"Talk dirty to me, Ms. Garcia."

It was the second time in as many days that she had received the same phone call. This time, she wasn't quite so quick to hang up, instead taking a deep breath and opening her mouth to speak. "Who are you?" she asked sadly, feeling the quick tears, ever at the forefront these days, begin to course down her cheek.

"Your past," the voice on the other end of the line whispered, sounding almost as sad. Penelope gasped as she began to cry. "Oh, don't cry. Find me, please. Before he really hurts me."

The line went dead and she brought her phone down to stare at it, unable to comprehend the request the voice had made. Stepping out into the bullpen, she looked down at her friends, wondering if they had gotten any weird calls lately. Or if this was all just some horrible prank Kevin was pulling on her. He hadn't let her live down the fact that she had needed him to fix her systems, that she couldn't concentrate long enough to help her beloved friends out.

Derek looked up at her from Reid's desk, smiling gently at her and waving. She waved back and then took a deep breath. She had to ask someone about what was going on, and the only person she could think of was Hotch. After all, he had been the one to cover up Emily's supposed death.

Knocking softly on his door, she waited for his command before entering the room. "Ah, Garcia. What can I do for you?"

Closing the door, she took a seat in front of his desk, waiting for him to look up at her. Once they had established eye contact, she took a deep breath and began to speak. "Sir, I, I have to talk to you about something. Something that might not make sense, even to you. Heaven knows it doesn't make sense to me. Was Curtis working alone?"

His eyes narrowed as he pulled out a decanter of brandy, holding it out to her. She shook her head and he stuck the bottle back in his drawer, sighing deeply. "Why would you ask something like that, Penelope?"

"Because it doesn't make sense. How did he know so much about us? How could he be in three different places at once? I looked at some of those pictures he took of us, and there is no way he could have surveiled us that closely on his own. None of this makes sense. So, I'm asking you, was that bastard working alone?"

Hotch shrugged. "We didn't really investigate further, once his house blew up. You know that. We closed the case, buried Erin, and have tried to move on. It's been three weeks, why are you bringing this up now?"

It was her turn to shrug. "I've not been sleeping well, since we buried her. She still haunts my peripheral vision, smiling at me, asking me to avenge her."

"We did. Rossi did. He killed the bastard that killed her."

"But what if, what if it was all some big shell game? Misdirection at its finest?"

He shook his head. "No, she died in my arms. I felt the life drain from her. There is no way she survived his attack. If you do this to yourself, you'll drive yourself crazy. She's gone, and you, we, have to move on."

She nodded, knowing that she would get nowhere with the man. "I'll try, Aaron. For you." He smiled gently at her and she reached out her hand. He clasped it tightly, squeezing a few times in an effort to make her feel better, and she tried to plaster some semblance of a smile on her own face. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"Never apologize for wanting a different outcome, Penelope. She would have been happy to know that you thought highly enough of her to want to think her still alive." She nodded a few times before letting go of his hand and slipping out of the office. This time, it was Blake who looked up at her, the same sorrow lining her face that Penelope was certain on hers. She beckoned the woman over to her office with her head, and Blake nodded in agreement, standing up and coming towards her.

Penelope sat heavily on her sofa, covering her lower face with her hands as she thought about her boss's reaction. "Hey, Garcia. How're you doing?"

"Not so good, Alex. You sort of look the way that I feel today."

She nodded and took a seat next to her. "This is going to sound so stupid, but I miss Erin. We actually had a good conversation on the way to the hotel, and I finally accepted her amends. And then he went and destroyed her hope. She was so hopeful, Garcia, so hopeful that we could start over, that she and Rossi would be getting married, that her kids would finally start moving past her addiction. And he stole that from her. Hotch told me about her last moments, how she wanted her children to know that her slip was not voluntary, how she loved them all, and I'm left here, without any way to move on."

Penelope was startled by the woman's tears, and she reached out to her, letting Blake fall against her, burrow in close, draw comfort and support from her. "I don't think she's dead."

Blake stiffened in her arms, pulling away to glare at her. "That's not funny."

"I didn't mean it to be. I seriously do not think she's dead. I've gotten two phone calls from her in the last two days. The first one, I thought was a horrible, horrible, joke. I yelled and hung up before she could say anything else."

"And?" Blake prodded, a tiny flicker of hope flaming to life in her eyes.

"And I don't think Curtis was working alone. Someone fed his psychosis, someone drove him to this point. She's alive, that person is holding her captive, and I need someone who believes me to help me find her. I need to bring her home to Rossi."

"I'll do it. I'll help you." Penelope nodded hesitantly. "I will. I will help you bring her home."

"All right, we'll need to keep this under wraps, though. You know they'll think we're unhinged if we voice this to anyone else." Blake nodded in agreement before holding her hand out to Penelope. "Until we bring Erin home."

"Until we bring her home."