Author's Note: Well, guys, . . . this is it. The big three-oh. I never actually thought that this shebang would make it pasta few thousand words of ridiculousness, but because of each and every one of your follows, favorites, reviews, comments, critiques, and idea, this has become an AU bigger than I ever would've imagined, and something very special in the place where my heart is supposed to be. We all did this together, and I so very much appreciate all of the time that went into . . . well, "Time."

I'm gonna miss my babies . . . *Sighs*

On a slightly less mopey note, I've got another story in the works - more "Revelations" oneshots, what can I say? And after that, well . . . I've got a slash-fic starring Morgan and Reid in mind; not a happy one, for once . . . lots of drama, and crying, . . . maybe even a blimp . .. Hmmph.

Well, that'll happen when it happens - hopefully, soon. I need to think about something besides season ten of Criminal Minds and the upcoming re-release of season five for Heroes; they're just making me want to write more Peter and Reid, and I don't have the emotional wherewithal to do that right now

Sorry for the long Author's Note; I'm just trying to stall the inevitable. But there's no denying that which is already done. Here we go, guys.

Warnings: This story is rated T for drug use, violence, language, and adult thinking. Spoilers for seasons 1 – 2 of Heroes. Spoilers for seasons 1 – 2 of Criminal Minds.

Disclaimer: Put it this way; the recipe is mine, but the ingredients and tools were borrowed from some kindly neighbor.

I'm not going to ask for reviews, because I can't guarantee I'll answer them all. But any thoughts are always appreciated, if not required.

Do enjoy!

Chapter Thirty: Coda

Three days.

It had been three long – horrendously long – boring – terribly boring – and exasperating – awfully exasperating – days for Spencer Reid at the disgustingly-named Odessa's Heart Hospital.

Normally a very kind and patient man, the endless stream of goodwill the genius often had to share was completely and totally run dry; that had happened after about Day Two, when he had been thoroughly poked and prodded already, and the staff informed him that they needed to keep him there one more night for observation.

Observation of what? He was fine; covered with an artillery of small wounds and superficial bruising, but alive and coherent and perfectly fine nonetheless, damn it!

Not that Reid would ever curse and say something so rude, especially to a hospital staff that was just trying to o their job. His mother had raised him better than that.

But it didn't mean he couldn't still think those things – which, of course, Peter was always too happy to point out when he was. The other man knew him so well, and yet it never seemed to fail to shock him when Reid wasn't always the innocent and naïve little child that the world seemed to take him for.

At least he cheered Spencer up; the raven-haired man hadn't left his side for more than a few minutes at a time since Reid had gotten into this awful place. Not even seconds after Hotch had finished the standard cognitive interview, Peter had lollopped into the room with two foam cups and a small smile on his face – a strained one, of course, but a smile no matter. He had been the one to discourage Spencer from taking any narcotic pain relievers, instead asking the nurse for some ice and a heat-pad. He had made sure everything was quiet at night when Reid wanted to go to sleep, and stayed there with him when the nightmares started to get too bad.

He had been there every step of the way, always with a cup of water or tea or some aspirin or kind words or that signature crooked smile of his. And though he was getting too cranky to admit it, Reid was grateful for every bit of the support.

He just really hated the hospital.

But the day had finally come to leave. Peter had snuck him in some Jell-O earlier in the morning, and he and Spencer had finally had a discussion on what their plans were following getting the Hell out of Odessa. Peter didn't want to leave the genius's side for a second; Reid, while grateful, also really needed some time to himself.

In the end, they had come to an agreement; Peter would be staying with Spencer in his apartment – there had been no budging the man on that one. However, on the weekends, he would go to his family in New York, and leave Reid on his own for a few days at a time.

"You need to see your mom and brother, Peter. They don't know about everything that's happened to you in the past few months."

'They know more than you did, and it still wasn't a good reaction, Spence."

"Just try, Pete. Please."

So he had said he would. And Reid would make sure that that promise was kept – just as soon as he got out of here.

Where is Morgan?

