#MY CONCLUDING THOUGHT AFTER HYPERVENTILATING THROUGH THAT WHOLE EPISODE? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cyn-00 · 4 years

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Moreid one shot, 17 - "my hands"

Season 9, episode 3 "Final shot" (this is the one where the team has to catch a sniper: initially they thought the unsub was motivated by racism, and when they discover that the gun was the same used a few months before by "The General" - in prison, ex leader of a white supremacists group - to kill a black councilman - Adrian Clay - AND that in one of the shootings the assistant d.a. prosecuting him for that crime was killed; they decide to interview him. Re-interpretation of the scene where Morgan and JJ hold hands to make uncomfortable "The General" - racist son of a b*tch - during the interrogation... only there's Reid instead of JJ ;)

I believe @amplifreid and @smileythirteen asked me to tag them ❤️

Also, in my imaginary world, Morgan and Reid are a well established couple by season 9, but to illustrate this scene properly I think it was way better to assume they weren't a couple yet. Also with the same intent, the interview to "The General" (Adam Dawson) happens in an interrogation room with the one-way mirror glass and everything. Bear with the divergence from the actual scene - some of Dawson, Morgan and JJ's (=Reid) lines do remain pretty much the same, though

Read it on AO3

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"Look at the change in his posture when Morgan got in..." Blake sighed, staring attentively at the interrogation room on the other side of the one-way glass. "Cocky. This guy's not gonna give us anything useful."

Rossi gave her an agreeing look, silently mimicking her head-shake while his hands slid in the pockets of his jeans.

"We'll have to work with that. Playing the black agent card is our best and only shot." Hotch replied.

"It's also very much obvious..." Blake added half-heartedly.

"He'll be too blinded by hate to even notice." Reid reassured her with a shrug, finally saying something after being glued to the glass for a few minutes with his arms folded on his chest, concentrated on the interrogation.

"Mr Dawson," Morgan greeted the convict with a fake polite tone, closing the door behind his back.

He sat in front of him and crossed his hands atop the metallic table. "Do you happen to have wondered why you're here?" he asked, squinting his eyes.

"I have a few guesses, yes." Dawson answered confidently.

Morgan tilted his head, while his brows shot up. He'd already picked up on what type of attitude the guy was planning to pull off on him for the whole duration of the interview.

"Would you mind naming a couple of those for me?"

Dawson sighed, nodding his head. "I guess we're talking about my past involvement with the Southern Aryans."

"Past?"

"Past. Look, I even got my tattoos removed." he confirmed, not hesitating to show him the laser scar on the inside of his arm with a self-complacent grin, even if constricted in his movements by the cuffs chained to the table top.

Morgan couldn't bring himself to feign praising at the thought the guy once marked his skin with symbols and slogans to proudly remind himself and others that not only he was a racist son of a bitch, but more than that he also acted upon those retrograde and disgusting ideologies of his. So he just nodded, not even bothering to actually look at Dawson's arm.

Hotch's phone rang in his pocket, distracting him from the dynamic slowly - very slowly - unfolding in the other room.

"What is it Garcia?"

"My baby is in there with Dawson right?? Not that you aren't my baby too, sir- I MEAN you guys ALL are my babies regardless of our age gap-"

"Garcia." Aaron reprimanded her.

"Yes! I'm- I'm sorry, back to business: I managed to dig deep and dirty into every single detail about the murder of Adrian Clay, and in general every little, petty criminal activity this group of disgusting bigots have committed." she paused, gulping so noisily they could all hear it through the phone.

"They- they have engaged in a series of, quote unquote, 'harassments of any sort', in those areas of the city principally frequented by the lgbtq+ community through these past couple years. And- and Clay himself was rumored to be homosexual, but there's no reliable source for that." she explained in a rush, like she wanted to get it out of her brain as quickly as her breath allowed her to.

"...don't know about you, but I'm not all that surprised the shitheads are also homophobic. Those things don't sound like anything a group of neo-nazis wouldn't do, am I right?" Rossi snorted. "They'll target anything 'impure'." he air-quoted the word.

"Yes, that's what I had imagined too, I just- I just hoped I didn't have to get to the point of reading proof of it with my poor, pretty eyes! Like these guys weren't evil on earth already..."

"Garcia, is there a reason why you're telling us this?" Hotch furrowed his brows. They were running out of time, and Morgan was running out of questions aiming at making Dawson say what they wanted him to say.

"Actually sir, I hoped you'd ask because YES, there is a reason, and I know that this is not part of my job but I was thinking that maybe...you guys could use his homophobia at your advantage?" she kept it vague and stopped for a second to catch a reaction. Anything at all. But the others stayed silent to digest that idea.

"like, one of you boys could go in there and act a lil? Believe me I would sacrifice myself for that role, but you know-"

"Actually, that's not a bad idea at all. As Blake said earlier, Dawson was probably expecting us to use a black agent anyway, but this could actually set him off because it's a part of the group's criminal activity that's been hidden from the media and the general public. We're not supposed to even know about this." Reid spoke his mind out loud, receiving in response complete silence and three - well, four, if you count Garcia - pairs of eyes staring at him.

