Reid and Reid Ship Oneshots

Tobias Hankel Trauma And A Bar

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Reid was seated at the counter stools of a quiet, warm bar on a noisy corner street in Chicago. He had just finished a case that he had to be bait in to catch the unsub. It dug up some unfavorable memories that would most likely be forever fresh in his mind.

He ordered the only drink name he knew, a surprise considering he had read a mixology book a few years ago. It was the cliché whiskey in a short, stocky glass. Reid did appreciate the cool ice shape that bounced in the center though. He didn't even ask for it and the bartender gave it to him anyway. Maybe it was an apology for arguing with him over whether his ID was fake.
The bartender had asked for it when he walked in and sat down, and Reid was in no way irritated by that as he knew it was standard practice. He handed him his FBI credentials, and they didn't think it was real. His birthday was on the side, and it was signed in authenticity. His photo was up to date and the symbols were patriotic and vintage. Nothing about his credentials seemed to say not real.

But it was behind them now, and Reid accepted the apology. Plus, he came here to think about something else.
Reid looked down from the colorful bottles lining the wall behind the bar counter, and to his own glass. He had a hand around his drink and his other one laid beside it.
He smiled at the sparkle the ice made while it was covered in a film of whiskey, but his eyes were torn away from it when he caught the edges of faint bruising on his wrists. The marks were a light purple, obviously a long way through the healing process, but still visible. Reid moved his unused hand to cover the wrist of the one that held his drink. Now he felt like everyone's eyes were on him. He coiled in on himself, trying to disappear into nothingness, like the paradox Ouroboros. Would the snake double in size or vanish into thin air? Would Reid stand out more or disappear?

On the verge of some sort of panic episode, he heard someone sit on the stool next to him. Reid startled, and reached for his gun out of reflex. He turned his head to the person beside him, hand about to pull his weapon out of his holster. He recognized the man at the same time he felt a hand on his wrist to stop him from open firing.

"It's just me." He warned, a soft smile on his face as he drew his hand back. He flagged the bartender and ordered a martini.

"What are you doing here, Morgan?" Reid asked, taking a sip from his glass, suppressing his cringe as he despised the taste.

"I called you." Morgan glanced at Reid, checking for a reaction, continuing when he didn't find one. "Three times." He urged.

"My phone was off." Reid answered simply, not at all amused by this conversation or Morgan's general presence. He avoided eye contact like his life depended on it.

Once Morgan got his drink, Reid noticed that he didn't have to go through the trouble of having his ID checked. He was annoyed by that.

"You had me worried." Morgan chuckled, "I even asked Garcia to ping your cells last location."

"Did you think I was kidnapped?" Reid asked, the word 'again' dancing around the back of his throat.

"It was a thought." Morgan tilted his head. "I brought SWAT here until I noticed you were just drinking by yourself."

Reid turned to Morgan swiftly, an embarrassed expression on his face.
"Oh, I'm sorry." He cringed, "I shouldn't have turned my phone off. I'm sorry I caused so much trouble."

"It's alright." Morgan smiled, "I was just kidding anyway." He brought his martini glass up to his lips and took a dainty sip as if he was waiting to hear Reid's angry rant.

But it never came.

He simply dropped his embarrassed expression and turned back to look down at his drink. He did seem upset, but he didn't express it.

Morgan felt bad now.

"So, what's bugging you?" He asked.

"What do you mean?" Reid replied, clueless, "Nothing's wrong." He took another nasty drink from his glass, getting better at concealing the cringe.

"Come on. You know I'm smarter than that." Morgan teased, not getting a reaction out of Reid like he wanted.

"I know." He said after a while, a small, somewhat sad, smile on his thin lips.

Morgan tried to put his arm around his shoulders as a symbol of their quick progress, but Reid still wasn't having it.

"Why are you here?" He shooed his arm away.

"Reid." Morgan looked disappointed that Reid couldn't think he was just worried about him. "You never drink. Let alone by yourself."

Morgan made a good point. Reid's behavior was the most obvious thing he could give away.
Knowing he had been defeated, he turned around to Morgan to make eye contact with him. He abandoned his drink on the counter, and held out his hands for Morgan to examine.
He took the hint and looked down. He read over Reid's pale, perfect skin that was abruptly broken by the old bruises on his wrists.

"Tobias Hankel?" He asked.

Reid nodded, finding the familiar feeling of eyes on him much more bearable now that he was next to someone.

"I know it's already been three weeks, and that's much more time then anyone else on the team has needed to overcome trauma, but-" Reid ranted, being cut off by Morgan placing his hands on his back. He rubbed two circle into him and sighed, readying to speak.

"There is no statistics that can tell you how long you're allowed to heal." He assured.

"I have always had easily bruised skin." Reid chuckled, it fading quickly as a realization hit him. "I'm never going to forget about that until the bruises go away."

"And you probably won't even forget about it then." Morgan smiled pathetically, "But it might get easier."

"You can't tell me how to feel." Reid stated sternly.

"I'm just speaking from experience." Morgan defended, pulling Reid's head to lay on his shoulder.

He was reluctant at first, but let it happen. He stayed still as small tears dropped out of his eyes. They stuck to his eyelashes and made them weigh down his eyes lids. He doesn't know when he fell asleep, but it was the most restful shuteye he'd gotten in a while.