A/N: Thanks all the reviews, favorites, alerts, etc. The last half of this chapter kind got away from me and Mark took over. OCs need love too! But I will balance it out more in the future.
Chp. 11
"Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it." Michel de Montaigne
As he sat on one of the two double beds in his hotel room, Derek Morgan made a mental note to thank Garcia and Gideon for their help as soon as he, Hotch, Emily and Spencer got back to D.C. Garcia had obtained rooms for Hotch, Morgan, Emily and Spencer even before they left the Marshals office after Gideon and Rossi flew to Baltimore. Gideon had pulled some strings and retained the BAU's jet for their trip home. Derek's only complaint was that he was bunking with Hotch rather than Emily and Spencer.
"Morgan?"
Derek turned, surprise on his face because Hotch looked like he'd said his name a few times and been ignored. "Huh? Sorry, Hotch did you say something? Went inside my head for a minute."
"It was longer than a minute. I've been trying to get your attention for the last five." Hotch said with a smirk.
"Yeah, well…" Derek started, then trailed off.
"Just be careful." Hotch said, serious again.
Derek feigned confusion. "How do you mean?"
"Spencer's been hurt enough. If things don't work out with Prentiss, he could be collateral damage."
Hotch saw a look in Morgan's eyes that told the former prosecutor he might have gone too far. "For the record the thing that brought us together was Spencer. But I know what you mean. Contrary to my usual style, I'm taking this one slow. I want things to work out between Emily and me." Morgan finished, then quickly added, "But you didn't hear that."
"Hate to break it to you, but everyone knows."
Morgan blanched. "Seriously?"
"Yep."
Morgan flopped back on the bed and covered his face with his hands, muttering, "Crap."
Hotch just smiled and went back his report.
000
Spencer was scared. Scared that Emily would leave him in the hotel room and go to Morgan. He knew she hadn't given him any reason to feel this way, but that was what his father always did. "Spencer?"
Again that sweet voice brought him back. He turned and looked her, feeling tears in his eyes, but he made no effort to stop them. Emily had just been letting him play was the bath toys she and Morgan had bought him that afternoon. She picked him up and wrapped a towel around him. She went out and sat on the bed, rocking him. He was crying openly now and Emily guessed his anxiety was due to the change in environment. She ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the other down his back. "Shh, you're safe sweetheart. I won't leave you."
"Pwomise?"
Emily smiled. Her theory had just been proved right. Spencer regressed whenever he felt scared or anxious. She wrapped her arms around him and he laid his head on her chest. "I promise, baby."
"Where Morgan?"
"He's here. He's with Hotch." Emily said and smiled again at Spencer's relieved sigh. "How 'bout we finish getting you ready for bed? It's late, you're tired and so am I and we have an early flight." Emily smirked over Spencer's head at how much she sounded like a mom just then. Maybe this won't be so hard after all. Even if it is, it'll still be worth it.
000
A buzzing sound and a vibration on his left hip woke Mark. His eyes snapped open and he saw midmorning sunlight coming through the window. Rubbing his face in an effort to wake himself, he reached for the phone. Because of his work, he didn't program speed dials into his phone in case it fell into the wrong hands. But he recognized the number on the screen and smiled. He answered with a brisk, "Hi, nonna."
"Why it take you so long to answer your nonna, Marco?"
Isabella Rossi was the only one who called him Marco. "I was asleep, Nonna. I got in late last night."
"Were you with a girl?" Isabella asked brightly.
Mark scowled, even though she couldn't see his face. He hated having this conversation. "No, ma'am, I was working."
"Oh, well, are you coming for dinner tonight?"
Mark thought about it for a second, then decided he didn't have it in him to disappoint his grandmother. "Yes, ma'am, I'll be there. Want me to bring anything?"
"Just yourself. 7:00, ok?"
"Ok, nonna. Bye, love you."
"Ciao, ti amo, Marco."
Mark disconnected the call and looked down at the glass on his desk. Finding it empty, he briefly thought about another drink. Deciding that one was enough, he went to his bedroom, changed into sweats and tennis shoes, then went back his office.
Though Mark generally kept everything in the house the same as it had been when he'd purchased the place two years earlier, he did make some minor changes. One was to convert the closet in the master bedroom into a gunsafe. It was large enough to accommodate Mark's entire arsenal and then some. He punched in the code to unlock the safe, then placed his thumb on a thumb print scanner and leaned in to allow a retinal scanner to scan his right eye. He'd always thought it was overkill but, at the same time, better safe than sorry. He heard the satisfying click of the locking bolts retracting, then grabbed the handle and yanked it counter clockwise. Pulling the door open, he stepped inside the small room. One wall held several bolt action and semiautomatic sniper rifles, another various submachine guns and carbines, another wall held shotguns and the last pistols. Shelves held various web gear, vests and body armor, magazines and ammunition. Also on the shelves were grenades, both lethal explosives and non-lethal distraction devices.
Going to the wall of pistols, he picked up a Glock 30, a subcompact .45 caliber pistol that he often carried while running outdoors. Grabbing a fanny pack off another shelf, he put the pistol inside, put the pack on and walked out of the safe. Before leaving the house, he grabbed his ipod, credentials and keys. While running, he thought about how he was going to kill William Reid. It didn't matter that Reid was in police custody. That would make getting to him harder, but not impossible. With enough time, planning and skill nothing was impossible.
000
After his run, Mark showered and ate a B.L.T. with a Heineken while watching the news. Then he dressed in jeans, a white long sleeve dress shirt, brown cowboy boots and charcoal grey blazer. He'd even changed his sidearm of choice, switching to a Glock 21 pistol chamber in .45ACP, deciding he wanted a little more punch than the 9mm round his Glock 17 was chambered for. It was still early to be dressing for dinner, just after 1pm. But Mark had some business to take care of at the office, including a debriefing scheduled at 3pm.
One of the advantages to being single, Mark had found, was that as long as you were willing to save up for some things, you could pretty much do what you wanted to with your money. One of Mark's passions, other than guns, was trucks, cars and motorcycles. He currently owned a 2012 Harley Davidson Iron 883 motorcycle, a 1994 Ford Bronco and his most prized possession, a fully restored 1967 GT500 Shelby Mustang. He decided to take the mustang, as he'd missed it the most during his time in Vegas. As he slipped behind the wheel and fired up the engine, Mark involuntarily smiled. There was just something about old fashioned American muscle that always brought a smile to his face.
000