Author's Note: If you don't know what Christmas Crackers are – that's what Google is for. ;) They're a Christmas tradition in England but during my years here I've come to realize that they're not widely used in the US. So, as I said, if you're unsure: Google. Probably before you read this chapter.
Also: I've once again gotten a little creative with the timeline in that the whole sin-to-win conundrum obviously popped up much later in the series than this story is set. I'll be honest, I have no idea what a sin-to-win weekend in Atlantic City is – but apparently I think it's something that would make Derek Morgan's eyes bulge. (side note: if anyone does know what it is, you'd be answering a question that has bugged me for five seasons and it would be much appreciated.)
Chapter Six: Part I:
It takes almost a full roll of paper towels to clean up her little accident – and that's just to get the mix into the trash can. I'm certain I'm going to be finding little creamed-colored splatters against my cupboards for months, and I have absolutely no doubt that – just like my belt buckle – it's going to make me think of her.
According to the way in which I generally live my life, allowing her into my personal space was a mistake – if the safe haven of my own home has been compromised, just how do I get away from her if this happens to fall apart? Her scent is everywhere, her touch, the sound of her laughter… Her ghost will linger long after she's gone. Everything is tainted with her, but when I look at her, I can't deny that everything is beautifully tainted with her. There's life here now that wasn't before, and the prospect of that life haunting me long after the source has died is just a chance I have to take. A chance I should have had the balls to take a long time ago, because what's the point in living if there is no life?
"Ya know, it's a shame." She says as she throws the dirtied dish towels into the washing machine. "I really did want to make you pancakes."
"There'll be other chances." I smile.
"Yeah but… I wanted to give you a good memory of this day." Bracing her hands behind her at the lip of the counter, she smirks and shrugs. "Instead, you have the memory of me smashing a two inch hole into your kitchen floor."
Laughing, I dry off my hands and toss the towel to the counter, before stepping in front of her and resting my hands at her hips. Truthfully, I think that's a better memory. I never was one for conventional, and though I'm sure her pancakes would have been delicious, I actually prefer the ridiculous memory I now have thanks to them never seeing fruition. Besides, isn't it oddly poetic? Just what about her and I has, so far, been conventional?
Leaning in to brush my lips against hers, I find myself stopping abruptly and smirking when something occurs to me – maybe it's time to create some new traditions. "You want cereal?" I wink. "I have plenty."
With a hint of fond disapproval in her eyes, she laughs, and then agrees, and five minutes later sees us perched upon my kitchen island eating Lucky Charms and Cocoa Pops – mixed, of course, because what sinfully boring person eats cereal the way it was intended to be eaten?
It takes me a second to realize it, but as I catch her staring at me out of my peripherals, I turn slowly and ask, with my mouth full, "What?"
"I think I broke you." She tells me, and there's something deadly serious in her eyes.
I swallow the cereal in my mouth – more as a reflex, as the severity of her expression rubs off on me. "How so?"
"How?" She raises her eyebrows and grins. "You're Emily Prentiss: the most flawlessly elegant person I know. Your apartment and your appearance is immaculate. And yet you're sat on the counter-top, with pancake batter on your clothes, eating Lucky Charms mixed with Cocoa Pops. And just an hour ago you didn't blink when I caused a disaster in your kitchen. And last night you were happy for me to…" She pauses, smirks and blushes as her eyes flick implicatively to the counter-top we're sat upon, and then clears her throat – all the explanation needed really.
"I always mix my cereal." I reply coolly, my mouth once again full of said cereal – something that I can't help but feel only strengthens her point. I swallow, chuckling. "There are many things you don't know about me, JJ."
"I'm certain of it." She smiles softly. "And I look forward to learning those things."
She says that and I think I believe it. She says that and I realize I am a book to her. And who wants to read a story that is cover-to-cover predictable? Apparently not her. She has no expectations of what she'll find between the pages; she just wants to find those things. I was certain once that being that readable to a person meant losing pieces of myself. Now I realize that those pieces of me don't just vanish simply because she finds them. They're still mine; they're just hers too. And I think I could be okay with that.
