0-3 Months After Birth

You're sitting on the uncomfortable white couch in Rebecca's office, holding a pillow in front of your stomach. You're staring off into space and you can see her mouth moving, but the sound of her voice doesn't reach your ears. You're not entirely sure that you want to hear what she has to say. It's more of the same thing you've been getting for the past three months. The same pitying gaze, the same mumbled apologies, the same averted gazes.

You make people uncomfortable now.

That's the new reality you have to learn to live in.

It's a lonely reality that you're currently residing in, and sometimes you let Luke in, but most times you've shut him out so much that he feels like a stranger sleeping next to you in the bed. You wonder how he can fall asleep when you're still lying awake at night. You wonder exactly how it's so easy for him to shut his brain off and slip away into the realm of dreams. But you know it's not easy for him as you often can hear him crying in the shower, and you wonder if he's staunching his emotions to make you feel better, so that he can be strong for you.

You don't want that.

You don't want this.

You never wanted this.

You bring your attention back to the present, but you still can't seem to hear the words that are coming from Rebecca.

"Im sorry, what?" You ask. Briefly making eye contact with her.

"How are things with Luke?" She asks for a change of pace. You laugh and shrug your shoulders.

"He's okay, I think." You begin. "He's angry, I think he blames himself for not being able to save her. But it's not his fault," you continue while plucking at the loose thread on the edge of the pillow. "I did this. I made a choice and this is the consequence of that choice. My daughter is dead because of me." You finish, your voice shaking.

Rebecca puts her notebook down, neatly placing the pen on top of it. She takes a sip of her water and turns to look you directly in the eye.

"You are not responsible for your daughter's death. You did everything right in regards to her care, you got yourself out of a toxic relationship and home, you did everything you could. The same goes for Luke, Penelope. He could not control the movements of Ryan anymore than you could. If there is one person to blame here then it is Ryan, and I think deep down you both know that." She sits back in her chair, folding her legs over each other.

"Tell me about after you got to the hospital." Rebecca requests.

You start to shake.

"I've never seen Luke so angry." You begin, choking on the words. "He wouldn't speak. Except to the Police. He went into investigator mode, and even though Emily, our boss, told him that he couldn't investigate, he did anyway. He called his grandmother to come sit with me." Rebecca is listening to you now, she's stopped taking notes.

"And you, how were you?" Rebecca asks.

"I was…numb. I still am." You say. "I think I always will be." Rebecca nods.

"Remember a few years ago when you were sitting here telling me about how numb you were after Derek left you?" You turn to glare at her. "You healed from that. You can heal from this." She holds up her hand, halting you from opening your mouth to speak. "I'm not saying that you will forget about this, or that it will be easy for you, but you will heal from the hurt. The wounds are still fresh, they're still open, and I know it will take time. But I'm willing to work with you, and Luke."

You nod, looking at her, and then looking at the clock. You stand, and shrug your shoulders, leaving without a word. Your next appointment is in two days, You visit this office three times a week.

You're a mess, but who can blame you, after the tragedy that you experienced. It's ok, you think to yourself parroting the words that Luke said to you some time ago, it's okay to ask for help when you need it.

Walking out of the building you see Luke leaning up against his Jeep waiting for you.

"Hi." You say.

"Hi." He replies taking off his sunglasses so that you can see his eyes. You give him a half hearted smile. He reaches out to touch your arm before thinking better of it and running his hand through his hair. "We found him. He's been arrested and is being transported back here. He'll be arraigned tomorrow morning." He says, rushing the words out. "Did you want to go." You hold your hands to your stomach as the air leaves your lungs. You feel the world spinning around you, and for a moment you have a sense of clarity and you nod. Luke reaches out to embrace you gently, holding your head to his chest, and for the first time in a while when the tears fall, they are from better feelings than loss and despair.

You whisper her name.

