(Okay, folks, for those still interested, here's another update. This story is really and truly getting closer to its ending, slowly but surely. I really appreciate the people who are still reading, and the comments and encouragement they've kept sending along, even when I've been rather MIA on this site lately. It means a lot and has kept me going on this one. Hope you enjoy, and as always, I don't own them. Garcia would have dumped Kevin and she and Morgan would be having a delicious secret office romance by now if I had any real control of the situation;]

Trial by Fire

Chapter Nine

Things moved quickly after that, as obviously there was no time to waste. Using the knowledge of where the cell planned to strike, and informing the suspects that the place was staked out and it would be impossible for them to achieve their goal, finally caused one of their lower level interviewees to crack under Hotch and Rossi's combined pressure and give away the mission. As it turned out, they had been planning to bomb the large outdoor pavilion in Central Park in two day's time, when there had been a huge concert and peace rally planned. The event had been intended to bring in several international speakers to rally for peace, numerous big-name musical acts, and would have attracted thousands of spectators. Certainly it would have had a devastating impact and sent out a very clear message of their own, besides thwarting the information and encouragement the event was supposed to project to the audience.

Once they had discovered the target, it made such perfect sense that Reid wondered how they hadn't seen it sooner. It was exactly the sort of positive, unifying experience a terrorist cell would hit for maximum effect and exposure, and the subway line where so many of the shootings had occurred had a stop just outside the Park's entrance, while the street where the man had been shot near the ATM and pretzel vendor was the quickest route out of the area. He was pleased that they had figured it out, and that their knowledge of the location had finally wrangled a time and intended target, but he couldn't help feeling he should have seen it sooner and being frustrated with himself.

He expressed this to Emily when he visited her that afternoon, both to give her an update on their plan of attack, and to be there when she was discharged. He wanted to make sure that she did indeed have a clean bill of health from her doctors, that she got back to their hotel safely, and basically he knew that he just wanted to see her and talk to her more and more lately. It was a strange feeling for him; an attachment and desire towards her that he didn't usually feel had somehow crept into Reid before he was even aware and able to keep it under control. He knew it was stupid and crazy to get involved with someone at work – even distracting and dangerous. He also knew that caring like this about another person in his life had usually only brought pain and disappointment. Emily probably didn't even return his feelings. But every time he started to try to turn away and make himself forget it, a little voice kept calling him back, telling him she did care about him too, and it was worth the risk. He honestly felt like he had to try or he would regret it.

Her strong, steady voice broke into his head then, bringing him back to the case and what he had been telling her. "Spencer, you can't look at it that way. You're so hard on yourself for no reason. None of the rest of us saw it either, and if you hadn't connected it when you did, we might still be wondering when and where and how to stop them right now. You gave us the direction, Reid. You just have to let the rest of it go."

Sighing, he stepped a little closer to the edge of her bed where her legs were hanging over as she waited for them to tell her she could go, his head hanging slightly and hands stuffed in his pockets, leaving his skinny elbows akimbo. "But if I'd been quicker…if I'd put things together sooner, some of those people might not have died in their trial runs…"

She reached out a hand to touch his elbow, just under his rolled-up sleeve, so that her fingers grazed the bare skin of his arm, making it tingle pleasantly, and gently urged him another step closer to her. Peering up into the brown eyes he tried to avert from her gaze, she made him meet her eyes when she spoke again, "I mean it, Spence. Stop blaming yourself! You did all you could do. And you've saved lives now, by figuring it out when you did. None of this is even remotely your fault. Alright?"

He nodded half-heartedly, appreciating her effort, but not really feeling less guilty. Then he visibly jumped, surprised, when he felt her fingers touch his chin lightly, tilting his face up and smiling at him. "Besides, I think you're brilliant. I'm impressed you figured it out when you did. I'm touched that you're here right now, to make sure that I'm okay. And I'm indebted to you for saving my life just yesterday. Accept the fact that you're a genius-hero, Spencer Reid, and bask in those things for awhile instead of beating yourself up for something that can't be helped."