As I redirect my gaze to the cereal in my bowl, smiling like a fool, I take comfort from the fact that she has no idea of the promises I just made to her. She is going to see all of me, because I think I actually want her to… Because, just like Will reminded me last night, she's a rare caliber of human-being.
She holds an untainted view of the world despite that world's effort to taint her views – she will forever hold an untainted view of me, despite what may come to taint that view. I know that, like I've never known it before. She makes me believe that, and more importantly, she makes me consider that maybe – maybe – those failed past relationships of mine are actually something to be grateful for. Because look at what I have now because they didn't want to weather the storms in order to see the rainbows…
So she does get it all, because she's not looking for a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, but rather an understanding of how those rainbows ever made it to fruition.
Of course, while Will's words lead me to some kind of reconciliation with my fears, they also provoke one huge question that I seemingly forgot in our little question-answer session. "Wait…" I look back to her. "What did you tell Will last night?"
She pauses mid-chew, finishes and then looks to me slowly. "You really want to know? It might be too early in our…" She chews at her lip, and then looks back to me. "Do you really want to know?"
"I do, JJ." I nod, ensuring she can see in my eyes that I'm sincere.
"Well, I didn't give him any names, of course but… I told him that I'd thought it was time to move on, but that I realized I can't move on until I find closure with the person who's occupied my heart for the past three years." She mindlessly pokes at her cereal with her spoon, and I struggle to understand why she's having so much trouble telling me something she basically already explained. Maybe I'm missing the point. "And I told him I can't find that closure until I allow myself to chance the possibility that maybe she isn't supposed to be there at all, that maybe she doesn't even know she is..."
She stops, but her lips remain parted, and she seems to lose herself for a moment. Her eyes are fixed on nothing, narrowed like she's trying to see clearly, and now, her lips keep moving like she's attempting to force herself to speak. And then, with a sudden wind of confidence, she places her bowl behind her and shifts on the counter so that she's fully facing me.
"Meaning: until I stop avoiding the fact that I can't stop thinking about my colleague. Until I can tell her that, to me, she's beautiful, and every time I'm doing something mundane, I find myself wishing she was doing it with me." She pauses briefly, but doesn't look away. "That I could listen to her talk for hours, and it wouldn't even matter what she was saying, because no matter what she says it's nothing less than phonic perfection. That her mind fascinates me, to the point where I spend sleepless nights trying to figure out what lurks behind those reinforced walls of hers, and what prompted their creation." Her voice is calm now, her eyes sparkling, her lips almost smiling. "That I'm very certain I, somewhere along the way, fell in love with her and that mind of hers. And that I don't regret that, or ever plan to hurt her with it."
She loves me… Is in love with me. Jennifer Jareau is in love with me. I realize it was, in so many ways, implied, but hearing those words out loud is a whole different matter. And though I'm certain I look nothing other than stunned right now, I'm not too tough to admit that inside I'm grinning like a teenage girl who just got asked to prom by that totally cute guy.
"…You should tell her that." I reply quietly, utterly amazed that in just two days, two separate people have managed to go head-to-head with that monster we call love – and that I think I'm about to become the third. Seemingly by instinct alone, I hop down off of the counter and slip myself between her legs. "You should tell her all of that."
"You think she'll be receptive?" She smiles as she slides her hands over my shoulders, beneath the curtain of my hair, and rests her forehead to mine. "You don't think she'd run? Even with what season it is?"
"I don't think she'd run." I reply honestly, a small grin pulling at my lips. "No matter what season it is." I kiss her neck, all the way to her ear and lower my voice to a whisper. "I think she'd tell you that, somewhere along the way, she fell in love with you and your compassion, and your goofy streak, and the way you bite your lip…" I punctuate that by kissing the very lip that she's chewing on. "And the way you're so honest, even when it might leave your heart in tatters. And then she'd tell you that she's sorry, for allowing her past to dictate her future, for allowing that to leave you in the same conflicted place she's found herself more times than she cares to remember."
