Front Lines| Spencer Reid + Anne Grey

thirty

"Grey!" Derek Morgan loudly says, jogging toward a familiar agent.

She didn't look all that great. She was sat on the ground with one leg bent in, hunching over to the point where her head was resting on her right knee as she gave shallow, pained breaths.

Derek had known damn well that she would be hurt, but he didn't expect something so bad. Even Anne wouldn't normally downplay something like this.

"Morgan, hey," she greets, trying to sound how she normally would when saying hello, but failing. Her ribs had only started to hurt more since the car had crashed, and it impaired her speech a fair amount.

"Medics are here," Derek says, "They'll be over in just a second."

Grey instantly shakes her head, unraveling from the position she was in and reaching out her left hand. Normally, she would use her right, but even that would send a shock through her ribcage. "No, I can walk to them, just give me a hand."

He narrows his eyes, obviously not wanting her to move. "Grey-"

"Be a goddamn gentleman and give me a hand," she orders, only halfway joking. When he finally grabs her hand and helps her to her feet, she mutters, "Thank you." She couldn't help but wince when she stood, though, furthering Morgan's concern.

"What do you think you hurt?" he asks.

She adjusts her shoulder, biting down on her tongue. Starting to use Derek's left arm to support herself as they walk, she answers, "I'd say whiplash and some bruised ribs. Nothing bad." She had just started to notice a pain in her left ankle when she walked, but she ignores it.

"You said you were fine," he responds, looking her up and down for any additional injuries as they went along.

The fire department had arrived, as well, and they were in the process of extinguishing the flame in the completely totaled car. The woman that had helped Anne out, Leslie, had seemed to disappear altogether. 

"And I am," Grey ensures, struggling to keep her composure. The adrenaline had worn off and her ribs were absolutely throbbing. The last time something hurt this badly must have been when she was shot for the first time, and her pelvis had cracked. Bleeding wounds were fine by her, but fractures were a different story. "Pissed off, but fine."

Derek furrows his eyebrows. "What the hell happened?" he asks, assisting Grey as they started to walk toward the ambulance. She had given an almost incoherent explanation on the phone, and he still hadn't quite started to grasp what had occured.

"That wasn't Charlie. That was Lawrence's fucking cellmate. He offered him ten thousand fucking dollars to pull that bullshit and kill me." She holds eye contact with Morgan, clearly seething, but also somewhat confused. "I don't even know the half of it and it's already fucking insane."

Derek looks at her with disbelief. That was almost unheard of. "You're kidding."

"Believe me, I fucking wish I was," she responds through grit teeth. "If I could so much as fucking walk I'd already be down there trying to fucking crucify him."

And protect Spencer, she thought.

Still shocked, Derek assures, "Listen, I'm for that just as much as you are, but chill out just a little. You're tensing up." He didn't want her to further strain or injure herself, as unimportant as she was making her wounds seem. He could also sense that she was close to going into an episode, judging by her constant swearing.

"Yeah, I'm just a little angry, Morgan," she snaps, exhaling sharply and regretting it immediately after.

Giving her the same attitude, he returns, "I understand that, but it's over for now, until you get treated. So lower your blood pressure and try to calm it down." He knew that she wouldn't even consider listening if he was nice about it.