He stared back at them with his lips parted. "W-what? I'm right, right ?"

"You are." Blake simply said, raising a brow.

With a little delay compared to the others' - which NEVER happened - Spencer's mind started to process what that whole staring contest was supposed to mean.

"No- guys, I'm- I'm too young he won't- he'll never fall for it! If you take in account that I look way younger than I am, the age gap between me and Morgan is too wide, he's not a fool I can't-" he was starting to stutter and flush and almost hyperventilate to the point Hotch had to interrupt him.

"Reid. You know it has to be you." he gave him an apologetic look.

Reid wasn't trying to dodge the situation because he had a problem with fake flirting - he did not have a single problem with doing that. On the contrary: fake flirting for an interrogation or the like was the only way for Spencer to manage to pull off a flirty attitude with someone, covering it up with the fact that he was simply good at acting, since in actuality flirting wasn't exactly his first natural skill - it was Derek's. Problem was: he had to flirt with Derek Morgan, not someone.

On the other hand, Spencer also perfectly knew why it was their best shot to send him in instead of Hotch. Still, it was worth the try to dissuade him.

"You could do it, right?" he asked apprehensively, the tone of his voice lower and less certain than before.

Hotch knew he didn't need to explain it to him, so he didn't bother, keeping his gaze steady. Blake took on that duty for him, though:

"Spencer, you are exactly Dawson and his followers' stereotype of ideal human being. You're young, educated, intelligent, attractive, and more importantly: white." she paused, seeing that Reid had embarrassedly dropped his eyes when she mentioned him being attractive. Guess Morgan wasn't the only one labeling him as 'pretty boy' then.

"The only thing that parts you from being total perfection in his eyes, is your sexual orientation." she concluded.

"The minute we send you in, he'll think you're there to save him from an uncomfortable interview with a black agent. But when you'll start making avancés on Morgan, the guy will freak out." Rossi added, straight up.

Making avancés on Morgan. Dear God - Spencer knew he could do that with a minimum effort, and certainly without Derek making a big deal out of it; however the issue was: he would never get away with the physical reaction the avancés on Derek 's part would certainly trigger in his body, would he?

"THAT's what I meant!" Penelope's squealing voice filled the room all of a sudden, reminding them that she was still on speaker phone.

"Alright, thanks Garcia, that was a good catch." Hotch's firm facial expression never wavered an inch, even when he complimented her.

"Duty, sir."

"We can't call Morgan out, though. It has to be unexpected." he added, now only talking to his teammates in the room.

Without waiting for the others' agreeing - there was no need for that: he was right - Hotch pressed the button that allowed him to talk into Morgan's earpiece.

"Morgan. Guy's not only racist, but also homophobic. We're sending Reid in."

Morgan swallowed, trying not to make Dawson notice that he received an unspoken command he wasn't quite sure whether he'd be ready to obey, nor handle - emotionally AND physically.

When the door opened a second after, though, and he glanced over his shoulder at his tall, lean colleague standing behind him, waiting for permission to come in, Derek figured it shouldn't be all that hard to flirt with that.

"Pretty boy! Have a seat, we're having fun here." he gave Spencer his brightest grin, hand gesturing at him to come closer.

The younger agent smiled awkwardly and closed the door, making his way to the chair only 5 inches beside Derek's - who, by the way, was overly aware that their knees would inevitably touch if he didn't pay attention to keeping his legs glued together.

As Spencer got comfortable in his seat, keeping eye contact with him and subtly brushing his tongue in between his pink lips, Derek wondered if that was gonna come naturally to Spencer as it surely was to him. From the look on his face and his body language, Derek was leaning toward yes as an answer to that question.

"Mr Dawson is sick and tired of me." Derek scoffed, leaning back in his chair to stretch an arm on the backrest of Spencer's. "Guessing you came here with a few questions of your own?" he asked him.

"I did." Spencer replied, squinting at Dawson with an inquisitive look. "Mr Dawson, by any chance you've kept in contact with the other members of the Southern Aryans' group?"

"Agent-"

"Doctor." Derek pointed out dryly. "Doctor Spencer Reid." the way he pronounced his name caused Spencer to shift in his seat. Morgan wasn't quite sure why.

"Doctor, then." Dawson snorted, eyebrows raised in surprise as to why the older agent cared that much about specifying the other's title. "As I was saying: I'm in prison. My opportunities to socialize are...somewhat limited." he replied sarcastically. Which was how he'd been doing it at every single question Derek had asked.

The fact that he was managing to keep that cocky attitude was a sign that he wasn't uncomfortable enough. Everyone had imagined he would've got all jittery the second the nickname "pretty boy" would've come out of Morgan's mouth. Apparently so, Derek had to step up his game.

"Spencer, baby," Derek called him so he'd lean back in his chair as well, drawing his face farther away from "The General" and from under the blinding neon light beam illuminating the area of the table.

