Chapter Text
The bullpen became silent and tense. Earlier they had been discussing evidence, suspects, and timelines like they always did. Another case to solve, but now it wasn’t just like any other. The team had dealt with cases like these before, someone close enough to either be a victim or the killer. It settled heavily in the room; nobody had said it out loud, yet it was clear they were thinking of the same thing.
This was now personal, involving someone Morgan knows.
Morgan stood near her desk alongside Karadec. Just hearing Daphne explain information about James makes her want to throw up or even leave the bullpen and never be a part of this case.
When Morgan accepted the job offer for Major Crimes a year ago, she made it clear to not let anyone know about her past. She often avoided it. Whenever someone would ask her, she’d brush it off. Sometimes with a joke or an excuse to continue with her work, anything to avoid the subject entirely.
And now it felt as if old wounds were reopening.
Morgan looked down at her hands in shame and humiliation; her jaw tightened as years of carefully buried history randomly resurfaced so casually on one late afternoon in the middle of the bullpen. She could feel what was on Karadec’s mind, and she hated it. Hated the feeling of how easily the name could drag her backward no matter how much time had passed.
Daphne’s expression turned into guilt quickly. “Morgan I—“
“It’s okay, Daphne,” she said as she lifted her head, her eyes shining. “You didn’t know; none of you knew.”
Selena looked at her, feeling sympathy for her consultant. “Morgan, if it’s too much for you, you can back off the case.”
Morgan, grateful for the offer, shook her head. She wasn’t going to back off from a case just because it involved someone she knows. Even if it opened up old wounds, she was willing to bring justice for the victims. “Thank you, Lieutenant. It’s fine. All of you don’t have to worry; I got this.”
“Plus,” she added, “I’ve seen worse stuff anyway.” She shrugged lightly.
Just then, a knock echoed against the glass doors of the bullpen. It was one of the younger officers, standing awkwardly by the entrance, hand still half-raised from knocking. She glanced between the team, completely unaware that she had interrupted something important. “Lieutenant? ” she called carefully, looking toward Selena. “Someone named James Flynn is looking for you. Said he’s here for questioning regarding a case.”
Selena glanced at Morgan, who was now fidgeting with her fingernails. A habit she picked up whenever she felt uncomfortable or anxious. Morgan looked at her, their eyes locking for a brief moment before turning her attention towards the young officer.
“Bring him in," Morgan sighed. The officer nodded and disappeared back through the doorway.
“Karadec and I will interview him in the soft room," Selena offered, before turning her attention to Daphne and Oz. “Find information about Rhiana Sinclair. Then, the both of you head to Santa Monica.”
Daphne nodded, fingers already typing against her keyboard while Oz lingered behind her.
Through the glass doors of the bullpen, the same officer returned, holding one of the doors open for the man walking beside her. Morgan and the rest spotted a tall, well-dressed man. He was wearing a neatly pressed, dark brown suit that looked expensive enough to draw attention without demanding it. His tie was perfectly straight; his dress shoes reflected the fluorescent lights overhead. His grey hair is slicked back, and the lights cast pale shadows across his features, highlighting the wrinkles around his eyes and the lines etched into his face.
It was him.
Morgan noticed he still carried the same confidence and arrogance she remembered. A thousand memories flashed through her mind. She could recall the moments where they’d raise voices at each other, the countless arguments, the times where she memorized his steps to know which mood he was in. And now he was standing a few feet away from her.
Before things could get more tense and awkward, Selena stepped forward, breaking the silence. “Mr. Flynn.”
“Lieutenant,” James greeted politely. He couldn’t help but flick his eyes towards Morgan, his expression varied. Guilt? Recognition? She wasn’t so sure.
“Right this way, please,” Selena said, her voice calm and professional as she gestured toward the soft room. James gave a polite nod and followed her.
Karadec glanced at Morgan, his eyes screaming, "You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to."
Morgan looked at him before shaking her head and letting out a sigh, pulling herself together. “Let’s just get this over with.”
6 years old
Morgan watched as her mother moved back and forth in the kitchen, her shoulders hunched as she mixed dough in a large ceramic bowl.