Though he fully admitted that he would rather have Peter walk him out the door on this fine day – or wheel him, damn that hospital policy – he and his friend had talked about it the previous night, and both had agreed that, since Morgan was still itching to have his unadulterated, overly-personal big-brother talk with Reid about Peter, that it would be best to get it out of the way and let the man have his moment.

"I'll still fly with you and stay a your place, Spence – but the dude's gotta let it out, and this might be best."

"I want you as part of my life, Peter. Nothing Morgan says is going to change that."

"Well, let him say his piece to keep the peace, no?"

No, indeed.

Reid sighed, aware that he had been waiting for more than half an hour since the time that Derek had said he would be there. Which should mean that . . .

"Hey, Reid."

He looked up. "Hey, Morgan."

The older man looked calm, if more than a little uncomfortable. He stood in the entryway to the hospital room, arms crossed and a wary look on his face as he took in the appearance of his teammate.

It was a struggle for Reid not to roll his eyes at this, but, not wanting to cause any waves – especially not on today, of all days – he managed to hold it back. There was a beat of awkward silence, and then Morgan spoke at last.

"Ready to get out of here?"

Reid tried to laugh. "I've been ready since I was checked in."

That comment actually wrangled him a smile, and Derek looked much more at ease as he walked over to the wheelchair where the younger man was sitting, and gripped the handles firmly. "Feel like doing some wheelies on the way down?"

"Don't you dare," Reid hissed as they exited the room at last and began the arduous journey down to the waiting room. He could hear Morgan chuckle again behind him, and settled back comfortably in the chair.

Maybe this doesn't have to be so bad.

There was a small sigh eminating from his back, and then, "Reid, . . ."

Maybe not.

It took all of Spencer's little remaining patience to keep his voice steady as he answered. "Yes?"

Morgan held off for a moment, steeling himself. "Reid . . . I'm not even going to pretend that I know everything that happened to you when you were with . . . when you were gone. I know there's no real way that I an actually . . . can actually understand."

No, you have no idea how really much you couldn't, Reid thought rather sadly.

When giving his interview and report to Hotch, Reid had admitted many things; that Sylar was looking for information on the case and more people to kill, that he had been attacked and thrown through a window in a loss of control, that he had been drugged in addition to his torture . . .

All true things, technically. But Reid had quietly neglected to mention Peter's involvement in anything, the fact that the team was surrounded by superhumans who could easily destroy them all, and that, more than anything, he actually meant it when he said he was fine this time.

And he was – or rather, would be. Thanks to Peter's kind words, constant presence, and healing blood, Reid had made nearly a full recovery physically. Emotionally, he knew he would need some time.

But he had plenty of that – thanks to Peter.

His thoughts were interrupted when Morgan finally continued speaking again.

"What I do know, Reid, is that I want to be there to help you through this. All of this – and the team does, too."

"I know that," the younger man whispered.

Morgan took in a breath. "You don't . . . so you don't need to keep Petrelli around, Reid. We're all ready to help, and willing . . . you don't have to keep around someone that hurt you."

In his chair, Reid tensed as they approached the elevator. "Morgan, it's not an issue of need – and I know I have all of you guys. I do. But Pete is someone I want to keep around. He's family, too."

Morgan tried not let his frustration show. "How can you say that after everything he's put you through, Reid? How can you still look him in the eye?"

"He made a mistake, Morgan," Reid said slowly, firmly. "Everyone's been known to, on occasion. And the point is not in what happened then, but what is happening now."

"What's happening now is that you're setting yourself up for a lot of heartache," Morgan mumbled as he pushed the down-button on the elevator. Angrily, as they waited, another muted mutter found it's way out. "I don't like that kid."

And, finally, Reid had had enough.

"Except that I do."

Morgan sighed. "Kid – "

"No, Morgan." Reid interrupted his friend, surprising both of them with the edge in his voice.

"Of everything you've said so far, only one thing remains valid; no, you don't know what I went through, and, no, you can't understand."

