Chapter Title: While I Pray for Some Tranquility and Peace Within

Author's Note: And so, alas, we come to the end. I want to thank anyone who showed their support and thoughts to this story! It helps, both with posting, my confidence as a writer, the giddy feeling of accomplishment… All the good, fuzzy stuff! Stay cool and safe out there in the dangerous, infected world, profilers!

Crimescenelover out!

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of anything you might recognize.

The whooshing clicks of the ventilator echoed in the quiet room.

It had been 24 hours since they had been allowed into Reid's room and he had yet to regain consciousness or be taken off the ventilator. The doctors and nurses all assured Morgan that it was to be expected and that all his vitals read fine, even showing signs of improvement. The only improvement he could see was some of the color had returned to Reid's face in the past hours. Otherwise he remained oblivious and still as the ventilator continued forcing air into his depleted lungs. The dark circles were still present, hollowing out his youthful features and Morgan was once again struck by his young age and how often he could overlook it. It was always present, lurking somewhere in his subconscious but Reid constantly attempted to make all of them forget it by drawing attention to his memory and intellect instead. But he had never looked his age as much as he did right now, comatose on the bed.

Thin, white bandages encircled his wrists to cover the bruising and grazes left by the duct tape that had tied him to the chair. The burns that weren't concealed by the dotted hospital gown were left visible to breathe and heal. Aside from all the medical equipment, the ventilator breathing for him, the IVs inserted in his arm as well as on the back of his hand and the oximeter clipped onto his finger, he could have simply been sleeping with his closed eyes and the relaxed posture, that rarely existed when he was awake.

Though he knew the young profiler was no doubt at ease and resting comfortably, Morgan wished he would just wake up. It was a selfish desire; there would no doubt be pain and discomfort when he returned to the land of the living, but Morgan couldn't help the desperate need to know the man he considered his little brother was going to be alright. He settled further into the lounge chair he had pulled up next to the bed, his constant companion the past 24 hours. The rest of his team members had all let him have it, knowing this had hit him harder than it normally would have and that he needed the constant close proximity to Reid.

He flipped the next page of the new magazine Garcia had brought him, reading the articles without digesting anything of what they said. A slight ruffle and small, strangled gasp brought his attention straight back to the genius on the bed.

"Reid?"

He flew out of the chair, magazine falling forgotten to the floor, and leaned closer. Reid' eyes was moving restlessly behind the closed eyelids and his body started twitching agitatedly, while his hands had tightened around the blue blanket. Morgan quickly grabbed the nearest one, his own hands embracing the cold, pale limb, as he searched the sudden distraught expression that had come upon Reid's face. He pushed the nurses' button several times.

"Reid, it's okay. I'm right here, it's okay. I'm here, man," he kept repeating the words over and over, his voice low and soothing.

The frail trashing slowly ceased yet his eyes continued their fidgety movements. Morgan's heart clenched as he felt the thin fingers weakly wrap themselves around his own.

"You're okay. I'm here."

Elated relief soared in his chest, as he saw Reid gradually forcing his eyes open. Tired, hazel irises peeked out from beneath the heavy eyelids. They flickered aimlessly around until they landed on the hovering FBI agent, who couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. His joy increased as he saw clear recognition sparking in those lucid eyes, a far cry from the dazed look he and Hotch had gotten after he had pulled him from the fire.

"There's the genius I know," Morgan remarked happily, though Reid couldn't answer him.

He raised the hand that wasn't buried in Morgan's tight grip, apparently intent on removing the breathing tube in his throat. It barely lifted from the mattress before it collapsed back down, too weak to do much else, as his energy was already dissipating rapidly. Distress ignited in his widened eyes. The heart monitor's beeping spiked as his heart began to race and his clumsy, right hand flailed helplessly at his side.

"Reid, it's okay, it's there to help you breathe, relax," Morgan calmly said, tightening his hold on Reid's left hand, maintaining eye contact the whole time. "Look at me. It's okay."

Spencer visibly relaxed, though his urgent discomfort was still abundantly clear, his gaze never leaving Morgan's, even as nurses and doctors entered his room. One doctor immediately went to his bedside opposite of Morgan, clicked a couple of buttons on the ventilator and carefully examined the readouts. He turned to the ailing patient, choking and sputtering around the breathing tube.

"Dr. Reid, I'm going to remove the tube from your throat, but you need to relax. Can you do that for me?" he calmly and professionally stated, waiting until his patient gave a faint nod - the most he could manage.