Reid leaned back as Morgan had implicitly asked him to, crossing his arms on his chest. Spencer, baby. The instinctive part of his brain didn't hesitate a second to recognize the combination of pet name + uncommon use of his first name, associated with Derek's deep voice. Probably because he'd imagined his colleague calling him that a thousand times, along with other names - some less appropriate than others - he couldn't keep his mind from drifting to when he heard that voice of his. The other part of his grey matter though, the logical, predominant one, the one used to Morgan only calling him by his last name or "pretty boy" and "kid" at most; sent a tingling sensation from the canal of his ear where the words reached him, all the way down to his arms and hands.

Spencer kept his gaze on the convict sitting across from them, as he realized Derek had inched dangerously closer to his ear. Dawson shifted nervously in his seat, jerking his eyes away from the two of them.

"You think we should kiss at some point? " the man asked mockingly at last, whispering and with a hand half-covering the motions of his mouth: he was acting like he didn't want Dawson to be able to hear, or read his labial - which, on the contrary, was exactly his plan.

Spencer froze. He tried to keep his look on Dawson unchanged. What he could NOT control, though, was the sensation of heat spreading up his neck, 3 inches from Derek's mouth. Dawson, too, was very noticeably trying to contain his sickened reaction, which turned out to be a mere close-eyed sigh and an irritated clench of jaw.

Reid pulled off the most natural chuckle he could, before answering out loud.

"I don't think it'll be necessary." it was true: Derek had asked only as a joke, and Spencer understood that. But he kinda wished in that moment it were appropriate for him to reply "yes, please, tongue me down during an interrogation."

Derek leaned forward again, finally removing his eyes from that spot of Spencer's jawline below his ear that moved as he spoke.

"Anyway. That's not what we heard." he said, pointing at him and Reid with his finger. "Rumor has it that you're in charge. In fact, you're still known as 'The General'."

"Some folks would like to, uh, imbue me with a great deal of power. But it's a mantle I choose not to accept." The General answered, his voice less arrogant than before and maybe even ever-so-slightly hoarse.

"So you COULD call the shots, you just... choose not to...?" Reid asked, unconvinced and a bit concerned about what kind of annoyingly fake-innocent answer the guy would give this time.

"That's what I said. How can I lead when I no longer believe, 'pretty boy' ?" Dawson replied, back at it with his smug tone, air-quoting the nickname.

Spencer had the abrupt - albeit fictitious - feeling that someone was knotting his guts with their bare hands, when he heard the man pronouncing those two words. Sacred, two words, only reserved to Morgan.

"Doctor Spencer Reid, is my name. Thought you were smart enough to understand it the first time." he said ice cold, leaning forward, knuckles white from crossing his hands too tightly over the table top.

"You're not allowed to call him that." Morgan stated, his black eyes piercing through the man in front of them.

"With all due respect, that's what you called him earlier, agent Morgan."

"With all due respect, Spencer is MY boyfriend, not yours." Derek bit back.

The lack of hesitation in pronouncing the words 'Spencer is my boyfriend' and how good they sounded coming out of Morgan's lips, along with the way he untangled Reid's hands to take one of them in his, warmly and comfortingly intertwining their fingers to loosen the tension in his phalanges - all of it, made Spencer's heart speed up, and his lungs hitch as he breathed, and his mouth water, realizing now more than ever how much he actually wished all of that could be real.

"Although I bet you wish he was your boyfriend, don't you?" Morgan added, teasing Dawson even more. The man snorted, but his body language was telling them that he was struggling to keep an unbothered attitude.

"Is that why you killed Adrian Clay? Because he was black and probably had a boyfriend, just like agent Morgan here?" Spencer asked.

Derek looked at him with his brows raised, pleased at how well he was keeping up with his game. Though, that sensation managed to ease only partially the slight but sudden feeling of discomfort that hit in his chest, at the news that the councilman that was killed was black AND gay, just like...him? Was he bisexual? The things flashing in Morgan's mind in reaction to the proximity with Reid's body, and that feeling of having his hand melting in his - the feeling that holding Spencer's hand was right - were making Derek doubt even more his already unclear understanding of his own sexual orientation. Doctor Spencer Reid was making him doubt once again his sexual orientation.

Clenching his hands in tight fists, Dawson made an effort to visibly swallow the expectedly offensive comments he bore on the matter - Derek found himself mentally thanking him for that - and shifted his eyes toward the wall at his left, too disgusted by him and Spencer to keep looking at them any longer.

As soon as he did that, Morgan felt Reid's hand slipping out of his, much to his silent disapproval.

"Alright Derek we- we're wasting our time here." Spencer mumbled, turning his back on Derek with his eyes low and placing a palm on the table top, about to stand up from the chair.

Derek had the impression that Spencer's reaction was somewhat genuine, that he really was starting to get triggered by The General's attitude - righteously. But, as selfish as he knew it sounded, he didn't want Reid to leave his side. His hand. Him.

Before he could effectively get up, Morgan wrapped his hand around that spot on Reid's arm, the crook where his forearm met his bicep, a couple inches below his shirt rolled up sleeve; that spot where his exposed skin was sensitive enough that those curling fingers sprung tickling chills everywhere, intense to the point of Spencer freezing in place and turning his head to give Derek worried puppy eyes and sweet, slightly pouty lips that Goddammit can I just KISS them off his face?

