"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand."

-Henri Nouwen

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Penelope stirred the tomato sauce that was simmering on her stove. She tasted it and smiled happily. Perfect! The meatballs were the best she'd ever made, if she said so herself. The salad was in the refrigerator. She could heat the garlic bread and put the pasta on when Derek arrived. Everything was ready. She went to the bathroom mirror and checked her makeup. She was just coming out when the doorbell rang.

Every month or so, Penelope Garcia invited Morgan to dinner. She knew he either ate out or microwaved most of his meals, so he was always delighted when she offered to cook for him. There was a special reason she wanted him come tonight. He was flying to Chicago tomorrow to testify in the Buford case. Although he never told her, she knew he was worried about it. She always knew when he was troubled, and she didn't want him to spend the evening alone.

Ever since his arrest in Chicago, he was different. The warm smile, he once flashed so easily, had disappeared. He didn't flirt and he rarely joked. When he called the computer tech research something for him, he was generally serious. He frequently seemed tired and distracted. Everyone noticed the change. There was considerable speculation about it around the office…Derek was having women trouble…He was worn out, too much partying…Maybe he was drinking…He was just burned out. It happened with a job like his… Perhaps he was sick. He looked like he'd lost weight...Maybe there were problems with his family…The only thing Derek's colleagues really knew was, despite his friendly demeanor, they really didn't know him.

"Hey, Sweetie," she said, cheerfully, as she opened the door.

"Hi, Pen…Um, smells good in here." He kissed her on the cheek and handed her a bottle of Italian wine.

"Of course, it does. That's the aroma of my world famous pasta sauce," she joked, as she put the wine on ice. "Remote is on the coffee table. ESPN is Channel 58." She turned on the pot of water for the spaghetti. "I hope you're hungry. Everything will be ready in about fifteen." Penelope was determined to make the evening as pleasant as possible for him.

She never meant to pry into his business. For as outgoing as he seemed to be, she knew Derek was a private person. She did all that research when they profiled him. Gideon told her to look into his life. She never embarrassed him by telling him what she found, but wasn't hard to put the pieces together. Carl Buford was Derek's mentor. He was indicted on murder and child molestation charges…Oh…my…God!

She understood that his problems in Chicago reopened deep wounds in her beloved friend. Her job required her to know where the BAU team could be reached at any time. They were always on call. She knew Morgan had scheduled appointments with Anne Holloway. Penelope hoped that the respected doctor could help him.

Perhaps it was the wine? They had finished the bottle he'd brought with dinner. When it was gone, Penelope refilled their glasses with white zinfandel from a box in her refrigerator. Her taste in wine was not very sophisticated but he didn't seem to mind. Soon, they were laughing and, for awhile, the old Derek had returned.

After she loaded the dishwasher, she sat down on the sofa beside him. They rented "The Wedding Crashers," and laughed until their sides ached. Next, she talked him into "The Notebook," her personal favorite. He stretched out on the sofa, his head resting on a pillow in her lap. Penelope was only slightly annoyed when she realized, twenty minutes into the movie, that he was asleep.

When he awoke, he saw her crying. He thought it was the bittersweet ending of the film that had stirred her emotions. He sat up and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "You're such a romantic, Pen," he said, sweetly. He wouldn't have guessed that she barely saw the movie. Most of the time, she was simply watching him sleep, wondering if he would ever comprehend how much he meant to her.

He took the wine glasses into the kitchen. When he came back, he had two of the chocolate biscotti she'd made for dessert. He handed one to her, and sat down beside her to watch the 11 o'clock news. They were only half paying attention. He was busy telling her again what a great cook she was, when a news story caught their attention. They heard the reporter saying "….about noon, after an incident with another inmate. Buford was taken to Chicago's Lakeshore Hospital where he later died. Buford, 54, was scheduled to go on trial Monday for the murder of Damien Walters last December."

Instinctively, Derek reached for her hand. Penelope quietly pulled him close to her. She held him for a long time, wishing she could heal every hurt he'd ever endured.

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"The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief or bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing, and face with us the hour of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares."

-Henri Nouwen