Criminal Minds One Shots

*The Replicator (MorganxFemale!Reader)

Requested by morgankitten

"Y/N!" Morgan screamed, rushing to your side. "No no no no no no no come on baby girl come on!"

You started to close your eyes.

"No, no! Not like this. Not like this," he blubbered. "Hey, look at me." He tapped your cheek lightly.

You smiled.

"Show- show me those- those beautiful eyes of yours, huh?"

The EMTs places you on a stretcher and took you to the hospital. Morgan couldn't ride with you because of the number of EMTs working on you.

"Can you drive faster, Hotch?" Morgan sat at the edge of his seat and bounced his leg furiously.

"She'll pull through," Hotch assured Morgan.

The rest of the team met Hotch and Morgan at the hospital. They stood in the waiting room with baited breath.

Four hours later a doctor emerged from the OR and waved Hotch over.

The team could see their grim faces and solemn head shakes.

"She didn't make it," Hotch reported back to the team.

Rossi, who was sitting, dropped his head into his hands as he muttered in Italian.

JJ pulled Reid into a hug and rubbed his back, letting her own tears fall freely.

Garcia crumbled, grossly sobbing and vocally denying it.

Morgan stood up and left.

He stormed out of the hospital and got in his car, to where he couldn't tell you. He drove all night.

The next day, Morgan came to work hard and empty. It would be months before he opened up to anyone.

~ 15 months later ~

Your phone rang. You picked it up and nearly dropped it out of shock. The display name was one you hadn't seen in a long time.

"Agent Hotchner," you smugly answer.

"Hi, y/n."

"You wouldn't be calling if it wasn't important."

"Yeah. It's the replicator. He's back."

Your stomach dropped. "Is- Is everyone-"

"We're all fine right now. I just thought you should know. Watch yourself. He may know you're still alive."

"Thanks, Hotch."

"Y/n," he warned.

"What?"

"Don't do anything stupid."

"Wouldn't dream of it," you said, abruptly hanging up. "I don't have to dream," you finished to yourself. Hastily, you packed a bag and booked a ticket on the next flight to Quantico.

Once you landed in Virginia you hopped in a cab.

"Quality Inn, please. The one on Quantico."

"I have a better idea," a cold familiar voice whispered.

. . .

Hotch was anxiously glancing at his phone. Sighing, he gave into the urge and dialed your number.

No answer.

He tried again.

No answer.

And again. And again.