At first, she simply smiles. And then she grins, and then she looks away with a breathy laugh – pretty much physically representing the degrees of astonishment that I myself feel for the fact that I actually just offered real words, and reals words that don't result in some defensive-style joke. "She'd say all that?"
"Yeah…" I nod. "Yeah, she would." My eyes, regrettably, catch the clock. "And then she'd tell you that we have one hour until we're expected at Hotch's dinner table."
"Mmm…" She groans, her hands shifting to fist the front of my shirt - a grip that she then utilizes to pull me flush against her. "Ten more minutes. I'm sure he'll understand."
CM-CM-CM
He didn't understand.
We're twenty minutes late, and he's staring at us like we just broke firm orders. Honestly, if it wasn't for the reindeer-littered apron he's donning, I'd be a little concerned about the safety of our careers.
"Nice apron." JJ smirks, and I'm stuck somewhere between wanting to high-five her and panicking about our fate – the outcome of which she certainly isn't helping.
But the way his mouth twitches into a Hotch-style smile eases me, and the sugared-up seven year old that zooms by the door with a Lego creation in his hands and airplane sounds on his lips relaxes me entirely.
"It's good that no lives depended on this." He remarks as he turns and walks through to the living room with us in tow, and then leaves us to head back to the kitchen where Rossi is yelling at him about poorly-handled potatoes and babysitting Brussels sprouts.
"Nice of you to join us." Morgan berates playfully, then presses a kiss to my head. "Merry Christmas, princess."
Yeah, I smile. Yeah, it is.
"Where were you guys?" Garcia throws out her palms, and then narrows her eyes in a way that unsettles me. "And why did you arrive together? You live in opposite directions."
"Actually…" I begin the lie. "I was with the ambassador. She lives closer to JJ than I so we rode together."
"Now I know that's a lie." Garcia replies, her sharply raised eyebrow very much supporting her statement. "You never see the ambassador, especially on a holiday that she probably should make the effort for."
"Hm…" Morgan murmurs, circling JJ and I like we're artefacts in a museum.
He's been eyeing us through Garcia's tirade, profiling us no doubt, and apparently he's pretty amused with his findings. I'm sure the fact that he was privy to more than JJ and I combined only helped him to reach those findings. I'll broach that little issue with him later.
"I don't think she's going to answer you truthfully, or even confirm if you guess." He stops, facing us, and folds his arms across his chest before looking to Garcia. "I think that whatever reason she has for arriving with JJ is far too important." His eyes narrow as he leans in close to JJ - causing her to pull back with raised eyebrows and an uncertain smile - before once again turning back to Garcia. "And you ain't getting nothing out of blondie either, I'm pretty certain for the same reasons."
"Oh." Garcia's eyes widen suddenly- "Oh my god." –and, as Hotch chooses that perfect moment to wander into the room, she slaps both hands over her mouth. Not fucking subtle at all.
I'd felt oddly comfortable with Garcia and Morgan profiling us and inevitably coming to the conclusions that they did, but Hotch is a whole different matter. There's a long pause where he's staring at us like a parent, his eyes mostly lingering on Garcia whose hands are still clamped over her mouth to silence the news I know she's just bursting to yell from the rooftops. He's definitely sought out the weak link in the chain. Now, what is he going to do with it?
"…I don't want to know." He finally speaks, his face as unreadable as ever. "Dinner is ready."
An apology emerges in Garcia's eyes as Hotch walks away, and she's quick on my tail as we follow him down the hall. "I can't believe the curse has been broken! It's like a fairytale!" There's a brief break in her joy where she tosses a quick scowl to JJ and warns, "It better be broken."
