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“Garcia’s ready to brief,” Derek said as he walked in to Hotch’s office.
Hotch was staring at a letter on the desk in front of him like he was trying to open it through sheer force of will.
“What’ve you got there?”
Hotch looked up abruptly, only just realizing that he wasn’t alone.
“I think it’s a letter from Gideon.”
Derek did a double take.
“You pen pals?”
“This is the first I’ve heard from him since he left.”
He flipped the unopened envelope, and held it up so Derek could see.
The Virginia postmark hit him closer than he expected. Closer than he wanted.
He was still trying to figure out what it meant and what to say when Hotch walked past him and out of the office.
*
“Let’s take a break,” Hotch said, sounding as weary as Derek felt.
They’d been working non-stop through the day and nothing was moving.
“We’ll regroup in twenty minutes.”
Derek headed to the bathroom, splashing ice cold water on his face. He leaned on the sink for a long moment, then headed outside for some air. He stopped short in the doorway. Hotch was standing with two local officers, lighting a cigarette.
“When did you start smoking again?”
Hotch looked over at him, face like granite.
“I didn’t.”
Derek felt a sharp hit of irritation. “Guys, your captain’s looking for you.”
The officers eyed him suspiciously but didn’t question him. Derek waited until the door clicked shut behind them.
“You’re smoking”
“I quit a long time ago because Haley didn’t like it.” Hotch’s voice was calm, his face impassive.
“That’s no longer an issue,” he continued, “so I have a cigarette from time to time. I haven’t picked up the habit.”
He took a deep drag and exhaled the smoke like a dare.
“Fine.” Derek could hear how petulant he sounded, but couldn’t stop himself.
Hotch looked like he wanted to snap at him, but then he sighed and rubbed his mouth with his free hand.
“What’s on your mind, Morgan?”
“Virginia. You think he’s been there all along?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it does.”
“Why?”
“Because for the past five years I’ve been waiting for you to come in to the conference room and tell us that Gideon’s remains were discovered in a marsh in Florida or something.”
Hotch’s eyes narrowed.
“You thought he was dead?”
“That letter read like a suicide note, Hotch. We both do this for a living, don’t tell me I’m wrong about that.”
Hotch inhaled, then sighed another puff of smoke.
“You’re not. But I could have told you he’s not dead.”
“How would you know, if you haven’t heard from him?”
Hotch’s lips turned upward in a sour smile.
“Because suicide isn’t Jewish.”
He put out his cigarette and walked past Derek inside.
*
He held his tongue all through the afternoon and a team dinner. But alone with Hotch, in the car back to the hotel, he couldn’t anymore.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Hotch’s gaze flicked towards him, just for second.
“Excuse me?”
“‘Suicide isn’t Jewish’.”
Hotch sighed.
“Suicide is a grave sin in Judaism.”
Derek could feel his temper getting away from him. “Hotch…”
Hotch shrugged, eyes on the road. “Jason wouldn’t kill himself.”
“That’s the commandment he’d choose to keep?”
“Which commandments did you see him break?”
Derek shook his head. “Okay. Fine. Whatever.”
He didn’t wait for Hotch to catch up on the way inside.
*
He didn’t avoid Hotch consciously. He still followed orders, still showed up on time. But lately, everything seemed to grate. The way Hotch repeated points during briefings like no one else had noticed them. The way he paused before signing off on decisions, like he needed to make sure his word was the last one. The way he kept acting like nothing had changed. Derek caught himself grinding his teeth during meetings. He thought he was hiding it, but a few weeks later Prentiss cornered him quietly.
“What’s going on with you and Hotch?”
He frowned. “Nothing.”
She grimaced. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” she said gently. “It looks like you have a problem.”
“We don’t,” he said.
She pursed her lips, but didn’t press the issue.
*
“I haven’t seen anything in the past six hours to convince me these two cases are connected,” Hotch said, leaning back in his chair.
“Are you kidding me?”
Derek leaned forward, jaw tight, blood surging fast.
“There are all kinds of signs it’s the same killer.”
Hotch’s eyes narrowed. “Convince me.”
Derek stood, scoffing under his breath. “You already made up your mind. So fuck me for trying, right?”
Hotch didn’t say anything, but he didn’t flinch either.
“Hey,” Prentiss warned.
“Actually,” Reid said, stepping in. “The wound patterns might match after all. Look, turning it the other way.” He held out two pictures, and they all leaned in.
“Okay,” Hotch said. “Good catch.”
“Oh, so for him it’s ‘good catch’, and for me it’s ‘convince me’?”
“Morgan,” JJ said, quiet but flinty.
Hotch stood. “Excuse me.”