Morgan had to release his friend as he was forced to step back and allow the medical staff to work. He watched as they pulled the breathing tube from Reid's throat, the profiler hacking and choking as the long tube was removed. Morgan cleared his throat uncomfortably at the sight. The doctor made several more tests and procedures until he finally fitted Reid with a nasal cannula to provide extra oxygen and gestured to the oxygen tank and attached mask by the bed in case it became too difficult for him to breathe.

The staff milled out of the room, one by one and Morgan was eventually allowed back onto his chair next to the hospital bed. He eased himself back into it as Reid followed his movements lazily.

Morgan regarded him with cautious hopefulness. "How you're feeling, kid?"

"Tired," came the croaked response. His timid voice was raw and barely audible. He winced as his abused throat pulled painfully.

Morgan quickly handed him a cup of water and a straw, holding the cup steady as Reid's hands shook with the strain. He leaned back into his pillows when he was done with a deep, weary sigh.

"Where's the others?" he asked after a few beats of silence, his voice already a little stronger and steadier.

"Hotch is finishing up with the police, while the others are back at the hotel, packing. Don't worry, Pretty Boy, you won't escape their cuddles for long," Morgan answered with a smirk. He knew how much Reid hated being the center of attention, especially if he was hurt. "Garcia is probably raiding the gift shop as we speak."

Morgan knew Reid viewed concern as being babied and the younger man predictably rolled his eyes at the statement.

He attempted to settle into a comfortable position, wincing as he turned and twisted, eventually ending up in the exact position he had started in. His eyes zoned out as he became lost in his own thoughts. Morgan suspected it wasn't only physical unease that troubled the young profiler. He certainly could relate to that.

"Ashes and dust…" the words came so suddenly and were so quiet, Morgan almost missed them. He frowned at Reid, who was staring sightlessly ahead.

"What?"

It seemed to pull Reid out of his reverie, and he looked almost shocked that he had said it out loud. He tried to cover it up with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders and small shake of his head. "It's nothing. Forget it."

"Come on, man. I've stayed in this uncomfortable chair for days, the least you can do is talk to me," Morgan gently coaxed.

With nothing else to do, Reid fiddled nervously with the threads of his blanket as he contemplated his options. In the end, he seemed to comprehend he couldn't get out of it. Morgan looked at him expectedly.

"It was the last thing Jeffrey Michaels said before he stepped into the fire: ashes and dust. I think he finally realized that he could never regain control."

Morgan breathed a heavy sigh. "Michaels felt he had lost control when he kidnapped you. We pushed him into the decision and with you, he probably saw an opportunity for people finally to see him as he was; for him to go out exactly the way he imagined it."

"I just wish he hadn't dragged me into his delusions," Reid muttered as he grimaced in pain.

Morgan puffed a short involuntary laugh at the small jest. But the corners of his mouth quickly turned downwards again as his thoughts raced. Yeah, me too…

He was too caught up on those guilt-ridden reflections that he didn't notice Reid searching his features at the response, quickly picking up on his musings.

"I never got to thank you for saving me," the young genius stated then, a grateful smile stretching at his lips.

Morgan looked up then, surprised. He didn't think Reid would be able to recall the events of his rescue, given he had hardly appeared lucid in the few minutes he had been conscious. "You remember that?"

"No," Reid confessed, some of his quirky confidence returning to his eyes. "But your voice is hoarser, and you have a small burn on your upper arm that looks like mine, and I didn't think you would've been near any other fires recently. And you're the type to run into burning buildings."

Morgan couldn't help the grin that appeared on his face or the gentle, deep laugh that erupted from his throat at the small deduction that was so Reid-like in its perception and presentation it instantly relaxed his mind that had been running on overdrive the last 72 hours.

"Okay, Mr. Smarty-pants. You're welcome."

The normality and the easiness that flooded into the conversation as their usual banter had returned so quickly, served to immediately wash away the gnawing survivor's guilt that had buried itself into the pit of his stomach. He had meant it, what he said to Hotch. That he knew blaming himself for what happened wouldn't help anyone, but that deep cutting feeling was difficult to get away from, no matter how much logic you threw at it. It was only now that it seemed to vanish; that it truly disappeared. Apparently, Spencer-Reid-logic was the only logic capable of breaking through that otherwise unbreakable wall. And Morgan wouldn't have it any other way.

A comfortable silence stretched on between the two FBI agents, both slowly coming to terms with what had happened out there.

Then Reid's small voice gingerly broke it.

"Do you think they have any Jell-O here?"

"You must learn to let go. Release the stress. You were never in control anyway." – Steve Maraboli

The End