The shivering man re-dressed himself in the pajamas he'd discarded on the dresser and crawled into his bed, burrowing under the covers. Clooney bounded up and curled into a ball next to him, panting his doggy breath into his master's face. "Good boy," Derek said, scratching his shaggy head. He didn't usually let Clooney sleep on the bed—women didn't seem to like finding dog hair on the pillow—but tonight, he'd make an exception.

He curled on his side, letting his dog's bulk warm his back. His eyes closed. It was only midnight, but Morgan was exhausted. Things, he hoped, would seem better in the morning.

He had nearly drifted off when he heard a knock on the door. Morgan cursed as Clooney barked loudly in his ear. There was no way he could pretend to have slept through that!

Reluctantly, he shoved off the warm covers and left his bedroom, the dog right on his heels. On instinct, he picked up his gun on the way to the door. He glanced through the spy hole, and his eyes widened as his blood turned to ice.

It was Hotch.

Clooney barked again, stirring him into action. He had to answer it, he decided. Hotch had likely figured out that he was standing on the other side of the door anyway, what with Clooney barking like a maniac and all.

He put the gun down on the small table beside the entrance that held his keys. "Back, Clooney," he warned, and slowly opened the door. His dog promptly ignored him, shoving his snout out the small opening. "What's up, Hotch? Do we have a case? I thought I left my phone on..." He hoped his voice sounded normal.

The man looked at him, and Morgan could see that Hotch saw right through him. "It's not about a case, Morgan."

"You gonna enlighten me as to why you're standing on my porch in the middle of the night then?" He'd already started on this gambit; might as well really commit. "I was already in bed."

"May I come in?" Hotch asked quietly.

Morgan hesitated, but only for a second. He didn't want to have this conversation, but there was no good way to refuse. "Yeah. Clooney, back off!" He grabbed the dog by the collar and hauled him away from the door so that he wouldn't maul his boss.

Hotch stepped inside and removed his shoes. Clooney inserted himself between the two men, but didn't try to jump on Hotch like he usually did with visitors. Morgan reached down and scratched the dog's head.

"Can we sit? Please?" With those words Morgan saw a vulnerability in his boss that was not usually apparent, and the knot in his gut unclenched just a little. Hotch was just as nervous as he was, if not more so. Strangely enough, that made Morgan feel like they were on more equal footing.

"Yeah, sorry. Come on," Morgan said.

He led Hotch into the living room and sat on the couch, clicking the switch on a table lamp. Clooney resumed his place beside him, and Hotch sat on the leather recliner to his right. Morgan couldn't think of anything to say, and he looked at the tops of his knees. Damn; he was still wearing those goofy pajama pants Garcia had given him. He blushed and hoped it wasn't noticeable in the faint light.

Hotch finally spoke. "Morgan, I want to explain," he said.

Morgan felt his brow crease a little, but he nodded silently. He heard Hotch take a breath.

"But first, I need to apologize. I am so sorry for how I treated you on that roof top. I had absolutely no right to hit you like that. It was completely inexcusable, and I am fully prepared to take responsibility for my actions. So tomorrow, I am going to resign from my position. And as a lawyer, I feel compelled to tell you that you have a case against me, should you wish to press charges."

Morgan felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he finally looked at the man's face. He had not been expecting that. "Hotch—"

"Please let me finish," Hotch requested, and Morgan shut his mouth. His boss looked down, seeming to collect his thoughts.

"When I was a child, my father was well-liked and well-respected in the community. He was social and charming. Everyone wanted to be his friend.

"At home, he was a drunk who would terrorize my mother and me, using physical violence to control us and keep us under his thumb. But from the outside, we looked like a perfect family, if you could ignore the occasional bruises. And people are very good at ignoring that kind of thing, because money can talk very loudly.

"As a boy, I vowed that I would never raise my hand against my child in anger. Having received so many beatings that were patently unfair, that kind of violence was abhorrent to me."

Morgan didn't understand. What the hell did this have to do with anything? He wasn't a child, no matter what Hotch had done to him...