On his way out of the room, Hotch walked past Derek without looking. “It was ‘convince me’ for him too,” he said quietly. “He did.”
Derek stared at the photos, jaw locked, as if they’d betrayed him too.
Later that afternoon, Derek felt like he was standing beside himself, watching as he barked at Hotch in front of the local detective. He was expecting an ice-cold reprimand, and somehow felt even worse when Hotch let it slide without comment.
“Look, man,” Prentiss said, shaking her head, as they were heading back to the hotel. “Back at Quantico, it’s one thing. But you can’t be insubordinate in the field. You know that. I don’t know why he hasn’t come down on you already, but you need to sort your shit out before you get in real trouble.”
He swallowed. “I know.“
*
There was a knock on his door half an hour later. He wasn’t surprised to see Hotch standing there.
“May I come in?”
Derek stepped aside without a word.
“I think you should read this,” Hotch said.
He was looking at the envelope in his hands. Postmarked Virginia.
“Why?”
“You’re angry with me because of it, and you don’t know why, and your anger is beginning to affect your ability to do your job.”
Derek bit back a retort and took the letter. Hotch leaned against the window sill, watching Derek as he read. He read it twice, then sat heavily on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, and read it a third time.
"He's been watching us."
"Evidently."
“No apology.”
“No,” Hotch agreed.
He skimmed a few lines again, then let his hands drop, the letter hanging loose. He sighed.
“I need some air.”
The parking lot was well-lit but deserted. Derek leaned against one of their cars and breathed in the cool, clear air. Hotch leaned on the other SUV and fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
“You mind?”
Derek shook his head.
“You write him back?”
“No.”
“Planning to?”
“I don’t know,” Hotch admitted, exhaling smoke. “I don’t know that I have anything to say to him.”
“You’ve never wanted to give him a piece of your mind?”
“Sure. Five, six years ago.” He flicked ashes off the end of his cigarette. “I’ve moved on. Haven’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Derek conceded.
Hotch shook his head, watched a puff of smoke dissolve.
“I can’t think of a single good reason to do it. I have several reasons not to.”
“Tell me,” Derek said.
“First, there's the petty reason. Writing back tells him he still ranks on my list of priorities. There’s a part of me, an angry part, that doesn’t want to give him that. Second, if I write him back, I’d feel bad not telling the team – especially Reid. And I don’t know that putting them through this is a good idea. If I throw it away, I can pretend none of it happened.”
A pause, a drag of the cigarette, a cloud of smoke.
“Third, before I decide, I want to understand the reason he’s reaching out. I’ve read it a dozen times, he doesn’t give any indication why he’s writing me now.”
Derek pressed his lips together. He realized he was still holding the letter, so he lifted it up to stare at it for the fourth time, as if there were codes there he could decipher that Hotch couldn’t.
Then he froze. A line he’d skimmed before now hit like a punch. That couldn’t be --
“‘There are nights I still think about the quiet between us, and the depth of what it meant’.”
Derek looked up.
“Hotch, am I reading this right?”
Hotch dropped the cigarette, crushed it beneath his shoe. Bit his lip.
Then: “Yes.”
“You had an affair.”
Hotch didn’t answer. His eyes dropped to the pavement.
“We had… some intimate encounters. Early on. Before you were on the team.”
Derek swallowed. “Hotch…” He tried to think. “Does Reid know?”
“No.” Hotch looked up. He seemed scared, just for a moment.
“Any of the others?”
“Rossi suspected,” Hotch said quietly. “At the time.”
“Jesus.”
Derek pushed off the car and took a few steps.
“Jesus,” he repeated helplessly.
He raked a hand over his head.
“You cheated on Haley – with Gideon?”
Hotch blinked hard. His eyes were bright. “It was a long time ago, Morgan.”
“Yeah. I need to sleep.”
He left Hotch standing alone between the cars.
*
If Derek contributed anything of value to the investigation the next day, it was by a miracle. He couldn’t remember half of it. By the end of it, they had their guy in custody, and they shuffled off the plane at Quantico late in the evening, moving slowly to scatter.
“Rossi,” Derek said over the roof of his car. “Drink?”
“Sure,” Rossi said. “My place.”
Derek pretended not to see Hotch watching them go. He gripped the wheel tighter than he needed to.
Half an hour later, he sank into an overstuffed leather chair in Rossi’s study. Rossi pressed a glass of something expensive into his hand.
“What’s on your mind?” Rossi asked, sitting down opposite him.
“Hotch got a letter from Gideon a couple of weeks ago,” Morgan said.
Rossi’s brows lifted and his lips pursed; genuine surprise. “No kidding.”
