Chapter Text
Derek Morgan knew a few universal truths.
One: coffee was a human right.
Two: Penelope Garcia had no chill.
Three: Hotch was emotionally constipated.
And four: Spencer Reid was head over six-foot heels for their emotionally constipated unit chief.
He’d known it for a while – months, honestly. He wasn’t the profiler of the group, but even he could clock the heart-eyes Reid threw Hotch’s way during briefings. And the way Hotch occasionally softened his stern little resting murder face whenever Reid rambled about quantum statistics or 18th century poetry?
Yeah. Something was going on there. Or more accurately: nothing was going on there, and it was killing Morgan’s soul.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Morgan muttered to himself as he watched Hotch sneak a glance at Reid from across the jet. Reid was curled up in one of the leather seats, legs tucked beneath him like a cat, flipping through his ever-present notebook. Oblivious. Or maybe playing dumb. Who knew?
“Is he pining again?” Garcia’s voice crackled through his phone like the nosy little tech angel she was.
“Always. It’s pathetic.”
“I told you. They’re a tragic romcom waiting to happen. We have to intervene.”
Morgan sighed. “I’m not getting involved.”
“You already are. You just called me to complain.”
"...Shut up."
***
It started innocently enough.
The case had wrapped early – a rare thing – and the team was staying overnight before their return flight in the morning. Which meant dinner. Which meant drinks. Which meant… opportunity.
Morgan waited until they’d all settled into the booth at a cozy little bar near the hotel. Reid sat between JJ and Prentiss, obliviously sipping a Coke and pretending to ignore the way Hotch kept not looking at him. Classic.
Morgan scooted into the seat beside Hotch, all easy smiles and casual elbows. “You ever think about dating, Hotch?”
The man didn’t even blink. “No.”
Liar.
Morgan smirked. “Come on, man. You can’t tell me there’s no one you’ve had your eye on.”
Hotch took a sip of his drink – bourbon, neat, of course – and said, “I think my personal life should stay personal.”
“Sure, sure.” Morgan leaned in conspiratorially. “But hypothetically… if there was someone, you’d tell me, right?”
Across the table, Reid was pretending to read the cocktail menu like it contained state secrets. Morgan clocked it instantly.
Hotch gave a polite, professional smile. “Hypothetically? No.”
Morgan narrowed his eyes. “Alright. Then I’m just gonna have to help you out.”
That got a reaction. Hotch actually turned to look at him, brow raised. “Help me?”
“Yeah. I mean, you work too much. You need a little… guidance. A wingman.”
“Morgan.”
He grinned. “Relax. Just sit back, have a drink, and let me do what I do best.”
Hotch gave him a long-suffering look that screamed don’t you dare. Reid accidentally knocked over the salt shaker.
Suspicious.
***
Morgan waited until JJ and Emily dragged Rossi into a debate about 70s rock vs classic jazz before striking. He leaned toward Reid, real casual-like. “Hey, pretty boy.”
Reid blinked. “That’s a new tone. Should I be concerned?”
“Nope. Just wondering if you’ve ever thought about dating.”
Reid furrowed his brows. “That’s… a surprisingly invasive question.”
Morgan laughed. “It’s called being a friend.”
“Doesn’t feel like that.”
“Come on, man. You’re brilliant, you’re handsome—”
“Debatable.”
“Shut up. Anyway. I’m just saying… if someone, say, asked you out, hypothetically, would you say yes?”
Reid paused. Glanced at Hotch. Looked back at Morgan. “Are you asking me out?”
Morgan choked. “What? No!”
“Because that would be awkward,” Reid added, looking back at the menu. “I don’t date coworkers.”
Morgan leaned back, suspicious. “You’ve… got a thing about that?”
“You could say that.” Reid didn’t look up.
Across the booth, Hotch cleared his throat.
Morgan narrowed his eyes.
***
After that disaster of a bar interrogation, Morgan tried the subtle route.
It was… not his strength.
He lingered near Reid and Hotch during briefings. Suggested team outings and then “accidentally” sat them next to each other. Once, he tried to get them to share a hotel room by switching up the rooming list. Hotch immediately caught it.
“I’m not sharing a room with Reid,” Hotch said.
Morgan blinked. “Why not?”
“Because he snores,” Hotch said smoothly.
Liar. Reid absolutely did not snore. Garcia had verified.
More suspicious.
Reid just looked vaguely amused through the whole thing.
***
The final straw came on a rainy Tuesday in Georgia, after wrapping a case that involved too many spreadsheets and not enough common sense. They’d gathered at a diner – Rossi was paying, thank god – and were waiting on a very late order of fries.
Morgan watched as Reid slid into the booth next to Hotch with zero hesitation. Like it was just… normal. Too normal.
Morgan turned to Garcia, who had video-called in for post-case gossip. “We need a new strategy.”
“Already cooking one up,” she whispered. “Movie night. I’m gonna make it intimate. Just the two of them.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m a visionary, Derek.”
“Same thing.”
As they waited for food, Morgan noticed Reid casually reach over and take a fry off Hotch’s plate.
Hotch didn’t blink. Didn’t frown. Just kept talking.
Morgan’s brain did a full Windows shutdown sound.
No one took food from Hotch and lived.
Unless.
Unless.
Morgan leaned across the table. “Hey Hotch?”
Hotch glanced up.
Morgan smirked. “You gonna finish that burger?”
Hotch handed it to Reid without looking. “No.”
Reid took a bite.
JJ dropped her fork.
Garcia, from the phone: “OH MY GOD.”
Morgan’s jaw hit the floor. “Okay. What the hell.”
Hotch blinked. “What?”
“You just – you don’t even – Reid just ate your food!”
Reid chewed calmly. “It’s not a big deal.”
JJ leaned in. “It is a huge deal.”
Reid: “I’m pretty sure Rossi took your last mozzarella stick last week.”
“That was war, Reid.”
Hotch sighed. “It’s just food.”
Morgan sat back, defeated. “This isn’t working.”
Garcia’s voice crackled. “Abort mission. We need to regroup.”
Morgan watched Reid lean into Hotch’s side a little, maybe to show him something on his phone. Hotch leaned closer. They whispered. They smiled.
Morgan rubbed his eyes.
How the hell were they still not together?
It was like trying to ship two cats who already slept in the same bed but denied they even liked each other.
This was going to take bigger guns.
Time for Prentiss. Maybe even Rossi. They’d crack this code.
One way or another, Derek Morgan was gonna get those two together.
…Even if they were already sharing dessert forks and living in denial.