Hotch took a deep breath. "I have never punished Jack while angry. I've given him a spanking or two, but I've always waited until after I calm down. And tonight, I remembered why I have always made such an effort to do so."

Morgan felt frozen to the couch, barely breathing. That mental fog was back with a vengeance, making it hard to comprehend what his boss was saying.

"When I saw you go leaping across that ledge tonight, my heart stopped, Morgan. In those seconds, I thought about what I would have to tell your mother, your sisters, Garcia, Reid...the whole team. I thought about your body splashed across the pavement. It was terrifying." Hotch looked at him again, and their eyes met. "But then, thank God, you made it. You were across, and safe, and suddenly, all that fear turned to anger. Anger that you would risk your life like that, needlessly. And when I got over to that roof, and you were fine and in one piece, something inside of me snapped.

"I'd hit you before I even knew what I was doing. And I knew that it was wrong, that I had no right—you aren't my son, you aren't a child—but I could not get myself to stop. That is not an excuse because there is no excuse for what I did. It's just a fact. By the time my mind had caught up with my hand, I had already hit you repeatedly."

"Hotch," Morgan tried again, finally looking up at his boss' face. This time, the man didn't say anything, so Morgan continued. "Hotch, you didn't hit me. So stop saying that. If you'd hauled off and slugged me, that would be something that I could understand at least. That's something one grown man might do to another, if he's angry enough. But you fucking spanked me! Like a kid!" He felt his throat tensing as his voice got louder. "Do you really think so little of me...respect me so little as to treat me like a five-year-old? That is humiliating, man!" He was yelling now, yelling at his boss. His voice sounded strange to his own ears, and he swallowed a few times, trying to get it back under control. The shame hit him then, and he looked away, unable to meet Hotch's eyes.

"Morgan, I have a five year old," Hotch said in a low voice. "Once you have a child, you are always, first and foremost, a parent. While I usually can keep that role separate from my role as boss, I am human. And tonight, it got tangled, and came out ugly. And I am sorry. I am so sorry that I disrespected you like that, that I hurt you and embarrassed you. I understand that I cannot take it back, but I will do everything I can to make it right. That is why I am going to hand in my resignation, and why if you decide to press charges against me, I will plead guilty. The last thing I want to do is humiliate you again."

"And what about Jack?" Morgan demanded..

"Excuse me?" Hotch replied.

"What about Jack? Depending on the judge, you could theoretically be looking at time," Morgan said, looking Hotch in the eye again. If he didn't think, they could be talking about a case, and it gave him back some control. "It would fall under battery, wouldn't it?" He heard his own words, but they felt far away.

Hotch nodded. "Jessica would take custody if necessary," he said. He looked grim.

Morgan could not believe this conversation. After the night he'd been having, it was just the icing on the top of the cake. And he still couldn't seem to get a handle on his emotions; they would flare and then, suddenly, be blanketed under a coating of unreality. He jumped up and began to pace back and forth.

Part of him wanted revenge. Wanted Hotch to feel humiliation and pain like he'd felt. Wanted him to pay for what he'd done.

But another part of him knew that it wasn't Aaron Hotchner he was really angry at. The man hadn't hurt him; the pain had only been temporary and relatively mild, especially when compared to how much falling off that building would have hurt. And the humiliation was mostly in his mind; no one had been around on that rooftop to see what Hotch had done. The most painful part of what had happened tonight hadn't occurred on that rooftop, but here, in his living room, in his mind. Taking revenge against Hotch couldn't fix that.

And it could leave another young boy without his daddy to protect him.

"What about the team, Hotch? What would you tell them?" Morgan asked, still pacing. His stomach felt like he'd swallowed ground glass.

"I haven't figured that out yet," Hotch replied. "I may take a day or two worth of leave before letting them know."

"You told me once that our team needed to stick together. You stepped down as team leader to keep us as a unit. Are you telling me now that that isn't true?" Morgan challenged, stopping dead in the middle of the floor. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at his boss.

"No," Hotch said. "But I cannot ask you to overlook what I did to you, Morgan. Not even for the sake of the team. I won't do it."