“Postmarked in Virginia.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Derek took a sip of his drink. “There are lines in the letter that feel… intimate. Romantic.”
Rossi’s jaw tightened, just a little, but he didn’t say anything.
“Hotch told me they had an affair. Back in the day.”
“That’s what he said? ‘An affair’?” Rossi’s upper lip lifted in a half-sneer.
“I said ‘affair’,” Derek admitted.
“Yeah,” Rossi said, voice heavy. “I spent the better part of a year alternating between trying to tell Gideon to knock it off, and trying to get Hotch to tell me straight what was happening so I could go to OPR.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, Derek.” Rossi threw his arm out in an exasperated gesture. “You knew Hotch back then. He could barely stand to be away from Haley for nine hours at the office. Remember what it was like being in the field with him? He’d be on the phone to her constantly. You really think that man would cheat on that woman willingly?”
“Wait, what are you saying?”
Derek leaned forward, drink forgotten in his hand. Rossi sighed.
“Gideon could make you feel seen. Like nobody else. Special. Beloved. You must’ve felt it too.”
“Yeah,” Derek admitted. A growing awareness ached between his ribs. “But –”
“And Hotch, back then – he was just his type,” Rossi interrupted. “Eager. Talented. Ambitious. Craving validation – wired for the kind of attention Gideon liked to give.”
He drained half his drink.
“He wanted to be good.”
“And Gideon used that,” Derek said, almost to himself. He felt dizzy.
“I always thought so,” Rossi said. “But I have no doubt Hotch has carried it all these years as an infraction he committed, not something that was done to him.”
*
They only had four days back home before packing themselves onto the jet for a case in Georgia.
Derek paused by his desk for a minute, before opening the drawer and stuffing Gideon’s letter into his go bag.
He’d spent the last four days burying himself in consults and trying not to be obvious while watching Hotch across the conference room table. They’d agreed a long time ago, man to man, not to profile each other, but Derek couldn’t help trying to interpret the lines and wrinkles on Hotch’s face, the near unnatural stillness of his shoulders, the dart of his eyes from one person speaking to the next.
Hotch was tightly wound, he always had been. But Derek knew there was another side to him, though he'd rarely seen it, especially since Hotch was promoted. The other Hotch was playful, mischievous, his jokes were less dry and always delivered with a soft smile.
Did Gideon excise that part of Hotch from the office? Was it Gideon’s handiwork that had left Hotch so cold? A leader who wouldn’t – couldn’t? – give his people anything more than a handshake?
*
He knocked on Hotch’s motel room door at 10:30.
“You have a minute?”
Hotch opened the door and stepped aside. “Sure.”
Derek hovered a few steps in, not sitting, not settling, before finally turning to face him.
“I wanted to give this back.”
He held out the letter and Hotch took it. “Thanks,” he said, the word barely audible.
Derek faltered. He’d come here with something to say, but the words jammed in his throat. Hotch looked up from the letter in his hands, eyes searching Derek’s face.
“What do you think I should do?”
His face didn’t betray any emotion, but Derek felt like his eyes could bore through Derek’s skull. He exhaled sharply.
“I don’t know. Probably throw it away.”
Hotch gave a half-nod and didn’t respond, just let the silence fill the space between them again.
“Hotch.” Derek ground it out. “I know it’s none of my business, but Rossi said…” He hesitated. “He said he thought you and Gideon…”
“I know what Dave thinks,” Hotch said. His voice was quiet, not defensive.
“Is he right?”
Derek held his breath while he waited for Hotch to answer. Something flickered across Hotch’s face – confusion, pain, grief – and then it was gone.
“It was a long time ago, Morgan.”
“That’s an answer, all right. Just not to the question I asked.”
Hotch’s face twisted, just briefly, before he reined it in.
“Jason Gideon built this unit. He shaped the way we do this work that saves lives. I’m not interested in tearing him down.”
Derek felt his own face twist.
“No one’s denying what he did for the unit. But that doesn’t excuse everything else,” he said, taking a step in. “If he hurt you, that still matters.”
Hotch didn’t look away. “It’s late,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
*
Two days later, Hotch dismissed them directly from the airfield. Derek found himself slipping into his office anyway. He spent a few afternoon hours on paperwork. He didn’t have to check – he knew Hotch was upstairs doing the same thing.
When he stepped into the bullpen he was briefly amused that he was right; lights were still on in Hotch’s office, stark against the dark windows of Rossi’s.
“Hey,” he said, knocking on the doorframe as he poked his head in.
Hotch looked up, looking like he was trying not to be worried. “I thought you left with the others.”
