiated into the BAU with alcohol, fircrackers, and loud music. Where Rossi had – much to his later embarrassment – delighted the rest of his team members with drunken reminiscings about Erin Strauss, and the early days of the BAU. Where Hotch had told the rest of them about the divorce he was going through. Where JJ said she'd quite like to get married someday . . .

It was the place where Spencer Reid had cultivated a mere curiosity about the game of chess into a hobby, a stress-relief-technique . . . a lifeline. Where he had gone to reflect on his life after Elle left, after Gideon did . . . after he'd gotten shot . . .

It was where his lover felt safe.

And right then, Morgan knew there was nothing Reid needed more at that moment.

He pulled into a parking spot, and turned.

There he was.

Not at the chess square, like Morgan had thought . . . but close enough.

The long, lanky form of Spencer Reid was curled up gently on one of the benches by the playground, his legs folded up under his waist in a manner that almost appeared childlike. His hands were clasped in front of him, eyes easily closed, and he looked to be in deep thought. Or mediation, or something . . .

Morgan wondered for just a second if he should wait, should stay in the car and try to get back with Reid at a later time – but just then, those gorgeous hazel eyes flittered open, and met his for a hair's width of a second. He blinked, and a small, nostalgic smile grace his face before the beautiful boy's eyes closed again.

Morgan was almost in shock. It was the first time he'd seen Reid smile all day.

Well, that decided it.

He unbuckled his seatbelt, and got out of the car.

Reid heard the footsteps, off in some distant corner of his mind. He wasn't surprised; he and Morgan knew one another almost as well as they knew themselves, and this wasn't exactly a James-Bond worthy hiding spot. The moment he had heard the familiar purr of the older man's prized car, he knew what was coming.

And still, he wasn't ready.

He was starting to think he wouldn't ever be.

Somewhere off to his left, he heard a car door snap shut, and the smooth patting of hard shoes on wet grass. He took a deep breath.

A moment later, the bench he rested on sagged down, and he could feel the oh-so-familiar warmth of Derek Morgan's presence beside him.

For a while, no one spoke. And then Reid cleared his throat.

"You startled me."

He didn't have to see Morgan to know the other man was smiling just slightly. "Sorry about that."

Reid paused. "It's okay."

Morgan nodded once, and then a blanket of uncomfortable silence reigned over them, thick and suffocating. One minute passed, and then another, each man observing the other without actually looking at them, each trying to find the words to say what was going on.

Finally, Reid opened his mouth, "You can . . . you can actually sit. You know, if – if you'd like."

A pause, and then, "Okay. Okay, yeah."

The bench sank down slightly, and then there was that small feeling of warmth that Reid got whenever his boyfriend was near him, that subtle blast of body heat that always made its way straight to Reid's core.

He peeked through his mess of curls to the man sitting next to him. Morgan looked just as nervous as he, just as tense. Just as scared.

Reid let out a small huff of breath. What were they supposed to do?

Before he could think on it, a voice that sounded almost too timid to be the man he worked with spoke up, the note of hesitance painfully obvious.

"I don't really know what's supposed to happen now."

Reid glanced over, surprised by the tone, and it took him a moment to respond. It came in the form of a bitter, dry laugh, the sound so unfamiliar on his tongue that Morgan looked up, concerned.

Reid waved him away, and took a moment to gather himself again. "You always loved to say that I know everything, Derek, but . . ." he threw his hands up in the air, "I don't have a clue about what's next either."

The words came from a smile, but there was no amusement in them. In truth, deep down, Reid was trying not to panic over his lack of insight, over his residual fear, over the fact that Morgan was here, too close in so many ways and too far in so many more, over the fact that they were either going to start over or end right here . . . .

Over the silence that had somehow returned to the air, uncomfortable and thick.

"I am sorry," Morgan's voice jolted the genius out of his thoughts, the pitch and crack in it immediately making him want to run his hands over Derek's and tell him everything would be okay.

But, of course, Reid didn't. The fact was, plain and simple, he had no idea how things were going to be, good or bad. Just that nothing was going to be the same.

Ever again.

He swallowed tightly before he spoke. "How far back does that sorry extend?"

Morgan glanced over at him, but couldn't meet his eye all the same. "As much as it can without losing heart. For earlier today, of course. This morning, last night . . . Hell, last week, for that matter." He let out a bitter laugh. "Sorry for every thing I've ever done to hurt you, Pretty Boy. You, of all people, don't deserve to be hurt."

Reid bit down on his tongue, eyes cast to the ground. Words didn't make a difference.

Well, they shouldn't.

"You've never actually hurt me, Derek. I mean, yes, there were words and confrontations, things neither of us should have said . . . but none of it was ever an issue until . . . well, until last night, you'd never come at me . . . physically." His voice got quieter and quieter as he spoke, trailing off into a whisper at the very end.

"You scared me, Derek."

Morgan felt the sudden urge to reach out his hand and pull Spencer into a bone-crushing hug, wrap him up tight in his arms and physically show him that no one, no one, was ever going to make him fearful ever again.