"C'mon baby, I just have a few more questions" Derek settled to say, softly, trying to recover from that fucking look of his.

"No seriously, can- can we just g-"

"Hey, hey, hold tight. We haven't even got to the point yet. It'll only take a second and then we don't have to see this son of a bitch's face anymore alright? Promise." Morgan reassured him; pitch black irises staring straight into hazel brown ones.

Spencer sighed and nodded, as Derek loosened the grip. He leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms, annoyed but ready to listen to more of the man's crap.

Dawson snorted. "You must have quite the nerve to come in here and insult me, tell me I'm a racist and a homophobic-"

"Nobody said either of those things, Mr Dawson." Derek tilted his head. "We asked, and you didn't answer. Not verbally anyway. Seems to me that now you are the one saying those words, uh?"

"What do you know about today's events?" Reid cut it short, not even willing to wait for Dawson's reaction at Morgan's insinuation.

"Today's events?"

"You must have heard about the shootings." Derek specified, carelessly leaning on the backrest, and decided it was the moment to do what he had planned on doing since Spencer entered the room.

Reid had his eyes fixated on Dawson, to catch every single twitch of his facial muscles, or minute movement of his body.

Suddenly he felt a hot, broad hand wrapping around his inner thigh. He sincerely hoped the only physical reaction to that were his toes curling up inside his shoes, or at worst how his breath got stuck in his throat for a second, and nothing visible on the outside - because on the inside, he could feel his whole abdomen heat up at a concerning rate.

When the man's hand started stroking back and forth, each time his palm went upwards it seemed to Spencer that it was getting closer and closer to that part of his body he wished so bad Derek wasn't aiming for - at least not in that context. Spencer tightened the grip of his hands bracing his arms, thanking God that shirts were made of cotton and not paper that would start flaking off under the squeezing pressure of sweaty fingers.

He couldn't allow himself to take his eyes off Dawson, especially now that he'd seen Morgan's hand on Reid's thigh and had immediately stiffened up; his temples glimmering with sweat under the neon light.

Dawson gulped nervously and looked away from the whole rubbing of skin on fabric, bringing his gaze back to Morgan's smirking face. "Enlighten me."

"The assistant d.a. prosecuting you for the murder of Adrian Clay was killed." Reid condensed the explanation, realizing that if he wanted to look natural he had to say something. He admittedly did a pretty good job at keeping his voice steady, considering Morgan's hand seemed having no intention to find rest any time soon.

A confused scowl crinkled the convict's face.

"Did you order that hit?" Derek asked. To be fair, both him and Spencer were almost 100% sure by then that the guy had no idea what they were talking about.

"I had nothing to do with it." Dawson asserted without hesitation, his voice deep and unfazed.

By that point, Spencer had relaxed into the other's touch, and he didn't know whether it was supposed to be a good sign or not. He didn't know whether the fact that he melted like jelly under Morgan's hands, even being usually uncomfortable with touching in general, was a good sign because it meant that he felt safe within their friendship and trustful of him; or it was a bad sign because it meant that his body was designed to be touched like that by his colleague and him only. He didn't know whether it was good that if he thought of anyone else - his former crush JJ, for instance - touching him in a way that wasn't finalized to be emotionally comforting, he would picture it as uneasy regardless, be it 30 seconds or 30 minutes long; whereas he was almost certain that that very same kind of touch applied upon his body by Morgan's hands would be in equal parts electrifying and soothing each time, all the time.

He wasn't supposed to try and understand any of it, though. Nobody was asking that of him - Derek wasn't asking and would never ask that of him. There was no need for Spencer to spend hours analyzing how that kind of approach would affect him. Because it was an unrealistic scenario that didn't belong in his future, anyway.

A growing wave of self-consciousness and realism woke Reid up from that thought. All of a sudden he realized he couldn't bear staying there any longer than a couple minutes at best. Hence, he speeded things up.

"You had nothing to do with it?" Spencer's calm voice echoed in the room that had been silent for a while. Dawson didn't repeat himself.

Derek was ready to throw in the towel - he was frustrated that the case wouldn't come to a solution as easy and logical as a white supremacist targeting the assistant d.a. prosecuting him, but on the other hand he couldn't say he hadn't enjoyed spending time touching Spencer without the commitment of having to admit he would've wanted to do it regardless of the interview.

With the corner of his eye he saw Spencer finally untangling his arms and stretching one of them toward him. He didn't have the time to take a mental guess on what he was planning to do, that he felt his feather-like fingers slightly brushing against his nape.

Derek's palm stopped moving on the other's thigh, immobilized, the moment Spencer's cotton-hand spread to cup the back of his neck; a lukewarm and soft sensation growing on the very surface of his skin as well as deep inside his chest - nothing short of a cheesy metaphor, if you will, of how Spencer's touch had the power of rocking up both his emotions AND his body.

When Spencer's thumb started tracing slow circles on the side of his neck, Derek found himself imperceptibly tilting his head back to sink into his touch; trying not to put pressure or, way worse, squeeze the other man's thigh, who might've taken it as a cue that Morgan was enjoying what he was doing. He most certainly was, by the way.

"And that would be, because you're not racist or homophobic anymore?" Spencer ultimately asked.

