AN: I don't own Criminal Minds. Sigh.

Chapter 2-Escape

Garcia chuckled at something ridiculous that Will Ferrell's character did on screen. The lack of response from her Chocolate Thunder had her glancing up at him, even though she could tell from the even cadence of his breath that he was asleep. She couldn't help herself; the man was simply delightful to look at. She still couldn't believe he had run himself so ragged again. He felt the need to protect everyone and everything around him, and took every single loss so personally that she often feared it would consume him. She made it her personal mission in life to make sure he came back from the edge whole.

She turned off the movie then spread a blanket over her noir hero. She set about tidying up her small living space, and then slipped behind the beaded curtain to her bedroom. She took a quick shower, and then dressed in fleece P.J.s with snowmen over them. The temperature was dropping pretty quickly tonight, if the forecasters were right it may not be too long until they had real snow in Quantico. She climbed into bed, thinking of what fun she could have making snowmen with Jack and Henry. It absolutely blew her mind how big her two favorite little guys were getting. She relished making those fun memories with the boys. She knew Jack, especially, needed as much laughter and love in his life as possible. He had lost so much already, but was such a resilient, amazing kid. Her heart ached a bit when she thought of trauma and resilience and the amazing man on her couch. She sighed, knowing nothing good could come from thinking of him as a child, alone and scared. She reminded herself it had made him who he was. Then she, too, drifted off to sleep.

The clock read 12:30 when the sound of Morgan's phone ringing woke her up. She heard his sleep laden voice as he answered, "Morgan." She rolled over, pillowing her head with her hands, wondering if she should go back to sleep or if they were being called in.

"What?" Morgan practically yelled, which sent Garcia jumping from bed and rushing into the living room. "When? How?" He paused, meeting her eyes in the dimly lit room, as he took in what the person on the other. "What about Cindy?"Another pause. "Yeah, okay. Call me if anything changes. Thanks for letting me know." He hung up, muttering some expletives under his breath. Then his phone went sailing across the room.

"Derek?" Garcia asked, tentatively. Anything involving concern for his cousin that got him worked up like this couldn't be a good thing. She had only been away from her masochistic, brainwashing "husband" for about nine months, and Penelope knew that Morgan worried about her constantly.

Morgan scrubbed his hands over his face. "He escaped Penelope," he said, sounding defeated. "Can you believe that? Motherfucker stabbed two guards and managed to escape. Malcolm Ford is out in the wind again. That was the Jergens, the contact we worked with at Chicago P.D. I had asked him to keep me up to date on anything going on with Ford. FUCK!"

That last bit was so loud that Penelope jumped a bit. She slid up behind him and gently wrapped her arms around him, giving him what support she could. "Are you going?"

"I don't know," Morgan sighed. "He's in the wind. They have put two units on Cindy's house in case he tries to go after her. I don't think he'd be that stupid, not right away. He knows that's where we'll look." He turned around in her arms and returned her embrace, resting his head on top hers. "He managed to fly under the radar for five years with her as a hostage. Who knows how long he'll evade Chicago P.D."

She made soothing circles on his back with her hands. "They know who they are looking for this time." The only response from Morgan was a grunt. "Do you want to call Hotch?"

Morgan groaned. "God, Baby, I don't know. On one hand, if something happens I don't want to regret not doing everything in my power. She's family. But my gut says he won't go after her, at least not yet. He'll wait. He'll let the fear debilitate her until she's looking over her shoulder every second. Then he'll make his move, when we least expect it. I can't waste bureau resources early in this when we're most certainly going to need them later."

Even though Garcia believed everything happened for a reason, she couldn't immediately see what good could come from poor Cindy having to deal with anything else in her life. The woman had been beaten until she had no free will, forced to sign a slavery contract which indentured her to her torturer, who she was forced to take as a husband. She had carried and birthed his son, only to have him taken from her and used as leverage to make sure she continued to obey. She had endured five years of an unimaginable hell. The nightmares from that would be more than enough for her to deal with. Now this. "Does she know?"

"Jergens said he'll call her in the morning. He put two units on her house. It may be the last night of peace she has in a while, so I'm inclined to agree." He sighed again, sounding defeated. She could tell he was torn about what to do.

"How about this, hot stuff—I'll book a flight for you to Chicago for the morning. That way you can go and tell Cindy, in person, exactly what you told me. Well, at least the part about him wanting her to be afraid. Make her feel safe, and let her know we're all going to be watching. And then come home. And we—the entire team—will be sure to be ready the moment we're needed."

He kissed her head but didn't say anything. "Derek?" she whispered, "are you okay."

"No, but I'm a hell of a lot better than I would have been if I'd gotten this call in my fucking office." He said gruffly.

She laughed a little. And then sobered immediately as she thought of how close to the edge he had been when she had first found him in his office last night. She shuddered a bit. Feeling the need to keep him close for as long as she could, she drug him to her room and pushed him down on the bed. She grabbed her tablet, found the earliest flight she could to Chicago, and booked him a seat on it. She almost asked if he wanted her to come—she had met Morgan's family when they had found Cindy in March—but knew he would want to focus on making Cindy feel better. "How long do you want to stay?" She asked.

He had laid his head on one of her purple pillows, looking at her with a burning intensity that she didn't understand. "How about a redeye flight Sunday night? I'll come to work a bit late on Monday."

"Done, hot stuff. Itinerary is on your phone, we have roughly 3 hours before we need to go get stuff from your place and hit the airport. Sleep is a good thing." She put her tablet on the bedside and reached for the light. In the dark, she turned to face him again. Even though she could only see his silhouette, she couldn't help but feel he was still looking at her with that same burning intensity. She didn't know what to say—she really didn't want to ask him if he was "okay" again, because it was a stupid question. "Umm . . . Derek?"

He pulled her into his arms then, crushing her to him. The intensity of it took her breath away. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her neck, running his nose along the line of her collar bone. "God, Penelope, how did I ever survive without you in my life." The irreverent way he said it made her heart miss a beat. His voice almost sounded . . . full of need? That could not be right. The two of them were many things, and "lovers" was the one thing that they were not.

"Shh, rest. You've got a long few days ahead of you." He rolled to his back, and she rested her head against his chest. His arm came around her. No, they were not lovers—would never be lovers, but she couldn't keep herself from whispering "Love you, Derek Morgan."

"Me too baby girl. More than you know." She felt him drift off immediately to sleep, while she stared at the clock contemplating what in the world he had meant by that.