For: temporalranger

Words: 782

Genre: Comedy/Crack

Characters/Ships: Ensemble—Gen

Summary: "No, you're not going to need backup. You're going to need morph power."

Author's Notes: I just… I don't even know. I acknowledge this piece to be a pitiful excuse for writing, but… yeah. You'll understand soon enough.

05.

Hotch jumped in surprise, smacking his head against the underside of the table as his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. This case had begun to unravel from the moment they entered the government building, where the UnSub was holding a roomful of hostages and waving a gun over his head. Shots had been fired. The team, scattered. And now he was hiding under a desk and getting phone calls when they were supposed to be keeping quiet—

"Garcia, what is it?" he hissed into the receiver, ignoring the look of inquiry that Emily was trying to shoot him from across the room.

"I think I have a solution, Sir," came the reply, confident.

"Good, because we're going to need backup."

"No, you're not." There was a brief pause, and then: "You're going to need morph power."

"…what?"

A breath of a sigh came across the phone line. "The roundish thing in your pocket with the words on it. Just do what feels right. Garcia out."

Slightly confused by the techie's lack of clarification, Hotch peeked over the top of the desk to make sure that the UnSub had retreated from that hallway. Then he clambered to his feet. Conscious of Emily's eyes upon him, he reached into his pocket to find the dial. The moment he touched it, a surge of confidence seemed to sweep into his very chest, empowering him to complete the mission. He knew what to do.

With the stature of a man who takes no nonsense, he straightened his lapels, set his jaw, and declared, "It's morphin' time. Dragonzord!"

The reaction was instantaneous. The sounds of his team's voices erupted from all around, as strangely confident and serious as his own had been. The shouts of different animal names blurred together so fast that Hotch didn't have time to process it all before silence settled once more. Then, an explosion to his left, and Emily stood up. Except that, had he not known her to be there, he would not have recognized her at all.

"Yellow Ranger, ready for duty!" she exclaimed, kicking over the remains of her hiding space.

Hotch looked down to find that he had somehow donned a similar suit, but in green. He opened his mouth to vocalize his confusion, but—

"Hiiii-yah!" A figure in red back-flipped into the room, followed closely by another in pink. "Red and Pink Rangers here, Hotch."

Hotch squinted at the pair. "How come you get to be red, Dave?" he intoned as Rossi shrugged. "I'm usually the one in a red tie."

"It's because you're the leader," Dave replied. His voice sounded clear despite the unmoving shell over his head and mouth. "Everyone knows that the leader wears green."

"Well, at least you aren't in a color only because of your gender!" said JJ, who was evidently the Pink Ranger.

"Well, actually—uumph."

There was a clatter, and everyone turned to find that yet another warrior had entered the room—well, "tripped" was probably a better word, for upon passing through the doorway, his armored foot caught a piece of what was left of Emily's desk and sent him sprawling to the ground.

"It's so hard to see with this helmet," said Reid from the floor. "Frankly, I'm amazed that the design made it all the way through the nineties."

JJ laughed. "I stand corrected on my gender argument. Purple, Reid? Really?"

Adjusting his helmet from where he sat on the ground, Reid replied, "I didn't pick the color, but I'm actually not complaining. Historically, purple was a color of nobility for both men and women."

JJ dismissed his explanation as she helped her discombobulated friend to his feet. However, the moment Reid had finally finished brushing himself off, the final ranger arrived.

Morgan, unlike his fellow team members, did not even attempt to make a grand entrance. Instead, he merely slid the door open and slipped through into the room, seemingly unaware that he was even dressed in uniform.

"Whose idea was this?" he demanded, unimpressed.

A response beeped in their ears, making them all start in surprise. "It was mine!" said Garcia, who sounded far more chipper than had anyone else thus far.

"… Did you have to make me the Black Ranger?"

"Yes."

Morgan sighed, shaking his head. "Fine. At least I'm not the Purple Ranger."

"Hey, I already explained that purple—"

"All right," Morgan cut in, "we need to stop this guy before he shoots up the place. Power Rangers, go!"

And with that, he sent out a kick so powerful that it knocked down several doors all at once. The brave Power Rangers thwarted the villain and saved the day.

x

Fin.