Chapter 46

Morgan Residence
Chicago, IL

Hotch stood and looked up at the idyllic house standing in front of him. A bland house on a bland street, with nothing special to make it stand out against all the others in the neighborhood. He'd come from DC via commercial flight, leaving the business jet behind. Everything about this trip was classified, restricted to the eyes and ears of Hotch, his team, and the Special Counsel himself. By all rights, he was here to pay a visit to an old friend.

With a sigh, he started up the walk and through the gate, pausing at the door before raising his hand to rap sharply on the wood. From behind the door there was the thumping sound of feet on hardwood flooring, stopping on the other side of the door. Hotch focused his gaze on the peephole and smiled his 'old friend' smile, and soon after, the door swung wide, with Derek Morgan standing on the other side.

"Hotch?"

"Surprise," Hotch said, the dry tone seeping into the words.

"Hey, man, come on in."

Derek stood back and away from the door with an inviting swing of his arm, and Hotch took the invitation, stepping into the house, realizing suddenly that it was the first time he'd visited.

"You are about the last person on Earth I expected to be knocking at my door. How the hell have you been?"

Morgan led the way to the kitchen as he talked with Hotch on his heels.

"Busier than ever," Hotch replied. "Guess you heard that I'm working on a new project?"

"Yeah, the rumor mill doesn't shut down just because you retire, you know. So what's it like? You like it better than running down serial killers?"

"Well, the hours aren't all that different, but the change from blood stains to tax returns is something else."

Morgan laughed.

"I bet. Come on, let me get you a drink. Something tells me you're not here just to catch up with an old friend, are you?"

"Not exactly."

Morgan pulled two beers out of the fridge and cracked them open, passing one to Hotch before taking a drink out of his.

"All right. Then let's get down to it. Why are you here, Hotch?"

"It's complicated. I want you to come with me on an assignment. You know about the aliens?"

"You mean the ones that landed their door knocker on the stairs of the UN? Yeah, I've heard a few things."

"We've been working with their state department, and things are moving forward. I can't tell you a lot more until you answer a question for me."

"I have a feeling I'm not going to like the question."

"It involves a few weeks out of town. But it's not just for me, it's for Reid."

"Reid?" Morgan asked, frowning. "What does he have to do with this?"

"It's complicated, and classified right now, but…"

"All right, all right. Ask, Hotch."

"How do you feel about being one of the first humans on another world?"


Medford Regional Airport
Medford, Oregon

The flight from Chicago to Portland, Oregon was as uneventful as Hotch could have wanted. From there, it was a simple puddle jumper hop from Portland down to Medford, but that was when it became a bit more official. Hotch pulled a few favors with the state sheriffs association, owing to the help that the BAU had given them over the years, and when they touched down in Southern Oregon, there was a sheriff's Blackhawk helicopter waiting for them.

Hotch had made a few other calls before going to visit Morgan, putting together the team that was going to go with them, and the other two were waiting on the tarmac near the helicopter. Hotch and Morgan stopped in front of them, with Hotch smiling at all of them assembled.

"Sergeant Audrey McMillan," Hotch said, gesturing to the tall and very confident looking woman sitting on the edge of the Blackhawk's crew section, "this is Derek Morgan, formerly with the FBI."

"Sir," McMillan said quickly, holding out a hand to Morgan.

"Just Morgan is fine, sergeant," Morgan responded. "I guess I'm technically a civilian now."

"Actually," Hotch said with a look, "you're an investigator with the Special Counsel's office. At least on paper."

"All right, then. But still, just Morgan."

"You got it," McMillan said, leaning back against the open cargo door.

"Special ops, right?" Morgan asked. "Baghdad?"

"Close. Fallujah," McMillan replied, the smile on her face caught between cocky and friendly.

"Same sandbox."

"McMillan is our operational expert for the team. She has experience in IED's, insurgent tactics, and pretty much every weapon the Marines have to offer. Only thing she's not certified in is fencing."

"Does that matter?" Morgan asked?

"It might," Hotch replied. "Given what we've seen of the Quadranians and the Mrr'tani, they like their blades."

"Are we talking about the same aliens? The ones that landed a ship at the UN? Don't they have ray guns or something?"

"Prentiss said 'light sabers.'"

"Oh. Okay. Light sabers."

McMillan laughed and clapped Morgan on the arm.

"Don't worry, you're not the first one that asked that question," she said, still chuckling.

"And this," Hotch said, turning to the lanky man leaning against the helicopter, "is Special Agent Jason Radcliffe. He's from the Bureau's Violent Crimes against Children Unit. He comes highly recommended by Garcia."

That made Morgan take a closer look at the man, who at first glance looked uncommonly nondescript. He was the kind of guy who, if you had to pick him out of a lineup, he'd look like nearly every other person on the street. But with closer inspection, there was something about him, the way that his eyes peered out from behind the everyman glasses on his face, or the way that his brown hair was tousled in the same way as Reid's always seemed to be.

"So you're Derek Morgan, huh?" he asked, standing up with an outstretched hand. "Garcia had a lot to say about you."

"Did she?" Morgan asked, taking Radcliffe's hand for a firm shake. "Knowing her, it's all true, too."

"Yeah, she said you'd say that," Radcliffe said with a smile. "She also said that you're the man to have at your back in a tight spot. I'm inclined to take her word on that. Welcome to the team."

"Radcliffe is our tech analyst for this team. He spent six years with the Crimes Against Children unit, and there's no one better at getting into places he's not supposed to be. Well, maybe one person, but I'm not taking Garcia away from the BAU. They need her more than ever now that Reid's on leave."

Hotch adjusted the bag on his shoulder and looked over the helicopter. The whole team was dressed in standard issue jungle utilities, ones that McMillan had insisted be Marine Corps issue, and they all had their things stowed in packs and matching duffel bags.

"You all ready for this?" Hotch asked.

They all nodded as they watched him, Morgan still wanting to ask where the hell they were going.

"Wheels up in five, then."


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Note: This chapter guest written by my lovely wife The Blind Tigress