"Wait." I stop briskly, causing Garcia to stumble a little, and look to Morgan – like it's his fault everyone seemingly knows my issues. I think I can be forgiven for feeling a little animosity towards him though – he is, after all, helping JJ to get over me. "Is there not even one of you that I managed to fool?"
"Fool about what?" Reid questions quietly and I can't help but smirk.
"Thanks, Reid." I can tell he has no clue what I'm thanking him for – or just why that adds to the irony of me being thankful towards him in the first place.
When we reach the dining room, I have to resist the urge to sit beside JJ – that isn't the spot I typically assume at this time of year, and I doubt the boat needs rocking anymore. Thankfully, if the fancy little name cards are anything to go by, we apparently have allocated spots this year. When, however, she sits directly opposite me and quirks her eyebrows suggestively, I realize I probably would have been far safer sitting beside her. This dinner is going to be long and torturous.
My attention is snapped from that mischievous blonde of mine when Garcia - with a string of Garcia-style profanities that I'm almost certain are aimed at Rossi - heads to the kitchen. He's the host, despite it being Hotch's house, and I strain to hear what got her so worked up. But the now-shoeless foot that oh-so discreetly settles itself between my thighs against my seat is distracting, and as Morgan pulls up a chair beside me, I welcome the excuse to not directly engage or encourage the clearly mature woman opposite me. Perhaps if she doesn't get the attention she's seeking, she'll get bored and move on to something else.
I'm still uncertain what I feel on the topic of Morgan, but Garcia seems downright pissed off, and I can't help but feel that if she'd been proposed to last night, there'd be absolutely nothing on the planet capable of pissing her off. "Care to explain why Garcia's hyperactivity levels are more mad-at-the-world than sickeningly-loved-up?"
His shoulders slump enough to be telling, but subtle enough to not draw attention from the people around us. "Someone beat me to it."
"Kevin?" I jump the gun, my eyes wide.
"Nah." He shakes his head and leans back in his chair, and when he's happy that everyone else around the table is occupied, he leans a little closer and continues. "Some other guy in the restaurant proposed to his girl, and I didn't want her to think I'd only done it because of that."
"Oh, honey. She isn't going to think that." I reassure, and then realize that, actually, I was probably correct with my earlier query. Garcia has been proposed to before and declined… is that what he's worried about?
As that question springs to mind, Garcia returns, a pan of something in her oven-mitt covered hands and clearly unhappy words on her lips. They're again directed at Rossi, that much is obvious, but that's exactly where the obvious part ends. She's speaking in Italian, as is he, and I speak Italian… but apparently not Garcia's version of Italian.
"Something wrong?" I look to her, and slyly reach beneath the table to cease the journey of that foot that seems intent on causing trouble. Apparently ignoring her only provokes her – I'll make a note of that.
"What a brilliant question, Emily Prentiss." Her gaze fixes on me as she, with probably more force than necessary, places the pan she was holding to the table. Something though, in that perfectly enunciated use of my name, tells me that pan is merely a substitute for me. What did I do?
With that, Rossi emerges from the kitchen. "She's mad because I told her you'd decided we should have a seating plan this year." He explains, then joins Garcia in fixing his eyes on me. There's a message in his somewhat-psychotic stare, I can tell, and I narrow my eyes as I try to decode it. I don't think I need to say it but… I had jack shit to do with a pre-devised seating plan.
"Yeah," Garcia scoffs, "which makes absolutely no sense, and the arrangement you chose makes even less sense because why wouldn't you seat yourself next to J-" She stops short of outing JJ and I and slumps to her allocated seat – her allocated seat that means she's on Morgan's left instead of his right. His right where I'm seated, which I'm sure doesn't help matters.
I know without being told that her anger is more directed at the fact that she's been told where to sit than that she can't sit on a specific side of her beau. I'm about ready to stand and tell her that if she really cares all that much, she can have my spot, but the way Morgan, seemingly sensing this, nudges my leg, tells me there's something more to this than an effort to evoke the wrath of Penelope Garcia while simultaneously throwing me under the bus.
