Chapter Two: Morgan – Go get your gun
Thanks to my lovely beta, Greeneyedsconstellations
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Funny thing about working with Reid: he makes the impossible seem possible, every day. Morgan has watched the kid plow through a pile of books almost taller than him in an afternoon. He knows stuff no one should just know. He's a statistical improbability in corduroy and ugly cardigans, and he's not afraid to tell you all about it.
He also has a knack for making things seem absolutely fucking impossible.
"Tongass National Forest is actually the largest national state forest," he says cheerily on the float plane, pressing his face against the window to peer down at the acres of green, barely visible through the cloud drifting around them. When he turns his head to look back at the team, his cheek is pink from the cold glass and shiny-wet from the condensation of his breath. "In acres, it's some 16,576,303 square miles. One of the largest intact rainforests in the world actually, and to keep it so, locals have fought bitterly against the implementation of more roadways, which will impede our work… We're going at a terrible time for weather as well. Late November is notorious for heavy snowfall as well as sudden thaws, causing avalanches, road collapse, flash flooding, not to mention the fact that we only have eight hours of sunlight per day… Do you know how long it would take us to search even a fraction of that, depending on weather, man hours, familiarity with the area?"
"Nope," Morgan grunts, pulling his coat tighter around and huddling into it. It's a wonder Reid can even talk through the chattering of his teeth, even in the heated interior of the small plane. "But I bet you're gonna tell us."
And he does. And then he goes on.
And on. And on. And on.
"Reid," Hotch says finally, and Reid shuts up like a switch has been flicked, beaming at their boss. Morgan stares at the both of them.
Reid never shuts up like that for him. He's going to need to get tips from Hotch; clearly the man has some control over their co-worker.
Or it's just some kind of Hotch magic.
Morgan sighs and reluctantly flips the casefile back open, finding himself faced with the broken remains of what was once a human with dreams and hopes and family…
They're going to find this sick fuck, Reid's misgivings be damned. And they're going to bring justice to his victims.
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Alaska is beautiful. Even with the horror lurking in the pine trees that stretch beyond imagination, it's beautiful. Morgan can appreciate that.
He can also appreciate that, given a choice, he'd rather never come here again. By the wave of gasps and complaints as they step out the plane and into the Alaskan air, the others agree with him.
And really, it's not fair, the only one of them that actually pulls off winter wear is JJ. The rest of them look… floofy. Even Hotch.
The sheriff meets them at a cabin that's on the good side of 'almost shabby,' and Morgan has instant misgivings about the man. There's just something about the way he stands; still and watchful, like he's about to meld back into the surroundings like a ghost and slip away… it gets Morgan's back up.
"Well, I'm glad you could make it," he says after Hotch introduces them, his gaze lingering on Reid overly long and the women even longer, and there's another reason Morgan doesn't like him. JJ smiles back placidly. Emily looms, her scowl losing some fierceness since she's wearing a thick blue parka that makes her look like a gnome, as well as rainbow gloves that just have to be a gift from Reid. "Although not everyone is. You know the kinda place we are. Small. Isolated. Some don't like outsiders."
They wait for Hotch's cue. Morgan can already tell this is going to be one of those cases where they spend just as much time smoothing ruffled feathers of locals, and it grates on him like a constant frustration. He hates cases like this. They're there to do a job, damnit, and now Hotch and JJ are going to spend most of it dancing around playing politics.
"We only wish we were here under better circumstances," Hotch is saying, his body turned to encompass the whole team, preventing the sheriff from shutting them out of the conversation. Rossi hovers near his elbow, oozing with vibes of 'this is fine.' The sheriff relaxes, barely. "Can you spare men to take our team where we need to go?"
It's a split second movement, but Morgan spots it. No one else seems to.
The sheriff turns his head, tilting it upwards slightly, as though scenting the air. Then he's back, shrugging easily and smiling with far too many teeth on show.
If Morgan had hackles like Clooney, they'd be up right now.
"I can," the man says in his slow manner. "But unfortunately, you'll have to wait until tomorrow to get down to the coroner's. We only have one in the area, you see, and the road got somewhat messed up like in the last storm. It's the same one that trapped them hikers up here and prevented us from realizing they hadn't come back in an orderly fashion."
"Does that happen often?" Reid is asking, even as he's tugging another coat out of his bag and forcing it over the two he's already wearing. Even from here, Morgan can see him still shivering. You can take the kid from Vegas, Morgan thinks with a spark of amusement. "The damage to the roads?"
"Relatively. They're pretty impassable this time of year. Weather can change fast and it can change deadly. I got men waiting to hike up to where the bodies were found and the missing hikers' campsite with you people; I really must ask that you don't travel anywhere away from the cabin and base camp alone. There are…" he pauses, and his gaze flicks to the women again. Morgan sees Reid stiffen, almost bristling, and the sight is oddly comforting. If even Reid is picking up on some weird vibe, then Morgan sure as shit isn't imagining it. Rossi and Hotch's faces don't change, but then, they wouldn't. "It can be unexpectedly dangerous here, is all. Wildlife. You know."
"The wolf population here is actually at an all-time low due to logging," Reid says, tucking his gloved hands into his sleeves. "I mean, there are bears but the risk to a well-armed, large group such as ours is almost negligible…"
"You'll be splitting up," the sheriff says, and silence pervades. "Body dump sites were pretty far apart, as was the hikers' camp, and we don't have the daylight or the time to be marching from one to the other. You can do your profiling thing in smaller teams, yea?" Hotch breathes slowly, eyes scanning them. Morgan meets his gaze, trying to wordlessly communicate. Yeah this might be how we do thinks back home, he tries to say, but I don't think we should here.