He reached up to cover the hand she rested on his face with his own, and squeezed her hand tightly for just a moment, his eyes wide and surprised, almost dazed as he thanked her with a look instead of words. They were interrupted then when her doctor and a nurse came in to discharge her and send them on their way. Though he couldn't help the disappointment that filled him when he lost her touch as she turned to listen to the doctor's parting instructions, he was both amused and pleased to see how excited she suddenly seemed to be getting out of that hospital bed and room and back on her feet; back to doing her job. With a reassuring nod and smile, Reid promised that he would look after her and make sure she followed their cautions to take it easy for the next couple of days. He didn't have the charm and persuasiveness of Morgan, or the imposing authority of Hotch, but at times like these, people seemed to respond to his honest sincerity even more.

When the doctor signed her out, Emily swung her legs out happily and hopped off the bed to the floor. It was lucky the doctor had already turned to head for the front desk and the papers he needed to sign for her release, because she got a bit dizzy with the sudden movement, tangled herself up with Reid when he tried to steady her, and nearly sent them both clattering to the floor in a heap of arms and legs.

"Take it easy, Emily," he laughed as he awkwardly righted himself and managed to hold onto her as well. He was employing a lightly teasing tone to his voice that was rarely there, where he was comfortable enough to poke harmless fun, and his eyes glittered with pure glee as he continued. "If you don't slow down a little, you'll break both our legs and then where would we be?"

She chuckled good-naturedly, both at her own expense and also at his humor and lifted mood, "Yeah, yeah, Reid. Let's just get out of here. I'm going on the raid day after tomorrow and nobody's going to stop me – not you, or the doctor, or this bump on the head!"

"As you wish, M'Lady," he replied grandly, faking a horrible British accent and slight bow as he rolled a wheelchair in from the hall while she grabbed her bag and coat. She frowned upon seeing the chair, but knowing it was hospital policy and would do no good to argue with him, she acquiesced and sat without comment.

Reid smirked slightly, pleased with his easy victory, and pushed the chair out of the room, knowing she was even more anxious than he was for her to regain her freedom.

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The next evening, Morgan eased a tired, aching body back into the bed in his hospital room, closing his eyes against the weariness, fear, pain, and frustration. The room was bathed in the normally calming blue light of gloaming evening – a time that usually brought peace to the end of a long day, but tonight it only added to the dim, blank hopelessness overwhelming him. It was a feeling he'd never had much experience with, and it left him vulnerable and unequipped to handle its power, taking over his mood and emotions now. Therapy was not progressing as he had hoped, he still saw ugliness and marred skin that disgusted him when he looked in the mirror, he was not showing the sort of progress that was going to get him back to working with the team anytime soon, and he saw no end to days like this in sight.

Dr. Nolan encouraged him that he was doing well. She said that he had retained much of his range of motion and that he was getting back a bit more mobility each day. Slowly, his ability to do small, everyday tasks was returning to him, and she kept trying to remind him that it was a slow process and he had to be patient; healing from the sort of widespread injury this was took time.

But Derek Morgan was at the end of his rope. He had no patience left and the burning of his emotions below the surface was nearly driving him out of his mind. He felt distracted and shut out of his own life – and from the man he was supposed to be. The only thing keeping him sane and hanging on at all was Penelope. Why he had sent away after dinner this evening and not let her stay was beyond him now. He hadn't wanted her to see him so weak in therapy, struggling physically to do things that should be effortless for him. It suddenly turned his stomach and made his hands and forehead clammy, realizing that she now saw him weak all the time. He might never be the way he was, might never be that man again…and how could he expect her to stay if that were true? He wouldn't want her with him if he couldn't rise from these ashes – and yet, how would he manage without her?

