Penelope Garcia shouldered through her front door, laden like a pack animal.
Considering the four-inch polka-dot platforms encasing her aching feet, she did a surprisingly graceful dip, depositing an armful of shopping bags on her couch. The maneuver was accomplished with practiced urgency. She had to be solid and steady on her footwear before Sergio wound through her ankles. It was the cat's usual route, meant as both greeting, admonishment, and demand.
'Hello. I missed you. You should be at my beck and call…not shopping. Snuggle and feed me. Food first. Snuggle after. Now.'
Right on cue Sergio performed his expected choreography. Garcia bent, running a hand over the plush fur, a testament to pampering and affection. "Greetings and salutations, O' Cat-O-My-Heart."
Niceties over, Sergio leapt up on the couch and began nosing about among Penelope's purchases. With a sigh, the weary shopper extracted a few sheets of tissue packing paper. Wadding them up, she tossed them to the carpet and watched as Sergio attacked the crinkling ball with gusto. As for Garcia, she plopped down in the scant space between bags and watched feline antics that would normally have had her wreathed in smiles within seconds.
Today, she didn't feel quite so humorous.
It had been a slow week at work, which meant she'd had ample time to think along non-BAU lines. It had left her feeling dissatisfied and…and empty. Even an epic session of retail therapy hadn't lifted her mood.
I'm stuck, she thought. I have one foot nailed to the floor. I'm running in circles while everyone else is moving forward.
As Sergio continued noisy, shred-ful play, Garcia toed her shoes off and curled her legs under her, eyes hazy with discontent. It had been three months since Morgan had left. He kept in touch, as good friends do, but as delightful as it was to reminisce and to hear the happy details of his transition from agent to family man, sometimes it made Penelope even sadder.
Vagrant wisps of regret and loneliness had been drifting around her in increasing density all week. Now, as she stayed still, watching Sergio's pure, simple enjoyment, the wisps settled around her in a shroud. I envy you, Serge. No, she shook her head, setting a wealth of earrings and hair ornaments jangling. No, I envy everyone…
It had all been so different a few years ago.
Except for Hotch, everyone had been single. Everyone had felt like a brother or sister under the skin, their solitary status making Garcia think she'd found her niche. We were family. A pang ran through her. We were family until real families came along… The pang turned from pain to guilt. She knew that wasn't true. No matter who or what entered their lives, no teammate's place was ever up for grabs. No one person was replaceable in any other person's heart.
It just felt that way.
They're all moving along trajectories and I'm an eddying whirlpool.
Hotch, for all his solitary nature was a daddy through and through. Everyone felt it was just a matter of time and circumstance before the man's battered heart was claimed by a woman who would soothe and fill the lonely places in him. In the meantime, his domestic life was eventful, thanks to Jack. It seemed that having a child granted automatic entry into a world rich in new experiences and personal growth; something Penelope could appreciate as an outsider even more since J.J. and Morgan had become parents. She gave another gusty sigh. J.J…
The liaison had been the next to fall from the ranks of single-dom. She was all agent on the job, but as soon as the wheels touched down, she was off to Will and her two children. Garcia sighed. No more girls' nights out. No more shopping together. No more gossip sessions that run into the wee hours.
Sergio caught her attention with a particularly acrobatic toss-and-catch of the tissue paper ball. You're all that's left of Emily, Beautiful Boy…
Prentiss might have been the hardest of all to let go at the time it had happened. Penelope had idolized her; had been awed by the woman's daring and her unapologetic independence, not to mention her sleek and silky minimalist style. However, when Emily had made a brief visit to enlist BAU help, she'd had a different aura about her. She was more grounded, more sure; still a rogue among her kind, but…settled somehow. In the short time they'd had to talk, she'd shown Garcia photos of her lover. The tech analyst had stared. In her eyes, the man could rival Morgan for sheer sexual magnetism. Toss in an English accent and… Aaahhhh, yesss…
It meant Garcia couldn't keep Prentiss on the 'singles' shelf in her mind anymore. Sure, it made no difference in daily life, but it had been a comforting, little nugget of kinship. Emily's moved on, too…
She levered herself off the couch with a groan and padded to the small kitchenette. As she forked cat food into Sergio's bowl, she considered the string of agents who'd slipped in and out of the BAU in Prentiss's wake. None had been entirely unattached, and they didn't seem to stay around long. They didn't stick. That feeling of a core group, of female camaraderie, was gone. There was a lack of balance where once the male and female energies had dovetailed so nicely.
She placed the bowl on the floor and heard Sergio pause in his tissue-destruction when he recognized the sound. Speaking of male energy…
… Rossi… Even as fond memories of gaming sessions with her favorite Italian Cuisine surfaced, Penelope couldn't help feeling wistful. The senior agent had worn his solo status with a kind of noble forbearance. He'd tried to make the marriage thing work to no avail. He had mourned a lack of children, but had turned his paternal instincts toward his team. Rossi had bullied and hugged and listened and advised every one of them on occasion. He'd even become something of a surrogate grandfather to little Jack Hotchner; a development that surprised no one considering Dave's affection for their stoic, yet sweet-souled boss. But even set-in-his-ways Rossi had undergone a sea change.
