A/N: It's been a while since I've written something for CM.I've felt a bit detached for some time. This is my attempt at getting back into it. Honest critiques are more than welcome.

Disclaimer: CM is not mine, nor is Derek Morgan which is a shame because I'd love him to be. OC is however. Post-"Foundation". Freestyling as usual so mistakes and errors are all my own.

~o~

She spots him across the murky bar. The unmistakable black leather jacket over a dark Henley, as business casual as agents are allowed to get. The dim lighting casts over his form where he's perched on a rickety stool, clutching at a sweaty bottle of beer. There's a token in his hand. He flips it on occasion, studies its surface, and rubs calloused fingers over the imprints in it. He looks distraught…or just distant, as though he's tuning out the rest of the world and caught up in his thoughts. His brow furrows, forms creases in his forehead as he looks to be as she could only describe, as pensive. She finds it suitable for him that at a certain angle the lighting makes him appear as though he's some dark avenging angel. It's strong. Solid. Soothing. Just as he is.

She glides across the floor, through the throng of swaying bodies on the dance floor, beyond the darkly lit area where a couple of the agents are shooting darts. She squints and recognizes one of them, the long blond hair and deep blue eyes that cast a few concerned glances in Morgan's direction. She nods at her, Agent Jareau, or JJ as she so often heard the woman be referred to as. JJ smiles at her, shoots one last glance in Morgan's direction before taking her turn amongst the small huddle of individuals in the corner.

A break in the crowd finally allows her to squeeze through and she stumbles rather unsophisticatedly onto the stool beside Morgan. He doesn't appear to miss a beat. If he was startled it wasn't for long, as his arm shot out to grab hers and steady her. She shoots him an embarrassed grin, nervously rakes through the few tendrils of raven hair that have escaped her ponytail. A small part of her still gets incredibly flustered while in his presence.

"T-thanks, sir," she stutters as she adjusts herself and tugs at the cuff of her jacket. It's a nervous habit she still hasn't rid herself of, pulling at her sleeves in subconscious attempts at covering the abraded patterns ghosting across her wrists. The worn brown leather always seems to soothe her. "Oh, I mean…Agent Morgan," she stammers.

"Hey," Morgan reaches out to pat her hand and gives her a crooked grin. "We've gone over this Roberts, you can call me Derek…or even Morgan." His piercing brown eyes held the gaze of her green ones before he gave a soft chuckle, and leaned in to nudge her with his shoulder until she smirked. "We're colleagues now, kid. Screw the formalities."

She chuckles, as he slides a beer towards her and gives her a hint of a smile. She put her natural intuitiveness in motion; honed in on her newly acquired profiling skills just enough to note that something was definitely troubling him. For starters the smile never reached his eyes.

"You really didn't have to come out and do this Morgan," she says quietly after taking a long pull of her beer. "I heard about your case. About that young boy."

She notices how he visibly flinches at the reminder of Angel, but he works quickly to compose himself under her scrutiny. "Wouldn't have missed it Dani," he reaches out to tug at the end of her ponytail. "I promised you after our last class that when you officially became an agent I'd buy you a drink." He raises his bottle in salutation as he waits for her to do the same. "Congratulations Agent Dani Roberts!"

She clinks her bottle with his and smiles at him. Waits patiently until he does the same. Again it doesn't reach his eyes. He's troubled. She knows it. And yet she doesn't want to overstep her bounds. It pains her though, and she works hard to mask the grimace that surely graced her features when she thought of just how crappy he must feel right now.

"Speak your mind kid," he says quietly. He raises his brow at her, chuckles lowly at how he caught her off guard. "I know that look." He states, his brown eyes piercing into hers. "And I taught you better than that."

And he did. Long before he's even aware of.

She sighs softly, rolls her shoulders back and tries to ignore the intensity of his gaze. She once told him that he has a way of looking at a person as if he could see their soul. She remembers how he laughed at that and told her to focus on the new hold he was teaching her. She knew right than that he could.

"How are you doing, si-Morgan? I mean really?" she asks firmly. She signals the bartender for another round and does her best to avoid Morgan's gaze. For some reason she suspects that he'll be more open if he doesn't feel like she's treating him like one of those case studies from her books.