"Why not? You've done a hell of a lot of stuff for the sake of the team, Aaron. We've all made sacrifices. Why wouldn't you ask me to let this go?" He stared down at his boss, his words hard. "It's just a few little words...'just forget about it, Morgan. We'll pretend this never happened, Morgan.' Too proud to ask?" Morgan wasn't sure who he was mocking with those words, as they'd never come from Aaron Hotchner's mouth. Hotch was all about justice. It made him up, as much or more than did flesh and bone and blood.

"No, Derek. I'm not. But I wouldn't ask that of you...of anyone." The man let out a small sigh. "I was the one who chose to...spank you on that rooftop. The consequences of that belong on my shoulders, and mine alone."

Derek shut his eyes and felt himself deflate. At Hotch's admission that he had indeed spanked him, all that anger and bluster he'd been using to hide behind disappeared in an instant. Now he just felt overwhelmed with emotions he couldn't name. "Excuse me," he managed around a mouthful of bile, and he beat feet to the bathroom again.

He vomited as silently as possible into the toilet, then sat on the edge of the tub and gripped his hands together between his knees.

This fell squarely in his lap. He had a choice to make, and unfortunately, there was no good answer. Not really. Because no matter what Morgan decided, someone innocent was going to have to pay the cost.

If he pressed charges against Hotch, little Jack Hotchner might have a couple of years without his daddy. And he knew that Jack thought his daddy was Superman. No kid deserved to have that taken from him. Derek knew what it was like, to lose your hero. He couldn't do that to another little boy. Especially not to a little boy who had already lost his mama.

If Hotch resigned tomorrow, the team would be in shock. He pictured his coworkers'—no, his friends'—faces. They would not take it well. Especially Reid, who had nearly gone off the rails when Gideon had left. He'd been furious with Emily and JJ when Emily had returned from the "dead," and had told JJ that he'd almost gone back to using. The kid would see Hotch's resignation as another betrayal. Morgan would put money on it. But what would that lead to? Another battle with Dilauded? It wasn't outside the realm of possibility. His stomach clenched again at the idea, and he bent forward over the toilet and spewed out another long stream of foul-tasting liquid.

He couldn't. He could not do that. Not to little Jack, and not to the team. Even as he thought that, his stomach finally began to settle.

There was a quiet tap on the door. "Morgan? Are you all right?" It was Hotch, of course, and he sounded concerned.

Morgan coughed and hoped his boss hadn't heard him throwing up. "I need a minute," he said hoarsely, his throat irritated by all the throwing up.

"Do you want me to go?"

Morgan shook his head, even though Hotch couldn't see him. "No," he said. "Just wait. I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay." He heard retreating footsteps.

Morgan sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. He flushed the toilet, and quickly washed up and rinsed out his mouth. He then braved a look in the mirror.

His own rich brown eyes stared back at him. They were just like his mother's. Unbidden, her words came to him. "Baby, everyone makes mistakes. But not everyone forgives. And forgiving somebody is the best thing you can do, because it's the only way that you'll ever let go of what they did to you." It was advice she'd given him long ago about some childish slight, but it still applied. And if he couldn't let go of this, it would hurt more than just him and Hotch.

"Okay, Mama," he whispered. He stood up straight, and left the safety of the bathroom.

Hotch was still in the living room, sitting on Derek's worn out leather chair. He looked up at him. "Are you okay?" he asked hesitantly. Morgan nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "Must have been bad Chinese earlier or something."

Hotch didn't say anything, but Morgan knew he wasn't fooled. He sighed and took up his abandoned seat on the couch next to Clooney, who was snoring softly. "Listen, Hotch. While I was in there, I did a little thinking. And as far as I can see, you owe it to me to hear me out. Agreed?"

Hotch nodded and gestured silently for him to continue.

"So I thought about it. Thought about what you said about pressing charges. And yeah, there's a part of me that wants revenge, because I'm only human. But then I thought about your little boy.

"Depending on the judge, you could see time. Not real likely, but possible. We both know that you don't belong in jail, Hotch. And a fed in jail? Something could happen. If you got hurt, that would be on me. How would I explain that to Jack, that his Uncle Derek put his daddy in jail and he got hurt? Over something that hurt nothing except my pride? And even if you came out fine, that's not fair to Jack, because he needs his daddy. You're all he has, man, and I can't take that away from him. I can't do that to a kid."