Amalia

3-6 Months After Birth

Your lungs are burning with each step that you take and you're sure that you forgot how to breathe back there around mile marker three. Your legs are moving so quickly, and the crisp air that slides across your skin is a welcome change to the heated pace that carried throughout the Autumn months. There are dead leaves scattered around the trail and there is a light layer of snow covering them. Your breath is coming out in puffs of white and you're sure that your face is red and numb. Your hair is pulled back, and you've recently added blue to the underside. Your mind is blank at this current moment, and all you can think of is making it around this trail one more time before you climb back into the Jeep and drive home.

Luke is away on assignment again, but at the moment the team is hunting the unsubs and your job is effectively done for the day, so you take this time to run away from your demons once again. The woods are silent around you, and once you would have been afraid of the dangers that lurk in the night, but now, you've already lived through the worst thing that could ever happen to you. You've come out stronger. The pain of losing Amalia pushes you out of bed each and every day. Urging you to be better, stronger, more cautious than you were the day before.

You speak with an ADA about once a month on the progress of the case against the man who ripped your world from you. You talk in harsh clipped tones of exactly what he did you to that day, your story never wavering, and each time you get through the story you are stronger. Your voice doesn't warble at the beginning anymore, but instead holds out until the end before you have to clear your throat from the pent up emotions. In return, his lawyer has tried to sway you, trying to garner sympathy for her client, trying to get you to drop the charges. But you never waver, Amalia's death was not your fault, this is something that you chant to yourself with each passing mile. It was his fault. He killed his own flesh and blood. You pray that he gets convicted, because you're not sure what you're capable of anymore.

And better yet, you're not sure that you could save Luke's soul if this monster gets to walk free.

You pass mile five with a yell into the forest, the noise ripping from you, sounding like a wounded animal. And deep down you realize that's how you feel.

Wounded.

Forever scarred by the sins of the past.

You check your watch and your pulse, wondering if you have time for another go around when your ringtone jingles from your arm.

"Good morning, crime fighters." You say as you're gasping for air. "What can I do you for?" You jog over to the vehicle and unlock the door before sliding behind the wheel. You take a moment to catch your very elusive breath. Your legs relish the feel of the leather of the seat in his Jeep and his scent is all over the interior. You inhale deeply as his voice comes through the line, telling you that they're coming home. The unsubs have been captured, there is no injuries to anyone on the team, and you smile. It's the same routine you both go through each day. You remember once about two months ago you didn't answer the phone and by the time you got back to your desk there were missed calls from the entire team, and you had to call Emily to stop him from renting a car and speeding back.

You're both still just learning to cope in a world where terrible things happen to good people.

In a world without Amalia.

In a world without color.

"We should be home in about three hours." He says.

"I'll be waiting." You drop his Jeep off at Quantico, leaving his keys on his desk and texting to inform him of their location. You climb into your car and make the drive home, remembering to use the back door.

You shower in the guest bathroom and before you know it, dinner is done and sitting on the stove waiting for his consumption. You stare out into the night, and grab a bottle of wine and a glass. And thinking better of it, on your way out of the back door you grab the blanket from the couch before you make your way to the table that's situated on the patio. Luke arrives a few minutes later. Greeting you with a hello as the gate slams shut behind him. Roxy is sitting just inside the doorway, her eyes trained on you. Luke kisses your forehead as an additional greeting before walking into the house to grab some of the food you told him was waiting for him.

"When did it all go wrong?" You ask when he comes back outside. He doesn't have an answer but instead pulls up another chair. His eyes are cast downward, playing with the food on his plate before he speaks to you. His voice cuts through the quiet of the night like a knife, it pierces through your skin and sinks deep into your heart. You grimace at the words he says, knowing the truth behind the weight of them.

"It would've been her first Christmas." He states, taking a bite of the food, and reaching out to grab your hand. You raise the glass of wine to your lips, drinking greedily before reaching out to pour the rest of the bottle into the empty space.

Empty, like you.

"I was going to ask you to be her father that day." You whisper into the night, the chilly air carries your words. "You are her father in my eyes, ever since that first day, but I was still going to ask you. I planned on putting Roxy in a "big sister" shirt and was going to have her greet you at the door." You take a small sip of wine. "It's all ruined now." You say, looking down at the red liquid. You're swirling the contents of the glass around and around, you've heard from Rossi that doing this helps release the flavor. You wonder if spinning yourself around and around will help release the demons that are haunting you.

