1. Clearly, I cannot stop myself from starting new stories.
2. I'm sorry about that.
3. I will keep working on both "Don't Shoot the Piano Player" and "Say the Right Thing," I swear.
4. This one has been in my head for a while and, as stated earlier, I can't stop myself.
Ahem. Anyway, this is angsty mpreg, an AU set in the present day (with some modifications, see intro paragraph of story) in which the BAU team is pretty much as we know it (with Prentiss, JJ, and Rossi) except for Reid, who is fifteen years old and pregnant. Also, Morgan is younger, maybe late twenties. Oh, and Reid's accused of murder.
Warnings: No graphic sex, but there will be references to rape and sexual abuse of a minor. Probably bad language. M/R slash, eventually.
Here we go...
A series of top-secret genetic experiments in the 1930's led to an unforeseen side effect-males capable of becoming pregnant. The mutation was passed on to their sons. Now in the third generation, these unfortunate young men, known derisively as "breeder boys," are often shunned by their own families and regarded as freaks by society.
"So, we still on for tonight? Seven? Sure, that is, unless something comes up at work. But, it's looking pretty good right now, so let's keep our fingers crossed. Yeah. Okay-well, I'll see you later, then. Huh? Oh, yeah, me too. Mm-hmm. All right, sweet thing. Later." Derek Morgan clicked off his phone and chuckled, sounding annoyingly self-satisfied.
Emily Prentiss rolled her eyes.
"Hot date tonight, stud?"
"Now, don't you have anything better to do than eavesdrop on my personal phone calls, Princess?"
"You're sitting right there! And, anyway, since when has your private life been a secret?"
"Aw, it's not, I know how you like to live vicariously through me. And, yes, I do happen to have a hot date tonight, if you must know."
"That cute little barista that just started at the coffee shop down the street."
"Seriously, Morgan? Do people really still call them 'coffee shops?'"
"That's what I call 'em, 'cause that's what they are, even if they do charge five dollars for a cup of coffee."
Prentiss grinned, then cupped her hands in front of her chest. "Hey, is she the one with the big-" Prentiss' inquiry was cut short by Hotch's voice coming over Morgan's intercom.
"Morgan." It wasn't even a question.
Morgan winced, but answered, "Yeah, Hotch."
"My office, asap." The intercom buzzed before falling silent and both Prentiss and Morgan stared at it for a moment. Morgan's face was wracked with dismay, and Prentiss said, "My God, Morgan, cheer up. It could be nothing. You'll probably still be able to make your date tonight."
"I don't think so. Did you hear him? It was his 'You're not going to like this, but I don't care,' voice. No, this is not good."
He gave a doomed sigh and headed up the stairs to Hotch's office.
Prentiss didn't say so, but she had to agree. "Poor little barista-no Morgan lovin' for you tonight," she murmured to herself as she turned back to her computer.
"What's up, Hotch?" Morgan slipped into the unit chief's office and took a chair before the man behind the desk had a chance to turn around. Hotch ignored him for a moment, but then did turn, a file folder in his hand. He tossed it across the desk to Morgan.
Morgan gave him a tired look before picking it up and thumbing through the papers inside. "Two women killed in Palmer County. North of here, right? Both stabbed. The murders took place within twenty miles of each other, three months apart." He raised his eyes. "So?"
"There's been a third."
"Okay. Where's the rest of the team?"
"We're not sure it's a matter for the team. I want you to go up there and do a consultation with the locals to make sure."
"There's a suspect in custody, but he's not talking. I want you to interview him. I think you might be able to get him to open up."
Morgan's face crinkled into a dubious frown. "Well, sure, I'll go, but what's so great about me? Is the guy black?"
"No. Actually, he's a teenage boy. He's a resident at the Emma Sanders Home." Hotch steadily held Morgan's gaze as comprehension came to him. Decades ago, the Emma Sanders Home was known as the Emma Sanders Home for Wayward Girls. It was now simply "The Home" and it was the only facility east of the Mississippi that could accommodate both male and female pregnant teens.
"Aw-no, Hotch, no way. Not me. He's one of those breeder boys-I got nothing in common with him! Why not Prentiss? She-she's been through something similar, she could relate to him better than I ever could."
Hotch took a deep breath and leaned forward. "I do think you have something in common."
"Oh, yeah? What?"
"The man who impregnated the boy was his teacher-a trusted adult. He... raped him. The man's now in jail, fortunately. But, the boy was traumatized and still hasn't recovered." Hotch's voice took on a gentler tone. "I think you, more than anyone, could understand him. And, I think you could gain his trust. "
Morgan dropped his eyes and concentrated on the file. He hated that his boss, as well as the entire team, knew about his past with Carl Buford. He'd really hoped it would never come up again, yet here it was, being thrown in his face as if it were an asset.
Hotch went back to his all-business tone. "From what I understand, I don't think the boy committed the murder, but the locals are eager to look as if they're doing something to halt what's beginning to appear to be a serial killer's spree. They're focusing all their energy on this kid, when the real killer is probably still out there, choosing his next victim. I need you to get the boy to talk-for his own sake, but also for the sake of whoever might be the killer's next target." Hotch paused and gave Morgan a stern stare. "I really think you can help him, as well as get the information needed to clear him."
Morgan shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I guess I can try. But, why do they think he did it?"
"The woman was killed near the river. He was found walking away from the body, his hands covered with her blood. He hasn't answered a single question, or said very much at all since then. But, there was no weapon recovered, nor did he have anything on him. No scratches or wounds, and the victim appears to have put up a fight."
Morgan shook his head slowly. "I really don't want to do this, Hotch."
"I understand. But, it's been less than two months since the last one. He's escalating. Time's running out. I strongly believe you're the best agent to handle this."
The room was completely silent but for Morgan idly flipping through papers in the file folder as he mulled over the assignment. If the kid did have anything to do with the murder, Morgan was confident he could get it out of him. But, if he didn't, Morgan knew he'd need someone on his side, and he knew exactly what it felt like to be falsely accused-on top of being so utterly betrayed by someone he'd trusted. After a long pause, he answered. "All right, fine. I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you. Your flight leaves at seven. The local sheriff will meet you at the airport. I want a report as soon as you've had a chance to speak with the boy."
"Sure. What's his name?"
"Spencer Reid. He's fifteen years old, six months pregnant, and his family's completely abandoned him. And now, he's accused of murder."
Morgan huffed in disgust. "Sounds like the kid can't catch a break."
Hotch handed Morgan his flight information, then shook his hand. "That would be an understatement. Good luck."
Morgan raised a hand in farewell and went to grab his go-bag.
And, to make a regretful call to a certain cute little barista.