A daughter. After all this time…a daughter. And a grandchild of his very own. And a son-in-law. And a partial reconciliation with wife #2. Family.
Garcia turned a vacant stare on the quixotic posters and kitsch adorning her apartment. Who'd have thought family would find my Italian Masterpiece?
The deeper question, the more disturbing one was: Who'd have thought everyone would be claimed, except me.
If she were being honest, though, Penelope would have had to admit that Reid was in the same boat. But tonight was for self-pity; a big, wallowing, gulping dose of self-pity that was a facet of mourning the distancing of so many of her 'babies.'
So Reid's similar social situation remained, also, at a distance.
In a sad, little corner of her mind, Garcia knew she'd be okay. She'd work herself up to tears tonight and spend tomorrow all swollen-eyed and raspy, but by the time she traipsed into her lair on Monday morning, she'd be business-as-usual…Queen Penelope, Mistress of Magical Informational Miracles.
She watched Sergio close his eyes as he blissfully experienced Fancy Feast Marinated Beef. She'd always thought it odd that cat food came in that flavor. Especially if a brand espoused itself to be 'what cats love naturally.' Well, if it's their natural diet, then tabbies in the wild would form a pack to bring down a cow… The absurd vision touched her lips with a tentative smile, but it faded. My pack is all broken up and scattered…all matured and mated…
"Wha'd'ya say, Black Bane of Mice? Wanna sit on my laptop for a while?" If she was going to sink into a morass of self-pity, Garcia intended to go whole hog. She had files filled with photos snapped of her teammates during after- hour get-togethers. It would be like touching a bruise to see how much it hurt; somehow therapeutic despite the pain.
Sated cat and tech analyst adjourned to the living room.
Penelope had a plan. She knew just which photos to start with, and just which would make a perfect ending in this mournful journey. She would start with pictures snapped when they'd all gone to cheer Hotch on in the FBI triathlon. It had been one of the times the distaff half of the team had spent the previous night drinking and gossiping and sharing their lives in a manner that was practically nonexistent now.
She poured herself a glass of wine and settled Sergio in her lap.
"Okay, Serg-i-licious. Here we go…"
Taking a deep breath, Garcia brought up the first photo.
Hotch. Sweaty and smiling as he seldom did.
Jack. Staring up at his daddy with a worshipful grin.
Reid, Rossi and Morgan lavishing congratulatory slaps and punches on their Unit Chief.
J.J. and Prentiss hovering. Prentiss looking the worse for wear, sporting a hangover from the previous night's festivities. Garcia recalled her making some comment about how the only one spending Friday evening sober and early-to-bed would be Hotch as he readied himself for the competition.
Penelope wasn't in the picture.
She'd taken it.
Her lip began to tremble. Kind of prophetic…Like being the odd duck…one webby foot tethered and going nowhere…Like I don't have a place among them…Like nobody needs me except at the office… She was working herself up into a fine state of sorrow when…
… the phone bleated its insistent tone at her. Damn it! What stupid telemarketer is selling what stupid product on a Saturday evening!?
She snatched the irritating device up without checking caller ID. "WHAT!"
A beat of silence, then… "Garcia?" Hotch's rumbling voice was caution itself. "Is this a bad time?"
"Oh! Oh! No, Sir! I'm just… I mean I'm not…Oh! No! No…it's not. What? Are we called in?" Every nerve ending radiated alarm. Usually J.J. was the contact point. If Hotch was calling, something very unusually serious must be in the making.
Aaron managed to sound abashed. "No. I'm sorry. It's not work. But I need your help…Only if you're not busy," he hastened to add, trying to sort out his tech analyst's mood.
"Help? My help? Uh…sure! Sure, Sir! Uh…yeah!...yes!...Anything."
"Actually, it's for Jack…for school. For Advanced English. They're studying the elements of fables and…and he's supposed to make a story up on his own. Kind of a fairytale sort of thing, I guess. I tried to help, but…" Hotch's deep sigh spoke of failure. "…he says I'm no good at that kind of stuff. Jack says he needs you. Says you're the one who knows about all the cool things when it comes to fantasy and make-believe. If you have time…if it's not intruding…" Hotch's usually authoritative voice faded into uncharacteristic uncertainty.
"Oh…" Garcia was breathy. Her heart expanding a little more with each beat. "Oh…Sir…Oh…of course I'll help…of course!...I'm just…I'm…of course. I'd be glad to help!...of course!..."
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Hotch passed the phone over to a waiting and eager Jack. The impulse to call Garcia had been the father's, not the son's.
Something had been bothering Penelope all week. She hadn't complained exactly, but she'd been down; less ebullient than usual, her sparkle shadowed and dimmed.
Now Hotch smiled at Jack's happy exclamations over whatever fanciful characters or situations Garcia was proposing. When it came to his team, Aaron was never off the clock. He didn't mind. It came with the territory. It came with the combination of his training and his unexpectedly kind heart.
Because sometimes…not always, but sometimes…a profiler just knows.