Note: My first Criminal Minds fic! Not inspired by Star Wars, believe it or not.
Beta-readers: Bardicfaerie.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warning: This fic will contain graphic slash, as well as mentions of het and femslash. Don't read if any of these offend you.
Lexicon:
P-rep(s) = police representative(s)
M-rep(s) = medical representative(s)
dec(s) = day(s) ((originally capital-ized as DEC(s) for Day Equivalent Counter, people started just reading it as a word so it's now lower-cap))
mec(s) = month(s)
Wordcount: 102,747 words (without my comments).
Chapter summary: Morgan gets custommers.

Chapter 01

Derek Morgan had always considered himself a fairly observant individual, and a good judge of character. And this particular character sitting across the table from him and Rossi was oily. He didn't know how else to describe him, like somehow the man, introduced only as Henry, tried a little too hard to portray an air of respectability, and fell short. By a few light-years. For one, he wore too much white. Morgan didn't trust people who wore too much white. It was as if they were trying too hard to look irreproachable, as if somehow dressing in purity would make people believe that they, themselves, were without defect as well. That or they were too important to do any work that might bring a single speck of dust in contact with their clothes. Either way, grade A douche-bags.

Then there was the way Sir Creep looked at them. As if he were some kind of god-damn aristocrat staring down at subjects he'd love nothing more than to send to the gallows. If it weren't for the fact that David Rossi had brought Sir Oily to him, Morgan would have just up and walked away. His eyes went back and forth from one to the other as he set his glass of ale down on the rickety table. "How much?" he asked, because if Rossi had brought such a fishy customer a-knocking, then chances were that the pay-off would be good. Very. Good.

"Forty grand after my cut," Rossi said, and Morgan knew that was exactly what he would see after the deal. He'd been doing business with him for over a decade, and Rossi had never gone back on his word or changed the terms of an agreement. He glanced at his on-and off partner again before returning his gaze to his would-be customer.

"Cargo?" was his next question.

"Passengers," Henry answered, and that earned him a disbelieving look.

"Passengers," Morgan repeated, certain that he had heard that wrong. "Forty Gs for passengers? I don't deal in human trafficking."

Henry smiled. A slimy smile. The slimiest smile Morgan had ever seen, and he had dealt with a lot of unsavoury characters. "Nothing illegal," Henry assured him. "We just need to get from point A – that would be here – to point B."

"So take a taxi," Morgan said, feeling like he should be offended that Mister Slimy felt he had to specify with such contempt where point A was. As if this Henry guy thought him too dull-witted to make that out on his own. He sure looked as though that's what he thought of Morgan.

"A taxi would take years," the pale man replied. "I hear you have the fastest ride this side of physics, and it is quite the emergency."

Morgan eyed him. "I'm guessing you're going pretty far, then?"

Henry nodded. "I need you to take me and another passenger to Bennington, and back by the new school term."

Morgan had to think a minute to remember when school terms usually began, then how far the Bennington medical settlement was, and his eyebrows went up high on his forehead. "You serious?" That got him another nod. "Bennington and back in sixty decs?! Even ambulances would take eighty, and no civilian's allowed to go that fast, man."

"Oh, I'm well aware of the limitations imposed on us by, well," Mister Slimy shrugged eloquently. "Which is why I desperately need your help, my friend." Morgan nearly walked out on him, just for calling him that. "I hear you have the fastest ship anyone has ever seen, and I need it."

Morgan threw Rossi another look. He was certain the man wouldn't sell him to the P-reps. Well, fairly certain, anyway. "How many passengers?" he wanted to know.

"Just two. I'm escorting a young man to his mother's side, you see. She was taken to Bennington yesterday after a most dreadful episode. If we go through the," Henry looked around conspiratorially, making himself look even more suspicious than he already was, "ah, usual ferries, it could be years before he could see his mother again."

"I see," Morgan said, trying not to grimace, "so you're a humanitarian, then, huh."

Henry leaned back in his chair. "No, nothing like that. Professor Reid is a colleague of mine. Her mental state has been deteriorating steadily, but I would have never imagined..." He shook his head in a manner seemed like he meant to be sad.

Morgan ran his tongue over his lips thoughtfully, then tapped them with the tip of his index finger. "Well," he finally said, "Rossi's an old friend and he brought you here. That's a good enough insurance in my book. We'll meet at 0100 at the Red Lounge where you can arrange payments. All money goes through Rossi, and I don't take you to Her," there was a strong capitalization in the way he spoke of his ship, "until I'm absolutely certain you got no trick up your sleeves."

"Agreed," Henry said and didn't offer his hand, but simply stood and walked out.

Morgan turned to Rossi. "You sure about him?"

David gave him an unamused, lopsided smile. "No, kiddo, but the money's good and I had my people look into his credentials. He didn't give me anything but his first name, but I've since found out his name is Professor Henry Rothschild and he works for the University, where Diana Reid was professor of Earthen literature until she had a breakdown in front of her class yesterday. M-reps took her to Bennington by ambulance. She has a twenty-five year old son, Doctor Spencer Reid, who was apparently in a horrible state when he heard the news."