I'd defend myself if I wasn't so utterly lost as to why, 1: we're sitting in specific spots and, 2: I've become the designated bad guy.
Realizing I'm out of my depths, I avert my gaze, and take comfort from my drink and the foot that has settled instead for leisurely running up and down my ankle. Something tells me I'm far safer playing with that fire than any I can see in PG's eyes right now.
Once everyone is seated, Hotch is the first to begin what has become our yearly tradition, and pulls his Christmas Cracker with Jack. Hotch wins but, of course, let's Jack keep the prize – a calculator that, I'm very certain, won't remain in working order beyond this meal. Jack pulls his with JJ, and JJ with Rossi, and Rossi with Reid, and Reid with me, and me with Morgan, until the table is littered with cheap prizes and every fully grown FBI agent sat around it is wearing a colourful, paper crown. We look dashing, even if I do say so myself, and, though it's nothing, I can't help but smile.
Perhaps it's the new way in which my Christmas began this year, or perhaps it's because there are no other people on the planet that mean more to me than the seven sat around this table… but I think I just found my Christmas Spirit. It's in the way that Jack, the typical messy boy that he is, has already spilt food down his shirt; and the way that Reid has somehow, somehow, managed to locate in his mind and rattle off every factoid he knows about Christmas Crackers; and the way that JJ… beautiful JJ, has a similar carefree glint in her eyes to the one I found last night.
It's in the way that, right beside me where, just five minutes ago, all hell was breaking loose… a Christmas miracle happens. With a sharp snap, and a thud of platinum meeting oak, Garcia, for the first time since I've known her, produces nothing but silence. The whole table, I now realize, is silent. Including Morgan.
Something tells me his role wasn't a silent one at this point in the execution of his apparently-altered master plan, and I not-so subtly remind him with a not-so subtle nudge to his arm. "Big heart. Voluptuous booty. Mixed race babies."
He's look to me, terrified, and I nod my encouragement. Clearing his throat – and in the process apparently finding his courage – he takes the ring from the table and, while Garcia looks on astonished, gets on bended knee in front of her.
"Penelope…" He swallows, and then takes a steadying breath. When something in his eyes changes, his tension vanishes like magic. "Ya know, people think I'm this player who is unable to foresee anything more long term than one night, and they're probably not wrong. But that's because I really don't foresee anything long-term… except with you. I look at you and I see my future. You are my future. There is not one other person on this planet that I want to wake up to every morning, and fall asleep with every night. You are my soul mate Penelope Garcia, and I know you've been asked this question before but…" He falters, takes a further steadying breath, and finally… "Will you marry me?"
There's this moment, this excruciating moment where the silence that, just minutes ago, spoke of something life-changing, now, instead, becomes suffocating, devastating. For a split second, I'm genuinely fearful for him that he's going to hear a dreaded no…
And then Garcia smiles, and the whole world changes – for everyone at the table, I can tell.
Like everything is compelling her to do so, she presses both hands to his cheeks and pulls him against her. She doesn't utter an array of colorful Garcia-speak, she doesn't squeal or clap her hands excitedly and – more importantly – she doesn't look like she's about to run for the hills. She simply, with him held against her, says, "Yes."
There's a raucous of cheers and applause while the new lovebirds return to their old selves and make out at the end of the table; and I, with a smile on my lips, look to my very own lovebird to find her beautiful smile directed at me.
I don't think I'm the marrying type but… I wouldn't mind waking up to that smile every morning and falling asleep to it every night either.
CM-CM-CM
Once dinner is over and we drag our twenty-pounds-heavier selves out of the dining room, Morgan corners me in the kitchen – and something tells me it has nothing to do with him and Rossi allowing me to be the scapegoat.