You shake your head, taking another sip, letting the wine dribble onto your bottom lip, staining it red, like the angry scar that now adorns your stomach.

Jagged.

Serrated.

Rough around the edges.

"I would've gladly said yes." He replies, pulling the blanket around himself and moves closer to you. You don't notice the tears that are racing down his cheeks, but they match your own Penelope. "I still say yes. Amalia was my girl too." He whispers, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his chest.

You weep, openly, loudly, unapologetically. You let go of every pent up emotion that you have been harboring over the last six months. You open up to him again, letting him inside fully. And when you're done crying, and the wine is completely gone, and there's a frost on his half eaten dinner he reaches out to grip your face in his hands. He kisses your tear stained cheeks, your forehead, your nose, both eyes, and finally he kisses your lips so deeply that you can feel it in your soul. He kisses you for a long time that you get dizzy as his full lips move against yours, as his beard scratches your face, and his mustache leaves a red line across your top lip. His hands never leave your cheeks as he's kissing you through the tears, and when you've finally run out of breath he pulls back, placing one last gentle kiss to the fabric which covers your heart.

He stands and you stand with him.

He takes you to bed, leaving the dirty dishes to be covered under the freshly falling snow.

He makes love to you that night.

Whole, you're starting to feel whole again.

6-9 Months After Birth

Luke pulled over to the side of the road and blindfolded you, and you joke badly about how one of your cases that started like this ended with murder, and he whispered something under his breath that you are sure was an insult but you let it slide, because you love surprises.

And you're smiling, like actually smiling again.

You didn't think you'd ever get here.

When the car stops again he makes sure that you can't see anything and gently helps you out of the car. You walk a short distance being guided by him and he tells you to stand perfectly still as you hear a lock click and a soft jingle of keys. He tells you to step up onto a stone, and another and finally you step into something.

"Can I take this tie off now?" You ask, wondering if you could use it in the bedroom later, but those thoughts can be saved for another time. He comes up behind you and tells you to close your eyes as he is removing the tie, and when he tells you to open them he has wrapped his arms around your waist. He's laid his chin on your right shoulder, his face aligned with your own, and you can feel his facial hair on your neck.

"Surprise." He says as you take in the scene before you. "Welcome home, Garcia." He says coming from behind you and holding his arms open wide. You take in the scene around you, high vaulted ceilings, the windows that stretched from floor to ceiling in this room, the staircase that led upstairs which were covered in the same dark wood. You spin, your skirt twirling around you.

"You…" you trail off. "You bought a house?" You ask.

"I couldn't live there anymore." He says approaching you, "And if I was having a hard time, I know you must have been having an even tougher time." He takes you by the hand, leading you through the living room with it's deep blue walls and built in bookcases, he leads you into the kitchen with the electric range top and the double oven in the wall. There's granite countertops, you love granite countertops. You eye the island that's in the center and marvel at the space you have. Cabinets, so may cabinets. You turn and look into the backyard, noticing that your nearest neighbors live pretty far down the road.

Solitude.

You also notice the pool in the backyard, and you wonder why in the world he bought a house with a pool.

"So I sold the old house, and found this one." He holds up his hand as he walks back to the front door. You can hear him talking with someone. And before you know it he's leading the movers into the home who are followed closely by his grandmother. He comes back over to you, taking both of your hands in his before kissing the tops of each hand. He looks you directly in the eye, and you notice that they have lightened in color again, you can almost see the honey brown through the gray.

"We both deserve a fresh start, Flower, not that we will ever forget our Amalia, but I was going crazy there." He finishes before placing a kiss to your forehead. "Look around, get accustomed. It's ours." He walks off to direct the movers on where to take the furniture.

You're staring off after him with your mouth open, the crimson lipstick that you've painted on your lips a sharp contrast to your white teeth.

"My Lucas is a good man." His grandmother says walking into the kitchen. You nod at her, not trusting your voice. You're still staring off after him, thinking in your head that this place is huge, and that a fresh start is totally welcome here.