God, he was smarter than he gave himself credit for when it came to pushing all the bad guys' buttons. And they couldn't even get mad, with that face that he had. At least, Derek knew he could never - best case scenario, he would limit to sprinkling said face with kisse- ahem, what?

"I'm done talking to you." Dawson claimed, having pulled himself together enough to bring back almost entirely that confident attitude he had when Morgan first got in.

"Oh, we are too." Morgan said arching his brows. He stood up on his feet, regretting detaching from Reid's contact immediately after.

"Mr Dawson, I can't tell you how impressed i am with you!" he added dry-wittingly.

Derek leaned forward over the table and grabbed the man's hands in his own, cuffed to the cold, metallic surface. He kept his eyes no more than 7 inches from his, making sure he couldn't escape them.

"So I'd like to shake your hand, and congratulate you for making such a positive change in your life." he said, his voice low and thorough, resonating in The General's ears.

Dawson lost his cool and instinctively tried to snatch his hands away from Morgan's grip, soon realizing it wasn't his grip he couldn't escape, rather the one obliged by the chained handcuffs.

"I'd be really careful." Morgan advised, a stabbing glare in his eyes.

"Because somebody might think you still believe."

Clearly, Derek had long lost any interest in keeping the boyfriend-play going: he looked furious and quite nauseous - and it was his God-given right to feel as such. Nonetheless, that was nothing but the millionth proof that Spencer had no reason to fantasize about their relationship becoming something more, someday.

Morgan stormed out of the room. Reid followed a few seconds after, which he'd spent shooting Dawson one last glance - not nearly as threatening and blood-freezing as his colleague's, but still.

When they got on the other side of the glass, Reid felt all eyes on them - especially on him, for some reason. It was like someone slapped him back into reality.

"Sorry guys, I- I kinda snapped." Morgan finally spoke up, a hand on his hip and the other rubbing his face.

"Don't. It was very much understandable." Blake reassured him, waving a hand and shaking her head.

"Well, what can I say?" Rossi changed the topic. "Great job in there." he added with a hint of smirk, arching a brow and shifting his gaze from Spencer to Derek and viceversa several times.

"Pretty boy here did all the work." Derek's tone was lighter now, as he pointed at pretty boy.

Spencer bit the inside of his cheek, unable to even say a due "thank you" - it would've come off as pathetic in that moment, to say the least.

"It- it was kinda useless, though...he had no idea what we were talking about." he said instead, sighing disappointedly and crossing his arms on his chest.

"He didn't even explicitly confess anything about his past crimes that we brought up. We literally only managed to confirm that he's a racist, homophobic piece of shit." Derek scoffed.

"We didn't need to put up a show for that though, did we?" he concluded, as his previous frustration arose again; seconds before splitting his way through his standing teammates to get out of the room.

They followed him with their eyes, and once the door was closed - slammed, almost - behind him, they got back to looking at Reid, who was frowning deeply.

After a long silence, Rossi nodded his head toward the door, like he was giving him permission to go and talk to Morgan.

Reid sighed and followed Morgan's previous steps, trying to hide how his words and tone from earlier had someway offended him. Judging by his demeanor and his glances in the interrogation room, Spencer could've sworn Derek seemed to have almost enjoyed it - he didn't care that it was probably more of a mocking kind of enjoyment, rather than a genuine 'I enjoyed touching you'. It was still something. And, at the end of the day, Derek Morgan had rubbed a hand on his thigh 2 inches from his groin, for Christ's sake, how dare he keep complaining?

He was startled awake from his paranoia by Hotch's hand, placed on his shoulder the second Spencer had grabbed the door handle.

"I hope I didn't push you too much. I'm sorry if I did."

Spencer shook his head. "Not me. I don't know about Morgan, though."

"Hey" a soft voice awakened Morgan from his thoughts.

He stopped pacing up and down the hallway and raised his eyes from the floor. He truly wasn't expecting Reid to follow him.

"H- hey, kid."

"Everything alright?"

No. Nothing was alright. From how wrong and dirty Dawson's behavior made him feel, to how right he found himself unwillingly thinking the contact with Spencer's body was: NOTHING was alright.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." he answered anyway.

Spencer nodded, unconvinced. And this time it wasn't because of his capability to read his colleague and best friend like an open book, rather simply because Derek didn't know how to hide his discomfort anymore.

Reid made a few steps forward, supposedly to make the conversation more intimate - though nobody was really around, so that left the other a bit confused. Plus, boy was definitely too close now, if it was Derek's to say.

"Look, I- I'm sorry it had to be me, I tried to convince Hotch to do it at my place but- but he said that I was more suited to be-" Spencer almost hiccuped. "...for the role, because I'm younger and-"

"Hey, hey, it's alright, it's not you." Derek interrupted him, placing a hand on his shoulder, seeing that he was starting to get flustered and even guilty on some measure. He also noticed how he avoided the word 'boyfriend'. He wasn't sure what to think of that, though.

"It's him. How he looked at us- at ME. I just- I don't know, I just can't believe some people out there really think it's not normal to be gay or black or both, that's all." Derek paused. "as if one could help it, right?" he snorted.