"I won't lie. It was a tough case. I'll be okay though."

It doesn't work. He shuts her down and she's not sure if she could take that as a hint or a challenge. Her shoulders sag in defeat as she pops the cap off of her new bottle of beer, but she doesn't stay defeated for long. It takes a split second for her to come up with a new approach.

"I just…" she swivels her stool to face him and plays with the condensation on the bottle. "How do you deal? With the cases I mean?" Her voice softens more than usual. "With the children?"

He lets out a long sigh and stares off into space in deep thought before turning to face her head on. "You deal. You deal with it…" his voice trails off as he rubs his hand across his bruised knuckles. "Or it deals with you."

"I'm scared that I won't know how to do that. How to deal…you know? I'm scared that I won't be able to compartmentalize all of these feelings I'll have when I see some kid who has died long before they had a chance to live. I'm scared for the kids that I won't be able to save…and even for the ones that I will be able to. I'm scared that…" she takes a deep breath, shakes her head and slams back the rest of her beer, silently berating herself for turning her concern for him into her fear of failure.

"Hey," his eyes bore into hers and he cants his head to the side until she finally looks at him again. "What is it pretty girl?"

"I'm scared that I may not be cut out for this…that I may fail…and I can't. I can't fail. I have to do this."

"First off, you won't," he says firmly. "Secondly, kid, you don't have to do this if you aren't ready. And for the record, I think you're more than ready." He gives her a tight smile that she feels compelled to reciprocate and goes back to absentmindedly fiddling with the coin. "You just stop and ask yourself on occasion a fundamental question. Why did you choose this field?"

"To help people," she says too quickly, "to fight for justice." She does her best to hide the secrets behind her eyes, and she almost believes that it's working but he narrows his eyes a bit and if he knows that she's holding back, he doesn't acknowledge it. She won't give him the chance to. "Is it the same for you? You do this to help people…fight for justice?"

He hesitates at first, his own secrets blazing behind deep brown orbs. "It is," he says quietly, his voice gravelly and wrought with emotion that she suspects is just brewing beneath the surface of his cool demeanor.

The long silence between them is a comfortable one. She feels as though the music and the voices of those around them have faded into the background. He's lost again in thought as he flips the challenger coin in his hand. She studies his face, sees how tired he looks and yet how ruggedly handsome. He doesn't seem to age at all, a twinge of envy hits her at the thought. Guys were always lucky that way. There was a time when she thought he was invincible, like some sort of superhero that couldn't be destroyed or stopped, a hero that would always prevail. Now she sees just how human he is, just like everyone else, and yet she still gets the sense of an unbridled determination simmering beneath the surface. He's just as heroic but in a way ground in reality. He catches her staring at him, and he gives a slightly amused smirk. She turns away quickly and blushes and she feels him ruffle her hair absentmindedly as he steals a quick glance at the score of the hockey game playing just above the bar.

"Do you ever get too attached to them?" She asks softly. She avoids his intense gaze as he tries to comprehend what and who she is referring to, and she pretends as though she doesn't already know the answer. "To the people, the victims, the kids?"

She hears him sigh before taking a long pull of his beer. He takes his time responding and she cannot help but wonder if she's overstepping her bounds again.

"We're not supposed to."

"Bu-"

"Why do you ask?" He questions her gently, grasping her jaw and turning her face so that he can see her head on.

"I-I just, I don't know…how do you keep from getting attached you know?" she practically squeaks out her question and she silently admonishes herself for sounding so juvenile in his presence. She's twenty-six…she should really start speaking like it, but he always seems to take her to a place where she's young and vulnerable.

He studies her closely, and if he's picked up that she's not being fully honest with him in regards to her prying he doesn't give it away. Instead he seems more indulgent than ever.

"It's our job to be as objective as possible. The moment we get too attached or too emotional we run the risk of fucking things up. You keep your head in the game and your emotions in check. And you trust the profile. You always trust the profile."

"You still didn't answer my question," she says with a smirk and a glint of challenge in her eye.

"You noticed that, eh?"

"Oh I definitely noticed."

"Honestly?"

"No, Morgan, I want you to lie to me…" she quips back with a smirk. It only grows when she sees how she catches him off guard and amuses him all at once. "Do you always get attached to victims…or the children?"