He felt his breath coming faster, his chest tightening as though iron bands were stretched across it, squeezing; almost as though he who had rarely feared anything was having his first taste of true, uncontrollable panic. It was just then, as he felt he was going to have to lunge out of bed and try to escape or scream, that someone knocked lightly and then let themselves into the room.

Looking up, he saw Penelope standing before him, her white-blond hair, pale porcelain skin, and oddly subdued white eyelet-lace sundress making her glow palely in the deep blue-lavender wash of shadows in the room. For a moment, as she took a step forward and whispered his name on a husky breath, he thought that she couldn't be real, that he must have dreamed her there like a fantasy. Then she reached his side and lightly stroked his face, her touch cool and calming as salvation from the figurative flames that still lapped and clawed at him on the inside, trying to silently devour his heart and mind since their attempt on his body had failed.

"Derek," she whispered again, biting her bottom lip in uncertainty as her brow crinkled with concern and she studied his face. "What is it? Are you alright?"

He let out a breath and reached out to clasp the hand she'd laid along his face, twining their fingers together and laying them over his heart, his thumb stroking gently over her flawless soft skin. "Mama, I just…are you here, or am I dreaming?"

She giggled sweetly, a pink blush rising on her cheeks amid the hues of blue and white. "I'm here, Derek. Right here. Is it okay that I came back?"

He nodded – overcome – so glad to see her that a lump of adoration and gratitude rose up in his throat and wouldn't allow him to speak. She looked into his eyes, searching, seeking, and finally seeing and understanding just what was going on and how much he had needed her right now, though he would never ask. She didn't offer empty platitudes, false hopes, joking cheer, or any words at all. Instead, she bent to kiss him forcefully, in a way that she hadn't yet, in a way that conveyed want and demand and desire. "That's it, Sweet Cheeks. I'm going to convince you. We're going to survive this, we're going to have our chance- to be in love, to be happy, to be together. You're not going to lose me, and you aren't going to lose yourself either."

She didn't give him a chance to argue, just pulled the privacy curtain closed around the bed so no one could see and interrupt them and climbed up next to him. Smiling both bravely and with an evil sparkle in her eyes, she bent to kiss him even more fully, carefully placing a knee on each side of his waist, hovering over him and making her intentions perfectly clear.

"Don't think," she whispered, giving him an escape, a way out, and a healing in her. "Just do. Pretend we're not here, pretend it's all over and we're both fine. Make love to me. Right now." The white lace hem inched up her thighs, then her stomach as Morgan watched, dazed, until suddenly his hands joined hers to help and slipped the dress off over her head.

If this was hurting him anywhere, he couldn't feel it. All he could feel was some joy instead of his despair and the comfort she provided was worth the physical risk. Penelope as usual was a step ahead and had figured that out before he had or she wouldn't have started this. He surged upwards, mouth crashing into hers, letting his fire be engulfed in her inviting lake of comfort. He rolled her under him and let himself be pulled into her waves. She took him over, she gave him strength, and he finally let go, taking her with him as love overcame his pain. For the first time passion wasn't a burning flame – instead it cooled the fire that had been devouring him alive and brought him back from the brink as it swelled inside.

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Meanwhile, as the team put together their course of action for the next day's sting operation, the members of their target cell were revising their plan in a warehouse near the pavilion for the rally. If the BAU and the NYPD knew what they had in store, then they would just have to change their mode of attack. Let the Feds stake out and surround the park and keep the peace rally safe. They decided to strike outside of it instead, just as the performers, speakers, and attendees arrived. It would still make an impact and keep the event from getting off the ground. Peace would be the last thing on anyone's mind; they would be seeking revenge and the name of the cell will be on everyone's lips. It could be even more publicity, influence, and fear in their foes than they could have generated before – because now they'll know who to blame.

No, nothing will be averted by their feeble attempts to silence the mission; they will never be able to protect all the blind idiots who don't know the impossibility of the peace they seek. These cops and agents will learn – or die – just like their original targets. They won't know what hit them…