Okay, so apparently my need for cheese has not abated but only increased with the approaching holiday. That, and it was written on a bipolar kick after 48 hours of no sleep. But having just finished a very heavy story, I'm giving myself this one. So, that's a heads up. My apologies to Rossi lovers…he just doesn't exist in this. Why? I'm not sure. I have nothing against the man. And it has nothing to do with the time period of the fic. He's just…on vacation somewhere I suppose. Maybe he just overslept and missed the cast call. It remains a mystery. :P
CHAPTER ONE: Christmas Eve
The BAU had a late case in Baltimore that had been a little rough. Men were being found naked in various parks with their genitals removed in a particularly brutal manner pre-mortem. Their bodies were wrapped in giant red bows and bore toe tags inscribed with the words 'Merry Christmas'. The men had all been registered sex offenders, specifically, pedophiles. The UnSub, Christopher Walters, had been a vigilante. He'd snapped after his daughter, Savannah Walters, only seven, had been abducted and killed a year prior. The perpetrator had never been caught, sending Walters into a downward spiral as the anniversary of her death drew near, and he'd begun systematically taking out every offender he could. In the end, eight pedophiles were dead, and Christopher himself had been shot down by an overly eager deputy with an itchy trigger finger. The team had a hard time with the case as they all had read the files on the "victims", and though they wouldn't admit it, secretly praised Walters. Murder was wrong, yes, but on rare occasions, it actually made sense. They'd done their jobs just as quickly and efficiently as ever, despite any personal views, and were on their way back home early Christmas Eve.
"What's everyone got planned for tomorrow?" Prentiss asks, looking slightly drawn.
"Just a nice, quiet Christmas morning with the family." JJ says.
"Ha! Think again JJ. I saw what Garcia bought for Henry and Jack and believe me when I say that none of your mornings will include quiet." Prentiss laughs.
"Ugh. I love that woman, but if you speak the truth, I'll be pleading insanity." JJ admonishes.
"If she speaks the truth, you won't have to because I'll help you hide the body." Hotch injects with a rare smile.
"I'd gladly take a mob of noisy children over my nagging mother. She's flying in tonight for two days. I get to spend my weekend listening to various political issues and more commentary about my biological clock than I care to consider." Prentiss grumbles.
"Well, I've got no complaints. I'm gonna leave on the two pm to Chicago and see my three favorite ladies for three glorious days of good home cookin' and some much needed relaxation." Morgan says grinning.
"That's it, rub it in ya lucky dawg." Prentiss says smacking him.
"Hey Reid, what about you? You flyin' out to see your mom?" Morgan asks the young genius, who was currently staring out the window.
"Hmm? Oh, no. She doesn't celebrate. Says she refuses to acknowledge a commercialized perversion of Christianity by engaging in what's become little more than consumer driven mockery."
"Wow. Christmas at your house must have been a blast." Prentiss says sarcastically.
"No kidding kid, was any part of your childhood normal?" Morgan asks sadly.
"Yeah. Halloween." Reid replies simply.
"Well that makes a lot of sense when you think about it." Morgan says thoughtfully.
"If you mean that the creepy kid would find normalcy in a creepy holiday then yeah, I suppose you're right." Reid huffs looking back out the window.
"Hey, that's not what I meant." Morgan says moving to sit across from him for more privacy. "I meant, I never really understood your fascination with it before. But it was the only time you could go out on your own and be with kids your own age. Hide behind a mask and just be whoever you wanted for a night. Equal playing field. Makes sense now why you love it so much."
Spencer studies him for a moment and gives a brief half smile. Derek ruffles his hair.
"Sorry." Spencer says. "I shouldn't have assumed…I guess I'm just a little…"
"It's okay. No harm done. But you're not gonna be sittin' home alone on Christmas now are ya?"
"Oh, no. Whenever I'm home for the holidays I volunteer at a local soup kitchen."
"Well, well. Pretty boy has a great big heart to match that great big brain of his." Derek says with an affectionate grin.
"Did you know that on any given night there's an estimated 744,000 people that sleep on the streets? And roughly forty percent of those are suffering from some form of mental…"
"Reid, not that I don't care, but considering what we just came from, and for the sake of keeping our holiday joy in tact, can we skip the depressing statistics for once?" Morgan asks with a gentle nudge.
Spencer replies with a nod and a slight smile.
"Oh, by the way, I found something that was left in my room by mistake." Morgan says rummaging through his bag, extracting a football-sized gift.
"Morgan, everyone already exchanged gifts."
"Don't tell me, tell Santa. He must have been especially impressed with your work in Baltimore. But between you and me, he's gettin' a little senile. Here I thought I had an admirer when it's really for you."
Spencer quirks a brow at the older agent and shakes his head. He decides not to point out the obvious penmanship on the tag and just opens it. He holds the coiled cloth out letting it unravel.
"A new scarf? Is something wrong with my old one?"
"Don't know. Maybe Santa noticed that after five years it was ready to retire."
"Wow. It's even the same color." Spencer says, eyes now gleaming.
