"I'm sorry for the inconvenience," Mr. Williams said, croaky voice almost lost amid the various noises of the dialysis ward, "I'm sure you've got enough on your plates without having to go hunting me down."

"You don't have to apologize for something you couldn't possibly control," Morgan assured.

"I'm just so glad someone's looking for the man who did this to my Maggs," he said, a hint of tears choking his voice, "She was everything to me."

"We're very sorry for your loss," Emily said honestly, her eyes drawn to the machines supporting his slowly failing organs, obviously sympathizing with his plight.

Morgan barely heard as Emily began questioning Mr. Williams about his daughter. The sound of the dialysis pump filled his head like some kind of macabre metronome, overwhelming him with sorrow for this man's misfortune, having lost his daughter while very likely on his deathbed.

There was something about doing interviews in a hospital that felt wrong... It was one thing if they were speaking to a victim, but it was something else entirely when it was someone with no relation to the case other than knowing the victim. Especially if that person was undergoing treatment. It almost felt like they were intruding somehow.

Having to intrude on this family's grief as they dealt with the loss of a child and prepared for the possible death of a husband, Morgan was tempted to just walk away from this case and maybe never come back. He was tired of being that person...he wanted to go back to the way he used to be, in a time almost beyond memory. But at the same time, this life felt like a kind of penitence he owed the universe.

It wasn't all bad, though; this life had Emily in it and that made everything else, all the pain and suffering and weariness, seem worthwhile. Sometimes, he wanted to tell her to run away with him and they'd burn their bridges when they came to them. But he knew she'd never go, she was holding on to whatever measly life she was living because the second she released her grip on it, everything else went away, she'd have nothing left to shield her from her mortality.

He wished more than anything that he could be that shield, that he could protect her from everything. But the thing she needed protecting from was her own dying body...

Before he even knew he was going to speak, the words were already out of his mouth. "Your wife said you were trying to become foster parents before you were diagnosed." Emily shot him a quizzical look, but said nothing.

If Mr. Williams found the question odd, he made no indication. "Yeah; we weren't able to have any more children, but we wanted to give a better life to less fortunate kids. We'd already done some volunteer work in the shelters before Maggie was born, so we knew we wanted to help." The older man was silent for several moments, seemingly lost in thought. "Hopefully there will still be time..."

Morgan smiled tensely. I'm sure there will be."

Emily shot him that look he'd come to realize meant not to get someone's hopes up. That look killed him, knowing that her hope had died long ago, that she'd given up on the future. It wasn't fair.

But, if life had proven anything over and over again, it was that there's no such thing as fair. People who live sometimes deserve death. People who die sometimes deserve life. Good people fall ill and suffer, sometimes spending their whole life just wishing they would die so they wouldn't be in pain anymore.

Then again, he'd realized long ago that fairness was really just a myth.

...

Reid frowned when he saw the number flashing across the screen of his phone; she almost never called him if she could reach anyone else. "Is something wrong, Garcia?"

"You tell me..." she replied cryptically.

"I don't... I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered.

"That's a load of bologna and we both know it," she challenged.

He still seemed legitimately confused. "Garcia, what..."

"You knew!" she interrupted, voice shrill.

"Oh..." She could practically hear him deflating slightly. "Well, I didn't really know..."

"Sweetie, I love you, but you're a terrible liar."

"Honestly," he insisted, "I didn't know that it was Emily who had the condition, I just knew that somebody did...I just came to that conclusion."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, a hint of disbelief leeching into her voice.

He let out an indignant breath, "Morgan called and asked what I knew about a heart condition called congenitally corrected transposition of the great arteries...he said he'd found someone who needed help. He'd been at the hospital with Emily all night, so it was only logical to assume..."

If anything, her tone became more suspicious at that, "How is he going to help? He's a good guy, but it's not like..."

"I didn't say..." he interrupted, flustered, "That's not what I meant!"

"Reid..."

"Garcia," he said seriously, "You can't know about this. Promise me you won't go digging..."

"But..."

"Promise me," he insisted, "This is important."

She sighed, defeated, "Fine, I promise."

...

"And I want to go to the zoo and I want to play football and I want to go to the park..."

"Slow down, buddy," Hotch laughed. God, it felt so good to laugh again; it was like the first ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds after years of rain."We've got lots of time to do all those things." And, for the first time, those words didn't feel like a lie.

Jack's oncologist had just finished doing some tests and assured them that the transplant had taken, showing no signs of graft versus host, and that they would be able to go home in a few weeks. He'd have to be on immunosuppressants for the rest of his life, but it would be a normal, healthy life.

They couldn't have asked for better news, after the seemingly endless months of worry and pain, of uncertainty, this was like a thousand pounds lifted off their shoulders.

Already, Jack seemed to be doing so much better, he looked healthier, and already he had more energy than his parents could hope to keep up with. He was eager to get out of bed and go play. The fact that he couldn't leave isolation yet for fear of infection was a major inconvenience for the four year old who wanted nothing more than to go outside again.

All for the generosity of a stranger.

They'd asked the doctors for the name of the person who'd been so kind as to donate a part of themselves to save their son so they could thank them for a gift they couldn't possibly understand the magnitude of, only to find out the donor had asked to remain anonymous. It felt wrong not to have anyone to express their gratitude towards for having saved their son's life

The boy once again cut into Hotch's thoughts, saying seriously, "And I want you and mommy to be home more – I want to play with both of you."

There was something about a four year old boy who just wanted more time with his mommy and daddy that was just so...normal that it made him want to break down into tears of happiness.

"I think that can be arranged." He smiled and pulled his son into a tight hug to stem the tide of emotion clawing its way up his chest.

"Daddy," Jack said, flailing his arms, "Daddy, you're squishing me!"

"Sorry, buddy," he laughed, feeling like he hadn't understood true happiness until that moment.