AN: I hope this was worth the wait. It's been a heck of a week. Thank you so much for the additional alerts, favourites and reviews. I can't thank each of you enough. Harlie
Christmas Eve/Christmas Day really early
Morgan temporary residence, Toronto, Canada
Penelope couldn't sleep. To be honest, she had yet to have a restful night since Derek was shot, but tonight was even worse than usual. At first, she chalked it up to anticipation of Christmas morning and getting to at last open the final gift from Derek. After counting off one hundred and thirty sheep, sixty-two moose, and naming all eight of Santa's original reindeer in alphabetical order, she had to admit there was more to it.
Derek had seemed off all day, and although she'd asked him several times if it was anything she could help him work through, her prodding had only managed to increase his morose mood. For a man she hoped was about to propose to her later today, he sure hadn't seemed happy at all. Of course, once the team et al had shown up, he'd put on a great show, especially for Will, Henry, and Jack. Penelope had witnessed both Rossi and Reid giving Derek the hairy eyeball a couple of times each, but to the best of her knowledge, they hadn't been as bold as her to ask what had been bothering him.
Flipping onto her right side, she watched the digital clock change from 0109 to 0110, and then on to 0111 and 0112. When it got to 0123, she groaned aloud, grabbed her glasses off the small side table beside said clock, and pushed the covers off, before sitting up and swinging her legs off the bed.
What she really wanted to do was check on Derek to see if he was struggling to sleep like she was. Unfortunately, his room was on the top floor of the townhouse, and she was sleeping on the pull out couch in what was supposed to be the den on the main floor. Penelope had hoped to share with Derek, but he hadn't seemed open to the idea and she'd chosen not to push it considering his mood already.
She had to give Fran credit for making certain every member of her "family" had a place to lay their head. She'd even offered to buy air mattresses and have the team stay at the house, too. Always gracious, Hotch had worked his magic and assured Momma Morgan that they were all more than comfortable in the accommodations they had found at a Best Western® less than five kilometers away.
Opening the draped French doors to the den, Penelope crept as quietly as she could manage over the hard wood floor of the living room on her way to the kitchen. Since she had foregone turning on any lights, she didn't realize she wasn't alone until she heard a soft grunt, followed by, "Ho, ho, oww."
Penelope knew she ought to be terrified, since the voice sounded decidedly male and not even close to that of Derek or either of his brothers-in-law. Despite this, she kept moving and flipped the closest light switch on, even as she made certain she was facing the room now bathed in light.
There, crouched by the Christmas tree, was a very round, not very tall, older gentleman adorned in what looked to be an authentic Santa suit. Every fiber of Penelope's being told her she was either dreaming, hallucinating from lack of sleep, or tripping out on some unknown substance, but in her heart, she knew the truth…
"Santa."
"Child, you are not supposed to see me," he replied, even as he continued to remove packages from a red, silk-looking sack that had what looked to be the designs of gifts sewn into the fabric at the top.
"Why not? I'm not a child anymore."
"Hrmph…you'll always be a child to someone, young Penelope."
Penelope began to shake when he said her name. "It…it's…it's really you? I mean, you're real?"
"Yes, child. As real as you and everyone else in this house, but different, too." He shook the sack, as if to ensure it was empty, and then straightened. Even at his full height, he didn't come to Penelope's shoulders.
"Different. Yeah, I'd say. You don't read your mail, either," Penelope said, but she didn't move any closer to Santa. "If you're real, why didn't you answer my letter?"
"The simple answer?"
"If it helps."
"You were over the age of my mandate."
A strangled noise escaped her throat, before Penelope managed to squeak out a reply. "And so I deserved to be alone and unloved?" The last word had barely passed her lips, before the tears began to fall, spotting the lenses of her glasses. She whipped them off and blotted at her eyes with the sleeve of her nightshirt, prior to stumbling to the same chair where she'd sat only a few days before to open the gifts Derek had bought for her.
Santa came over and knelt on one knee in front of her. He hovered one of his gloved hands over her own that still held her glasses in her lap for several seconds, and then seemed to decide it was worth the risk and covered hers with his. "Child, you have it all wrong. I wanted to help you. I wanted it so badly; your letter has haunted me for fifteen long years. In fact, it's the reason I am here tonight."
"Who the hell are you, and why are you in my mother's house, touching my woman?" Derek's voice was a hoarse whisper, yet more than loud enough to be heard clearly.
Both Penelope and Santa reacted immediately at the sound of Derek's voice. They looked up to see Derek sweating profusely from the exertion, but with his service issued gun trained on the side of Santa's head.
TBC…
