I don't own anything related to Criminal Minds. Which is probably for the best, all things considered.

Love Defies Even Me
by Scintillating Tart


Part One: Torn Asunder


It was a normal day without a case, the dearth of paperwork finally overwhelming their inboxes. Seven cases in rapid succession would do that to any team, but for the BAU, it was worse because they had to relive the goriest details of every case and their ultimate conclusion, be it good or bad. There was a reason they all had mandatory visits with the FBI-employed psychologists every week now. They'd spent too many years chasing evil.

No one but Morgan seemed to notice that it was too quiet.

True enough, they didn't always hear from Garcia's lair when there wasn't a case, and he knew it was because she didn't just work for the BAU teams – though they were her primary focus. But this was just too damn quiet. And he hadn't gotten his usual 'smutty dreams, lollipop' text from Penelope the night before – which was enough to start him worrying anyway.

He reached for the phone and dialed her office extension. The generic voicemail greeting kicked in and alarm bells went off in his head. He hung up before the canned message could finish playing and all but ran for Garcia's lair.

No one batted an eye at him rushing that direction – it had happened more times than they cared to admit. In fact, there may have been an eye roll on Emily Prentiss's part when he ran by the bullpen.

They didn't understand: today was wrong, and he felt it to the very core of himself. Something was very, very wrong.

He knocked once then opened the door.

His Baby Girl was nowhere in sight and the office was empty, save the equipment and a single photo with a scrawled envelope propped up against it. He grabbed at the paper, seeing it was addressed to him and that the photo was one of the whole team, feeling like his stomach was dropping out of his body entirely. He hated being right.

Hot Stuff –

You probably think I'm a coward, you coming in on a Monday morning and finding me gone. But there is a reason, and it's not the reason you think.

Kevin asked me to marry him.

Love wasn't part of my plea deal. I work for the FBI for the rest of my life, I don't go to prison. There aren't any provisions for marriage, family, love, or any of it: only the cold, hard fact that I could never survive a prison sentence. So, truthfully, this is my prison: doomed to be alone for the rest of my life.

I know we said 'I love you' a lot, but I'm not sure I can believe that the words were true, now that I'll never hear them again. I'll miss movie night. I'll miss going out with the team and watching you on the prowl. I'll miss you the most – but don't tell anyone else I said that.

Just… tell them that it was never their fault. It was always mine and I just kept dancing with the Devil, begging for a stay of absolution until I could get my feet back under me.

I will never forget you.

I will never stop loving you.

Baby Girl

Reading the words was just like reaching into his chest and ripping out his beating heart. There was no hint where she was, where she'd been forced to go: it was just a few broken paragraphs that didn't amount to a fucking explanation.

She was gone.

That was it.

His god-given solace had broken her one promise: never stop talking to him.


She looked out the window at paradise and felt her heart clench in response. She could see Waikiki Beach from her lanai, could see out to sea, could see Diamondhead to the left and Pearl Harbor to the right – the Bureau had certainly set her up with good digs this time instead of the shitty apartment in Manassas. But it was hollow: this was where she'd stay until she did something else stupid that violated her agreement with the Feds.

Falling in love was the stupidest thing she'd ever done. Far more moronic than having hacked into the FBI's secure databases in the first place, falling in love had opened her up to all kinds of things she didn't deserve to touch. She was a criminal serving a sentence – she didn't have the luxury of being tied down to anyone. Not Kevin Lynch, not the BAU, not…

She stepped back into the condo and slammed the sliding door closed – so hard that it bounced back open again. It took a moment of collecting her quiet thoughts before she closed the door and locked it. They'd sent her as far away from Quantico as it was possible to move her without sending her to Alaska. She was literally by herself on a fucking island with no ties to anyone, yet again.

It wasn't the first time she'd been relocated, but this was the one that was going to drive her somewhere into madness.

She'd given away bags of clothes and jewelry to the Salvation Army before they put her on the plane. Esther was gone. Everything that reminded her of Quantico had been left behind.

It was for the best.

Now she was living on coffee, trying to stay one step ahead of the jet lag that was threatening to consume her alive. Or was it the hollow, sluggish beating of her heart?

She'd replenished her wardrobe with black, grey, brown – anything that didn't have color or life to it. She felt dead inside and anyone that knew her well would know that she really was in mourning for her life – or lack of it now, as the case seemed to be.

All she wanted to do was pick up the phone and call JJ or Derek and blubber down the line.

But she couldn't. They couldn't know where she was. If they did, they would just pick her up and relocate her again.

Penelope Garcia was, once again, truly alone.

She'd sealed her permanent FBI file in such a way that only she could open it again; even the Director had to call her to get it printed off for her new team. He'd asked her to do it in the first place – no one need know where she was, why she was, who she was.

The only thing she had left from her life at the BAU was one single photograph that she'd managed to smuggle out of her apartment under the noses of her guard-dogs. She'd hidden it away for when she knew that life was going to break her – and now was that time.

As she touched the two-dimensional planes of his face, she let out a quiet, mournful whisper. "God, Derek, I can't do this alone."