A/N: I'm a huge Cubbies fan and today is Opening Day. I know that Rossi is a fan as well, and that Morgan is from Chicago so that's where the idea came from. It was going to be a one-shot, but I kept getting more and more ideas so I decided to make it longer. It'll probably end up being three chapters. Focuses mostly on Reid and Morgan's brotherly relationship, but there is no shortage of Rossi! I do not own Criminal Minds or the Chicago Cubs.

"Every strike brings me closer to the next home run." - Babe Ruth

The cab of the airplane is hot, stuffy, and there's a small child screaming somewhere in the back. Spencer Reid presses his sweating forehead a little harder against the plexiglass window of the plane, staring aimlessly at the endless white clouds below. He isn't afraid of flying. In fact, he flies almost every week with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The difference today though? Reid is flying commercial, in the somewhat confined economy class section. This is a big change from the FBI's spacious jet with the leather seats and their very own coffee machine.

Reid isn't afraid, but he is somewhat claustrophobic and a whole lot germophobic. "Do you have any idea how many germs float around an airplane at any given second? It's fifty-six percent safer to use a public restroom and not wash your hands afterwards." This is what he'd told Derek Morgan at six o'clock this morning, who had showed up banging on his apartment door with three tickets to see the Chicago Cubs on Opening Day.

"Reid? Are you okay?" The young agent turns his attention away from the window and to the eldest agent of the BAU. Rossi and Morgan had been chatting the entire time about which players had traded teams, who had stayed, who had retired, and the odds of the Cubs making it all the way to the World Series. Reid, who would usually be spitting out facts and statistics faster than the speed of the plane they sat on, had been unusually quiet the whole time.

"Yeah," Reid says as he loosens the knot on his tie just a tiny bit. "I'm fine. I just don't understand why you two had to drag me along. JJ likes baseball."

"Aw, come on kid." Morgan sits forward in his seat on the other side of Rossi, reaching across the older profiler and patting Reid on the knee. "Consider it boys' night out. You'll have fun. I promise. Besides, my mother has been dying to see you."

Reid can't help but smile at the idea of Fran Morgan being eager to see him. He'd first met Mrs. Morgan several years ago, when the team had been unexpectedly called out to Chicago to prove Morgan's innocence in a homicide case. It had been him and JJ that interviewed Morgan's family, and his little sister even told Reid that Morgan talks about him at home. It was the first time that Reid had started to see Morgan as a friend, rather than just a colleague. He had went back to visit the family three times after that - twice for Morgan's birthday and once when his mother had a schizophrenic break on Christmas Day. Her doctor advised that Reid not visit that year, but Morgan couldn't stand the thought of Reid spending the holiday alone, so he invited him to Chicago with him.

"Is she making peach cobbler?" Reid shifts in his seat slightly. His long legs don't help ease his uncomfortableness in the slightest. His bony knees scrape against the hard plastic of the seat in front of him, and his muscles are beginning to cramp from lack of stretching. Reid rests his head against the back of his seat and closes his eyes as a slight but noticeable tinge of queasiness washes over him.

"Maybe, but you'll have to save a piece for Penelope. You know how she gets if I don't bring her any home."

"Oh, trust us. We know." Rossi laughs, recalling the one time that the entire team traveled to Chicago for a case. Morgan had promised her his mother's famous peach cobbler, but when Morgan made the mistake of dozing off on the jet, the rest of the team raided the fridge and ate the whole thing. When they got back to the BAU, it sure was a sight to watch Morgan being chased around the bullpen by their technical analyst, who yielded a stack of files and beat him on the back of the head with them every time she got close enough.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are expected to land in roughly ten minutes. Please secure all belongings, remain seated, and fasten your seatbelts. As always, thank you for flying with us!"

As the voice echoes through a white speaker above them, the three FBI agents buckle their seatbelts and fall silent. Morgan puts his headphones back over his ears and tries to relax, preparing himself to be tackled and harassed by his family when they land. Rossi takes the last few sips of his drink and slumps back in his seat, holding off on his excitement of seeing his favorite baseball team for a little while longer. Next to him, Reid rests his head back on the window, wishing he were back in the comfort of his own apartment, surrounded by physics books that he'd finish reading in ten minutes tops.

Once the plane is safely on the ground and its passengers have filed out, the three men gently push their way through a tightly packed airport. Morgan leads them, Rossi takes the middle, and Reid follows up the back of the line, nearly losing his friends amidst the sea of travelers a few times. They finally arrive at the baggage claim and collect their suitcases - small and only half-full, given that they will be returning to Quantico tomorrow afternoon.

"Okay," Morgan says, checking his watch and leading the group outside, "We still have about four hours before we head to Wrigley Field. You guys are welcome to check out the city if you want. I think I'll spend some time with the family."

