Title:  Unfold 4/?

Author:  _nextboldmove_

Rating: FRT (story) P/SC/SV (case)

Fandom:  Criminal Minds (with mentions of Ghost Hunters)

Pairing: Het & Slash Hotchner/JJ, Reid/?

Summary:  Three weeks after 1, Reid goes back to work in an attempt to keep himself productive.  Between a busted knee and a broken heart, Morgan is afraid that he’s loosing his best friend.  Meanwhile, a case finally forces JJ and Hotchner to make a decision that changes the BAU forever.  From multiple character  perspectives.

~~~

Disclaimer:  I don’t own any rights or trademarks to Criminal Minds, the FBI, TAPS, Ghost Hunters, Sy-Fy, CBS or any of the characters within.  No infringements of these copyrights are intended.  Any similarities between original characters therein are a coincidence.  I make no profit from the following fictional story.  (Fictional, maybe, but I swear this happened all in my head).

~~~

11:13am, Escanaba Police Department

Agent Aaron Hotchner

“The man we are looking for is most likely in his early to mid-thirties, Caucasian, and from the area,” Prentiss says to a group of police officers crammed into the police department.

“He’s a sexual sadist,” Rossi adds.  “With most of the bruises and wounds on the victims being pre-mortem, he derives pleasure from his brutality.”

“Rape is about power, but this unsub also sees it as humiliation,” Morgan says.  “He feels these victims did him wrong, and he’s trying to punish them.  He knows a lot about them, he stalked Vicky Chandler for about a week before he finally took her.”

“How do you know that?” asks Halloway.

“He had to know he could take her and not be seen, he learned her routine for leaving her office,” Rossi says.

“We think he may have raped or attempted to rape a woman in the vicinity of her law office sometime during that week,” I say.  “Our technical analyst couldn’t find any reports…”

“However, its estimated that 60 percent of rapes and attempted rapes go unreported,” Reid adds over the speaker phone.  “It’s very possible there’s a living victim out there, or even a body that has yet to be found killed by our unsub but not following the same patterns.”

“Now, our press conference this morning may get you some leads,” JJ adds, mentioning her public appeal for anyone attacked to come forward.  “Follow them, try to find commonalities between anyone who calls the tip line.”

“Also, the unsub may display some minor OCD and Narcissistic Personality Disorder, but he doesn’t fit the DSM criteria for effectively having either one,” I say.  “He’s orderly and tidy, but its part of his control.”

“He’s angry with his victims.  The fatal wound being slashing of the throat is a surprisingly slow way to die,” Prentiss says.  “Coroner’s reports state that his second victim, Tatum Stapf, was so brutally slashed her trachea was cut open and cause of death was choking on her own blood.”

“He may have a criminal record with some minor instances of violence, but the lack of personalization at the scene and that he hasn’t contacted media or law enforcement suggests that he is doing this for very personal reasons.” I say.

“Perhaps these women looked at him wrong or in some other way demeaned him,” Rossi says.

I sigh.  “We’re leaving in an hour back to Quantico, but you can call us with any further questions.”

After the rest of the police break to go about their day, Detective Halloway approaches me.  “Are telling me Sal Kinsey didn’t do it?”

“We don’t believe so.”

“I think he did, he had motive, opportunity…he killed the other women just to throw us off his trail.”

“You don’t have any evidence to support that.”

“I have enough.  I can nail him for Angela Kinsey’s murder, I’m gonna try.”  He crosses his arms, clearly agitated.

“As an attorney, I can tell you that once the defense finds out you ignored the advice of the FBI that you called for assistance, your entire case is going to crumble.”  I gather the last of my things.  “You don’t have enough to hold him.”

“Well, thanks for your help agents.”  He turns and walks away.  He was expecting us to provide solid back-up to support his ill-placed theory as to the guilt of Sal Kinsey.  I feel for the guy, but I know he’ll get off.  That is, if a judge doesn’t throw out the charges based on lack of evidence in the beginning.

~

Five hours later, BAU at Quantico, VA

After a rocky flight that took off late, we finally walk through the glass doors of the BAU.  I see Reid wheeled up to his desk in the bull pen, amusing Garcia by doing magic with a deck of cards, his completed case file sitting on the edge of his desk.  I grab it as I walk by.  “It’s past five, you might as well go home if you are done with your case report,” I say.

“Welcome back,” Reid says, pulling a magic card out from behind Garcia’s ear, much to her amusement.

“Hello there my little jet-setters,” she says with a smile.  “I guess I’ll be going then.”

“Pretty boy, catch,” Morgan says, tossing something to him.

Reid catches it and holds it up.  “A keychain, what’s this for?”

