AN: Enjoy! Some holiday angst and drama to get us through till the season starts back up. I don't own Criminal Minds. Darn it!
Chapter 1
8 p.m.
December 20th, 2012
Penelope Garcia had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach as she said goodbye to the people she counseled every week. It was a "survivors" support group—the people she counseled had each lived their own personal tragedy and struggled to cope with it every single day of their lives. She could relate—even after nearly twenty years, she still ached when she thought of the fact that her parents were killed in a drunk driving accident while they were out looking for her. She had been eighteen, young and carefree on that night so long ago when she had decided to miss her curfew. The course of her life was forever altered by that single awful decision. Helping others cope with their own personal tragedy was part of the way she coped with the guilt she still sometimes felt over her parents' death—a penance, of sorts.
As she ushered the last person out of the building and locked the door behind her, she pulled out her cell and tried Rachael again. Rachael was the reason she had that horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. Twenty-year-old Rachael Walters had lost her parents just over two years ago, in a way that was strikingly similar to how Penelope had lost her own parents. She had missed her curfew and while out looking for her, her parents had become the victims of a random act of violence. Both were brutally murdered a week before Christmas. As the second anniversary of their deaths had approached, Penelope had noticed Rachael becoming more withdrawn. She had tried to reach out to Rachel daily since the group had last week, knowing that the anniversary of her parents' deaths was coming on the 18th. Penelope hadn't been able to reach her since Monday. She could hear her teammates at the B.A.U repeating over and over in her head how anniversaries can serve as stressors. How many times had she heard them say it during cases? Hell, Derek Morgan, her best friend and personal knight in shining armor, had reminded her of that in this very parking lot as they had looked for a woman whose daughter had disappeared. In that instance, Penelope had been certain that the missing woman, Monica, had not committed suicide. She had known, in her gut, that Monica was a survivor and foul play had been involved. Now, however, she felt no such certainty. In fact, she had a horrible, sinking feeling that Rachael may have taken that awful, final step to end her own pain. As the call went to voicemail yet again, Penelope climbed in her car and headed toward Rachael's apartment.
As she drove, she thought about her relationship with the young, troubled girl. When Rachael had first started attending the counseling group seven months ago, Garcia had felt an immediate connection to her. Rachael didn't have any other family now that her parents were gone. Penelope knew how dark it could be, feeling as if there wasn't a single person on the planet who cared if you lived or died. When her own parents had died, she felt so alone in the world. Her brothers were grown and gone—they hadn't made much of an effort to make sure that she was okay. It was a lonely, dark place to be in. She had forged a friendship with Rachael, wanting the girl to know that there was someone who cared. Rachael needed to know that someone cared about her.
Penelope pulled up at Rachael's apartment complex—a rundown, overcrowded tenement in one of the seedier parts of town. As she wrapped her jacket around her against the cold, she stepped out of her car and steeled herself for whatever may come. She was surprised to see a light shining through Rachael's window. She knocked on her door, not really expecting an answer. As much as it made her feel like a prowler, she peaked through the curtain. It was then, through the parted curtain, that she could see a hand laying in a pool of blood. "Oh, Rachael," she moaned. Pulling out her phone, she dialed 9-1-1, knowing that it was already too late. She was nearly certain Rachael had killed herself.
4 a.m.
December 21st
Garcia stood under the shower, wishing the hot water would wash away the cold feeling her heart. She had waiting in the cold for the police and ambulance to arrive. She had stood in Rachael's cold apartment as they had assessed the scene. She had given her statement to the police. She had watched as they covered Rachael's body, including the pool of blood and goo that had once been her head. She had shaken her head when they had asked her if there was anyone they should call. She wasn't certain if they had meant for her or for Rachael, but the answer was the same. She had thought briefly about calling Morgan. When bad things happened, she always thought of calling him. He had held her up through so many things . . . when she had been shot, when Monica had gone missing, and those countless times she had felt she could no longer handle her job. But they had just come home from a tough case a few days before, and she was certain he was still behind on sleep. Not to mention that there was nothing he could do. There was nothing to be done—no unsub to catch, no missing person. Everything pointed to suicide. Even Penelope, who was so willing to see the brighter side in things, was not surprised. She would have liked to have him there to lean on, but she simply couldn't justify calling him.
She felt so weary. Death and darkness greeted her every day on her screens at work. She saw the darkness that humans were capable of on a daily basis. She tried to keep her personal life bright and filled with purpose. But at the moment there was no brightness, no light. She had failed to help Rachael see her worth. The worst part was, she could understand, in a way, why she had made the choice she had. It wasn't that Penelope condoned the choice, but she could see how the pain could be overwhelming. She stepped out of the shower, noticing her eyes were red and swollen, with dark colors underneath showing her lack of sleep. In the kitchen, she started a pot of coffee. She sat down to check her email, intending to blow some time doing something pointless while trying to forget the image of Rachael's half-gone head. She thought again of calling Derek as she logged on to her work email to check messages.
She scanned the subjects of the messages, noticing one marked urgent from Atlanta P.D. She had continued to assist in reviewing cases for the B.A.U. even after J.J. had returned to the team the previous year. Her heart sank as she read the email and after opening the attachments, she knew she was going to have to ruin the entire team's Christmas plans. Five minutes later, she was out the door, calling Hotch to give him the bad news.