Morgan was impressed. "Wow, you managed to learn all of that in just a day?"

"No." Rossi's grin intensified. "In the two hours between when he approached me and when I called you."

"Damn, man," Morgan grinned right back, "damn."

"Oh, the kid's apparently some sort of genius," David added, taking a sip of his dark ale.

"Yeah," Morgan chuckled, "with a name like that, he oughta be!"

Rossi laughed. "No, I mean he's an actual genius, with multiple degrees in just about every subject imaginable. I suggest you stick 'em both in the hull with a couple of reading pads while you stay on deck with that thing you call music blaring from your speakers, or this will be an insanely long flight."

Morgan chuckled, hit the table twice with the flat of his hand, then pushed himself to his feet. "A'right, Rossi. I'mma check on the Girl and then take a nap, since it seems I'll be up half the night. See you at one."

David raised his glass and Morgan turned his back on him, making his way out into the hot afternoon sun. The warehouse he called home wasn't too far from the bar. He had started renting it from Rossi years ago to house his ship away from prying eyes, but he pretty much lived in it, now. He had gotten rid of the little closet he had called his flat before. Since he had started working with Rossi, he was on the road more often than on Kaltek nowadays anyway.

He ran his hand along the side of his precious space ship as he walked around her, inspecting her like he did whenever he was preparing for a trip. A sort of greeting more than just to check for scratches and marks. "Hey Girl," he said softy, "guess what. We've got work. Two people to carry all the way to Bennington." He patted her side gently. "You up for it, baby? We'll need your inner Sleeping Beauty."

The Aurora wasn't a big ship by any stretch of the imagination, but it was big enough for his business, both legal and... not so legal. It was an Ace class ship, built for speed rather than firepower. As a matter of fact, she only had two guns. It could comfortably accommodate up to five people on long trips without them stepping all over one another. Two cabins with two twin sized cots each, Morgan's own cabin, a common area for lounging and eating, an exercise room, then the cargo bay, not all of it visible to inspectors. There were two escape pods, each fitting only one person, two if you squished. But the size of the Aurora wasn't what was so beautiful about her. She, like Morgan, had her own set of secrets.

The name of the ship had been decided on a drunken night Derek had spent with his sisters, when they were en route to Kaltek. He had said she might not look like much but inside her was a sleeping beauty. Désirée had jumped on it, called her Aurora like the girl in some old folk tale that no one remembered the origin to anymore and the name had stuck, as well as calling her special engine Sleeping Beauty. Ten years on, and Aurora and he were still thick as thieves. That was over ten times longer than he had spent with any flesh and blood girl, but that was all right with him. He was barely ever home anyway, he didn't need some clingy girl demanding he stay for her, like some had tried in the past.

There was a tingle under his hand and he smiled. Oh she'd do it for him, all right. He patted her side again and then pressed the panel that would unlatch the door. It slid open with a bit of a groan, and he inspected the mechanism as it was slowly unveiled, checking for damage. There wasn't any, and Morgan went in to retrieve his maintenance box. A bit of lubrication, and it was on to inspect the rest of his ship. Two hours and a shower later, he flopped into bed. He flicked his thumbs over the screen of his hand-held house screen, setting an alarm for later that night. That done, he let himself drift off.

He woke up just a little before his alarm was set to go off and rolled out of bed with a groan. The room gradually got brighter, the sensors picking up on his wakeful state as soon as he was conscious of the fact himself. He flicked a setting on his screen, which unset the alarm and started the coffee in the kitchenette. A few minutes later, clean and wearing a fresh set of clothes, he ambled into the communal area of his ship and grabbed the cup of coffee that was sitting on the machine, waiting for him. He sipped at the brown liquid, already sifting through the news on his pad. Once he had had his two cups of coffee and had caught up with the news podcast he was interested in, he glanced at the clock at the corner of the screen and decided that leaving now would give him time for a glass of the famous Red brew before the Rothschild creep arrived.

The Red Lounge was always crowded, and today was no exception. Morgan liked meeting people here because no one noticed one more person coming or going when there were this many people around, drinking, chatting and dancing. Plus, the ambient darkness made it kind of impossible to see who came and went. All Morgan had to do was keep an eye out for that long white hair, and he'd be fine. But people wouldn't be paying them any attention. He found Rossi at the bar, at his usual spot by the wall. He claimed the seat next to him and glanced down at the menu, quickly flicking through a few screens before he found what he was looking for and touched the picture, then the button labelled 'order.' That done, he turned to the older man. "You're early," he commented.

Rossi glanced at him before sipping at his ale. "So are you."

"What can I say," Morgan grinned at him, "the brew is good here." Some pretty blond thing put a glass in front of him with an inviting smile. Morgan nodded to her and grabbed his drink. She left to attend to other customers, and Morgan took a sip of his ale.

There was a moment of relative quiet, occupied only by the music and conversations around him. Then Rossi turned his head in his direction. "This man, Rothschild? Something's fishy about him."