But, of course, he didn't move. Couldn't. He kept himself as still as possible, and looking at Reid, only Reid.

Eventually, as his lover knew he would, the genius spoke again, slow and hesitant as the words very slowly came to him.

"I've never trusted too many people, Derek. You know that I . . . I'm by myself as much as possible." He swallowed. "All the time. You . . . I-I mean, you were the only one I've ever let in as much as I did. And you . . . you . . . " he trailed off, unable to find the words, and stared miserably at his lap.

Warm fingers were suddenly on his chin, gently tugging upwards and forcing Reid to meet the eyes of the man he was very much in love with – even now, still. He tensed slightly, but the slight flutter of fear twisting in his stomach was quelled the moment he stared into Derek Morgan's eyes.

"I want so bad to excuse what I did, Pretty Boy," the older man began, his voice weighted down with regret and sorrow. "But there isn't one; even if I was drunk, even if I was dead tired, even if the fucking world was ending – " his voice caught, and he took a moment to calm down, reign in his emotions, "there is never, ever an excuse that can justify hurting you."

Reid was shocked to see tears clouding Morgan's eyes. He leaned away slightly, trying to distance himself from the uncomfortable display of such raw emotion.

There were several beats of silence before he responded.

"No," Reid said cautiously, his voice easily showing the trepidation that he felt. "No, you're right. There is none."

The words hurt him to say, especially after he saw Morgan flinch out of the corner of his eye, and it took everything within Reid's willpower not to just pull the older man closer and tell him that everything was going to be okay, that they were fine, fine.
But he didn't. Reid knew it would be a lie to say something so simple. As if they could pretend that none of this had ever happened.

He shuddered. It had all happened – very much so.

Morgan's eyes met his own, the plea behind them making them shine even in the fading afternoon light of the park. "Pretty Boy," he started, reaching up a hand to run through Reid's hair, as he had done countless times before.

It was a familiar gesture, one of kindness and affection – and still, Reid ducked his head away from Morgan, that little flash of fear in his stomach growing brighter, colder.

Morgan froze at the movement. His hand swayed in midair, and he felt a bite of nausea in his gut.

Broken. All of it.

Oh, God.

Reid seemed just as surprised as he was, just as offended. He frowned slightly, and curled up in on himself even tighter, biting his lip and wearing an expression on his face that was something akin to remorse.

It was awhile before Morgan had collected himself enough to speak. When he did, his voice was wavery, hesitant.

"What does this mean?"

Reid shook his head, hearing Morgan but apparently not listening.

He tried again. "Spencer?"

Reid sighed, everything in his defensive posture slowly melting away as he deflated, looking for the first time much older than his years. Exhausted.

"If you want the honest truth, Derek? I have no idea."

Reid smiled somewhat bitterly to himself, the light in his eyes flickering curiously. "You always say that I know everything – but I don't have a clue what I'm supposed to be doing now. I'm frightened by your touch and hesitant of your presence." He swallowed hollowly, his Adam's apple bobbing up jerkily. "But if I let you leave – if I make you – it's going to be worse than any pain you could ever inflict."

Morgan felt the twist in his esophagus, and quickly prayed that he wouldn't be sick. "Pretty – Spencer; I never meant to hurt you. Never. Please, please tell me that you know that."

Reid nodded. "I d-do know. I just . . . "

"It was the alcohol, Spencer. Just the alcohol, I promise. You know I would never – " Morgan choked on his own words as he caught sight of the marks on Reid's wrist and neck again. Flashbacks so vivid it was like they were in 3-fucking-D threatened to overtake him once more, and Morgan forced himself to hold back.

"I love you, Spencer."

Reid's voice was trembling almost as much as his hands. "I . . . I love you too, Derek. I j-just . . ." he trailed off, unable or unwilling to put his thoughts into words.

"Then we can work on moving on," Derek said in a futile effort to fill the void. He felt his heart fall as Spencer shook his head.

"If you're talking about forgetting, Derek – "

"I'm not, please, I – "

"Let me finish," Spencer cut in, his voice collected and steady. Morgan held his tongue.

Reid took a deep breath. "I'm not going to pretend that I an just forget everything that happened, Derek, because I can't. You hurt me; I trusted you – with my heart, my feelings, my safety . . . and last night, I think you caused me more pain than I've been through in a long, long time. And it's not just these – " he gestured to the varying marks marring his slender body – "that I'm talking about." He met Morgan's eyes. "I never though I would have to be afraid of you, of all people, Derek."

Morgan entire posture had been slumping as Reid spoke, and he seemed utterly lifeless as the genius sucked in a breath, preparing to speak his final part.

"If it had been anyone other than you, I would leave right now."

Morgan looked up, not daring to believe that he might have heard what he thought he jut had.

"If it was anyone else . . . ?"

It was Reid who averted his eyes this time when he spoke again. "I love you, Derek. I always have, and I always will. And, for me, at least . . . love means a lot of struggle, a lot of effort . . ." He looked up, gorgeous hazel eyes pinning Derek into his place as he kept speaking. " . . . and in return, love gives us something wonderful, euphoric, so base and elemental and utterly human that we cannot function without it." He took in another breath. "It's how I feel about you, Derek. I love you. No matter what we go through, we go through it together, and I have faith that we can survive."