Derek shrugged. “I’m leaving now. I had a half-written consult on my desk that should have gone out already, but Georgia came on a little suddenly. Figured this was as good a time as any.”
Hotch nodded.
“You?” Derek asked.
“The same, actually. Jack’s with Jessica at his grandparents’ for spring break. I have about half an hour left on this, then I’m going too.”
“Good.”
He’d just started to turn away when Hotch spoke.
“Morgan.”
Hotch laid down his pen and stood.
“Do you have a minute?”
He gestured at the couch, and when Derek sat he took the chair opposite. Up close, Derek could see he looked more tired than usual.
“You’ve been watching me these last few days,” Hotch said, carefully. “Treating me with kid gloves. Like you’re worried I’m going to break.”
He wasn’t wrong. Derek hadn’t been doing it on purpose, not really, but he kept remembering Hotch back when they met. Young – younger, anyway – and engaged and happy. Knowing there was something behind it he’d never seen, never even sensed, bothered him. Knowing it was because of Gideon bothered him more.
“Well, I was an ass for a good few weeks before that. Maybe I’m compensating.”
Hotch’s mouth curved, just a little.
“I’m glad you’ve put your anger behind you.”
Derek bit the inside of his cheek. “I haven’t. I’ve redirected it.”
“At Gideon.”
It wasn’t a question. Derek answered anyway.
“Yeah.”
Hotch sighed. “Derek, whatever happened with me and him, it was more than fifteen years ago.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” Derek insisted.
Hotch didn’t answer, and Derek couldn't help leaning forward.
“Hotch, talk to me.”
Hotch hesitated, then his shoulders seemed to slump, just slightly.
“Do you remember,” he asked, “when your nightmares started?”
Derek breathed half a laugh. “I’ll never not remember.”
Hotch nodded. “Do you remember what Gideon said to you?”
“Not exactly. Just… That it helped.”
“I remember word for word what he told me,” Hotch said.
His voice was softer, and his eyes looked far away.
“I was five months into the job and going crazy,” Hotch said. “I hadn’t slept properly in weeks. We were in Lafayette, Louisiana. Sharing a room in this godawful motel.”
He gave a dry, almost bitter smile.
“I’d been dreading bedtime all day. I thought I had been hiding my insomnia pretty well. But I knew there was no way he wouldn’t clock it if I didn’t fall asleep. Much less if I did and woke up sweating bullets.”
He paused for a minute.
“He already knew. He told me he’d taken me on the case to force the issue. Said I was days away from desk duty, couldn’t be in the field with a gun if I was severely sleep deprived.”
Hotch shrugged, and met Derek’s eye.
“I was embarrassed. I’d been so wrapped up in holding myself upright, I hadn’t thought about safety.”
“I didn’t either,” Derek murmured.
Hotch inclined his head.
“He said some things that were helpful. Probably the same things he used to say to everybody. Then he sat down next to me on the bed.”
Derek’s breath caught. Hotch’s gaze dropped to the table between them.
“He told me I was special. More sensitive than most people. And that was a good thing. He said –“
He stalled out. Pinched his lips together.
“It doesn’t matter what he said. What matters is I didn’t say no.”
Derek’s mouth opened, then closed. The words felt wrong, but he couldn’t leave them unsaid.
“Did you say yes?” His voice was rough, barely working.
“I didn’t have to.”
The turmoil in Derek’s stomach finally found direction.
“You were vulnerable and he was your boss, of course you had to,” he said, harsh and fast.
Hotch didn’t answer. Just looked at his hands like he was bracing for a verdict.
“If there’s one thing we learn in this job,” he said, finally, “it’s that there’s a fundamental difference between desire and love. But when you’re on the receiving end it doesn’t always feel different.”
Derek swallowed. “He coerced you.”
The air stood still between them for a breath, two, three.
“Maybe,” Hotch allowed, eventually. “But I had options. I chose not to take them.”
“Did you?”
Hotch’s eyes dropped to the table again.
He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quiet.
“It was a long time ago, Morgan.”
Derek gritted his teeth. “You keep saying that.”
“It keeps being true,” Hotch said flatly. He stood. “And it’s why you don’t need to worry. I’m not going to break.”
Derek stood too. “I know. But I’m still going to worry about you.”
Hotch frowned – just a flicker of frustration across his face – but he didn’t press it.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
Derek turned before leaving. He wasn’t sure he should say it, but he couldn’t not. It had been itching in the back of his mind for days.
“Rossi said you were young. Eager. Looking for approval.”
Hotch didn’t respond. Just watched him.
“That sound like anyone else to you?”
The silence stretched. Hotch’s jaw tightened.
“Reid,” Derek said. “That was Reid.”