“It’s for your keys,” JJ says with a smile.

“I know what the proper use for the object is…”

“It’s a gift.  I thought that you could start a little collection of things from all the cases you work from home base.”  Morgan takes a seat at his desk.  “I’m going to bring you a keychain from each place.”

I shake my head.  While Morgan seems to have reverted to a childish camaraderie with Reid, I can’t complain as long as he takes care of him.  “Morgan, just get your report done.  I’ll see you all in the morning.”

Not more than ten minutes after I get settled in my office there is a soft knock at the door.  I look up to see JJ armed with a file.  “Hey Hotch, I just finished the last of my report.”

I nod.  “Thanks JJ.”

“How much longer are you planning on staying here?” She asks with an innocent smile.

I look around.  Of course I could leave right now, but I’d much rather finish the paperwork and officially close—or in this case suspend until the apprehension of the unsub and we are officially off the case---so that I can start fresh in the morning on a new case.  “With your report, I could be done in about an hour.”

She moves towards the door.  “I like white.”

“What?”

“Wine.  I’ll make something to eat if you bring the white wine.”

I give her a smile.  “Then give me ninety minutes, I’ll have to go shopping on the way.”

“See you later.”

~~~~~

6:13pm, Target Store in the DC area

Agent Derrick Morgan

I hate this store.  I come in for more socks and some deodorant for my go-bag and I leave spending almost two hundred bucks on everything from an interesting-looking book to a new laundry hamper and even the most ridiculous purchase.

An outfit for Reid.

As the cashier bags my purchase, I remember to ask for a gift receipt in case the clothes don’t fit.  Not that Reid would ever return them.  They would just sit in the bottom of a drawer until he moved to a new place.

After a quick stop at the store for some milk, which I forgot to get at Target, I lug my purchases and go-bag up to my apartment.  Once things are put away and my dirty laundry is placed in it’s new hamper, I go back to the pile of clothes I purchased for Reid.  A pair of faded jeans and an athletic cut shirt with a koi fish.  Slate grey.  I just impulsively put the garments in my cart, thinking that they would be nice.  He doesn’t wear clothes like this.  Why the hell did I make this impulse purchase?  Did I actually think Reid would want these?  Or did I just buy the clothes to somehow satisfy something within myself?  What?  Like buying these clothes would somehow make me feel a little bit less like an asshole for not being there for him?

My phone rings and I see its Reid.  “Hey kid.”

“Derrick?” His voice is strained, shaky, like he’s been crying.

“Are you at home?”

“Yeah, I uhm…I fell.”

“I’ll be right there.”

~

Using the key Reid gave me I go into his apartment.  “Reid?  It’s me,” I say.

“HERE.”

I go into the bedroom to see Reid is on the floor, curled up in the fetal position on his left side, his hands gingerly wrapped around his injured knee, with the brace over his pants leg.  He’s wearing matching pajamas and his hair is damp.

I kneel down next to him.  “You need the hospital?”

“No, no…I just knocked it when I tripped.  Can you help me up?”

I scoop him up and set him on his back on the bed.  After adjusting a pillow under his knee I find myself perched on the edge of his bed right next to him.  “Spencer, what else do you need?”

“I’m cold.”

I get up and grab him a sweater made for a ninety-year-old man that’s hanging over the hook on his door and return to my spot.  “Meds?”

“No.”

“You’re in pain, you could take something OTC.”

He shakes his head.  “No, I just need a distraction.”

I look around, seeing the Sherlock Holmes book I had started to read a few weeks ago but never finished.  “You could read me a book.”

He gives me a puzzling look.  “Which one?”

“Hounds of the Baskervilles.”

He smirks before opening his mouth.  He doesn’t need the book, he just starts reciting it to me.  The technical delivery behind his everyday speech is gone.  It’s not theatrical, but there’s personality to his tone.  Within twenty minutes the wincing pain behind his voice is gone.  He keeps going, gesturing occasionally.

Perched on the other side of the bed, I get comfortable on my side next to him while he recites.  His voice starts to calm me.  His bed is really soft, almost too soft.  Surprised he doesn’t have back problems from the lack of support.  The pillow smells clean and the crisp linen is comforting against my skin.  I don’t remember the last time my mom read a book to me, when I was a very little kid I think.  I should get more books on tape, I forgot how comforting it is to hear a story.

~

My phone is ringing, the shrill sound fills my ears.  I wake up and reach over but instead of my nightstand there’s more mattress.  When I open my eyes I realize I’m not at home.  Hotel?  Nope.  Reid’s place.

I sit up and grab my phone from my belt.  “Hello?”

