WARNING…Spoilers for "Lucky"

It is seven months since the death of Carl Buford. Jason Gideon has retired from the FBI. Morgan feels the loss of the first person he was able to confide in. Gideon has been replaced by David Rossi, a man with whom he has a somewhat antagonistic relationship.

Penelope Garcia has been invited out on a date by a very handsome man she met in a coffee shop. At the end of the evening, the man drives her home. He hugs her, says "goodnight," and shoots her as she stands by her front door.

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EPILOGUE

The news had hit him like a punch in the gut. "S-Shot? Hotch, how the hell...?" Morgan was trembling so badly, he had to sit down.

"She's in surgery at Potomac Hospital. Rossi and I are on the way to the hospital now. They didn't have any information on her condition yet." Hotch sighed. Derek could hear the distress in his supervisor's tone. "I'm sorry, Morgan," he said, quietly. He hated having to make this phone call.

Derek had trouble finding his voice. Finally, "I'll be right there," but he didn't move. He sat for a long moment, staring at the cell phone in his hand, as if he didn't believe the words that had come from it. Penelope shot? Who the hell would hurt Penelope?

After he was able to absorb what he'd heard, he grabbed his jacket and keys, and headed out the door. There was a pain in the pit of his stomach, as he drove up US1. He didn't speed. He didn't even hurry to get there. He dreaded what he may have to face.

From the highway you could see the steeple of St. Francis of Assisi Church. Morgan had to pass St. Francis every day on his way to FBI Headquarters. He had even been inside once a few years ago, when one of the secretaries got married, but he had never attended Mass there. He hadn't attended Sunday church services in years. Tonight, he felt compelled to stop.

He parked his SUV and made his way up the stone steps to the heavy double doors. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he really should go in. His hand shook slightly as he pulled open the door and entered. Instinctively, as he'd been taught as a small boy, he dipped his fingers into the Holy Water font at the back of the church and made the Sign of the Cross. He sat down in a back pew.

The church lights were dim. Candles flickered in candelabras throughout the church, creating an ethereal glow. Except for an elderly woman in a front pew saying the Rosary, he was alone. He gazed at the large crucifix hanging on the wall above the altar. The thoughts that filled his head were bitter.

"I don't know why I came in here. It's not like you're going to be any help. You gave up on me a long time ago…long before I gave up on you…WHY, God? What the hell did I do that was so bad?"

His mind drifted back to the painful events that changed him forever.

"You let those men shoot my father. I was TEN. I was fucking... ten…years…old! Why MY dad? He was the best guy in the neighborhood, and you let them kill him. My mom had to work all the time, and still struggled to pay our bills…Why did you do that to us, God?...Why did you do it TO ME? My mom couldn't help me. She already had so much to worry about. If my dad had been there, it never would have happened…Carl, fucking Carl Buford wouldn't have happened...For awhile, I was so damned happy. I felt like I had a father again. He did the stuff my dad did with me. We played ball. He took me places. We could almost talk that way I could talk with my dad. I thought I was so lucky…until the son-of-a-bitch started using me. Thanks a lot, God. DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID TO ME...DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE MADE ME DO TO HIM?"

Angry thoughts continued racing through his mind.

"Was I such a bad kid you wouldn't help me? I went to church every day, every fucking day...I begged you, I BEGGED you to make him leave me alone. I asked you over and over, make him stop, make him go away, make him die, anything, just, please God, don't let him do it anymore…You never heard me…DO YOU KNOW HOW DIRTY AND ASHAMED I FELT?"

After his arrest in Chicago, Derek's nightmares started. When they became so bad he thought he was losing it, Gideon persuaded him to seek treatment. With Gideon's help, and his sessions with Dr. Holloway, he had been able to find some peace. The dreams, thankfully, only troubled him occasionally now. Carl's death made it easier for him to put his past behind him, too.

Derek never talked to Penelope about what happened to him. Deep down, he knew she had to know, but she was kind enough to pretend she didn't. He loved her for that.

The night before he was scheduled to go to Chicago to testify against Buford, he was so apprehensive, he was almost ill. Garcia invited him to dinner, and spent time with him when he needed someone the most. She made him forget. She made him laugh, and he loved her for it.

Penelope had been his best friend for so long, he couldn't imagine life without her. She could brighten his day with her smile, or a joke. She could be serious when he needed someone to listen. She hugged him when he needed the comforting touch of another human being.

His vision of the crucifix blurred through the tears filling his eyes.

"You owe me one, God…I'm not asking for me, but for Penelope. Please, don't take her." The plea repeated in his mind like a mantra. He didn't remember kneeling down, but he was on his knees when he became aware of the cell phone vibrating on his belt.

He stood up and quickly went outside to take the call.

"Derek, where the hell are you?" Hotch asked, impatiently.

"I'm sorry. I had some car trouble. I, uh, had to change a tire," he lied. "I'll be there in a few minutes." He didn't want to ask about Garcia. He was afraid of what Hotch was going to say.

"You need to be here. She'll be waking up soon."

"She's okay?" He was incredulous.

"Yes, she's in recovery. She has some family coming from Florida, but they won't be here for several hours. You should be here when she wakes up."

Morgan closed his phone, and clipped it back on his belt. He paused when he reached his car and looked up at the night sky. In the light of a million stars, he whispered, "thank you."

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"Take the first step in faith. You don't have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step."

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.