Hotch closed his eyes for a moment, just one beat.
Then: “Gideon never touched him.” His voice was quiet, barely louder than a whisper. “I made sure.”
*
“I’m driving up to Baltimore for a consult this afternoon,” Hotch said as the 10 AM briefing was breaking up. “If anyone has the time I’d like someone to come along.”
“I’ll go,” Derek said – quick, before anyone else could.
Hotch gave him a long look, then nodded. “Parking level 2, 12:30?”
“I’ll be there.”
Derek was already waiting when Hotch stepped out of the elevator. Hotch unlocked the car and got in the driver’s seat without a word.
When they pulled out of the parking garage, he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath.
“What’s on your mind, Morgan?”
Derek looked at him, and he raised a brow.
“You didn’t tag along for the scenic route to Maryland. You’ve had something to say for a week.”
Derek exhaled.
“What did you mean?” he asked, before he could regret it. “When you said you made sure?”
Hotch was quiet for so long Derek started to wonder if he hadn’t actually asked out loud.
“I reminded Gideon that Reid was the same age as his son. And theorized – loudly – that pursuing people the same age as your children is predatory in nature.” Hotch paused. “He would hate himself if he thought he was a predator.”
Derek scoffed.
“And I talked to Reid. A lot. About transference, about how mentorship can blur if you’re not careful.”
Hotch’s voice was flat. Clinical, almost.
“Nothing explicit. Just enough for him to get the idea.”
Derek nodded. “Good.”
*
When they finished up in Maryland, Hotch tossed Derek the car keys.
“I have a headache, do you mind?”
Derek smiled widely. “Not at all.”
Hotch’s eyes narrowed. “‘I have a headache’ also means you don’t control the music.”
Derek smiled wider, playful and just the right side of flirty.
“Hotch, in thirteen years I’ve never once controlled the music in a car with you, why would I think that I could now?”
Hotch rolled his eyes and opened the passenger seat door.
A half-hour later he woke up slowly from a doze. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.
“Don’t worry about it,” Derek said softly, eyes on the road. “Feeling better?”
Hotch stretched and rolled his neck. “Yeah, I am.”
“Good. Because I have a question.”
Hotch stilled, hand pausing halfway to his temple.
“You’re going to need to let this go, Morgan,” he said.
“You saw the power imbalance with Reid. You even called it predatory.”
“Morgan –“
“What made it different when it was you?”
Hotch looked out the window, his jaw working.
“Reid was twenty-two. And uniquely vulnerable. You know that.” He paused. “I was almost thirty and on my second career. Old enough to know better.”
“I’m not buying it,” Derek said, glancing over.
He saw the flash of anger in Hotch’s eyes a second before it exploded into words:
“I’m done talking about this. Drop it. That's an order.” His voice cut like glass – sharp, flat, final.
They drove the rest of the way in silence.
*
Derek tried to be normal. He really, really did. He tried to put everything he didn't used to know about his bosses, co-workers - friends? – in a box, ignore it. He still found this new unease seeping out in every interaction with Rossi, with Reid, with Hotch, stilted and awkward. Nobody said anything, but he caught Prentiss watching him out of the corner of her eye more than once. So he put his head down and tried harder.
Hotch gave it a week before he knocked on Derek’s office door late one afternoon, rigid with something like regret.
“What can I do to help you put this behind you?” he asked, lowering himself into a seat.
Derek leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m trying.”
“I know.” Hotch paused, and seemed to soften in the quiet. “I still haven’t decided if I should answer him. I haven’t thrown it away.” He looked Derek in the eye. “It’s really not about our… personal history. We were friends much longer than we were… whatever we were before. When he left, I felt betrayed as a friend. Just like you.”
Derek nodded. “I get it.” He ran his finger along the edge of the desk. “Did you figure out why he wrote?”
Hotch shook his head. “I’m not sure it matters. Maybe I just thought it did. He was thinking of us. He saw a news story about that case in Bethesda. He saw someone on the street who looked a little like me.” He shrugged.
“For what it’s worth,” Derek said. “You don’t owe him anything. Not even the space he’s occupying up there –“ he gestured at Hotch’s head “– while you’re considering this.”
Hotch didn’t say anything for a long while. Finally, he reached into his jacket and took something out. Postmarked Virginia. He held it out until Morgan took it.
“You carry it with you?”
Hotch’s lips quirked, ever so slightly. “I carry him with me every day. But,” he said, “I don’t need to carry that.” He paused, looking at Derek. “Throw it out for me?”
Derek did it on the way out, slipping it into a bin by the elevators.
He didn’t look back to see if Hotch was watching. Didn’t need to.