(A/N) Beth Griffith was about the only really interesting character to me on CM:SB. Mostly because I have a girl-crush on Janeane Garafolo. I watched the one that aired right after Emily "died" on Original Flavor, and Garcia was just being regular Garcia. It bugged, lots. They probably weren't in the same timeline, given the difference in the hair, but I knew how hard she took losing Emily. So I wrote this. I guess it's a crossover, because although it has CM:SB characters, the plot revolves around events in CM.
Condolence Call
It came through email, of course. That was the Bureau for you. Things like this, things that rattled someone's world right off the hinges, they could reduce to a few official lines.
We regret to announce the death of Emily Prentiss, Special Supervisory Agent in the Behavioral Analysis Unit, in the line of duty, March 7, 2011.
It wasn't the first death announcement Beth had ever seen over email. They worked for the FBI, not a day-care. Death happened. As with the others, the stark opening line was followed by some blah, blah, blah about Prentiss's years in the Bureau, her fine history in various offices, and then a brisk announcement of the location and time of the service and where to send flowers and cards.
Beth would not send flowers or a card. Not that she had disliked Agent Prentiss. She'd never met the woman to like her or dislike her, but even if she had, she didn't do things like that.
"Damn shame," Coop said, reading over her shoulder. "She was a fine agent."
She hated it when people read over her shoulder. If it had been Mick, the Prophet, or Gina, Beth probably would have backed her rolling office chair over their toes, but Coop got special dispensation.
Not because he was her boss. Just because he was Coop.
"You knew her?"
"A little. Our teams worked together on a case in San Francisco. Before you joined us."
"So, did she and Mick have a thing?" The younger agent had read his email, gone pale, and left the room quickly, mumbling something about cleaning his guns. That was why Beth had opened hers up at all, out of curiosity.
"Nah. Not exactly. He liked her, but she wasn't having any of it."
Beth's respect for the dead agent ticked up a notch.
Coop sighed. "Wonder how Penelope's taking it."
"Oh," Beth said. "That's her other team, isn't it?"
"Mm."
Sometimes it was hard to remember that Penelope Garcia had another team who depended on her. Beth wondered briefly what the analyst would do if their cases ever clashed. She wondered if they already had and she'd just never known.
A different analyst handled their next two weeks' worth of cases, and while Kevin Lynch was perfectly serviceable and did what needed to be done, everyone was happy to see Penelope back in her office.
She looked dimmed, somehow, her curls bounceless and her usual shocking colors oddly muted, if a combination of lime green and hot pink could actually be muted. She did the work, but without her usual verve. Coop looked sadly at the phone when she signed off. "It's been rough on her," he said to Beth.
"Mmm," Beth said, tapping her pen on her paper. "What do you think about that lead she dug up?"
Beth had her weapons qual at Quantico the next week, and because she'd promised Coop, she detoured up to the fourth floor and knocked on the half-open door that said, "Penelope Garcia, Technical Analyst."
Penelope turned in her chair and smiled. Before three weeks ago, Beth never would have said a smile could be strained on Penelope Garcia's face.
"Hey," Beth said.
"If it isn't Red Cell's toughest girl," Penelope said. "What brings you to my little corner of the world, Agent Griffiths?"
"Coop sent me," Beth said, putting a hand into her purse. "This is from all of us. Sympathy card. His idea. Here." She pushed it at Penelope.
"Oh," the other woman said, taking it without looking. "Okay. I'll give it to her mother."
"No, no, it's for you. Coop and Mick both sent flowers and stuff to the, uh, the service. They would've gone themselves, but there was a case."
"I know. Kevin was working it for you."
"Right. Anyway, Coop decided we should send you something because we knew she was your friend and it was hard and, well."
Penelope opened the card and read the messages on the inside. Beth had just scribbled her name and shoved the card at Gina. She never knew what to say on these. Not like Coop, who'd taken up half the back with who-knew-what.
The analyst's lower lip trembled. "That's so sweet of you guys. And you came all this way to give it to me in person."
"Just a card," Beth muttered. "And I was gonna be here anyway."
"You still could've put it in interoffice mail," Penelope said. "Thank you. Tell everyone thank you. This means a lot. Is it okay if I share it with Hotch's team?"
"Yeah, sure, go ahead." Desperate to change the subject, Beth pointed at a polka-dotted green bag that held sleek yarn in a rich shade of pink. Two bamboo knitting needles stuck out. "So, that's pretty."
Penelope's eyes welled up. Oh, shit.
"I found it when I was picking up around here," she said in a trembling voice, pulling the needles out and spreading a few inches of a cobwebby lace pattern out on her desk. "I was making a scarf for Emily."
"Really?"
"I know she doesn't seem like the lacy pink scarf type, but she looks so good - " Penelope choked and grabbed for the Kleenex. "Looked. She looked so good in pink."
"Um," Beth said, wondering if she should pat her on the shoulder or something. She was no damn good at this. Fuck you, Coop.
Penelope dabbed at her eyes. "I just - I miss her so much, you know? It was so fast, and we still don't really know why. I mean, we do, sort of, but . . ."
"It's hard," Beth said, and winced. Of course it was hard. Penelope's friend was dead, it wasn't a fucking walk in the park.
"Kevin and Morgan both say I'll make myself crazy if I dwell. I was hoping being back at work would help, something to do, you know, but the last case they went on, I dialed her cell by accident twice." She touched the lace, her fingers tender. "I don't know what to do about this. I don't want to frog it, and I don't want to just leave it, and I don't want to finish it."
"Those are pretty much your only options."
"I know, but I can't even think about it. They're all a different flavor of bad."
Beth understood. If Penelope unraveled the yarn, it would be like admitting she'd never see her friend again. If she let it sit on the needles, abandoned in the middle, she would be stuck waiting for something that never came. If she finished it, she could never give it to the person it had been meant for.
"I, uh," Beth said, and coughed. "I have this, um, neighbor. She knits and stuff, just to relax. She gives away the things she makes to charities. I could give it to her if that's okay with you."
Penelope looked at her hopefully, but said, "It's a silk blend. The charities usually want easy-care stuff."
"There's an organization that fits out women with nice clothes for interviews and things. They could use it." Beth swallowed when Penelope's eyebrows jumped up. "That's what my neighbor says, anyway."
"Chatty neighbor."
"Yeah, well, she ambushes me by the mailboxes practically every day, and my condo association frowns on the use of force to get out of annoying conversations."
The other woman smiled briefly, and it didn't look like so much of a strain. "Thanks. I'd like that, knowing Emily's scarf is going to maybe make some woman's life better."
"No problem. Well, I've got to take off, anyway. So."
Penelope studied the card again. "What are the chances of you letting me give you a hug?"
"Not good."
Penelope nodded thoughtfully. Then, without warning, she kissed the tip of one finger and pressed it to Beth's cheek. When Beth grimaced, Penelope actually let out a tiny giggle. "Oh, relax, it's spit, not acid." She wrapped the scarf around the needles and tucked it back into the bag, dipping one hand in to touch the yarn briefly and gently, as if saying good-bye. Then she handed it to Beth. "The pattern's in there, on an index card. Way analog, but for some reason I like that better."
"You want the bag and the needles back?"
"No, take the whole thing. It's okay. If, uh, your friend needs more yarn, I got it in this cute little place in Woodbridge."
"Right," Beth mumbled, and made her escape.
Later, sitting on her ratty couch and working her careful way through the lace pattern - it was simpler than it looked - Beth thought she hadn't actually done so badly at the sympathy thing. But she was still leaving it to Coop on cases.
FINIS