"Hmm, Santa must think that purple happens to suit you. Kudos Santa." Derek says with a smirk.
Spencer rolls his eyes. "Well, if you see Santa, tell him…I appreciate it…a great deal."
"I'll be sure he gets the message." Derek winks.
Spencer gives Derek a meaningful look before regarding his new gift with a more reverent expression. He drapes it around his neck, playing with the slight fringe at the ends.
"Hey, did you know there's an ongoing debate as to where the idea of Santa Claus originated from? See, some believe it was from Saint Nicholas, who was actually…"
"Reid."
"It's not depressing." Spencer offers.
Derek tries to look serious, but the expression on Spencer's face makes him chuckle. As their youngest takes this as an invitation to launch into his all too extensive knowledge of Santa Clause, Morgan shakes his head and smiles at him. Thirty minutes later, they're landing and everyone finds themselves tripping over one another to get away from the ever rambling genius. Except Morgan. Who is driving him home. He lets Spencer continue until they pull up to his place and fifteen minutes beyond that. He doesn't just allow it, he encourages it with nods and occasional comments. He isn't sure if it's the holiday spirit, that the story was actually kind of interesting, or if it's the child-like fervor with which he expels the information, though he guesses it's was more the latter. Finally, when he runs out of air, and useless facts, Derek thanks him for the very insightful history lesson and hugs him.
"Merry Christmas Reid. Stay outta trouble okay?"
When he pulls back, Spencer looks shocked.
"Y-yeah. Thanks. You too." He says exiting the truck. "Say hi to your family for me."
"Will do. See ya in a few days."
Spencer beams and nods. Waving with the end of his new scarf playfully, Derek can't help the fond smile that adorns his lips as the young genius turns, stumbling over his own feet.
"I swear kid, you're gonna be the death of me." He sighs, driving away.
….
Derek stops by his place to take care of a few things before packing his suitcase and toiletries and heading back out to the airport. Ever since nine-eleven, flying was a hassle and he was so spoiled by the jet he practically lived on, he'd almost forgotten to give himself some cushion time-wise for the inevitable violation he would receive at the security checkpoint.
As he shoots down toward the freeway, he thinks about Reid's Santa Claus speech and figures if the man did exist, Derek is no doubt on the naughty list. Then he thinks about how valuable an ominous, all knowing being's list would be. If Santa took notes like Reid, they could round up the bad guys a hell of a lot quicker. Derek then chuckles at the visual of a frazzled, lanky Saint Reid shrieking at the reindeer not to fly so high, spouting off statistics about the dangers of flying at such altitudes without following proper safety protocols. And although he would fit down pretty much any chimney, he would caution against the health hazards of soot and other various toxins expelled by dura-flame logs and the like. Of course the cookies might prove to be enough incentive. And it wouldn't hurt for the kid to know where all the naughty ladies lived. Just as he laughs to himself, he realizes he's missed his turn. He makes the next right to double back, when suddenly there is a violent jolt, as his car spins off the road and slams into a very large tree.
As Derek raises his head to look around slightly dazed, he becomes aware of a car horn blaring. Realization sets in quickly, and the next thing he knows he's out of his truck, searching for the injured party. He calls to a woman in a wrecked vehicle about 50 feet from his own. She says nothing but scurries from her car as several passerby and witnesses stop to assist. The horn is still blaring, and as Derek's hearing becomes clearer, he follows the sound back to his own battered truck. A man is leaning in the door as he approaches.
"Hey man, it's okay. Just let me…" Derek starts as the man backs away, pulling out his phone.
Derek freezes when he sees himself slumped against the steering wheel unmoving.
"What the fu…" He trails as he moves closer.
There is no mistaking it. There he is. Looking at…himself. The head wound looks pretty bad and there's a fair amount of blood seeping from the gash as well as his nose.
"This can't be fucking happening." He breathes. "Am I dead?"
"Yeah," The man with the phone says. "No, he has a pulse but he's not responsive..."
"If I'm not dead, then what the hell is this? Maybe it's a dream. Yeah, I fell asleep on the jet to Reid's lecture on the jolly old fat man. Any minute now, he'll be nudging me awake to start the story over…any minute now."
Derek's thoughts race as people begin gathering. The sound of sirens in the distance signals a cold front that slams through him, causing a paralytic effect.
"Come on Reid! Wake me up man!" Derek yells, panic rising.
Everyone clears the way as emergency crews arrive.
"Over here!" The man with the phone calls to the first set of EMT's on scene.
Derek watches in horror as they carefully pull him from the truck and onto a gurney, shouting various technical jargon that eludes his stupefied senses. They load him in and, sirens once again blaring, take off toward the hospital. The next thing Derek knows, he's in the back of the ambulance looking on, unaware of how he'd gotten there. It seems he is somehow tethered to his physical self by some supernatural umbilical cord. And unless he wakes up soon, he suspects he is doomed to be an unwitting spectator to the war between life and death, waged on a battlefield formally known as one Derek Morgan.
TBC? You tell me!
