Author's Note: Well, the muse of Criminal Minds refuses to talk to me again. I'll try to think of some oneshot material, but if anybody has any ideas for either JJ/Rossi, Emily/Rossi or Hotch/Emily (or even a Morgan/Garcia if I can see it), somebody shoot me a review or PM. I love to write, but the creative ideas are refusing to flow. Anyhow, I've now officially written over a hundred Criminal Minds stories. Yay! Luckily the first to episodes have provided some wonderful material to feed into oneshots. Hope the third continues the run. Please read and review. It's always nice to hear from readers! As ever, I don't own Criminal Minds.
No Other Way
Slamming his fist into the black vinyl of the punching bag, Derek Morgan blew out a hard breath. When the hell had his team turned into a bunch of freaking pansies determined to blindly follow a man that while usually the most sane rational person he'd ever met, had come completely unhinged in four weeks time. Hotch was either gonna get himself killed, or one of them if things kept progressing as they were.
Taking another shot at the bag, Derek thought back to his earlier conversation of the evening with Rossi and hit the bag again in anger. That had been a complete waste of his time. The aging profiler was still holding to the party line. "We follow our leader, Morgan," he'd said in that irritatingly even tone of his. Well, he said, "Bullshit!" Not when the leader was determined to lead them - and himself - into danger.
He respected Hotch. To say he liked the guy might be a stretch, but he definitely respected the man. The one thing he could say about his Unit Chief, however, was that he'd always put the job first. Until now…until Foyet. Now, he worried that it was Hotch's need for vengeance had taken the driver's seat, causing him to make rash choices, endangering not only himself but all of them.
Hitting the black bag with a vicious right hook, Morgan breathed hard, hit heart rate accelerating. He couldn't allow that to happen. These people were family…even Hotch. Somebody had to do something…say something. Rossi's idea that they should all rally around the boss, backing his every decision just didn't hold water. NOT when they were bad decisions. Hotch had gotten lucky this afternoon. Pure, dumb luck. His choice hadn't been right. It hadn't been by the book. It hadn't been HOTCH! Why couldn't anybody besides him see that?
Finally venting his rage against the punching bag, he hugged it hard, squeezing his eyes shut. Foyet had taken enough from them on. He wasn't gonna stand around while he stole Hotch's sanity. No fucking way! Wiping his sweating head, Morgan dropped to the mat, grabbing for his bottle of water. He couldn't let it happen. They were gonna find this bastard and put him in the ground. BEFORE Aaron Hotchner became his next casualty.
There simply wasn't another way.