2:25 pm, Saturday, New Jersey:
The long drive was killing Morgan slowly, and he resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the dashboard or flip through the radio stations. At least Hotch had the driving to take some of his concentration; all Derek had was the building anticipation. So when his phone rang, and Garcia’s name popped up, it was all he could do not to actually cheer out loud at the interruption.
“Talk to me, Garcia,” Morgan opened without preamble. “I’m in the car with Hotch, and you’re on speaker.” He hit the button to make that true, and glanced at Hotch, his hands tight on the steering wheel.
“Hello, sir,” Garcia began, strain in her voice. “We’ve got a hit on Whitter’s van. A tip places him in the parking lot of a Motel 6 in Newark. You’re the closest to it, and I’m sending the address to your phones now. New Jersey PD are en route and will meet you there.”
That surge was half relief and half pure adrenaline, and Morgan couldn’t help the grin that lit up his face.
“I love you, Garcia,” Morgan’s face lit up at the news.
“I accept payment in chocolate, wine and backrubs,” she replied as she hung up, a smile back in her voice.
Their phones beeped at the same time, and Morgan glanced down to read off the address and zoom in on the map. “Next exit, Hotch, and hang a right. We’re about five minutes away.”
--
Hotch and Morgan weren’t the first ones there. The sirens had announced the local PD, a couple of black-and-whites pulling alongside the FBI’s black SUV as they barrelled down towards the two-story motel, but even they were too slow.
A sleek silver sedan had pulled ahead, was parking catty-corner behind the panel van, and even as the officers jumped out of their cars and Morgan hit the ground running, he knew they were going to be too late.
Teddy Altman was already out of the back seat of the sedan and hurtling full-tilt toward the staircase that led up to the balcony that spanned the front of the second floor. Billy Kaplan tumbled out of the car directly on his heels, tripped over his own feet in his haste and sprawled across the ground. “Teddy!”
Hotch was right behind Morgan, vest on, gun drawn. “Ted Altman!” Billy had struggled to his feet and started to run. One of the officers grabbed his arm and hauled him roughly back, despite his yell of outrage.
“Kid, stop!” Morgan hollered, too little, too late. He couldn’t shoot Altman, couldn’t stop him any other way. Teddy was already up on the balcony, grabbing for the handle of the door at the end of the row. How could he- right; the room number matched the parking spot.
Teddy vanished inside.
“God dammit!” Morgan exploded in frustration, Hotch’s simmering silence the only reaction he got. “What’s the call, Hotch?”
It only took Hotch a second to decide, gesturing with his hands to separate out the officers as he gave the orders. “You and I, up to the room. Two officers for backup, you stay on the balcony until ordered to move. The rest of you down here. Evacuate the other guests, and get the rest of the kids to a safe distance.”
The door to the room was partially open as they slipped quietly up the stairs. Morgan had to step lightly to make sure his boots didn’t ring against the metal, the muscles in his legs tight with the strain. Three more, two, one-
Hotch stopped. Morgan stopped one step below him, the cool, familiar weight of his gun filling his hands. Muffled voices carried from the motel room, two male, one female. Morgan breathed out silently.
“My name isn’t Derek, my name’s Ted. Ted Altman. I think you made a mistake, dude-”
“The mistake was hers! For taking you, for never telling you, for denying you your true family!”
“Mom?”
Hotch gestured – once, to Morgan, and he began creeping forward, back sliding against the wall, the concrete cool despite the afternoon sun. He gestured again, to the cops, and they crouched, held their guns ready, the trap to be sprung.
Morgan crouched low and ducked under the window, scuttled that last few feet to stand by the door frame, waited for the go.
“Take me, then,” that was Altman’s voice, bravado layered over the fear, god, that kid has balls. “I’m the one you want, right? Derek? I’ll go with you, wherever you want, if you just let my mom go.”
Without eyes on the target there was no easy way to gauge his reaction, to time this out properly. Hotch took a step sideways, too the chance to peek in the partially-open door. Any second now they’d be made, and this op would go to hell-
“Teddy, no! You can’t!” A woman’s voice, that meant their vic, and she was still alive. Thank god for small mercies. “He’ll hurt you again, that was why I took you, to protect you from him, from them! Don’t go with him, baby; don’t worry about me. We’ll be alright.”
Morgan watched Hotch.
Hotch nodded.
They moved.
Any motion inside the dingy motel room had ceased when they’d slammed open the door. Sarah Altman was kneeling on the damp carpet, her hands bound behind her back with loops of silver duct tape. Her skin was blotched and marked, red burns and blisters covering the visible skin.
Teddy was directly in Morgan’s way, eyes wide and his hands open. Whitter was standing over Sarah, body interposed between Teddy and his mom, a lighter flicked open in his hand. and her skin was covered in red marks. The air was acrid, alcohol-tinged.
Whitter held up the lighter, stroked it, the flame burning high.
“Kurt Whitter?”
Hotch had claimed the lead and Morgan let himself fall back, slide himself in between Teddy and the UnSub. The bed was in the way, a sad-looking thing, but it was all the cover they currently had.
“Stand down, Kurt,” Hotchner was saying again, moving in closer. Morgan never took his eyes off of Kurt, but he slid in front of Teddy, walling him off. “You found him, you did,” Hotchner intoned, nodding. “It’s over now.”
Kurt shook his head. “It can never be over, Agent; not until she’s paid for her crimes, for killing Anelle-“
Morgan didn’t need a sign from Hotch to know his cue. “Anelle died in a car accident, Kurt, you know that,” he kept his gun up, watching Whitter through the sights. “Miss James had nothing to do with that.”
“She took Anelle’s baby!” Kurt howled, hand trembling where he held the lighter up.
“And now everyone knows it,” Hotchner soothed, making a tiny gesture at his thigh. Morgan moved over a step. “Everyone knows it, and we have the evidence that you gathered, and we can do this properly. Everyone will know, Kurt. They’ll know that you honoured Anelle’s memory. They’ll hear how you found her son.”
Kurt’s eyes were fixed on Teddy, and the kid seemed caught in his gaze, leaning forward, curious and terrified. The wild, panicked look in Kurt’s eyes died away.
He held both of his hands up.
His eyes went calm. So very calm.
“I did, didn’t I?” Kurt replied, with a small smile. Oh, fuck. “And now we can all be together.”
He let go of the lighter.
Two shots shattered the air in the small room.
Morgan started to turn, his body reacting more slowly than he needed. The carpet had too much give in it when he pushed off, and it was only then that he noticed the empty gallon bottle on the floor by the chest of drawers.
He hit Teddy square in the chest with his shoulder, knocked the kid down. Rolled them both against the bedframe as the air exploded blue and yellow above them.
And somewhere in the distance he heard Billy Kaplan screaming Teddy’s name.