[Tara!] she texted, [Come over!]
Never wanting to disappoint, Dr. Lewis hopped into her car and headed over to Penelope's apartment, not knowing what to expect but figuring she didn't have much else to do, anyway.
Now, though, sitting on Garcia's couch as her coworker rambles drunkenly, Tara can't help thinking maybe this late-night meetup wasn't the best idea.
"You need another drink," Penelope insists.
Tara is quick to shake her head, chuckling a little. "Uh, Garcia, I think you've had enough for both of us," she says gently, trying to peel Garcia's hands off the glass she's holding before she ends up with red wine all over her sofa and her carpet.
Penelope says nothing, but slouches down onto the couch and pouts. Tara scoots away for a moment to set the half-full glass out of reach on the kitchen counter, then joins Garcia quietly on the couch.
The pair sits in silence for several minutes. Tara checks her phone – nothing that urgently needs her attention, she's happy to find – and is considering turning on the television or at least some music or something when she hears quiet sniffling from beside her.
"Penelope?" She asks softly, concern growing when she sees the mascara-stained tears streaking down Garcia's face. "You okay?"
Garcia closes her eyes tight and nods forcefully but altogether quite unconvincingly. " 'm fine," she mumbles.
"Hey," Tara slides a little closer and wraps an arm gently around her friend's shoulders. "What's going on?"
Shoulders shaking more violently by the moment, Garcia just manages to choke out, "I just don't understand!"
Neither do I, Tara thinks, because she has absolutely no idea what's going on. One minute Penelope seemed perfectly happy to drink herself into oblivion, and now she's very clearly upset despite the fact that nothing seems to have changed.
On Garcia's other side, Sergio leaps onto the couch, gives a soft meow!, rubs his face into Penelope's hand, and then curls up against her leg, looking up at her with expectant eyes.
Despite Lewis' expectation that the arrival of her beloved cat would go at least a little way towards cheering up Garcia, Sergio's presence seems, if anything, to have the opposite effect. When Penelope continues crying and he realizes that she's really not going to pet him, Sergio hops up onto the back of the sofa, takes a few agile steps, then leaps down onto the seat beside Tara, who obediently scratches behind his ears when he starts nudging her fingers.
"Tara," Penelope whines, "Why am I always alone?"
"You have Sergio!" is on the tip of Lewis' tongue for a moment before she thinks better of it, realizing that feline companionship is likely not the sort that Garcia's missing if she's this upset about it.
"I don't know, Penelope," she says instead, stroking Sergio's back with one hand and rubbing Garcia's with the other.
"I just – I – what's wrong with me?" Garcia stammers. A few tears drip onto her shirt. Tara looks around hopelessly for a box of tissues, or a spare napkin, or an abandoned tee shirt, anything she can offer Penelope to dry her tears, but comes up empty.
"Nothing's wrong with y –" Tara starts to protest, but Penelope is apparently not done, because she keeps talking as if she doesn't realize Lewis is talking at all, which Tara realizes is actually a very legitimate possibility.
"Why am I so weird? Why can't I just like normal things, and find someone normal to love me?" she's full-on sobbing now, and Tara is having to work hard to make out what she's saying. Part of her wants to stop trying to understand her, because if she's correctly interpreting drunk-and-crying-Penelope-ese, what Garcia's saying has her heart breaking just a little on her behalf. "But, I mean, I'm smart! I'm nice, usually! I know I'm fat, but I'm cute! Someone should want me!"
"Penelope," Tara's soft attempts at reassurance are drowned out by the most miserable sobs she's ever heard.
"Rossi has Krystall," Garcia continues, "And Derek has Savannah, and Luke has Lisa, and Matt has Kristy, and JJ has Will, and Emily has that Andrew guy, and I'm all alone!"
This is not an isolated incident, Tara realizes – there's no way, with how much she's had to drink, that Penelope could rattle off all her friends and their significant others like that unless she's spending a lot of time thinking about it. The idea of Garcia sitting for long hours alone in her office thinking about how lonely she is and wondering why she isn't good enough for a relationship isn't one Tara enjoys, so she brushes the thought aside for now and focuses on trying to get Penelope to breathe.
"I don't have anyone either, Penelope," Tara points out gently. "Is there something wrong with me?"
That stops Garcia short. Her breath catches in her throat and she makes eye contact with Tara as deliberately as she can, though it's punctuated by Penelope's occasional need to swipe at her damp face with the back of her hands.
"No," she insists. "Tara, you're perfect. How could you ever think something's wrong with you?"
Lewis gently squeezes Garcia's shoulder in a way she hopes is comforting. She's counting on Penelope's drunkenness to keep her from noticing the mild confusion on her own face; the insistence that she's "perfect" is not only way off-base, it feels a little too adamant, no matter how compassionate Garcia tends to be, and Lewis is getting a sinking feeling that she might have inadvertently taken this evening down a path that will quickly prove even more heartbreaking.
"Tara," Garcia says seriously – or, as seriously as she can. Her hand, still a little damp from her own tears, comes to rest on top of Tara's, and she stares into her friend's eyes in a way that has Tara's stomach twisting into uncomfortable knots. "You're so pretty," she continues in earnest. Lewis' mind races, trying in vain to think of a painless way to escape. To her slight horror, though, before she can say anything at all, Penelope leans forward in a very obvious, very drunken attempt at a kiss, and she has no choice but to slide backwards on the couch to avoid making the situation any worse.
"Penelope," she whispers, and Garcia's eyes fly open as she realizes what's happened.
"Oh, God!" Penelope wails. "I'm so sorry! Oh, God. Do you hate me? Oh my God."
She's sitting further away now, but Tara takes Garcia's hand in between both of hers, hoping the gesture will be more comforting than hurtful. "I could never hate you, Penelope," she assures her, speaking slowly and trying to make her meaning as clear as possible. "I'm not mad." Tara breathes out slowly and adds, for the sake of clarification, "But I am straight."
Garcia nods silently, fresh tears streaking down her face, and though she hasn't pulled her hand away from Tara's, she's avoiding eye contact like it's her job.
"I think it's best if I go home," Lewis says gently. Garcia's head continues bobbing in assent. "Do you need anything?"
Penelope tries to speak, but her voice refuses to sound. She clears her throat, then whispers, "No. Thank you."
"Okay." Tara gives her hand a squeeze, then stands up and grabs her phone and keys from the coffee table. "I'll see you on Monday, alright?"
She pauses, and Garcia gives another tiny nod and a tiny noise that Lewis can only assume means okay. "Goodnight, Penelope," she says, then slips out the door.
With Lewis gone, Garcia buries her hands in her thick hair and swallows a scream. After a long moment, she starts to get up and head to bed, but something on the kitchen counter catches her attention: the wine Tara took from her earlier.
She only pauses for a moment before reaching for the glass.