Morgan angrily retaliated, "Like Petrelli does?!"

Yes, exactly. "He knows what I've told him, Morgan."

"Which is apparently more than the rest of us!"

"Damn it!" Reid's pale fist slammed into the arm of his chair, causing both of them to jump as the elevator doors slid open. Luckily, no one was inside, and Derek hurried the both of them past, and waited until the doors whispered shut again. He opened his mouth to speak, but Reid beat him to it.

"Morgan, don't think for a second that this is about you – or the team. Or anyone other than myself and Peter." Reid paused, taking in a huge breath and mentally preparing himself before continuing. "Yes, I've talked to him more. Yes, I trust him more. We have a history, and I care about Peter like the brother I never had – except, I did have him. I know he hurt me – and I've hurt him right back. That's how most human relationships work; people love, they care, they make mistakes, they fight, they forgive, and then they love some more. And I do love Peter; he's my family. My only family left, on some days."

Morgan sighed, all of his pent-up frustration slowly draining away with those words. "Kid, we talked about this before; you've always got the team."

"And I'm always grateful for that," Reid said slowly. "But the same way I can't just give you guys up for Peter, I can't give him up for you. I want everyone – I need everyone – with me right now. I don't – I d-don't know how I'm going to get back to relative normalcy without you guys."

"Reid . . . you've got me."

"I've got Peter, too, Morgan. Him and everyone, or him and no one – but always him."

And in that moment, hearing the way Reid's husky voice shook from the effort not let everything get to him and break down crying, Morgan knew that what he said wasn't going to make a difference.

Sure, the kid had been hurt – but wasn't it funny how a tragedy or life-threatening experience could put things into perspective like no other?

Maybe Reid wouldn't abandon ship if his friends couldn't get along. But he would keep this Peter shackled to him at all times, even to the trepidation of his BAU pseudo-family.

At this point, it didn't matter that Morgan still wanted to slug the bastard for putting Reid through even more heartache than the kid already had had to deal with in his lifetime; Reid wanted Petrelli to stay, and apparently, stay he would.

Morgan realized he still hadn't answered the genius. "You have all of us."

The sound his voice carried was one of resignation, of disappointment . . . but, below that, there was the ever-pulsing beat of love, saying I still think he could try to break you, but I'll be here to pick up the pieces anyway. Reid let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

"Thank you," he whispered softly, his voice sounding louder in the empty elevator. Morgan nodded, swallowing back more words that he knew would only cause problems. "Anytime, kid." He squeezed Reid's shoulder significantly. "I mean that."

Reid nodded. "I know." He leaned slightly into Morgan's touch. "I appreciate it, Morgan. Always."

For a moment, they allowed the comfortable silence to stretch between them, both thinking, and then Morgan turned to his younger companion.

"So, I gotta ask . . . who's sleeping on the couch?"

. . .

In the lobby of the hospital, just by the revolving doors, two equally tall, equally pale men stood side by side, their equally stunning black hairs both parted, and matching – equal – scowls adorning their faces as they waited for their mutual – equal – friend to step out those doors.

Hotch had been staring at the elevator every time the 'down' arrow lit up, as though waiting for it to tell him that his two fellow profilers were on the way. His eyes darkened a little more each time someone else stepped off instead.

Peter, meanwhile, had been using his telekinesis to trace Reid as the genius moved around on the floors above them. It was only when he at last sensed Spencer moving into the elevator that he turned to say his piece to the older man, knowing that it would be short.

"Agent Hotchner," he started off, trying to channel his older brother Nathan and sound resolute. The Unit Chief turned to him, one eyebrow raised.

Peter didn't have to be able to read his thoughts to know exactly what was going through the other man's mind.

"I know that you don't like me; under the circumstances under which we met, I would be more than a little distanced, myself." Noting the fact that the older man had done nothing to disagree with him thusfar, Peter continued, braced with his resolve.

