cold_clarity: (Default)
[personal profile] cold_clarity
and they're things for [ profile] luckinfovely no less! because I keep my promises...sort of?

anyway, this is total drabble. I promised a scene, but this is more like a segment than a scene. or something. I've also apparently attempted to make sure it makes as little sense as possible. I don't think I even tried to reach for linearity or hint at any sort of context.

I'll just be off drowning myself in a toilet.

Title: untitled
Pairing: Morgan/Reid
Disclaimer: don't own, don't sue.
Description: drabbled bits of a not-story. the result of a speculation that went something like this: 'I can just see Reid having a nervous breakdown over his newly discovered telekinesis and Morgan failing to comfort him'. that was the gist of it anyway. I don't really know how I ended up with this thing instead.
Warnings: angst. crackfic. zero continuity. unfinished. also unbeta-d, so if I missed any glaringly obvious mistakes, please please please point them out to me.

Morgan’s done a lot of stupid things in his life, but secret-keeping is always something he’s had a talent for.

He wonders now, if that’s what brought Reid to his door. Now, almost a year later, while he’s sitting, exhausted, in a hospital waiting room, Morgan remembers Reid on the other side of the threshold, with something like blue light crackling at his fingertips—and Morgan could kick himself for not having imagined it could get this bad.


“It—uh. I can’t explain it. I can make lightning, sort of. And I can make things move. Without touching them. You know. Like—uh. Like. Telekinesis. I think.”


“Which is totally ridiculous, I know. I mean, not completely impossible because some theories state that if the movement of all of the electrons in your body were to match up with the movement of all of the electrons in any given solid object, you would be able to walk through the object—and I’m just extrapolating here because quantum mechanics isn’t really my field of expertise, but maybe this is an extension of something like that. Electromagnetic fields disrupted by the quantum behavior in my physical being. It’s highly improbable but maybe—”

“Hey. Kid.” Morgan took hold of Reid’s shoulders. “You’re losing me with the technobabble. Just show me.”

A nod.

And then Morgan’s silverware was floating--fucking moving through thin air--and morphing and shifting through different patterns in the middle of his kitchen.


Garcia is first through the door the minute they’re allowed into the room, but she only hovers at the bedside, eventually reaching for J.J.’s hand, her eyes shining and bright.

Hotch is still talking to the doctors and Morgan is only distantly aware of Prentiss standing at his side, stiff as a board, her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line. Reid isn’t moving on the bed. The shallow rise and fall of his chest, and the quiet bleat of the EKG are the only real promises that he’s even alive.

And there’s a funny rushing sound in Morgan’s ears, a persistent noise that’s getting louder by the minute. The world looks dim on the edges of his vision, and he feels trapped inside the hot skin of himself.

Hotch enters. Morgan can hear him talking, can hear his voice shaping itself into words and sentences—but that’s all. It’s like listening to the world through a glass box. Morgan thinks he might be sick.


“I told Hotch.”


The line of dishes halted in their independent march to the sink. Morgan looked at Reid—at Reid’s back, rather—and watched the line of his shoulders go sharp and tense.

“Look, kid. This is bigger than me. Hotch has to—”

“Hotch doesn’t have to know anything. I trusted you.”

He had braced himself against the counter, arms stiff and straight, knuckles white and curled around the countertop edge. His head hung forward and Morgan could hear the shaking tension in his voice.

“Reid…” He moved behind the kid, settled his hands on Reid’s hips. “Hey. You can still trust me. But what if something goes wrong on a case? What if you snap?” He tried to lighten his tone a little. “You know Hotch hates surprises.”

Reid twisted around, but not out of Morgan’s reach. Not away from his touch. His eyes were still too wide though, glittering darkly. “Have I ever snapped before?”

“No, but there’s a first time for everything. And Hotch isn’t going to just…hand you over to some lab.”

Reid looked down, frowning. Just touching him was like holding on to static—like leaning into a storm cloud.

“I’m sick of this…” he murmured. “I’m sick of being…this.”

There was nothing to say to that. So Morgan kissed him instead. At some point, the dishes—all of which had been poised on edge, trembling in the tension—crashed to the floor. The sound of shattering was only a momentary interruption in the wet noise of their mouths meeting, over and over again.


“How are you feeling?” Garcia whispers, eventually.

It’s late—maybe even very late. They’re the only ones left in the room and there are a million things Garcia could have asked. How did this happen? or, better yet, What the fuck is going on?--provided she doesn’t know already. Maybe Reid told her. Maybe Hotch told her. Maybe—

But no. How are you feeling?

Morgan’s eyes itch and there’s a pinching pressure building between them. His face, his left eye socket and cheek, they are still stinging beneath the burn-salve and the gauze. The ache in his shoulder runs deep, where skin and sinew have been stitched back together. It hurts to lift his left arm.

He shakes his head, eyes on Reid.

Oh god, Reid.

Suddenly, Garcia’s hugging him, holding him tight, and Morgan feels hollow and empty and dry. It takes whatever store of strength he has left not to fold into her, not to collapse into her embrace. Before he wanted to break things, wanted to smash something, anything, to pieces. Now, though, he just feels like he’s teetering at the edge of some canyon, falling forward into vertigo—at once weightless, helpless, and waiting to be crushed.

“What if he doesn’t wake up?” he whispers against her hair. “Garcia—” He breaks off, swallowing hard.

She doesn’t say anything. The EKG keeps beating. The respirator or the ventilator or whatever the fucking fake external, metal lungs are called—they keep a quiet rhythm. Breathing in and out and in and out.