Spencer raised his eyes from the floor. "Yeah. I get that." he murmured.

Derek chuckled a little as a thought popped into his head, taking his hand off of Spencer's shoulder and shoving it back in his pocket.

"Honestly I don't know if I could've done it with Hotch. He's my superior, it would've been...weird, lemme tell you."

Reid giggled and...blushed a little? At least that's what it seemed. Morgan didn't take it well, though: he thought he'd made him uncomfortable.

"I mean," he swallowed sheepishly. "I mean, I hope I didn't...mess you up. I know you're not comfortable with touching."

Mess him up. That was cute. Derek Morgan had "messed him up" the second he had introduced himself to Spencer on his first day at the BAU. The guy had never known Spencer as not messed up.

"W- what?? No, no absolutely not, it was part of the thing. We- you had to...touch me. Wouldn't have worked otherwise." Spencer replied, furrowing his brows and shaking his head vigorously.

Silence.

"I have to ask you this..." Morgan said, regaining his usual teasing attitude. Reid wasn't sure if he was supposed to be relieved, because it meant the man had relaxed a little; or if he should start worrying about what that attitude would imply. Probably the second.

"Ask what?" Spencer hoped his heart couldn't be heard as loudly from outside as it was inside his ears.

"Was it all...acting?" Derek paused, and Spencer faked a confused expression, because before answering he had to be sure he meant what he thought he meant.

"...cause it looked very natural, if you ask me." Yeah, he did mean what Spencer thought he meant.

Morgan looked around quickly and came even closer. He non-chalantly took Reid's tie in his hands and straightened it - earning a gasp from him - biting his bottom lip like he was really concentrated on the task - which he wasn't. He didn't give a shit if his tie was ok, he was clearly doing it to make Reid's blood pulse out of his veins.

"Was it? Natural?" he repeated, almost murmuring at that point.

Spencer didn't know what to answer: he had stopped the train of thought that would've eventually led to a proper answer to that question when he was in the interrogation room, and he had suddenly realized that Derek would never ask such a thing of him. And there he was: asking it to him.

"I guess, kinda...? I- I'm not sure-" he finally replied, his chin tilted down to follow with his eyes what the man's hands were carefully doing with his tie, taking advantage in the fact that Derek couldn't look at his face in order to do that.

He couldn't stop his mind from drifting to that imaginary place where Morgan's hands would most definitely not stick to adjusting his tie; that place where he was allowed to wonder that if the man was so good at adjusting ties, then what else could those nimble fingers do.

As if that weren't enough already, Derek ran his tongue in between his lips, before speaking up.

"Me neither."

Suddenly, he raised his eyes to look at something that was happening behind Reid's shoulder. He coughed and nodded in that direction, forcing himself to take his hands off Spencer.

Reid turned around and saw it: Hotch, Blake and Rossi were walking their way toward them; luckily chatting instead of looking at Morgan "adjusting his tie" or whatever.

"And did you mind? My hands, I mean." Derek whispered in his ear from behind him, making him wince at how those words flowed smoothly in a hot, steamy wave over his neck.

Spencer didn't turn around, nor look at him with the corner of his eye - which he could've easily done. He concentrated on staring forward at their teammates approaching closer, rather than on the inviting heat radiating from the man only a few inches behind him.

"...n- not- not really..." he muttered, not sure what kind of nerve pushed him to give Morgan even the slightest hint that he could've enjoyed it, instead of denying adamantly.

Another breathy, humid whisper tickled his ear.

"Me neither."

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yangkao · 6 years

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“...my therapist practically broke up with me on our first session.”

Back in September, I mustard up what courage I had left to drive myself to a medical clinic. Which is the one that my family and I go to regularly. I don’t remember much of that day. But It was all a blur to me. To be honest, I had just woke up 20 minutes before my appointment. Actually, I have been sleeping for days on out. So, on this particular day you can just imagine how hot of a mess I was. My hair tangled with frizzes. I was wearing a heavy forest green winter jacket, checkered pajama pants, boots, unmatched socks and I remember underneath my coat was just a camouflage shirt. Also, I haven’t had brush my teeth in days. I mean can you just imagine, the look on my doctor’s face when she came in to her examination room and saw me sitting in the corner chair. Let me just say, her face said it all. She was seriously concerned for my lack of hygiene.

Her and I both.

What I remember most was that there was a lot of crying. I mean, tears and boogers. I wasn’t going to hold back. I thought I was going crazy. Something seriously was wrong with me. I had convinced myself that this had to be true. I had explained to her how miserable I was, though I didn’t know why. I’m sure she couldn’t comprehend half of what I was saying, because I couldn’t. I’m one of those criers that slur words together, excessively hyperventilating, all while trying to talk at the same time. Not my best moments that’s for sure.

After calming myself down, we continued to talking and concluded that I was in fact diagnosed to have Anxiety/depression. Oddly, after hearing that I found myself with so much peace. I was calmer then I have ever been in weeks. Maybe it’s because deep down in my soul, I always knew that I have had depression. I just never had courage to get myself to meet a professional that will give me the proper diagnoses.