"But I don't care; the only one here who is of any concern to me is Spencer. Regardless of what you guys – Agent Morgan or anyone else – think of me, I love that kid, and I'm going to do anything he needs. Right now, he needs me here, so I'm going to stay – even if there's going to be silent treatment and little glares for the duration."

Hotch gave him just one of those very glares, but Peter was undeterred.

"So what I wanted to say was this; while I can't be bothered by how little you guys care for me, Spencer is. Maybe we don't have to be all buddy-buddy, and maybe we're both planning a secret agenda of how to get the other guy to stop breathing n his sleep – I don't know. More to the point, I don't care. The only thing I'm concerned with is my best friend, and that, when he steps out of the elevator in a moment, he doesn't need to be more tense then we already know he's going to be. Agreed?"

Peter stuck out his hand, and watched the old profiler think over his words, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills.

If you push him into wanting to use again, I swear to God . . .

He could have read Aaron's thoughts, but his mind was still focused on a certain genius making his way downstairs – and besides, he already had an idea what the man was thinking. It was evident in his twisting, turning face, a scowl still embroidering the handsome features.

After a few long moments, Aaron nodded slightly. "Reid's an adult, and I trust him to make his own decisions, insofar as his private life is concerned."

"I'm not here to make his choices for him," Peter said slowly, knowing that even though neither of them had said it, they were both thinking the same thing. "I'm here to help him make the right ones. Spencer's mistakes are his own, and I know that. I'm just hoping that he'll make a few less . . . rash . . . decisions with all of us around him."

It was the all of us that finally got to Hotchner. "We have an understanding, then," he said softly, but with no less ardor than in his usual office voice. Peter nodded.

"Agreed. You leave me alone, I leave you alone, none of us leave Spence alone."

Hotch dipped his head, and finally reached out a hand to grasp Peter's and shake firmly. "Fine."

No sooner had they dropped hands than a slight ding of the elevators signaled that their company had finally arrived. Instantly protective, Peter strode over to Spencer's chair, and made to grab for the handles.

For just a moment, he thought that Morgan was going to give him trouble, but one glance to the Unit Chief's face had the black agent backing off.

They made a sort of motley crew, heading out to one of the standard-issue black SUV's that the FBI always got for them, but Peter didn't take any time to appreciate any of the strange looks they were undoubtedly getting. All of his attention was immediately focused on Reid, and the way the young man was tensing beneath his hands – the instant set of his spine and shoulders, the quickening of his breath, the drain of color from his face.

Knowing instantly what was going through the genius's mind, Peter leaned down and spoke softly into Reid's ears.

"He's gone, Spence. Forever. The Bishops came and claimed him yesterday, and trust me, in that facility, Sylar's never escaping once he arrives. I promise."

It took a moment, as though Reid were turning over the thought that he was, totally and completely, safe bounce around in his head for a while. Finally, though, the young profiler let all tension leave his body, and he relaxed against Peter's grip.

Though they said nothing, this exchange did not go unnoticed by either Morgan or Hotch, and they turned to each other, saying nothing but still managing to convey an eon of conversation.

Peter ignored the two of them, and instead put all of his effort into steering a now-calm Spencer towards their ride, and then to getting him inside. Hotch, by some unspoken agreement, grabbed the keys and slid into the driver's seat, Morgan taking the passenger's.

Not that Peter minded – he easily scrambled into the backseat next to his friend, and the two buckled in as Hotch started the engine and began to pull out of the parking lot.

"Where are we going now?" Spencer whispered, his voice low and eyes drooping slightly from evident exhaustion.

Peter leaned over, and took one of those pale, smooth hands in his own paler, smoother palm.

"We're going home, Spence."

Home. The word echoed in Reid's mind for a moment before he smiled, leaning his head unabashedly on Peter's shoulder and preparing to drift off to sleep.

Sounds good to me.

Beside him, Peter chuckled softly, and also made for a quick nap.

Me too, Spence.

Me, too.

*******END*******

Author's Endnote: One final thing, guys . . . I love y'all, in some weird and inappropriate way. See you A-S-A-P. *Smiles, waves goodbye, turns computer off*