He could see relief in Hotch's eyes, but that relief was still tempered. His body language said that he expected Morgan to demand some other kind of recompense. Morgan toyed with the idea for another brief moment, but his mother's words echoed silently in his head. If he was going to do this, he'd do it right.

"Then, I thought about what you said about resigning. And Hotch? I can't let you do that."

"What?" It was rare that Hotch let his emotions show, but Derek was pretty sure he'd shocked the man into it, and surprise was plain on his usually stoic face. "Morgan, what I did to you, legally, is defined as assault and battery. If you don't want to press charges, that is your business, but there is no way—"

"Hotch, ou said you'd hear me out," Morgan said. Hotch shut his mouth, and Morgan continued. "For one thing, I wouldn't call what you did 'assault' or 'battery.' Legally, maybe it fits the definition, but practically, my mama swings harder than you do." He gave a little half-smile. "Well, maybe not, but Mama's not a big woman. Anyway, that wasn't really where I was going with that. What I'm trying to say is, you did most of the damage to my pride, not my hide. And to me, my pride's not worth hurting our friends over. If you resign, Reid will be absolutely devastated. He already lost Gideon; do you remember the mess that was? And Emily? I thought he was never going to forgive JJ for that. If he lost you too, especially without good reason, I don't think even Garcia and I would be able to clean up the mess. And that doesn't even take into account how the others would feel. Rossi, JJ, Emily, Garcia, and yeah, even me. Because you can be a bastard sometimes, but you're also my friend, man." Morgan swallowed and met the other man's stunned brown eyes. "And I would hate for one mistake, even a really damn big one, to kill that."

Hotch's mouth was hanging open, ever so slightly. "Morgan, I—"

"That being said," Morgan continued, wanting to get everything off his chest, "if you ever pull something like that again, that's it. I will beat your ass into the ground, no lie. This is the only time you'll get a second chance, Hotch." Morgan swallowed. Silence hung over them. "Alright. I'm done."

The silence continued. Finally, Hotch cleared his throat. "If I ever do something that stupid again, I'd say you have a moral obligation to punch me out. But I won't. You asked me if I respect you so little, but Morgan, there was a reason that I asked you to step up as Acting Unit Chief, and it was because I respect you. I am sorry that my actions tonight conveyed otherwise." His eyes were sincere, and Derek felt something hard and angry loosen in his chest. "That said, are you absolutely sure? You're sure you don't want me to resign, or at the very least, to step down as unit chief? Because if you don't feel you can trust me, Morgan, we shouldn't be in the field as a team."

"Oh, I know I can trust you, Hotch," Morgan said, and to his own surprise, he did; no reservations. "Because you are a good man, despite your mistakes. You apologized; you came to make it right. And not just with talk; you were prepared to follow through. I'd bet you already have your resignation typed and ready to hand in, don't you?" Hotch nodded, and Morgan smirked. "Better shred that sucker. If you weren't trustworthy, you'd still be at home, pretending that nothing was wrong, figuring that loyalty or embarrassment or fear would keep me quiet." And hell, you might have been right, Morgan thought. He held out his hand for his boss to shake, and Hotch took it. Their handshake was unusually solemn.

"Thank you, Derek," his boss said softly.

"Yeah. Now go home, Aaron," he replied. "Morning's coming all too soon."

The two men nodded at each other, and Morgan ushered his boss from his house. Then he returned to his living room, turned off the lamp, and called his dog, who woke with a snort and followed him into his bedroom. Derek peeled off his shirt and sweater and crawled into bed. After a moment, Clooney bounded up there next to him. He reached over and scratched the dog's floppy ears.

"Mama always did know best, Clooney," he murmured to his pet. He yawned. "C'mon. Let's go to sleep already."

And in five minutes, both man and dog were snoring away.

)—oo00OO00oo—(

"When you forgive, you in no way change the past—but you sure do change the future."- Bernard Meltzer