A/N: This story is my take on what could happen at the conclusion of "Our Darkest Hour" once season six premiers. My good friend Lisa requested I write her a Morgan story and this is what popped into my head. Hope you like it,Lisa! And I hope the rest of you like it, too. Let me know what you think! Happy reading!
Morgan didn't like feeling weak. He didn't like feeling helpless. He didn't like feelings of failure. Yet he felt all of these things. He stood in the gym of the FBI Academy feeling more frustrated, angry, and lost than he ever had in his adult life.
He took out his frustrations on the beat up punching bag that hung in the far corner. He pounded his taped-up fists into the thick brown leather over and over again. Sweat poured from his face and ran down his neck and chest. He'd discarded his traditional work out muscle shirt after the first hour when it started sticking to his chest, constricting his movements. He'd peeled it off, drank some water, poured some of it over his head to cool off, and started punching again. That was two hours ago. And still, his frustration and anger levels sat at unquenchable temperatures, threatening to boil over.
Extreme fatigue was setting in. More frequently he would pause between punches to catch his breath, only to start again. His arms felt like lead. It was getting harder to keep his back straight. He paused again, this time for a few seconds longer before throwing a right and a left and grunting with every new punch. The more tired he became, the harder it was for him to bury his emotions. Finally, completely exhausted, unable to punch anymore, he dropped his head against the bag, resting his fists on the sides.
From the doorway, hidden in the shadows, Hotch watched Morgan's fight. He knew Morgan was fighting much more than just a punching bag. That bag represented so many inner demons that plagued his friend. Some of those demons Hotch knew about. Most he did not. But he knew this case would haunt Derek. He waited patiently in the shadows for the right time to approach him. He watched as the man became more and more exhausted yet continued to fight for every punch until he physically could not throw another one. He waited a moment to allow Derek to catch his breath before approaching him.
"Morgan?"
Morgan jumped at the voice. It was late and he was sure he was the only one still here. He turned to see Aaron Hotchner, clad in running shorts and a navy blue FBI t-shirt. He had a towel draped over one shoulder. His hair was wet with sweat and sticking to his forehead.
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough," Hotch replied, finally moving closer.
"I thought I was alone." He moved to the bench next to the wall, grabbing his towel and wiping the sweat off his face and out of his eyes. "What are you still doing here?"
"Trying to get this case out of my head, same as you. You want to talk about it?"
"No."
Morgan sat on the bench and rested his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, wishing like hell he could turn back the clock and save Detective Matt Spicer. He heard the bench creak and knew Hotch had sat beside him, but he didn't speak. Morgan was grateful for that. They sat for several minutes, before Hotch broke the comfortable silence.
"I know what it feels like to be powerless."
Morgan opened his eyes and looked over at Hotch. He was leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, staring down at the ground. Morgan shook his head in response.
"I should have been able to do something, Hotch. That little girl shouldn't have had to watch her father die. No child should ever have to endure that."
Hotch realized then that it was not just this case Morgan was reliving. It was his own past. Morgan was 10 when his own father was gunned down in front of him. He knew exactly how Ellie Spicer felt as she watched Billy Flynn hold a gun to her father's chest and pull the trigger. But this case had one vital difference. This time, thanks to Morgan's endurance and tenacity, Flynn was caught and Ellie Spicer was returned to her aunt unharmed.
"Derek, Flynn knocked you out and tied you up. You can't blame yourself for that."
"He caught me off guard. I'm a trained agent, Hotch. That should never happen." Disgust lined his voice.
"Yes, you're a highly qualified, well trained field agent. And before that you were a highly skilled member of the Chicago Police Department. But you're also human, and Billy Flynn has been catching people off guard and killing them for over 20 years. You can't be perfect all the time, Derek. None of us can. But in the end, you brought Det. Spicer's killer to justice and you saved his daughter's life."
Morgan nodded but didn't speak. He let Hotch's words sink in, and though he felt a little better, it was not by much.
"You know," he finally spoke, "sometimes even when we win, our job still sucks."
Hotch chuckled. "Believe me, I know." He paused. "I saw you give his daughter your card at the station."
"Yeah."
"Good. She'll probably need someone to talk to who understands what she's been through. You're living proof that witnessing a tragedy like that at a young age doesn't have to break a person. You used your personal tragedy to make yourself a strong, compassionate, driven man intent on helping people. So did Spicer. In time, she'll be able to do the same. You're a good man, Derek. Don't lose sight of that."
They both sat quietly while Morgan processed Hotch's words. Finally he was able to see some light in the darkness that was this case. Ellie Spicer would be okay. In time, she would be okay.
Hotch laid a reassuring hand on Morgan's shoulder as he stood to leave. He made it halfway across the room before Morgan called out.
"You never answered my question. What are you still doing here, Hotch?"
Hotch ran a hand through his hair. "I can't take bad cases home with me anymore. I have to be able to leave my frustrations here and just be "Dad" at home. So when a case gets to me like this one, I run."
"This case hit you too, huh?"
"Yes. But for different reasons."
Morgan's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"I almost lost one of my agents last night. I always take it personal when one of you is in danger and I can't protect you. Of course, the case itself got to me too. It always does when there are children involved. But nothing unnerves me more at the Unit Chief of this team than the thought of losing one of you on my watch. So I run to clear my head."
"How long have you been running tonight?"
"About two hours. Anyway, now I can leave "Hotch" here and go home to my son. Get some rest, Morgan."
"Hey Hotch," Morgan called out. Hotch turned at the door to face his friend. For the first time in two days, Morgan finally looked relaxed.
"Thanks."
Hotch nodded and left. Morgan smiled, picked up his gear and headed for the showers. He would be okay.