“Hey Morgan,” it’s JJ.  “There aren’t any major pending cases and Hotch said we should take a three-day weekend.”

“What?  Did he hit his head or something?”  I look around.  Reid made his half of the bed and I had fallen asleep on top of the bedspread.  It’s light out, the sun is coming in through the cracks in the blinds.  I smell coffee wafting down the hall.

She laughs.  “Don’t question it, just take it.  Of course we’re still technically on-call so don’t leave town.  Have a good one.”

I say goodbye and hang up.  I stand up and stretch, realizing that my shoes have been taken off and set neatly near the bedroom door.  After stopping in the bathroom to relieve myself, I walk into the kitchen.

“Morning,” Reid says.  His hair is tousled from falling asleep while it was wet.  He’s wearing glasses and his pajamas, staring down at a frying pan on his stove.  Scrambled eggs.  “There’s coffee and cream in the fridge.  Now that I’m actually home every day I actually have food in the house.”

I pour myself a cup of what has to be the best coffee in the world.  “This is amazing.”

“Some organic stuff I picked out,” he says, balancing himself on one crutch while plating up eggs, handing me the plate.  “Do you mind?”

I shake my head and help take everything to the table.  One seated I dig in.  “Not bad kid.”

He shrugs.  “Started out as an omelet.”

I snicker at the mess of egg, cheese, bacon bits and obviously canned vegetables on my plate.  “Not into cooking, huh?”

“I made an attempt a few years ago, actually I made Gideon dinner once,” he snickers, “ended up having to order pizza.”

“And you make a mean cup of coffee,” I toast him, taking another gulp, surprised at the lack of awkwardness from having slept in the same bed last night.

“Thanks Morgan.”  He swallows a bite of eggs and looks up at me. “About last night, thanks for coming over.”

“Sorry I overstayed my welcome.”

“No, I, uhm, I needed the distraction from the pain and uhm…it was nice to not be alone.”

“World’s lamest slumber party,” I laugh.  “Two grown men, one of them reading the other a bedtime story.”

“Did you ever have sleep-over’s as a kid?”

I swallow the food in my mouth.  “When I was little, we’d build forts in our living room and sleep in those.  We’d put up signs saying ‘no girls allowed’ and throw water balloons at my sisters when they’d barge in.  Piss off mom so bad.”

“Sounds like fun,” he finishes his coffee and makes a move to get up.

“Nah, I got it.”  I get up and bring the coffee pot and sugar jar to the table, refilling both our mugs.  “So, any plans for your three-day weekend?”

He shrugs, taking a long sip of his coffee before responding.  “I’ve been contemplating going to see my mom, but three days isn’t enough.  I’d spend two of them on planes or in airports and with my knee it’s a big hassle.  What about you, any plans?”

“Actually, unless you needed any help around here I was considering hopping a flight to Chicago, see mom.  But, if you fell again…”

“I could always call Garcia, she lives closest to me out of all of you.”

“Why didn’t you cal her last night?”

He looks at me like a deer in the headlights.  “Uhm, I was afraid she wouldn’t be able to lift me.”

“Really?  Kid, you’re like a buck ten soaking wet.  I think Garcia could handle you without breaking a nail.”  I snicker before the light bulb goes off in my head.  “You don’t have to keep calling me when you need help just because you think it’ll make me feel better to help you.”

“You slept really sound last night.  I, uhm, after a while I stopped talking and just watched you sleep.”  He takes another long sip.  “When you fall asleep on the jet, it’s always shallow.  Like you never fall all the way asleep.  Last night you were so peaceful, it was like you truly got to slip away from the world for a while.  And it made me feel better that you were so comfortable.  So there.” He smirks.  “You should go see your Mom, I’ll be fine.”

I shake my head.  “Nah, I couldn’t.  Besides, I’m going to see her for her birthday soon anyway.  She might have plans or something.  Besides, if I show up out of the blue she’ll think something is wrong.”

“My mother says that mothers know,” he smiles.

“I told her about you getting hurt, I didn’t say how but the first thing out of her mouth was ‘it wasn’t your fault.’”

“She heard the guilt in your voice.”  He looks down and the air gets tense.  “I’m going to get dressed.”

I get up and clear the table, washing the dishes and putting everything away.  Realizing he’s been changing for nearly fifteen minutes, I make my way down the hall to see if he’s alright.  I hear stifled noises from his bedroom.  The door is cracked open and inside he’s changed, sitting on the bed and crying.  I debate on whether or not to go inside or let him be when he looks up at me, eyes puffy and red from crying.  Looking like he wants me to comfort him but he can’t bring himself to ask.  So I go in, sit down and cradle him in my arms until he falls asleep.

Is he ever going to be okay ever again?