Note: It's really been too long since I last updated this. My apologies.

The morning sun was creeping through the curtains and had been for some time when Garcia finally made her appearance.

Morgan didn't blame her. It had been a long night and spending it on her couch hadn't exactly improved his rest.

He tucked his phone away. "Hey, Baby Girl."

"Did you call Hotch?" She was fully dressed, but tugged at her collar anyways.

"Yeah." He slid it into his pocket. "Explained the whole thing. He wasn't too happy about it. Not too surprising, given the circumstances. But we're all gonna be here for Reid."
Garcia nodded, setting a pot of coffee to brew. "Good," she said. "And now you'd better start explaining this to me." She sat down across from him and delivered the final punch. "Because he grew last night. I don't know how old he is now. He's probably three."

She tapped her fingers against the table. "I really need a coffee," she muttered.

"You and me both," Morgan agreed. He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. He started to rise, intent on making them both a cup, but Garcia's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Don't think I'll let this conversation get derailed," she warned him. "I want to know what you know. Now."

Morgan hesitated, before he gave in, settling himself back into the chair.

"We can't turn him back," he said. It was a repeat of the information he had relayed to her last night, but it was worth the repeat.

"We can't?" Garcia whispered softly.

"They can't or they won't," Morgan said, shrugging his shoulders with a finality he didn't want to feel. It frustrated him, this helplessness.

He got up, once again with the intention of making coffee, and this time, Garcia didn't stop him from doing so.

"And damn it if I know what the hell I can do to find out for sure."

It was a weird feeling too. They weren't unsubs. They're weren't serial killers he could just find a way into the headspace of.

They were fairy godmothers. Infinitely brighter, but… they were supposed to only exist in fairy tales and Disney movies.

They certainly weren't supposed to shave a few decades off his best friend's age.

They were also impossible to profile. Or near to it. There was no precedent for this. Unless the unintended transformation of an unnamed individual into a cat somehow counted.

Morgan didn't think it did.

"So… he's stuck like this then." It wasn't a question. "Where does the… aging process come in? I mean… one day, he's three months and then the next day, he's two. Is he going to get old faster? What if… He could die in a year. Or two. Or less!"

Morgan set the coffee brewing and sat back down. His mouth was set in a grim line. "She didn't really understand it herself," he said.

Garcia slumped back in her chair with a moan.

"But," Morgan continued, "she thinks- thinks-" Thinks really wasn't all that reassuring, "that it will stop once he's back to… what she calls normal."

"Which is?"

"His age when she… set him back, as she said."

"And we're supposed to take her word for it?"

Morgan sighed, brow furrowed. He glared at the coffee as if it were suddenly the one to blame for all his problems. "What else are we going to do? Invent a powder to set him back to normal? The only one with the intelligence to do something like that would have been Reid and he'd likely tell us it's impossible."

More than likely accompanied by a number of statistics.

Damn it. He missed hearing those.

He sighed, stretching out in the chair and scooting it back.

"I was thinking of taking him out today," Garcia said. "I don't have… anything really that's meant for someone his age. I was thinking maybe the book store."

"That sounds like a good idea."

For the sake of having something to do, he got up and began to wash the dishes.

"I have a dishwasher," Garcia said, through a sip from her coffee mug. "And it was for exactly this reason. So why, my fine chocolate friend, do you insist on disregarding my appliance?"

"I need something to do," Morgan grumbled. But there weren't many dishes and he was finished before even three minutes had passed.

He reached along the counter to his left. His brow crinkled.

Wasn't there…?

Maybe it was just a little further to the left.

Without taking his eyes off the sink, he groped his way along the countertop.

Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

Now thoroughly concerned, he turned his head, scanning the counter.

Again, nothing.

He looked at the other half, running his eyes up and down its entire (short) length.

"Um, what are you looking for?" Penelope's mirthful voice caught him off guard.

"A dishcloth! Don't you keep a dishcloth in this place?" He should have been embarrassed. It wasn't manly. But he was feeling too indignant to care.

Garcia sighed and stood, leaving her mug on the table.

She marched the few short steps to one of the kitchen drawers, opened it, and provided a floral dishcloth with a flourish.

"And you thought I'd just leave it lying around? Men."

She shook her head, as if Morgan had just committed some grave offense, and offered it wordlessly to Morgan who accepted it with a dark, "Thanks."

He handed each plate and piece of silverware Garcia, who put each one in its place in the cabinets.

They worked in silence.

Morgan angled a sideways glance at Garcia. It… she was never this quiet. Not the Penelope he knew.

Had he somehow upset her?

For an instant, he was worried. But… they were all upset.

"Hey." Morgan turned, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. "We're gonna make the best of this, okay? Reid… Spencer will be fine."

Garcia still beneath his hand. Then, her shoulders drooped and she turned to face him.

"I just…" she began.

Then she stopped, looking past Morgan. Her face screwed up in confusion.

"What?" Morgan spun around.

"My… coffee. It was right there!"