"No," he says quickly as he goes back to rubbing the surface of the coin in his hand. He notices her dubious look and can't help but smile.

"I don't believe that," she says hastily. She knows she's coming supremely close to showing her hand, but she isn't sure if she cares anymore. "I know for a fact that you have a tendency to get too involved-"

"And how do you know that Dani?" he shoots back playfully. She can hear his playful tone but she can see in his eyes that he knows something. He always knows something and she can't help but feel exposed.

She tugs at the sleeve of her jacket again and his eyes flicker down quickly before returning her gaze. Her heart palpitates and her nerves get the best of her and she wonders if she said too much. She wonders if he knows about that time she accidentally stumbled upon that box in his locker. She didn't set out to snoop, but eventually her curiosity did get the best of her and there she found them all.

She found the letters of kids of the past. She seen photos and pictures drawn in crayon and marker. She seen it all. She couldn't put names to all the faces and letters but there were definitely too many to count. There was one by a blonde haired beauty who in a roundabout way stated that she never felt as safe as she did the moment she was carried in Morgan's arms, away from the compound of all the other wives and children of her father the prophet. She sent Morgan pictures of herself, a new home, with a new family, and wrote to him about how she's the best goalie in her soccer division. Little Carnie was six the first day she met Morgan, the day he whisked her away, blonde hair flowing behind her, bare feet no longer on the ground. That was six years ago. She wrote that loud noises still scare her, and that it's great not having so many siblings, and that she's learned that polygamy is not the norm and that she can talk to God on her own.

There were letters from a boy who has finally found a home somewhere safe. He spoke of counseling that he received after nearly killing his foster mother. He spoke of the nice family that he was placed with. Talked about how he has clothes that he can fit now and that he can go to the refrigerator anytime he chooses because there are no padlocks on it. He talked about playing football and how if Morgan ever gets the chance he'd love a visit to show him a few pointers. To Dani's surprise, there were photos of Morgan with the boy after that, apparently he took the kid up on his offer.

There were plenty of letters from a girl name Kelly. Most of them were postmarked from Canada, and later on some were postmarked from the university that Kelly is currently attending. Apparently despite her horrible situation that she found herself rescued from, she discovered that she has a knack for caring for the mentally disabled. She wrote about being in school for teaching now, and that she's majoring in special education and owes it all to the BAU.

She spent an hour and a half sifting through the box. So many children and teens whose lives had been forever impacted by the likes of Derek Morgan. They sent him letters and updates, sent him pictures and photos, called him on occasion as far as she could tell. But the amazing part of it all was that he wrote them back, phoned them back, and on rare occasions even visited them upon some urgent requests. There were so many names and faces, Michael, Sara, Kelly, Shannon, Jacob, John, Bethany, Ellie... She found herself pressed against his locker with tears in her eyes, guilt over an invasion of privacy, and an overwhelming sense of respect for her mentor that she had before but had only grown in the span of that hour…

She shakes her head of the thoughts of it all and finds him staring at her. He knows. She knows that he knows and he's taking an extreme delight in her slowly realizing that she was caught. She wants to apologize to him for accidentally invading his privacy. She wants to tell him how much she admires him, respects him, and is in awe of him. She wants to ask him why he isn't upset with her. She wants to curl up in the fetal position in hopes of not embarrassing herself any further.

"Dani?" He probes patiently, a sparkle of something in his eye. She's at least glad that he doesn't look nearly as resigned as he looked when she first seen him this evening.

"Sorry what?" she manages, embarrassed that she lost her train of thought for so long.

"I said…and how do you know that Dani? Know that I'm lying?"

"I…Morgan, seriously? You are good at many things, but from what I've seen keeping your emotions in check isn't always one of them," she manages to sound more put together than she's feeling. She glides her ponytail holder off in one fluid motion and shields her face with a curtain of black hair.

He chuckles lowly to himself before he responds. "I believe you asked if I always get attached…to which I responded 'no'," he says confidently. "I don't always get attached…only sometimes." He gives her a lop-sided grin.

She scowls at him but schools her face quickly, forgetting that he's her superior. "Semantics."

"Are as important as facial expressions and body language."