It was a gloomy Sunday afternoon. Thick gray clouds covered the sky, casting the entire house. Morgan sat there on one of the stools, her small legs dangling over as she scribbled a black crayon on the paper. She continued to draw for a few more minutes. A few doodles in different colors, a house, and typical things a child would draw, but her mind was preoccupied with something else.
It had been a month since she first started first grade; she needed to get used to the environment around her, and it wasn’t what she had expected. She had a hard time adjusting. She talked too much during class and had trouble sitting still, yet she was brilliant for kids her age. They didn’t like that.
Morgan inherited her high-potential intellect from her father; over the years, their family considered her the ‘gifted one.' Some of her cousins envied her for getting the praise and being more advanced than them. Whenever she was with them, they often pushed her away or even bullied her.
“Mom? ” Morgan called out, her hand mid-air. “Am I…am I different? ”
Lena turned around to face her child. “What makes you say that, baby? ”
Morgan sighed, placing the crayon on the counter. She didn’t look at her, as if she were ashamed of what she was about to say. “The kids at my school say otherwise,” Morgan admitted, her voice soft and quiet. “They say I’m different…that I’m a teacher's pet. I talk too much during class, telling them fun facts, but they think I’m bragging…or it’s because they don’t understand.”
“I don’t think they like me, Mom," she continued, her lower lip wobbling. “I don’t have many friends because all they think of me is some kind of smart girl who brags and talks too much. I can see them staring at me with bad looks or even whispering.”
Morgan let out a choked sob, instinctively covering her mouth with her hand as if she could somehow stop the words from escaping. “Why am I different? She started to cry, her voice cracking under the weight of emotions she was too young to fully understand. “I don’t want to be like Dad! ” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Without hesitation, Lena immediately placed the bowl she had been holding onto the counter, immediately crouching down in front of her daughter. She was so young. A child at a young age already fearing themselves as if they were going to become who they didn’t want to. An innocent child who just wanted to have friends but called her different.
“Morgan.”
Lena carefully reached forward, brushing damp strands of hair away from Morgan’s face. “You are not your father.”
“But what if I am? ”
“You aren't," she said, cupping Morgan’s face in her hands. “Your father made choices that only belonged to him. You are not a teacher’s pet, you don’t brag, and I know you, Morgan. I know your heart.”
Lena brushed away a tear with her thumb; her own eyes had begun to shine. “You care for others. You are smart, you are kind, and you have the biggest heart of anyone I know.”
She gave a small smile. “Just because you are related to him doesn't make you him.”
Morgan stood in the viewing room beside Oz, her arms folded tightly across her chest as she stared through the two-way mirror. On the other side of the glass, Selena and Karadec sat across from her father in the soft room. Morgan hated it. Hated how she spent years trying to avoid him, but her mind always remembered.
She felt like she was nine again, watching her father talk to a few police officers and child services through the cracked door. He remained calm that day. He knew what to say and made sure she did too.
Oh how she wishes she didn’t. She wishes she were able to speak up.
Oz remained silent beside her, occasionally glancing at Morgan before turning his attention to the soft room.
“Mr. "Flynn," Karadec began, opening the manila folder in his lap. “Did Keira Norman deal with any issues lately? Enemies or business? ”
“Yes, she did. I don’t know much about her, but she was a good manager.”
“And do you know these people? ”Selena now spoke, raising an eyebrow.
“Rhiana Sinclair," he answered, leaning back against the chair. “Rhiana and Keira had to pair up for a business contract. Things didn’t go according to plan. They had some personal disagreements, and Keira went behind her back to secure a client—an important client, actually.”
“And who was this client? ”
“Adrian Giordano,” James scoffed. The expression on his face was a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.
“He’s known for investing in services for large companies," he explained. “Keira told me about it, and I was thrilled. I'd spent months trying to get in contact with him myself, but nothing worked. The man was impossible to reach.”
Karadec exchanged a glance with Selena.
“And then Keira somehow got through? ”Karadec asked.
“Apparently.” James let out a humorless laugh. “Which surprised everyone.”
“I thought Rhiana had helped her,” he added. “But she didn’t even know Keira had spoken to Adrian directly. Then they fought with each other; Rhiana accused her of going behind her and everyone’s back. Said she'd undermined months of work.”
“Adrian found out and wasn’t thrilled. Told me that my employees were ‘uncoordinated and unprofessional.’ Then he canceled the contract himself.” James sighed.
“Did Rhiana and Keira speak with each other after that? ”
“Oh yes,” he answered. “After all the chaos, Keira apologized to everyone, including Rhiana. And they were on good terms after that.”
Selena nodded, jotting down a few notes in her notebook. “Have you noticed anything strange with Keira these past weeks? ”
James’ face immediately changed, his expression tightening for a fraction of a second, the color draining slightly from his face as something flickered behind his eyes. But he recovered quickly, forcing a polite smile back onto his face and straightening slightly in his chair, hoping no one had noticed the reaction.
Yet Morgan noticed behind the glass.
“I haven't," he answered smoothly, calm in a way that made Morgan want to storm out of the room and interrogate him herself. She knew something was wrong; she had memorized him well. She felt as if he were hiding something even deeper than this.
Karadec nodded, leaning forward in his chair. “We have to ask, where were you two days ago around 8:56 PM? ”
“I was at home.” James shrugged. “My family and I had dinner around 7:45, then had a few drinks with Dennis around 8:23. We spent some time looking through emails and sorting out papers at 8:30. Business stuff, nothing exciting.” He waved a dismissive hand. “We finished around 9:25.”
Selena and Karadec exchanged a look once again. James noticed it and chuckled. “What? ” he asked. “You think I rehearsed it? ”
“Most people don't remember exact times from an ordinary evening,” he pointed out.
James gave a smug look, glancing towards the two-way mirror, as if looking right through Morgan, before turning his attention back to Selena and Karadec. “My memory is just as good,” he said casually.
“High Potential Intellectual," he added calmly. “Only 2.3 percent of the population is able to have it. I inherited it from my mother," James explained, his tone calm as he looked through the other end. “And so did your…consultant.”
Just then, a sharp echo knocked through the door. The door opened, revealing Daphne standing in the doorway. A tablet was tucked beneath one arm, and another manila folder was clutched in her hand. Judging by the expression on her face, it looked like she either found something important or something concerning.
“Lieutenant? A word outside, please.”
Selena nodded, already standing up. “Excuse me for a moment," she said, already stepping out of the soft room, the door clicking shut behind her.
Oz looked toward Morgan; his expression was difficult to read. Part concern, or maybe curiosity—she wasn’t sure. Morgan noticed the look on his face. “What? ” she asked.
“You okay? ”
Morgan exhaled quietly. She didn’t know if she was; they both knew it. This case felt more difficult than it already was, considering her father was now either a witness or a suspect. She didn’t want the team to look at her differently as they investigated this whole case—especially Karadec. Morgan would often try her best to avoid certain topics if they were about family, but a part of her wanted to tell him everything.
"Yeah," she answered quietly, her fingers lightly tapping on her forearm. “I’m okay.”
Oz nodded slowly in understanding, his gaze lingering on Morgan for a moment, debating whether to say something else. “I’m going to head outside,” he said, pointing his thumb towards the door. “See what Daphne and Lieutenant Soto are talking about.”
"Okay," she said, watching Oz leave the room.
After Oz had left, she turned her attention back through the two-way mirror to see Karadec and James sitting across from each other. She isn’t there with them now, but she could feel the silent tension inside. Karadec remained seated; he didn’t even bother looking at James, just focused on reviewing his notes. Morgan shifted uncomfortably on her feet, her fingers still fidgeting anxiously. She could go outside and see what the others are talking about, but she chose to stay. Wanted to remind James that she was different now and that he lost the privilege to be her father. She wasn’t the scared little girl anymore, as she thought to herself.
The older man studied Karadec, watching him review his notes before letting out a quiet chuckle.
“So…Morgan.”
Karadec’s pen stopped moving the moment he said her name, slowly lifting his gaze toward James.
“She still uses Gillory? ”
“I am not discussing Morgan, sir," Karadec said quickly, his voice a little sharp.
“Right.” James nodded slowly. “Professional boundaries.”
Karadec could tell he found the idea amusing. He didn’t respond, letting the silence stretch between them. He just stared at him, really stared. He could see the resemblance—the sharp blue eyes, the shape of the jaw, even the slightest curve of the smile—exactly like Morgan.
Karadec imagined a younger version of her, scared and alone as her father yelled at her, or even worse.
The thought of it alone makes him sick.
He thought about the way she had tensed earlier as Daphne looked through his records. The way she became quiet, the way she had brushed it aside as if it were something normal to her. It irritated him. Morgan deserved better, better than having her past dragged into an investigation.
James folded his hands together again, sighing dramatically. “You know, I haven’t seen her in years.”
“Good,” Karadec replied, his voice calm. “You lost the privilege a long time ago.”
James rolled his eyes in annoyance. “That’s harsh.”
“No.” Karadec cut him off, shaking his head. “What happened to her is harsh.”
As James leaned forward slightly, the room grew noticeably colder.
“How is she? ” he asked.
Karadec’s jaw tightened, leaning back against his chair. “You don’t get to ask that now.”
“I’m her father.”
“You stopped being her father a long time ago.” The words came out harsher than he intended to, but he didn’t care.
“You never deserved her," Karadec added. “And she certainly doesn’t need you.”
Before James could say another word, Karadec pushed his chair back and stood up. The legs scraped loudly against the floor, cutting through the heavy silence that had settled over them. The door swung open, allowing the familiar sounds of the precinct to rush back in. Karadec scans the bullpen to find Oz back at his desk, Selena refilling her coffee mug in the small kitchen area, Daphne reviewing the evidence, but no sign of Morgan. He frowned.
“Oz? ” he called, approaching him. His shoes echoing lightly under the linoleum floor, blending with the distant ringing of phones and shuffling of paperwork. “Have you seen Morgan? ”
Oz looked up from his computer screen. “Uh yeah, a few minutes ago," he replied. “She left and asked Lieutenant Soto if she could do a quick errand.”
Karadec nodded, murmuring a quick thanks before heading towards Selena.
13 years old
“You remarried and didn’t even think to tell me?! And I found out through one of your friends during a conversation! ” Morgan yelled; her voice echoed through the room. He had been acting unusually for the past weeks, hell, even months. He had been coming home late; sometimes she could see faint lipstick marks on his collar. James would date a few women, but this time it felt different. She could tell it was beginning to be permanent. The way he looked more relaxed these days, more…happier ever since his mother died.
James looked away uncomfortably, his jaw tightening as shame crept up his face. “I was going to tell you—”
“Tell me? Morgan's voice rose before she could stop it. Frustration took over her while confusion collided all at once. “When? A year after your marriage? You didn’t even let me meet the woman! And she has a son; you’re choosing them over me? Over your biological daughter? ”
James opened his mouth, but she didn’t let him answer.
“No! ” she screamed, tears streaming on her face now. “You don’t get to speak. You don’t get to say anything! ”
“You,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “You were already establishing a family when you didn’t even bother noticing your own daughter. When mom died—” she shook her head, overwhelmed with grief and anger. “—when she died…you were a fucking mess. You drank a lot, hit me, and yelled at me for several hours! ”
“Morgan,” he sighed, acting as if this was just like any other conversation. “It wasn't like that.”
“Really? ” she asked, staring at him in disbelief. “Because from where I'm standing, that's exactly what it looks like.”
Morgan wiped the tears from her eyes with the heel of her hand, frustrated that they had escaped in the first place. She didn’t dare say another word; she was too tired to argue with him, exhaustion taking over her.
“I’m going to my room," she said quietly, quickly turning on her heel before he could say another word.
Morgan stood in front of her mother’s grave, holding a bouquet of chrysanthemums and hydrangeas, cradling them carefully in her hands. It was already 4:11 in the afternoon; she had decided to run a quick errand at the store, buying Ava and Elliot their needs. She witnessed Karadec and James having their small talk alone; the thought of him defending her felt like relief and scared her at the same time. He was right. She didn’t need him in his life anymore, and she was going to make sure of it.
She didn’t plan this today; all she wanted to do was go back to the precinct, avoid James, and then go home. It felt as if there was this voice in the back of her head, urging her to visit, until she caved in.
A cool breeze drifted, rustling the trees surrounding her and carrying the faint scent of damp earth and freshly cut grass. The headstone was simple and modest, just as her mother wanted. It bore a name that Morgan spent years struggling to look at while carrying it; the familiar feeling ached in her chest.
Lena Gillory. Beloved mother, beloved daughter, beloved friend.