"Si, Mrs. Alvez, I don't know how I got so lucky." You finally reply.

"Alma, please. When I hear Mrs. Alvez I think of my mother-in-law, nasty woman. Great cook though." She says laughing. You run your hands over the countertops, walking deeper into the kitchen, they feel smooth under your fingertips. There's so much room in just this space alone. You're afraid to venture to the other parts of the house in case you get lost. And besides, you would like the tour he gives you to happen while you're both naked. Your cheeks turn red and you can feel the heat rising not only in your face, but between your legs.

"Penelope, sit with me." Alma asks as she walks over to sit on one of the bar stools. You're focused on the black cabinets, wondering if they're scratch proof. Trying to calm your ever racing nerves. You look up at the woman speaking to you with a squeak and walk quickly over to sit near her, paying attention to whatever it was that she wanted to say. You've started a friendship of sorts since she sat with you at the hospital the day you lost Amalia. She held your hand as you wept, trying to get you to calm down before eventually the Doctors had to give you something that caused you to sleep for what felt like days. But at that time the sleep was welcomed, because in your dreams you were still pregnant, Amalia was alive, Luke was a father and a damn good one at that.

Everything was good in the dreams. But then you had to wake.

"I lost a baby once…" she begins and your eyes snap to her face, recognizing the pain that radiates across her features. It's the same look that you wake up to each day. "Not in the same way as you, but still I know what you're feeling." She continues, and you can feel her pain. It's gripping your heart in a vice and squeezing until you feel as if it's not beating anymore. Your lungs are constricting and it's hard to breathe at this very moment. You try to not look so affected by her words but she can tell, and she smiles sadly at you. "It hurts, I know, even now I can't bear the tightness I feel in my chest when I think of him." She takes a deep breath.

"The one thing I remember, Penelope." She says, reaching out to grasp your hand in her own. "Is that even though Amalia is not here on earth, she will always be in your heart. She came from you, you will always carry her around." You nod your head again, letting the tears fall down your cheeks.

"That pain will never go away, my child, but you do have someone else to help share the pain. He's doing everything he can to remain strong for you, but he's a sensitive man too." She says, a gentle reminder to the man you already know and love.

"Yes." You say on a breath, nodding as you casually wipe at your eyes.

"Let's start unpacking." She stands, reaching out to pat you on the shoulder. "He may be sensitive, but his organizational skills leave something to be desired. Even with all that Army training." You laugh, a gut wrenching sound that claws its way up your throat and tears itself from your lips. You pause in your movements, wondering when the last time you laughed was, and decided that it feels good to feel alive again. To feel something, anything.

You look around and a sense of calm washes over you as you realize that you can see the colors again.

Home.

9-12 Months After Birth

The letter comes addressed to you in the mail and you open it immediately. The paper is thick, and you wonder if this is what your tax dollars are being used for, thick paper that holds either bad new or good news. Thick paper that shows up unannounced and can ruin a person's day. The words are printed in a dark black ink.

You didn't stay long after the Jury declared him guilty of Attempted Murder, Murder, and Assault and Battery. You had already bared your soul to a courtroom full of strangers, family, and friends. And the moment you were excused from the tiny wood box that put you in the clear sight of the man that killed your child, you booked it out of the court room for the day. You remember that the Jury deliberated for an hour before they came back and gave the verdict, and then you felt free. Like a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders, like you could fly again if you so chose to. You didn't look at him, you avoided eye contact the entire time, and it's not like he didn't try to talk to you. You were never more thankful for Rossi and Emily in those moments, as you kept eye contact with someone from the team at all times. There was no pity in their eyes and so you focused on them. There was no gaping hole of empty despair that you got whenever you looked at JJ, and there was no fire that you normally got when you looked at Luke.

Speaking of, you thinking, rushing around the house to find him. You find him in the backyard, mowing the expansive lawn for the housewarming party you were hosting the next day. He had finished cleaning the pool earlier in the morning, and you were relaxing inside with Roxy, watching TV because you woke up that morning feeling sick to your stomach.