She sighs to herself. He was always teaching her…even when she wasn't in class. His lessons lasted long and were rooted deep within her. She wants to tell him that. Tell him how much of an impression he's made on her life. She steals a glance in his direction. He's lost in thought again, his eyes brooding and troubled, his hands still absentmindedly flipping that coin…up and down…up and down.

"Did you get too attached to him?" She practically whispers as her emerald eyes study his.

"The boy we rescued? No." he says too quickly. He tries to smile again but it falters.

"No. I meant…Angel," she tries again. She stiffens when his intense gaze reaches her. There's a long moment of silence that is making her increasingly uncomfortable….but she tries her best to keep her own discomfort under control.

"Yeah," he says quietly and a small gasp of shock escapes her lips before she has the right mind to muffle it. He ignores her gasp, takes a few tugs of his beer and stares at the coin lying on the counter before him. "I really did. If you could have just…if you'd have seen this kid, Dani…" his voice trails off and he meets her concerned look with misty eyes.

"I'm sorry," she says sincerely. She's seen that look in his eye before…she remembers it well, when he's trying to keep the myriad of emotions stirring up inside of him at bay. He clenches his fist and there is a pulsing in his head that suggests he's clenching his jaw as well. "You made a difference with him. You did right by him."

"The damage was already done," he says firmly and a hint of anger and anguish laces his voice. "I wish I could have gotten to him sooner. The things he'll go through…the things he's already gone through…"

"You made a difference Morgan," she says insistently.

She does not know what possesses her but she grabs his hand and places it between hers, ignoring the way he winces at her firm grip on his bruised knuckles. She wants him to believe her. She needs him to believe in the fact that therein lays within him an inexplicable power that touches many….that saves lives in more ways than he could ever possibly fathom.

"He'll be okay Morgan," she says firmly in the most convincing way she knows how. "Angel will be okay. I know it."

"And how do you know that?" he asks almost bitterly.

She pauses for a bit and decides to go for broke. She's already come this far. "Because you were," she whispers furtively. She tries not to take it personally when he pulls his hand from hers. "Because I was."

She ignores his scrutinizing as she pulls out her wallet carefully.

"Dani, I said I have it," he says obviously confused as to what she's doing.

She shakes her head vigorously and pulls back the folds of the worn wallet in her hand.

"You just don't get it Morgan," she says quietly. "Angel will be fine because of you." She says persistently. "You don't get that salvation can come in the form of a 3x2 business card," she says quietly as she pulls out the worn card from the back of the wallet.

She's carried it for years and it's evident. The paper is worn and crinkled; the edges are dulled and distressed. The font color is so worn that you could barely make out Derek Morgan's name and number, or the FBI emblem ingrained deeply into the paper. She trails her fingers across the card fondly before sliding it over to him.

"You don't comprehend the extent that your care alone...will have on him," she says with a furrowed brow. She sniffs and tries to ignore the thickness swelling in her throat. She pulls out her own challenger coin, given to her so long ago, and studies it as she flips it between her fingers.

"You don't know how much hope you gave him," she flips the coin in the air and watches it clatter on the counter's surface an inch or so away from the one he was playing with.

"He'll be okay because of that Morgan," she says as she tugs at her sleeve nervously and faces him. He picks up the coin she tossed and studies it, and is unable to hide the surprise he's feeling…the familiarity. "He'll be okay because of you."

"A…" he lets out a breath and shakes his head in disbelief. "Amelia?"

He's genuinely surprised and in a way she's both uncomfortable and relieved. She sees the recognition in his face. He stares at her as though she's sixteen all over again. He gapes at her and she can see that he remembers the girl she used to be. The lanky and pale teenage girl he rescued from her father's cellar. He sees her as the damaged young lady who barely spoke above a whisper. Back when she was Amelia Robinson instead of Danielle Roberts, and she was pale with short brown hair and hazel eyes. She goes by Dani now. She manages to speak above a whisper, her skin is tanner from actually seeing the sun, she dyes her long tresses black, and her eyes are emerald like the jewel and not nearly as troubled as they used to be. But when she's with him she's reminded of how far she's come and who she used to be, and as much as she hates being reminded of any of it she knows that it's important that she never forgets.