For a long time, I just kept telling myself, “it’s no biggie. It will eventually go away on it’s own.” Five years later and three kids along the way, it still hasn’t pass. Instead, It grew and festered creating a pitch dark hole in the center of my soul. There was no ounce of me that cared to live another day. I wanted to end my life so badly. Sadly, I’d convinced myself that my family was better off with out me. I was no good for them, I was a stumbling block to my husband’s ministry. I saw no value in myself, and when hearing my diagnosis that day, something that I needed to hear badly ended up giving me hope.

Why did it give me hope? Because, I wasn’t going crazy. I wasn’t madly insane. This was just not all in my head. I wasn’t just thinking I was overly dramatic. I was battling through ANXIETY and DEPRESSION. This is Something that can be fixed and Something that can be treated. I can now learn to set aside my insecurities of how I think of myself and focus on the heart issue. YIKES, that means I have to talk about my past, this is One thing that I don’t do often. But hey I was willing to go through it only by the guidance of a therapist. And so I made an appointment and got myself a therapist. (Yay, me!) Met with her and 2 minutes into our session, I dreaded it. It was the worst mistake of my life. Why oh, why did I listen to myself? I came home pouting, mad, and I went on a full on rant about it with my husband. For a WHOLE week I didn’t realize then but I was consuming all of my focus on that one mistake of getting a therapist. Oh, but don’t get me wrong. I believe my therapist and I had a mutual understanding that we weren’t good for each other. Because, after our first session she told me, “I’m going to refer you to a much better therapist. One that you and I will agree will better suit your needs.” Yeah, my therapist practically broke up with me on our first session. ANNND, I was ok with that.

I’m sure that at this point you’re wondering, “ what in the world happened in that first session?” Oh, don’t you want to know? Well, sadly that’s for another blog post. Yes, it is worth having its own blog post. Trust me, you don’t want to miss it either.

Furthermore, in the weeks that followed I found myself still angry, raging with uncontrollable spiraling emotions that I can’t find a better word for, but oddly still at peace. My anxiety gave me courage. Something that I don’t have much of. I was finding myself more impatient, more insensitive to my surrounding but yet more sensitive to my way of thinking and feeling. I might not be making sense here but hey your still reading this aren’t ya?” Any how, this new profound me had gone rouge. I mean, I was doing things that I haven’t done in years.They were things that I made a name for myself back in my days. The first time in a long time, when my hand touched all that goodness, I knew nothing was going to stop me now. My mind was racing with thousands of ideas. I mean, I was seriously having munchies if you know what I mean? I was burning through it like back in the days when I used to stay up all night typing away. I was writing again. Though I was never good at it, I was doing something I loved. Blogging. And when I blog, I always have to have a snack and a drink near by. Just incase I needed to refuel. I used to upload my thoughts online here at, kaozong.blogspot.com. If you ever came upon my page and had read the only two posts I had ever wrote on there then you know...I write ( insert smirk and rising of the eye brows).

Completely, went rouge right?

Things were moving along, I was facing my anxiety and depression head on. My husband and I talked about how to go about it. The steps and precautions that we will have to make for the next season to come. Now, not all days were so optimistic. That would just be wishful thinking. I had many days that I was drenched in sweat from waking up panicking due to stress about the “season to come.” I was stressing about our big move in July. I was stressing over about how our life is going to change dramatically when we leave to Southern California. I still have plenty of those bad hygiene days, where I would lock myself up for days just because I was feeling alone or when things from my past starts creeping back into my head once more. To all those sinful thoughts that I lost myself in. You see, I have had many bad days, that put me out like a cigarette being put out. And during those days I feel like what remains of the smoldering tobacco which is nothing but ashes being swept by the wind.

On the 28th of November, this past Tuesday to be exact. I had a standing appointment to go to. That day I was going there to receive consultation about what medication I would need to maintain a good healthy balance of my own emotions. My husband and I along with my doctor have talked long prior to this standing appt. We wanted to be open minded to all the possibilities of improving my state of mind. And this was one of them. Waking up that morning a 7:30am on the dot was not easy. I felt like a prune, shriveled and dried out. My husband and the kids came out to the clinic, waited in the waiting room to support me while I was in the examination room. I remember feeling miserable, mostly emotionally exhausted. And I looked the part too. Trust me on that. I was already having such a hard couple of days. When my doctor came in I can see the look of concern on her face the same concerning look she had for my hygiene. She sat down and slowly explained my condition to me and it seemed like a life time. Slowly, the word, “BIPOLAR” came out of her mouth and I immediately felt my heart dropped. It was so painful to hear. There was no hope in the word. Everything she had said following after that word was soundless to me. I saw her mouth moving but no sound was coming out. She then brought a psychiatrist into the room along with my new likable therapist to consult with me about my new diagnosis. I’m sure that they were explaining to me what bipolar means and how to go about living my life with bipolar. I guess we will never really know. I had already tuned them out.