"You think?" Morgan's tone was slightly sardonic, but he knew Rossi wouldn't take it the wrong way. "The guy's slimier than a can of hagfish."

"True," Rossi said, before giving him an amused look. "You've eaten hagfish?"

"No," Morgan shrugged, "that's the kind of shit the elite convince themselves is good to eat just 'cause it's insanely expensive to import. I wouldn't try it if it was the last thing left to eat in the entire solar system."

Rossi snorted and finished his ale, his free hand already ordering another. "Rothschild's been making off-planet calls since he left us," he said when he was done, "and I'm not liking it."

"Maybe he's just putting some things in order?" Morgan suggested, though he didn't really believe it himself. "I mean, he's going to be flying for a while. I can't be going faster than the ambulance on the way to Bennington or the little genius' mama ain't gonna be there when we arrive. There's no point in arriving in less than forty decs." Rossi gave him a look and he shrugged. "I don't know, man, I'm just sayin'. But I'll watch my back if Mama's worried."

"Derek," Rossi warned, "you know I love you, and because I love you, I have to say this. Don't. Ever. Call me that again."

Morgan laughed, glad to have riled up the older man without pissing him off. It was a fine line to toe around, and he was pretty good at it. One glass led to another, but he sipped that one slowly, knowing he'd be flying out in a couple hours. They talked about past customers that had tried to con them, about the new repair shop that had opened in the neighbourhood, and even a little about themselves. The conversation flowed easily and Rossi had been telling him about how insane his third wife had been when he suddenly stopped and blinked. Morgan frowned and turned around, following his line of sight. There was Mister Oily near the entrance and with him was this kid barely old enough to walk without holding his mama's hand, never mind be in a place like this. Twenty-five years old; yeah, right. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me," he groaned. "Don't tell me that kid is the genius I'm supposed to be giving a ride to?! He looks like a toddler who just fell through his great-grandpa's closet." He gave him another look. "His blind great-grandpa."

"Yeah, I had seen a picture," Rossi said, "but it didn't really do him justice. It was a head-shot." He glanced at Morgan. "Now, now, Derek. Play nice."

"I knew this was gonna suck," he replied, "but man. Do I look like a god-damn babysitter?!"

"Forty grand," Rossi reminded him.

With a sigh, Morgan pushed himself to his feet and made his way to his two customers. As he crossed the dance floor, a girl wrapped her arms around him, trying to entice him into dancing with her. He gently dislodged her with an apologizing smile and managed to take two steps before another one tried to pull him closer. He looked down at her and pulled her hands off with a charming grin. She pouted a little, but let him go. After her came another one, then another one and yet another one. He smiled down in apology at each and every one of them. When he looked up again, both men were looking at him, the older with contempt, the younger with wide eyes. He looked a bit like he wanted to bolt. He looked even younger with his eyes all wide like that.

"Gentlemen," he said by way of introduction once he was close enough to be heard over the music. "Rossi's here too. C'mon, let's get this over with. You both look like you'd rather be anywhere but here."

He didn't offer them his hand, and neither did they. He led them back towards the bar where an electronic cash-card changed hands. Rossi pushed the tiny card into a small machine, nodded and finished his drink. He turned to Morgan. "It'll be in the accounts. Don't forget that two of them were compromised." Derek nodded and turned to leave, when he felt Rossi's hand on his arm. "Derek," the older man said softly, throwing a look at the professor, "be careful. I don't trust this guy."

"I know," Morgan answered. "Neither do I. I'll be back in a couple of mecs, no worries." Rossi nodded and let him go, looking satisfied with Morgan's answer. Derek turned back to his customers. He gestured towards the exit with his head. Rothschild and the kid preceded him out and as soon as they all got out on the street, he took a left turn and started walking. The two fell in step behind him. He led them through the darkest and creepiest backstreets he could find, just to rile them up a bit.

After a while, they started whispering to each other. He ignored them. He didn't care what they were saying behind his back. They had paid and he had a no-refund policy. They were just within sight of the warehouse where his ship was stationed, when he heard the kid raise his voice, obviously too worked up to make sure he wasn't heard anymore. "But professor!" he was saying, "It doesn't matter what his claims are, going at that speed is a physical impossibility. As much as I would like to believe in such a thing, there is no way we can return in time for the next school term, the laws of physics –"

Professor Creep cut him off, saying something too low for Morgan to catch. He didn't care to hear anyway. It wasn't the first time he heard someone point out that the speed of his ship was simply impossible. He didn't claim to know how it worked. He wasn't a scientist. The Aurora was just too awesome for the laws of physics to apply, obviously. Okay, so that didn't make any sense. But he'd stopped trying to understand how it worked a long time ago; he just knew that it did, and that was good enough for him.

Obviously not for the two idiots behind him though. But he had better things to do than argue over it. They'd see soon enough. And shutting them up would feel so damn good. He started walking faster, impatient to stick the two scholars into their quarters. And then, he'd take Rossi's advice and it'd be just him, on the bridge, with music.

It was still going to be a long, long trip.