Immediately he ordered rest and relaxation, claiming that you had been too busy getting the house cleaned up, and decorating, and meeting the neighbors, and actually working. You rush to the door but the fast change in movement causes your stomach to do flips and turns and you change directions. You've crumpled the piece of paper in your fist as you hold your hair back, not wanting to get vomit in it.

You don't hear him come up behind you but you feel the cool face cloth he places on the back of your neck and you wonder again, and probably not for the last time, how you ever got so lucky.

"I saw you running when I was coming in the door." He says in explanation. "Are you okay?" You nod your head, spitting into the toilet before standing up to rinse your mouth out. You grab one of the many spare toothbrushes that you insisted be kept in case of emergency guests, but you live far enough away that no one really comes to visit. You find you like it that way. You hand him the paper as you're finishing up and he's so excited over the news that he lifts you up and spins you around. Which, if you're following along causes your head to be right back in the toilet.

"I'm calling the Doctor." He states, leaving the room, but you call out for him.

"Don't." You say, repeating the steps from a few moments before. "I'm sure it's just a stomach bug." He shakes his head at you, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

"I'm going to go get some medicine." He says, "you'll be okay for a few minutes? Lock the doors behind me." And then he's gone, snatching his keys off the hook near the door and you can hear the front door slam shut behind him.

"Silly man." You say aloud to Roxy, who barks in approval. But you listen, walking towards the front door to secure the latch. Your eyes make contact with the bright yellow calendar that you hung on the wall in the black and white kitchen and for a second you think back to last month.

12 Months - 8 Days - 4 Hours - 16 Minutes - and 22 Seconds After Birth

You find yourself sitting on the edge of the bed again, looking down into your lap, and wondering exactly how it is that you've found yourself here. There are tears on your face, some of them from pain, others from joy, but mostly they are from confusion.

Are you truly ready for this?

Can you go through this again?

But you take a deep breath and remind yourself that what happened last time, couldn't happen again this time. There is no way that life could ever be that cruel could it? You stand on shaky feet and pace the length of the massive bedroom, too big you think, but then again it wasn't too big as he was fucking you across the floor the other night. Then you made it to the wall too quickly, and you're sure you left a dent in the drywall from the sheer force of the copulation.

It's that, right there, the passion, the sex, the love, that led you to this position. And you decide that even though you lost Amalia, that you're both still feeling the agonizing pain that tears you open each and every day from her loss… This will be happy news. It will be welcomed news, or so you hope that it will be. You make your decision, standing in the mirror and washing your face in the sink, you wonder exactly how it is that you even got into the bathroom. Your mind isn't exactly in the right place right now, but you brush that aside and take a deep breath.

"Okay Penelope, you can do this. You. Can. Do. This." You say as you turn and exit the bathroom.

Making your way down the stairs, careful of your footing, you approach him slowly, quietly.

He's sitting on the couch watching a Baseball game on the TV when you approach him, sliding yourself next to him. You place the item he had gotten you earlier from the store into his lap, waiting for him to notice what you've placed there. He takes a few moments, so long that you're starting to get impatient that you take the item and wave it in front of his face. This isn't the first time he has touched something that you've peed on, you remind yourself when you start to question if you should have washed the test or not.

It's too late now.

You're looking at him and smiling. He has yet to look at you, but he is staring at the pregnancy test with the biggest grin you've ever seen on his face. He places his beer and the test on the coffee table, he leans forward to stare at the test like the world revolved around it, and you guess in a way it does now. He stands, without looking at you and walks out of the room. You reach forward to pick up his beer and bring it to your lips, before you remember, and place it back on the table. Your hands rest on your stomach and before you know it, Luke is back.

"Penelope…" he says, and when you turn around to look at him he's down on one knee.

Yes

A/N: I really hope that this makes up for any pain I caused with Chapter 9. It's double the word count, so I really hope that you enjoyed it. We're about 3 years since Derek now, slow burn but time moves fast I guess.

I originally planned on this being 10 chapters max, with the last chapter being them getting together. But I still have so much story to tell, and we have Ryan to thank for that. The only thing we have Ryan to thank for I supposed. He'll be gone for a very long while.