Reid glances at Rossi and quickly turns away, but not before Rossi notices the anxious expression on his face. As much as Reid tries to hide it, all of his co-workers know how he feels about unfamiliar places. He gets fidgety, and sometimes starts to scratch at the bend of his arm if the crowds gets too bad. "I think we'll just come with you, if that's okay." Reid's face relaxes almost instantly at Rossi's words, feeling even better when Morgan nods in agreement.

"Speaking of the devil…" A broad smile plasters itself to Morgan's face when his sister's car pulls up. It is no sooner than the car stops before a striking, tall, dark-skinned young woman practically hurls herself out the driver's side door. "I can't...breathe…" Morgan manages to pry himself away from his little sister's death-hug, holding her out at arm's length and taking in her appearance. "Have you been working out?" he teases, giving her arms a squeeze.

"Only so I can kick your ass." Desiree winks playfully at her brother, who begins picking up everyone's luggage and tossing it in the trunk. His sister turns to face Reid, almost having to stand on her tiptoes in order to ruffle the tall man's brown hair.

"Good to see you," Reid sincerely comments, leaning down to pull Desiree into a hug. Rossi watches the exchange with his eyebrows raised. In the years that he's come to know Reid, he rarely accepts a handshake, much less be the one to initiate a hug.

"You must be David Rossi," Desiree smiles sweetly at Rossi, who is not entirely unused to strangers recognizing him. In this case though, he guesses that the woman in front of him knows him because of Morgan's big mouth, rather than his best-selling books on serial killers.

"Piacere di conoscerti," Rossi greets with a small bow.

"Alright, Italian Stallion," Morgan closes the trunk and strides back over to the group, laying an arm across both his sister's and Reid's shoulders. "You're in my stomping grounds now. Hop in."

Once everyone is settled into the car, Desiree merges onto the busy highway in the direction of her mother's house, where she'd already informed Morgan that Fran and his other sister, Sarah, are waiting. In the backseat, Reid tunes out the ongoing conversation in the car, instead staring out the window at all the skyscrapers and bustling business people. Occasionally, especially when the car stops at a stoplight, he gets the feeling that the massive steel buildings on either side of the road are closing in on him. He's able to shake off the feeling fairly well, and avoid confrontation from the man sitting next to him.

Many things within the city are unfamiliar to Reid. He's been to Chicago a few times for both work and pleasure, but he is usually cooped up at either the police station or Morgan's house. He doesn't mind it, though. Less people means less anxiety and less germs. As they travel into the South Side district, the towering glass structures turn into run-down convenience stores with bars on the windows and partially dilapidated homes, showing every sign of a junkie living within its crumbling walls. Morgan's childhood neighborhood is notorious for gang violence and drugs, and Reid had once read in a government report that black residents outnumber white ones nearly sixty to one. Dr. Reid is by no means racist, but with statistics like that, it's safe to say he is severely out of place with his pasty skin and somewhat geeky demeanor.

"Reid?" His head snaps up at the sound of his name. Reid turns his head to see Rossi staring at him worriedly. By the look on his face, it isn't the first time that Rossi has attempted to gain his attention. "You good?"

A slight burning sensation presents itself on the delicate skin of Reid's arm. He looks down at it, only to realize that he'd been absentmindedly scratching at the barely-noticeable white scars again. Reid rolls his sleeve down past his elbow and presses himself a little further into his door. "Yeah. I'm good." Rossi nods and smiles, but something in his eyes tells Reid that he is unconvinced. "Hey, did you know that the Chicago Cubs have thirteen players with a batting average above zero point two-fifty? It's largely accepted that anything between zero point two-fifty and zero point three-zero is considered average, while players below that score is said to be having a bad season."

"What about really good batters?" Rossi asks, actually interested in the kid's statistical ramblings for once. Reid lets out a breath, thankful that he is able to take the attention off himself.

"An average above zero point three-zero is great, but unfortunately only one player on the Cubs has that, coming in at zero point three-three-three. Batting averages aren't entirely trustworthy though. They vary depending on the skill level of an individual player. Someone with an average below zero point two-fifty may actually be more efficient than one above zero point-three."

"I thought you didn't like baseball?" Morgan calls out from the front seat, smirking at Reid in the rearview mirror.

"I don't," Reid replies matter-of-factly.

"Then how do you know that?"

Reid glares into the mirror for a moment, wondering why Morgan of all people would ask such an absurd question. Reid has never claimed to know everything, but he does have an eidetic memory that prevents him from forgetting things once he's read them. "Oh, I don't know Morgan...maybe because you forced me to come to your house and watch basketball the other night. They were talking about it during a commercial break."

"Hey, I was bored that night! Do you honestly think I wanted to hear you giving me a mathematical play-by-play during the NCAA tournament?" Morgan's words are harsh, but the look on his face is kind and gentle. Reid is used to the older man picking on him. At first, it kind of bothered him because he tends to take everything literally and jokes often zoom right over his head. But over time, Reid has come to like it. It's Morgan's strange way of showing that he cares.