These last couple of days, has been rough as you may have already predicted. The good thing is that the pills prescribed to me helps subtle my maniacal episodes. The biggest side effect that I’ve notice after taking the pill is that I get exceedingly tired. But, hey enough on that. The days that followed up after my discovery of this new diagnosed has been filled with more support than I can ever imagine. Yes, the first two days were tense for me. I was still apprehensive towards the idea of being bipolar. Still, one thing was for sure to be true is my God wanted me here in the present. I needed to know that he was in me, and not just with me. He showed himself through many of you folks that are reading this. He showed himself through family members and friends with their mighty prayers, heart felt words that made me feel wholeness once more. Lastly, my God blessed me with my wonderful, selfless, thoughtful husband who since day one has been beside me through this season that I am facing. It is a bit of everything everyone says that keeps me breathing. A word that surface in my heart over and over through all of this is the word, “embrace.” And that is exactly what I am going to “try” to do.

[Mania] : excitement manifested by mental and physical hyperactivity, disorganization of behavior, and elevation of mood; specifically: the manic phase of bipolar disorder

I have trembled and trampled through the the last couple of months being frightened, lost, withdrawn, and I was taken over by the lies that I have created in my head. The mind can become such a scary place if you let it, and I did. It starts with letting the flesh to take over. Instead of saying no, I started to say, “ Just this one time.” If you don’t play your cards right then in a flash, it’s game. You lose. Soon enough, my mind plays game with my heart. My heart tries to fight back but ends up confuse.

I don’t know how it came to this point, but I knew I wasn’t going to let it consume me no more. I was going to acknowledge my new mental illness instead by “EMBRACED” all of it. Just like when Jesus embraced the cross by accepting the cup.

“My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.”

Matthew: 26:39

Adam Clarke put it in this way,

“The word cup is frequently used in the Sacred Writings to point out sorrow. anguish, terror, death. It seems to be an allusion to a very ancient method of punishing criminals. A cup of poison was put into their hands, an they were obliged to drink it. Socrates was killed thus, being obliged by the magistrates of Athens to drink a cup of juice of hemlock. To death, by the poisoned cup, there seems an allusion in Hebrews 2:9, Jesus Christ, by the grace of God, tasted death for every man. The whole world are here represented as standing guilty and condemned before the tribunal of God.; into every man’s hand the deadly cup is put, and he is required to drink off the poison-Jesus enters, takes every man’s cup out of his hands, and drinks off the poison, and thus tastes or suffers the death with every man otherwise must undergone.”

I think sometimes in our trouble days, we tend to want to take the short cut. The easy way out. I know I do. I Find myself in those places more often then I think. This world gives us so much access to the things that we believe can benefit us. My medication is one thing that I have to be very careful of. I don’t want to be completely dependent on a substance that only gives me temporary fixing. It’s not going to fix me, but simply it’s more of a bandaid. It covers my cut, so that no bacteria can do more damage to it. what I need is the rubbing alcohol. yeah, it stings. Only for a little bit, though. Instead, it kills off all the bacteria that is already there, and fights off any germs germs that will try to weaken your immune system. We wouldn’t want your immune system shutting down your body. In fact, rubbing alcohol allows a cut to heal properly. Jesus can more often come off like that rubbing alcohol. We just have to believe that the works of the rubbing alcohol is for our own good, our own protection from bacterium that wants to do more harm than good. Jesus, does all things for our good. Believe that.

I trembled once more after reading the quote above. Not because I was frighten or lost. No, instead I trembled in the victorious display He put upon this world. Let’s be honest, “satan you have no days here!”

“…the spirit indeed is willing(vs.39)…”

The Son of God set his mind, readied his heart and displayed courage when he bore all trials. He took upon himself to carry all sins of men and wash us all with his blood. My Jesus, EMBRACED it all. Even through distress, grief- the weight of carrying all our sins he still manages to stretch out his entire body on that cross and died. AND in that death there is VICTORY. His love lavished on us and called us children of God. I can cry out, “ABBA, I belong to you.” Because, though I am scared to my bones of this diagnosis I know you are my all, you are inside of me. And yes, my flesh may fail you a thousand times, I will doubt my faith in trouble days to come before me, but my heart is set on you. My weakness will not make it’s name in my heart, not this time. The lies that speaks in my mind can play tricks to my soul, But, your desire for human companionship speaks louder, the fullness of your human nature, is no less in value than your divine nature. The willingness to walk through the shadows of the valley to get to you, is a thousand “HALLELUJAH’S” in my heart.

Tonight, as I am finishing this up. I am in awe of how powerful our God truly is. In this short time coming, He has and still is working through me in this season. I’m far from being completely healed, but in the process of learning how to be healed. I have to remind myself that even if we all have the same problem, everyone handles it differently from one another. If I need more time to get better then I will have to learn to be still. Yes, it’s going to be hard. I’m sure of it. I pray that this may ring TRUTH in your ears, as well. Through any trials that you may be facing in this season or these couple of seasons. You are heard. Your voice is being lifted to the Most High, and He is threading all his goodness to weave in you the BEST you. Be still and listen. Embrace and get ready to embark the path that he has ingrained before you, my dearest friends.

Thank you, Jesus. that you extended that Grace to me. That you took my place so that I may be set free from the bondage that tries to hold me down.

#embrace #bipolar #setfreefrommybondage

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