Work Text:
Of Innocence and Empathy: Unlocking the World
by Frogg
Hearing Reid's story start winding down behind him, Morgan quit surveying the hotel lobby and turned back towards the front desk. Sure enough, Hotch was on his way back, stack of keycard envelopes in his hand.
Morgan had no idea how Reid managed to time his stories that well. It didn't seem to matter who was checking the team in.
"Ok, normal rooming assignments. Since this is a conference and not a case, and since I'm not your mother," there was a smattering of quiet laughter, a snort from Garcia, and a blindingly innocent smile from Reid, "you don't have a curfew and you each have your own room. We're on the fourth floor in the east wing. Morgan." He held out the first tiny envelope.
Morgan accepted it with a nod, tucking it into his palm as he lifted his duffel bag over his shoulder as Hotch gave Reid, then the others their room keys.
They were a rather boisterous group as the team made their way to the elevators: calling out greetings to law enforcement officers they recognized, there for the conference; teasing and gently bumping each other with luggage; voicing idle speculations on the affect the conference would have on the local crime rate over the weekend.
Then Morgan was at the door to his room, 435, the rest of the team passing him and fanning out down the hallway, with Reid nextdoor and Gideon at the opposite end.
His duffel landed with a soft whump on his feet. Tipping the envelope over, he frowned; it was too heavy for the standard two room keys. Had Hotch forgotten to take out the third?
Three plastic keys slid halfway out of the envelope, a folded piece of memo paper on top - the kind Hotch used at home.
Pulling the bottom keycard out, he tapped the rest of the contents back inside and let himself in, dropping his bag by the door and tossing the key to the room on the desk.
The note was unfolded, and one glance told Morgan more than he wanted to know.
Told him that, from one survivor of child abuse to another, the need for support, for patience, would be met.
Even if Morgan couldn't accept it from Hotch.
It was all Morgan could do to keep from balling the scrap of paper in his fist; his hand trembled with the force of it.
One lone, salty drop splashed onto the note, soaking the paper and making Morgan panic, frantically dabbing at it with the hem of his t-shirt. Blue ink blurred, turned fuzzy, but didn't run as he pressed it flat against the wooden tabletop.
Derek -
I took the liberty of arranging for you and Spencer to have another extra room key. From here on, the two of you will have to trade between yourselves.
There was a pause, a darker, deeper mark where the pen dug into the period, signalling a hesitation.
May you bring each other peace.
-- Aaron
END