"Of course I didn't think that. I just thought that all six of your girlfriends were unavailable at the time." Reid crosses his arms over his chest, smirking almost proudly. Next to him, Rossi's eyes travel back and forth between the two agents. He certainly isn't accustomed to Dr. Spencer Reid being so comfortable in a conversation, much less cracking jokes of his own.

"Derek!" There is a thump, followed by an "ouch!" Reid brings a hand up to his face to hide his laughter when Morgan's little sister reaches over and hits him square in the chest.

"I do not have six girlfriends!" He pleads. "Reid is full of it!"

"Don't talk about my favorite big brother like that!" Desiree replies.

"He's not even your brother! You know what?" Morgan presses himself into his seat and trains his head forward, though Reid is sure his eyes are burning a hole into the mirror behind his sunglasses. "Forget it. You're dead, kid."

"Dead. Adjective. The National Conference of Commissioners on Uniform State Laws, in 1980, formulated the Uniform Determination of Death act. It states that an individual who has sustained either irreversible cessation of circulatory and respiratory functions, or irreversible cessation of all functions of the entire brain, including the brainstem, is dead."

A loud, exaggerated sigh travels from the front seat to the back. Morgan throws his head against his seat dramatically, reaches down, and turns the radio onto a local hip-hop station. He doesn't notice that, in the back seat, even Rossi is trying to stifle a laugh. This is gonna be great, he thinks. When Reid is in town, even Morgan's family takes the genius' side in their brother-like banter.

Twenty minutes and four more playful arguments later, Rossi and Reid are sitting at Mrs. Morgan's kitchen table playing a game of cards while Morgan catches up with his family. Desiree is perched on the counter, watching closely as her mother whips up a hearty meal but not offering any help. Morgan stands in the doorway, protesting as Sarah fusses over a scar from a bullet wound that he hadn't had the last time he visited.

"You know I can't quit!" Morgan is saying to her. "It isn't just a job. It's who I am. Besides, these dorks are my family, too." At the mention of himself, Rossi glares at Morgan over his hand of cards, his grayish eyebrows arching up as more of a warning than confusion.

"Dorks?" He asks. "I mean, Reid I can see -"

"Thanks."

"But me? I'll have you know that I am a three-time best-selling author and a founding member of the BAU. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't even have this job." Rossi's voice is calm, controlled, and may even seem arrogant to anyone who doesn't know him that well. He has an incredible poker face, which sometimes makes it difficult to tell when he's joking.

"Straight flush," Reid announces, laying down the Queen, Jack, ten, nine, and eight of hearts with a satisfied grin. He then reaches in and swipes all of the chocolate pieces from the center of the table, which they'd been using as makeshift poker chips. Seeing the perplexed look on Rossi's face, Reid offers him a bit of advice for next time. "It is advisable not to play poker against a provable genius and magician who grew up in Las Vegas. I'm banned from one-hundred and three casinos within the city limits. Guess how many casinos there are in Las Vegas?" Everyone in the kitchen is quiet, knowing that Reid is going to answer for them anyway. "One-hundred and four. That face only gets you so far, Agent Rossi."

"Hey, can I have one of those?" Laughing, Desiree hops down from the counter and grabs a piece of chocolate, popping it into her mouth and smiling at Rossi teasingly.

"I think I'm just gonna go change into my jersey," he announces, rising from his chair and patting Reid on the back as he walks out of the room.

"I don't understand what got you so interested in this whole 'be everyone's hero' thing anyway!" Sarah continues once Rossi has retreated into the living room. Reid's back stiffens at the words, and he dares to twist around and look at his friend.

Morgan still stands in the doorway, every muscle in his body suddenly tense. He closes his eyes briefly, bites his bottom lip, and opens them again with a sigh. When he speaks, his voice is surprisingly controlled. "I just want to make Dad proud," he says. Reid's heart aches a little at the words. He knows that Morgan isn't lying entirely, but he also knows that he isn't being completely truthful. Morgan's father was a police officer with the Chicago PD, and had been gunned down right in front of his son when Morgan was just ten years old. He's never went into detail about it with Reid, but the younger agent knows it still haunts him.

After that, no one says anything else until Mrs. Morgan announces that dinner is ready. At the smell of Polish sausage and onions, Rossi returns to the kitchen like a starving pit bull. Everyone takes their seats around the table, and Morgan and Reid glance at one another awkwardly when Mrs. Morgan says a little prayer. As a man of science and reason, Reid has never believed in a higher, spiritual being. Morgan's faith is touch-and-go at best, for the very same reason that he joined the Bureau. Reid hopes that he isn't being too obvious in the way that he looks at his best friend, wondering whether or not he should bring the topic up when they get a little privacy. Eventually, he decides against it and digs into his meal, genuinely happy to be surrounded by the people that he's come to care for like family.