He doesn't want to send any of his team off with strangers if they're anything like this man.
"Understandable," Hotch says, and Morgan almost shouts with frustration. "It's imperative we get to work immediately."
The sheriff nods. He looks up. Reid follows his gaze, tilting his head back and blinking at the weak morning sunlight. "Yeah," the man says, looking back down and eyeing Reid strangely. "Looks like rough weather coming." He walks off, towards the path leading to the base camp, Hotch following after a beat.
"Something stinks about this," Emily mutters. JJ shushes her, eyes calm.
Morgan can't help but agree.
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Hotch gets Prentiss. JJ gets Rossi.
Morgan wouldn't mind having Reid, but the kid really isn't built for the cold. Or the hiking. Or just… anything physical, really.
"It's really cold," Reid points out about ten minutes into their hike, and Morgan fights the desire to say 'No shit, genius.'
"Quite a long way isn't it," Reid tries to say between gasping breaths to one of the rangers walking with them. The man doesn't answer, and Reid goes back to trying to breathe without wheezing. He fails. Morgan's really gotta get him back on the running track; if there's ever a situation when Reid needs to outrun anything more than a three-legged cocker spaniel, he's going to be in a world of trouble.
"Really cold," he mumbles later after Morgan makes the mistake of asking him how he's going, pulling his head into his thick parka like a turtle and blinking out sadly at them from the depths of the material. Morgan sighs.
He misses Prentiss.
"So, you guys got any leads?" Morgan asks one of the rangers when the sounds of Reid being physically inept become almost too much to handle. The woman says nothing, her gaze fixed coldly ahead, and there's a quiet anger radiating from her that sets his teeth on edge. "No one hanging around acting suspicious? No outsiders in the area?"
"Only outsiders in the area are you and yours," the other ranger snaps, narrowing slate grey eyes at them and sneering at Reid. "Ain't no one here besides jumped up politicians thinking they can play at being cops who thought getting you here was a good idea."
Fantastic.
"Well, if the unsub is someone from your community…" Reid begins. Morgan flinches as the two rangers turn and glare at him, cutting him off mid-sentence. He shrinks back further into his coat, looking plaintively at Morgan for help.
Morgan really, really hates Alaska.
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He corners the male ranger once they reach the area where the first body was found. Reid floats off, the woman following him reluctantly at a distance.
"You don't like me, that's alright," Morgan says, trying not to be too intimidating in his posture. "I don't need you to like me. But we're here because you have seven missing people—including a sixteen-year-old. You need us. Are you really going to turn down any help you can get at this point?"
The man stills, his top lip twitching. "Not turning your help down," he says finally, breaking eye-contact first. There's a scuff of a boot behind them, the woman. Morgan glances at her, noting her sharp gaze locked on her partner. They're working off each other's body language, attuned. Morgan recognises that. He works like that with his team every day. It takes a long time to get that kind of rapport, and it's not easily put aside when a government team rocks up on the doorstep telling them they can do their job better than they can. "Just don't think you can help as much as Sheriff Shades thinks you can. You don't have enough information."
"That can be dangerous in these places," the woman adds. June, her nametag reads. The man isn't wearing one. Morgan's pretty sure he didn't even introduce himself to begin with. "We don't go into the forest without information. Weather predictions, animal populations. To do so would be suicide. And they just pluck you outta DC and expect you to know our people? We're not like you. We wouldn't live here if we were."
Morgan smiles, sensing the ice thawing between them, just slightly. It helps that he'd barely flinched at the long, upwards hike. Next to Reid, he was probably looking pretty capable right now. That was fine. They seemed to respect that. They'd learn soon enough to respect Reid's brain as well. "People everywhere aren't so different that we can't do our job," he explains. "And we don't want to step on any toes. We just want those people home safe, and your killer behind bars where they belong."
The woman's mouth twitches in an almost smile. "Yeah," she says finally. "We got similar aims."
"Morgan!" shouts Reid, a pitch of excitement in his voice that means he's found something fascinating. To him, anyway. Morgan looks around, not seeing him, the sharp upward twists of the area making his voice echo oddly around the loose shale clearing. Trees and shrubs obscure their view.
"This way," June says, turning and jogging carefully over the loose ground. Morgan follows, somewhat more cautiously. She steps aside, holding an arm out as though to help him down a path lined with gravel run-off from snow-melt uphill. He thanks her, but lowers himself down it on his own. He needs to keep that capable appearance, at least until they see them in action.
As a result, he's the first one to step out and find Reid crouching in front of a pile of rocks, a blue latex-free glove pulled over his woollen ones, prodding at the pile and shifting them carefully.
"Rocks?" Morgan asks, but as he draws closer he can see what's drawn Reid's attention. Unlike the rest of the clearing, these aren't the small rocks and pebbles left by running water. They're big, heavy, and stacked precariously.
"It's almost like a burial cairn," Reid says, standing and tugging the glove off, tucking it in his pocket. "Why didn't the locals see this when they were removing the first body? We should get cadaver-sniffing dogs out here; we could have more victims."
Morgan opens his mouth to answer, but Reid takes that moment to shift back onto his heels, revealing the shadowed greenery behind them.
Someone hollers, "Don't!" and that doesn't make any sense, except when Reid shifts, Morgan finds himself staring into the dark eyes of a wolf that's far too fucking big and much too fucking close.
Reid blinks. Turns. Morgan notes hysterically that the wolf is easily up to his chest in height and what the fuck.
The wolf leaps. Reid falls, hitting the ground with a crack that silences his startled yelp before it begins.
He goes limp.
Morgan pulls his gun. The wolf looks at him, almost grinning, jaws snapping unerringly towards Reid's unprotected throat. Morgan fires.
Not fast enough.