Date: 2009-05-26 11:15 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
DOOD. i have about 1.3 minutes before i have to be out the door & on the way to work, and then i won't be home for about 14/15 hours because i have to drive an hour away to have dinner with old people afterwards. SO I COMMENT VERY BRIEFLY NOW TO SAY TO THINGS:


srsly, this is awesome. and you? SHOULD TOTALLY WRITE MORE BECAUSE OMG YOUR REID IS SO INCREDIBLY REID-LIKE -- easily one of the better Reid's I've read; WAY the frick better than mine, because i actively avoid having him speak geek (i'm too lazy to do the research). and your morgan? IS SO MORGANISH THAT I SQUEE WITH JOY because oh my FRICK i fluff him.

son of a BITCH, sometimes i hate having to be a grownup. i wanna fic & play on lj all day.

ANYWAY. i leave now, but return later to fill in this comment. andfinallyfinishyourficletsometimedamnit. (i have about 10,000+ words of finished fic i'm sitting on while i work on finishing your ficlet & a sequel to my longest, wangstiest, most awful m/r fic. help: i need it. *headdesk*)

in short, YAY & I FLUFF! & HOLDPLZ4MOREFEEDBACK&urficlet & THANK YOU for an awesome start to what is sure to be an otherwise meh tuesday. for srs. :)

Date: 2009-05-27 03:03 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
omg, 13+ hours later and you are SO MY FAVORITE PERSON TODAY. the highlight of THE WEEK, even.

anyway. the additional feedback:

“Hey. Kid.” Morgan took hold of Reid’s shoulders. “You’re losing me with the technobabble. Just show me.”

GOD, the love I have of that line. Morgan at his Morganest. YES.

Your description of each character at Reid's bedside is friggin' perfect -- for every. single. one.

The shallow rise and fall of his chest, and the quiet bleat of the EKG are the only real promises that he’s even alive.


It’s like listening to the world through a glass box.


It's kinda eerie that I was JUST YESTERDAY listening to that fight Morgan & Reid had in "The Popular Kids", wherein Morgan rats Reid's nightmares out to Hotch & Gideon. AND I LOVE THAT -- AND THIS SCENE -- SO MUCH. The ep because I LOVE IT when Reid flips a shit & turns all bitchy-girlfriend on anyone, but maybe that's just me, I dunno.

ANYWAY. Like the earlier scene -- well, the whole fic, really -- you totally NAILED them. Perfectly. THEY DON'T FIGHT NEARLY OFTEN ENOUGH ON THE SHOW.

Plus, I have such overwhelming, ridiculous love of the whole Morgan-hands-on-Reid-hips-&-turning thing. THANK YOU, YES, PLEASE.

*insert obligatory plagiarism wigging because i just, OVER THE WEEKEND, wrote a m/r ficlet about reid feeling hollow -- with ambiguous fucking, even* Shit.

And this ending you have, with Morgan and Garcia and the vent? Is gorgeous. Seriously. Gorgeous. And very vivid, so extra sparklies to you for doing what I fall flat ON MY FACE when I attempt it.

In conclusion, WRITE MORE HOMG. <3

Date: 2009-05-27 03:18 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
pishaw. welcome. :)

I love it when they tease/mock/actually fight each other.

ME TOO OH ME TOO. in fact, my love of them hissing at each other, when coupled with my foul mood, produced the MOTHER of all m/r badfic fights. in my own badfic, i mean. THERE'S CHOKING, EVEN! it's so y&r. OH WELL. :D

bitchygirlfriend!Reid? yes and yes.

that's totally how it comes across! i snippet:

"this is what happens every time i trust someone. it gets thrown back in my FACE!"

oh reid. I FLUFF YOU SOME.

I still have to contend with a world of angst over ficcing in the first place.

you and me both. AND YET... *headdesk*

Date: 2009-05-27 03:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
reid did a five-year-long bad. morgan didn't take it so well.

i LOVE jane lynch. in giantboldsparkly letters, if i had the energy to bother. she's awesomeness dipped in magnificence, then lightly rolled in a crispity crunchity layer of WIN. they should totally make her the team's mascot or summat. she could be a valuable contributor to their work. SHE COULD.

Date: 2009-05-27 03:47 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I HAVE THAT KINK TOO! we're on the same kink wavelength. weirdness.

plus, really, reid is just begging to get beat up. by everyone, all the time. LOOK AT HIM! if he wasn't so PRETTY when injured and/or weeping, the writers wouldn't keep DOING THAT TO HIM.

i have not seen "glee"! i've heard things but haven't gotten around to catching up with it. it's kinda scary, actually -- i have NO IDEA where all my time goes. fuck.

Date: 2009-05-27 03:59 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]


Date: 2009-05-27 04:06 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
WHEEEEEEEEEEE! it gets so much worse, omg.

i can snippet you wounded!morgan!chokes!sad!reid fic, if you want. and if you REALLY want, i can work on finishing whichever one you prefer. or something that makes sense. :)

Date: 2009-05-27 04:14 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
pisha. i'm sitting on 10,000+ words of badfic. (IN DEFENSE OF MY LOSERNESS, it has been acquired over the past 6-8 months. so. STILL. god, i'm sad.)


i figure out what part i wanna snippet of m/rchokingweeping badfic & comment&delete.

Date: 2009-05-27 04:20 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
you are far too generous, for which you have my extreme meepy thanks.


Date: 2009-05-27 04:34 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
omg. that vid is GLORIOUS. true story.

re: the badfic: i totally wanted to make it a theme, each one of the morgans showing up to slap the shit out of reid at some point or other. IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY, I CAN'T EVEN TELL YOU.

Date: 2009-05-27 04:36 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
OMG! I ALMOST FORGOT! reid's really mean to a hooker, too.

watch out, german melodrama boys. I'M POISED TO WIN.


cold_clarity: (Default)

August 2017

13 141516171819

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Oct. 18th, 2017 03:37 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios