I was reading a story for a different fandom and got the idea for this. Hope you enjoy!

"Damn." Morgan frantically sifted through file after file of reports that lay on his younger colleague's desk, looking for a particular report on an unsub they'd managed to team profile last week. Hotch was expecting the report in by the end of the day, and Morgan had simply forgotten all about it. "I know it's here somewhere…"

"Lose something?"

"No…well, yeah, kinda…"

"So which is it?" Emily Prentiss was standing nearby, taking in the sight of Morgan pawing over Reid's desk as though it were wild prairie in need of exploration.

"Look, I...kinda forgot about that report on Steve Warmier…"

"The guy from Sarasota? The one who liked turning women into life-size Barbie dolls and then drowning them?"

"That one. Reid and I both have to fill out reports…"

"And you forgot to do yours." The smile on Emily's face rivaled a Cheshire cat's.

"Hey, I didn't 'forget.' I was distracted."

"By the three files left on your desk or by the lovely Raytisha up on the twelfth floor?"

"I'm this close to gettin' a date with her. Had coffee with her this morning…" Morgan finally stood up from the disheveled mess that was now Reid's normally neat desk, heaving a huge sigh. "Hotch is gonna ream me out for this…"

"Can't you get a copy off his computer?"

The statement was so simple Morgan wondered where his head had been to not have thought of it himself. Chuckling, he said, "Thanks, Emily. I'll just have a peek, and…" The sound of keys tapping against themselves could be heard as Morgan tried to access Reid's computer. To his frustration, however, he kept getting a warning screen that soon began to aggravate him.

"Hey, Emily," Morgan called out five minutes later, making sure not to draw anyone else's interest.

"What now?"

"What's his password?"

"Beats me. Go ask…"

"Nuh-unh. Baby girl told me she wouldn't hack no personal computers for me unless it was active-case related, not after the wormhole incident a few years ago."

Emily raised an eyebrow. "The wormhole incident? Sounds interesting…"

"It's not." Morgan's tone told the profiler that there clearly was, but she left it for the moment. The exasperated man began hitting random buttons in an attempt to rid the screen of the persistent warning sign, but nothing worked. "Damn, Reid, who does your security?"

"Same person who does all our computer security, Derek. I'm telling you…"

"No. She won't do it, and I gotta have that report so I can get mine done." Now agitated, Morgan began randomly hitting buttons, causing the warning screen to flash. At one point he swore the machine was laughing at him. "Hey," he said, remembering suddenly. "What's that combination they use to reboot the thing? Something-Alt-Something, isn't it?"

"Control-Alt-Delete?" Emily guessed.

"That's it!" Morgan hit the keys in successive order, and suddenly the room was engulfed by an ear-splitting, glass-shattering, earth-moving shriek of an alarm that could have woken the dead.

"I don't think that worked!" Emily shouted, her voice just barely able to be heard over the deafening wail.

"Ya think so?!" Morgan bellowed, holding his ears and squinting in an attempt to try and keep his tears inside his eyes.

"What the hell is going on out here?!" a deep voice boomed over the din, and suddenly people with office doors were venturing out with hands clamped over their ears to see what the problem was. Morgan began to grow more and more embarrassed as people pieced together the cause fo the distraction. "And how do you shut it off!"

Finally the room fell completely silent. Dozens of pairs of eyes turned to see Penelope Garcia standing with a pair of electrical cords in her hands, the plugs clearly visible as she held them up for all to see, and a bemused but miffed smile on her face.

Morgan looked shamefaced. "Baby girl, I can explain…"

"Oh, you're going to. But not to me."

"Come again?"

"Worked, huh?" Everyone spun on their heels to see Reid standing in the doorway, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands.

"Like a charm, gorgeous. Here's your thief. Call me when it's done."

The rest of the bullpen began to scatter back to various desks and offices as the younger profiler strode up to his desk and hit a series of buttons on his computer. The machine, which Garcia had plugged in before she left, began to boot up and happily whir and ding its revival back to life. "Care to explain?" Reid asked.

"Yes, Morgan, please, explain," came a voice Morgan dreaded at this point. Turning slowly, he saw both Hotch and Rossi standing behind him, looking expectant as to an answer for the horrific racket.

"Ah, well, you see…" the profiler began, looking shamefaced. It's going to be a long night, he thought to himself.