Disclaimer: I do not own anything Criminal Minds related. Characters are merely borrowed and will be put back later. ;)

A/N: I decided to lengthen this by just one chapter. This also fits a prompt, which is handy. And this is especially for Brummie and Nexis. :)

Title: Trust

Prompt: 72 Hours

"I do not wish to treat friendships daintily, but with the roughest courage. When they are real, they are not glass threads or frost-work, but the solidest thing we know."
 Ralph Waldo Emerson

Morgan had been sitting next to Hotch's bed now for about ten hours, and still he had not woken up from surgery. It was almost three days after the Boston Reaper had found his way into Hotch's apartment to wait for his return. It was almost three days since Morgan had, with blood all over his hands, phoned Emily, Rossi, Reid, JJ and Garcia to tell them what was happening- what had happened- and where he was.

There had been a clamour to get to the hospital, and everyone had sat with Hotch as he fought his way back to the land of the living. It had been touch and go for a while, and there were moments, the doctors said, when it had seemed he would not return at all. But they had called Hotch a fighter- and a nurse had told them that staying awake at all had been a huge feat of endurance.

There was no denying that Hotch was strong enough to find his way back. Over the past three days, they had all sat with him. Emily had held his hand and hummed to herself, willing him to wake up and squeeze her fingers back to let her know he was alright. JJ talked to him about Jack and about Henry, knowing that Jack being safe would have been paramount in Hotch's mind. Reid sat with him and recited odd statistics about gunshot wounds.

Rossi said nothing, but wandered through the room and read a newspaper; a silent watcher, there to allow Hotch to have moments alone with his own thoughts. Garcia, when she sat with him, talked to him, told him that she knew how he felt, but that the team needed him more now than ever. She had been in his position, and she could remember people talking to her as she fought off the constant tiredness of the wound. She had appreciated all that effort, and she hoped that by talking to him, he would know that they desperately wanted- and needed- him back.

And Morgan. When Morgan sat with him at first, he had nothing to say. What do you say when you realise that the person you respect more than anyone else trusts you enough to put their life in your hands in a very dire moment? How do you not feel an intricate link to that person, which you know will last forever? How do you put into words the sense of relief that you were there when they most needed you?

Morgan was damn sure, throughout the entire ride to the hospital, that he was glad he had not moved to New York. He knew that he would never, ever, be able to do what Hotch did for the BAU. And Morgan had to admit that when Hotch had been calm enough to phone him, Morgan himself had been terrified, a quivering wreck, frightened beyond reason that he would have to break bad news to the rest of the team.

And so on top of his respect, on top of his honour and admiration for Aaron Hotchner, he felt a swell of gratitude. Just by virtue of his determination to live, Hotch had saved him the burden of telling Jack that his father was not coming home. Instead he had been able to tell the boy that Daddy was going to be just fine.

And he tried to explain those things to Hotch, on the second day he sat there. He had fumbled over his words, holding his ID in his hands, trying to stop them from shaking. Trying to relate to Hotch that he appreciated, more than the other man might ever know, the trust that Hotch had placed in him.

"Imagine if I had gone to New York. Who would you have called?" he muttered at one point. "You told me that you would always trust me with your life... I didn't think you were serious..." he half whispered.

And on the third day, after a night of dark thinking, he was forced to realise one final thing. In a crisis moment, when all faith flies out the window and even if God was at his shoulder, Morgan would have no hesitation in placing his life in Aaron Hotchner's hands. The man had proved to him, time and time and time again, that he knew exactly how Morgan operated, and he knew exactly what Morgan's limitations were.

But he had never, ever, hesitated to test those limits and challenge Morgan even more. It was something Derek would always be grateful for. In much the same way that his father was never far from the back of his mind, he knew that everything Hotch had taught him made him the agent he was.

So on the third day, he said very little, and kept quiet, knowing that what he had to say, he would say when Hotch could definitely hear him.

***

You can never quite be ready for that moment; that brief, fleeting brush with death that tells you life will always be a battle.

Aaron Hotchner had expected this moment for the past few months. He had not taken the deal, and the deal had caught up to him. In his head he profiled; in his heart he cried.

"No deal," he said viciously, ignoring the pain in his chest.

"No deal," he said again, looking straight into Foyet's eyes.

"No deal," he half yelled, blasting the pain away with his stubbornness and pulling the trigger.

His eyes flickered and his hand jerked ever so slightly in Emily's. She grabbed his fingers with her other hand and willed him into consciousness again. Her humming was interrupted, but she had seen the flicker of his eyes. "Morgan!" she said, calling to the man asleep in the chair next to her. "Morgan!"

Aaron Hotchner pulled himself back into the present tense. It had been 72 hours. 72 long, hard, painful hours, during which he had seen his actions from every angle; every place; every outlook. 72 hours since the burning pain in his shoulder had started.

He opened his eyes for sure and blinked once or twice as he adjusted to the light of the room. He felt hands clasping his own hand, and he squeezed as reassuringly as he could. I'm fine.

When his eyes focused properly, the first face he saw was Morgan's, because Morgan was first through the door, anxious and concerned. Hotch cleared his throat a little and opened his mouth, inhaling despite the hissing in his lung as it expanded.

"I never thanked you," he said softly.

"You never need to," Morgan replied quietly. "Ever."

Hotch looked at the man in front of him, and knew he had made the right choice. When it had come down to deciding who to call, three days before, he had considered the emergency services. And then he had considered that the one time he had trusted an ambulance, it was Morgan who had steered it away.

"Hotch," Morgan said suddenly, more stating his name than beginning a question.

"Mm?" Hotch said, feeling tired and comforted by Emily stroking his hand absentmindedly.

"I trust you," he said, "I really do"

"I know," Hotch noted. Of course he knew. Morgan had trusted him for a long time; he just hadn't realised it. That was why he didn't go to New York. It wasn't a matter of respect for Hotch's opinion; it was a matter of whether or not he trusted the man who led his team; whether or not he trusted himself to do as good a job.

And at the end of the day, Hotch knew that Morgan had decided he trusted Hotch more.

And they didn't need to say anything else about it.