"I haven't been called that in years, Morgan," she says nervously as she reaches to tug the sleeve of her jacket down. He stops her this time; he pulls her sleeve up and runs his warm nimble fingers across the abraded patterns ingrained in her skin. If scars really do tell a story than hers definitely are along the lines of a Stephen King novel.

"Why did you never…" his voice trails off and she shifts in her seat.

She knows what he's wondering. Why she never told him who she was… She can see the slight shame in his face because he wasn't able to piece the pieces together himself. She doesn't know how to explain that unlike the dozens of kids that kept him abreast of their lives, she couldn't do that. She couldn't tell him that knowing that she could call him at any time was enough. She wants to tell him though. She wants to tell him that carrying around a challenger coin that he gave her with her favorite color etched in it was enough to get her through the darkest of days. She wants to tell him that she spent years dreaming of the day he cut the ties binding her hands and feet and wrapped her up in his broad arms and whisked her away…mostly because they chased away the nightmares that still plague her to this day. She needs him to understand that he inspired her in ways that she didn't think possible after the years she spent in an underground cellar. She wants to tell him that somehow he uncapped a strength in her that she didn't know she possessed and that she's been a fighter ever since. She wants to tell him that she became an agent because of what he and his team did for her and she wanted to make them…make him proud. And that was it…she wanted him to be proud…and over the years she promised herself that she would be an upstanding person and be the best at whatever she could be in, because she didn't want to squander the second chance at life that they…that he gave her…and that she wanted to make him proud. She wants to make him proud.

"Oh, you did, kid…you did," he says with eyes shining with tears that she knows she'll never see fall. It's then that she realizes that she must have said most of her rampant thoughts out loud. "I am proud of you." He says, and she can hear his voice catch and she knows that it's genuine.

"I know…" she starts but her voice is shaky and she's fearful that she may actually start to cry. The last thing she wants is to shed tears in front of her mentor, her hero, her inspiration…. "I know that Angel will be okay, Morgan. I need you to know that he will be okay and trust the fact that you…your presence alone did wonders."

He finishes off the rest of his beer and nods his head silently as he tries to let everything sink in.

"That man did things to him that he'll carry with him for the rest of his life…that won't change. My father did things to…" her voice breaks off and she feels his hand wrap around hers. "Did things to me that I carry with me always and I know that won't change. There is nothing you could have done about it…about any of it…you did the best you could and you have to know that your best matters more than you'll ever know, Morgan." She feels the dam of tears welling up in the back of her eyelids. "When I thought of you I never thought about how I wish you had gotten there sooner. If you have to hold on to anything…hold on to the fact that you've made so many lives better….Derek, I am where I am today because of you!"

It's done now…the tears are starting to descend and she knows that they're noticeable when he reaches out and wipes one away before cupping her cheek. She sees that her words have affected him beyond words…and that he too is overwhelmed with emotions.

"Thanks for the drinks Morgan," she says as strongly as her watery voice will allow her. She pecks him on the cheek and only startles a split second when she feels his arms wrap around her briefly. She grabs the worn business card from the counter, places it in her wallet, and hops off the stool in an attempt to scurry away before tears fall. She has to find the nearest bathroom quick, wash away the tears, fix herself up, and place her carefully placed façade back up.

"Hey," she hears him call her, his voice raspy. He holds up the challenger coin she left on the counter next to his. "You're forgetting something."

She smiles at him; he still looks like an avenging angel of justice on a stool…only blurrier given her sight at the moment. "I don't need it anymore," she says confidently. He smiles his brilliant smile at her and nods his head and she smiles back before disappearing into the crowd.

She feels warm inside…and it isn't just the alcohol. She feels relieved and weightless as though a burden she didn't realize she had has been lifted. She feels love and respect and admiration for the hero that saved her a decade or so ago. She feels exuberant and proud because she finally made him proud in the way that she has always wanted to. But mostly…she feels happy that she finally got to tell him just how much he's affected her life. She got to make him understand just how many lives he's affected and how she and all the others carry him with them for years to come.

She feels proud…proud to be a survivor, proud to be on the path of invoking justice and saving kids just as she was saved, proud to serve the community and make people feel safe the way she hadn't felt safe for years. She mostly feels proud to be one of the many rescued children of Derek Morgan.

~o~