It had been exactly 29 years since she passed away from a fatal car accident. They were on their way home from a family trip. She had been too young when it happened. She remembered he was in a good mood, the sound of her mother’s laughter, and the way the radio had been playing quietly in the background. Now the memory felt like fragile fragments, scattered around in her mind.
She crouched down slowly, placing down the bouquet carefully at the base of the headstone. Then she lowered herself onto the grass, crossing her legs beneath her. It was a good thing she wore one of her longer skirts, avoiding discomfort.
She didn’t know what to say. Morgan just sat there quietly, staring at her mother’s headstone. The pain from years ago finally resurfaced, but honestly it truly never left. She had learned to bury it, to accept it, to live with it.
Suddenly she felt as if she were eight again, standing in front of a freshly buried grave, trying to comprehend how someone who had always seemed so strong could simply be gone.
“Hey, Mom," Morgan said softly. The words felt strange leaving her mouth.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it? ”
She shook her head in disbelief, letting out a small laugh under her breath. “This sounds ridiculous.”
Her eyes drifted towards the flowers before flickering to look at a few fallen leaves from the base of the headstone.
She brushed them away softly, her fingers lightly brushing against the cool, cold stone. “You have three beautiful grandchildren. Ava, Elliot, and Chloe. You would’ve loved them.”
“Ava says she doesn’t have my traits, says she isn’t smart like me, but I can see it. She has it in her.”
Morgan smiled softly. ‘You used to reassure me that I’m not like him, that I matter to people. And now I say the same thing to my own child.”
A tear slipped down from her cheek before she could stop it. “I miss you, mom.” She whispered, pressing her forehead against the cold headstone. “So much.”
She just sat there, allowing herself to grieve the loss of a parent. One is still here, breathing and living his life to the fullest, but she lost both. Tears started to slip, she couldn’t stop it and she hated crying, hated feeling so vulnerable and open at a time like this. Morgan was so lost that she didn’t even notice the man approaching her.
“Morgan.”
She let out a sigh, she didn’t need to turn her head to see who was there.
“What do you want, James?”
“I came to see you.” He murmured. “I knew you’d be here and I just want you to listen to what I have to say.”
“Look,” he began, his voice so quiet and unsure of what to say. “I know it’s been years but I’ve realized I wasn’t technically the father you needed me to be, I know it’s late but…”
“I’m sorry.”
Morgan wiped her tears, turning around to see him standing a few feet away from her. He stood there, his hands shoved awkwardly in his coat pocket, unsure whether he should stay or leave. She isn’t entitled to forgive him and he knows that too, but she still wanted to know. Wanted to see what he was going to say, why he was a cruel, shitty father for the past years of her entire life.
The sight of him sent emotions crashing inside of her. She was angry at him, how he showed up back in her life because of a case, when she spent years burying him. Grief and sadness collided together. She grieved at her younger self who didn’t have the father she needed and the absence he left, like someone who stabbed another—leaving a hole through their heart and never fully recovered.
James swallowed the lump in his throat, he could feel his eyes stinging. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t the father you needed.”
Morgan let out a laugh, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “You’re sorry?”
She shook her head, standing up from the grass. “God, you’re unbelievable.”
“I know it doesn’t fix anything—”
"No," Morgan interrupted sharply. "It doesn't."
“You missed birthdays,” she said quietly. “You missed my graduations, contests and other things I only did to make you proud.”
“You abused me, physically and emotionally. There were days when you were in a good mood and for a moment I thought—I thought you were going to change. I always let myself believe that.”
“And you left for your stupid other family who also treated me like shit.”
“I know, I know.” He whispered, voice cracking. “I wasn’t a good father.”
“You were never a father to me!” Morgan snapped, her voice cracking as it echoed through the cemetery. Tears streamed down her face, but she couldn’t care less. She wanted him to see it. To see the damage that he had done throughout the years.
“Where were you when I needed you the most?!” She demanded.
“Where were you when mom needed you as well? Where were you when I was sitting in the hospital waiting room, waiting for an answer? Where were you when my life was already falling apart at the age of thirteen?”
James opened his mouth to say something, nothing came out. It’s as if the words were stuck in his throat, or because he simply couldn’t defend himself.
“Fuck you, James. Fuck you.”