Morgan couldn't believe his ears. "I thought that – "

Reid held up a hand. "So did I. But I think, deep down, I knew it wasn't over."

Morgan swallowed, not wanting to blink, lest this marvelous gift he was being given fade away into the void of hopelessness he had just come out of.

"I will never, ever hurt you again."

Reid nodded. "I know you won't. Because if there's a next time, Derek, I won't let my heart guide me. I'll call the police, move my things out of your apartment, and transfer units so fast that you'll have your head spinning. And we'll never see one another again. That, I promise."

Derek froze. "You're not doing that now . . . ?"

Reid shook his head. "No." He laughed, a wry and bitter chuckle that curdled Morgan's insides. "The agent part of me is screaming that this is a bad idea, that the only thing that makes any sense to do is leave you now and try to recover, but . . . there would be no recovery without you, Derek. I need you, I . . . I love you."

"I love you, too, Spencer."

Reid swallowed tightly, nearly choking on the words as he spoke them.

"It doesn't mean that things aren't going to change, Derek. They have to. I can't – I c-can't be scared of you again, not like – n-not like – " he broke off, a miserable look on his face.

Morgan moved closer to his side, arms tentatively wrapping around Spencer's shaking shoulders. "Anything you want, Spencer. Anything. Everything."

Reflexively, Reid leaned into the touch, warming Morgan's heart and giving him hope for the first time since this awful day hard started, what seemed like forever ago. When he spoke, it was with a trite voice, the familiar hesitation starting to bleed through.

"We need to . . . we need to figure out a plan of action, when we – when we get cases like that again. I don't want you turning to alcohol, and – " he gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing painfully "I don't want to give in to a craving, either. We n-need a way to resolve this if it happens again."

"It won't," Morgan said with certainty. The hell it would – he would die before hurting his wonderful Pretty Boy again.

"I hope not," Reid responded cautiously. "But . . . nothing's set in stone, Derek. I just want to be prepared in case something does come up."

Hating himself for hating the idea, Morgan forced a calm face, and when he spoke, the inner angst was undetectable. "Fine, then. We'll toss the booze at home, and set up someone to be a buffer system for us."

Reid looked over, eyes peeking through the tendrils of his hair. "That means we'd have to tell someone about us."

Morgan waved a hand dismissively. "Apparently Hotch knows."

Reid paled slightly. "He told you about that?"

Morgan nodded. "Apparently figured it out a while ago. I tell ya, we don't give that man nearly enough credit as a profiler."

Reid smiled ever-so-slightly. "Or maybe we're just not as subtle as we think; Garcia knows, too."

Morgan's head fell into his hands. "That means that all of the women in the BAU know, then."

"Probably."

" . . . I guess it means that we can at least have our pick of who to talk to about this?"

Reid pursed his lips, gathering his courage before he spoke. "Or we could just save all the trouble, and tell them all at once."

Morgan glanced at him, one eyebrow quirking. "You really think you're ready for that, Spencer?"

Trying to keep the shaking in his voice to a minimum, Reid took his times with his words. "I think that, if I have anything to say about it, you and I are going to be together for a good, long time. And that these are the people we work with, people we care about, the ones we love . . . they deserve to know. We have to tell them."

Morgan only remembered one part of the words his lover had spoken. "We're going to be together for a long time?"

Reid nodded slowly. "Forever, if I have anything to say about it."

Relief flooded Morgan's body, nearly overtaking him in it's sweetness. "Oh, thank God," he whispered, resting his forehead on Reid's shoulder, doing his best not to collapse. "Whatever you want, baby-boy, whatever you want."

Somehow, some way, he had been given another chance.

There was no way he was fucking it up again.

The two men sat in the park until long after the light had faded from the sky, until the wind was a whisper, the heat had cooled to a soft mistiness, until the only noise came from crickets and the only visibility from the constant blinking of fireflies in the air.

And then, just before the clock struck the hour, both men rose, hands still entwined, and walked slowly to their cars, finally going home.

Home.

It would be anywhere, just so long as they were together.

"Scars are like battle wounds; beautiful, in a way. They show what you've been through, how strong you are for surviving."

— Demi Lovato

"True love leaves every sort of scar; they don't heal, but it's only because they were real in the first place. Like love itself."

— Stephen King

Author's Endnote: Annnd, they lived happily ever after. I mean, c'mon, was there ever any question about that? As far as Sperek goes, the two of them always get to sail off into the sunset, no matter what crap came first.

. . . Sorry for those of you who complained to me that I was rushing the ending; truly, I am. This happens to be the way I love my stories to conclude; with a whump of whatever, the viewer's eyes widening as they think, "Did that happen?"

It's called black-out, and I know I'm gonna get some crap for it; but this is the only way I wanted to conclude this story — anything else wouldn't have been my best, and I REFUSE to half-ass something on here.

. . . Anyways . . . I'm outie again. May we meet again soon with another story, I hope . . . *Smiles*