Penelope couldn't remember the last time her office was so clean. She'd emptied all the lint out of her pink butterfly trash can; dusted each lava lamp, troll doll, and snow globe on her desk; and shined her monitors so meticulously that she could practically count the pores in her reflection. Still, though, as she paced sock-footed back and forth across the freshly swept floor, the nagging in her chest that had prompted this last-minute bout of spring cleaning continued to ache relentlessly. Her skin seemed to crawl under her sweater, and the trinkets that rarely failed to make her smile seemed to be taunting her from all around.
Rather than giving into the impulse to collapse into her office floor and cry, Garcia yanked her hair back into a sloppy ponytail with more force than necessary and stormed out of her office in search of cardboard boxes, muttering under her breath about fiancées and fuzzy pens and growing the hell up. She was a grown woman - she didn't need these stupid trinkets!
There were no cardboard boxes at Reid's desk. Garcia checked under two huge piles of books, and all she found were case files and more books. Typical. JJ's desk, while a little more diverse in its contents and decor, proved to be equally unhelpful; the family photos near her workspace were adorable, and the seven bags of Cheetos stashed in her unlocked drawer were probably delicious, but neither could be used to declutter her office, so Penelope was categorically uninterested.
The BAU bullpen was a little creepy when one visited it alone at night, but she headed up the stairs towards the offices anyway, her frustration mounting quickly. Derek's office was closest to the stairs, plus he often forgot to lock it, so Garcia barged on in and began rummaging haphazardly through his things. I set up the damn office, she reasoned bitterly, he can hardly complain if I make a bit of a mess. As she continued to throw open drawers and overturn piles of paperwork, an unwelcome thought brought the dull ache in Garcia's chest back to a full-fledged heartbroken throb: he'll have to get used to messes anyway, with a baby on the way.
A sob ripped through Penelope's throat as she imagined Derek holding a beautiful baby of his very own. It wasn't that she'd never pictured Morgan as a father before, but the she'd always dreamed his child would have skin a few shades lighter than his and eyes a little closer to her own. The reality that Savannah - beautiful, smart, perfect Savannah - was carrying Derek's child was more than she her heart could handle. Tears streaked down Garcia's face and her shoulders shook roughly as she collapsed to the ground, her search completely abandoned.
For what seemed like hours Penelope sat alone in the floor of Derek's semi-dark office, mourning the loss of a battle she'd tried her hardest to pretend she wasn't fighting. Morgan was getting married. He chose Savannah. He was starting a family.
In the eleven or so years she'd known Derek, he'd had countless one night stands, but she could count on one hand the number of girlfriends he'd had. She'd dated Kevin, of course; that relationship been comfortable and easy, making her feel wanted when she needed it most, but the moment Kevin mentioned commitment, she'd run for the hills. Penelope's romantic heart had imagined this to mean that she and Derek were kindred spirits, destined to finally settle down together in the very distant future.
Even when things had gotten serious between Morgan and Savannah, Garcia had looked the other way. She'd joked about Derek's secret infatuation with her and treated Fran like her own mother and pretended not to know that Morgan and Savannah were living together, or that it really bothered her. Now, though, as she wiped the last bits of runny mascara from her face and stared at her pink and green polka cat-patterned socks (this morning their whimsy had made her feel hopeful; now they made her feel naive and foolish) she was face to face with an unwelcome dose of reality. Derek was not going to wake up one morning and decide he was in love with her, they were not going to ride off into the sunset together to Live Happily Ever After, and that "genetically perfect offspring" she'd joked about would never come to be.
Penelope was running on autopilot as she finally stood shakily to her feet and trudged towards her office. Her body felt leaden and heavy with the exhaustion of tears and the pain of heartbreak, and playing in her mind was a montage of beautifully imagined scenes that made it hard to breathe: Savannah walking slowly down the aisle of a big, beautiful church, a spray of flowers held lightly in her hands; Derek holding a newborn baby close to his cheek and crying tears of joy; a ridiculously symmetrical child with mocha skin and a perfect head of dark curls sleeping gently while Derek and Savannah smiled from the doorway.
The sight of her happily cluttered desk as she stepped into her office to grab her shoes and purse had Penelope nearly in tears again - she was sure Savannah hadn't smiled at a lava lamp or brushed out a troll doll's hair or written with a feathery pen since she was twelve years old. Maybe that's why she's so uptight, Penelope decided (rather unfairly) with a harsh, humorless laugh. With one last scowl, she forced down the light switch and slammed the door, then stomped towards the parking deck.
All the way home, Penelope found herself bitterly comparing everything she did to Savannah:
I bet Savannah doesn't have a stupid fluffy keychain.
Savannah would never drive an obnoxious orange car.
I'm sure Savannah would hate this dumb music.
Savannah's neighbors probably don't think she's a freak.
I bet Savannah's house is effing perfect. No clutter, no trinkets, and no stupid beaded curtains or fuzzy pillows.
By the time she'd brushed her teeth (with a colorful toothbrush that was probably nowhere near as classy as Savannah's) washed her face (Savannah's so perfect; she probably doesn't even bother wearing makeup) changed into her pajamas (were all her clothes so immature? Women like Savannah would never wear rubber ducky PJs) and collapsed into bed (I'm sure Savannah would never have stuffed animals on her bed) Penelope was heartbroken, angry, and feeling worse about herself than she had in years. As physical and emotional exhaustion took over and she drifted to sleep, Garcia prayed helplessly that tomorrow would be better.
Well, at least she knew it couldn't be much worse.