I'd been expecting it, of course, but now that it's happening, I feel a little more uncomfortable than I'd anticipated – strangely, more uncomfortable than I did with that other not-so inconsequential conversation I had today. Perhaps because, in a lot of ways, there's more riding on this. Not because JJ means any less to me than him, but because the bonds – and thus, the rules of play - between him and I were official, and between her and I, they were not. Because of that, there is no fresh start beyond any possible deceit in this context, and if I find that he really was playing me in some way, I just don't know how I forgive and forget.
The guilty look in his eyes tells me he knows that. I lean back against the kitchen counter and wait for him to say whatever he needs to, any assumptions or expectations of him non-existent because I owe him that much. I can't let the first thing I jump to be that which paints him in an instantly distrustful light – because he's Morgan, and if I know him like I think I do, he had a very good reason for keeping us both in the dark.
Closing the door to give us a little more privacy, he runs his hand over his head and then nods, like he's just realized his methods – however purely motivated – probably weren't the best route. "Do you remember last summer?" He begins. "You and I went to Atlantic City and you finally showed me exactly what a sin-to-win weekend is?"
I quirk my eyebrow – where could he possibly be going with this? "Yes, I remember. I also remember your eyes bulging out of their sockets and feeling a distinct sense of pride over the fact that I'd taught Derek Morgan something new."
He laughs fully, nodding. "Yeah. Yeah you did." After a moment, he licks his lips and his expression changes to something a little more serious. "I watched you that weekend Emily, working every woman you came into contact with like they were putty in your hands. You were in your element. So confident. So carefree." He pauses for a moment and then says, "It made me think of me."
Well I don't think I was expecting that. Apparently I'm the female Derek Morgan – who knew? He's not wrong though… It's been many years since I called him an alley cat for his ways with women, and even then I don't think I meant it. I think I understood it. There's something so powerful about being able to have that effect on a person – something safe. As long as you're the one working that voodoo, it can't be worked on you; and there's just so much about what we do – and what has personally affected each of our lives – that leaves us all needing that safety net in some way.
That said, I think I'm now a little more lost as to where he's going with this. "Do you have a point, Derek?"
"Yes." He nods. "That whole other side of you I was certain you had, was the me side. The side that takes so much comfort from the whole no-strings concept, that you're practically unable to even consider that there's something else worth considering. I realized it that weekend, which is why I knew that until you were able to see for yourself that there's something better than marking off notches in your bedpost, that something would never be better."
He watches me for a moment, that same compassion in his eyes that I've always seen in him, and even though I don't quite understand his point yet, I already know there was never any malicious intent behind his actions. The beautiful thing about Derek Morgan is that if he offers you his loyalty, you have it for a lifetime – even if that loyalty means being disloyal to you in some way.
"I meant what I said to Garcia, Emily…" He continues. "Until I met her, I couldn't foresee long-term. It didn't exist. I didn't understand it. JJ is your Garcia, but you weren't ready for her to be. So I kept my mouth shut and became the go-to therapist."
"Sponsor." I correct him.
"Heh…" He laughs. "I guess you could call it that. Though… if I were a true sponsor, I would have probably been a little happier when it seemed that she was getting over you." I look to him and he clarifies. "The date with Will. I thought that meant you guys had reached a point of no return – it was relieving to find that I was wrong, even if you did both get there in a totally backwards manner."
"You could have done something before it got to that point, Derek."
"Come on, Em…" He looks to me. "Are you seriously telling me that you and JJ didn't see anything between Garcia and I before we realized and acknowledged it?" I open my mouth, but have nothing to offer, and he sees it. "Exactly. Sometimes it's not our place to meddle. Sometimes all we can do is be there to listen, and that's what I was for JJ. Just like I tried to be for you, but – I don't know if you've noticed - she's a little more willing to discuss her feelings than you are."
And just like that, as a small, breathy laugh slips through my attempts at being stubborn, I lose any sense of anger. Like I said… I think I lost my ability to be outraged toward anything last night. Besides, he's not wrong. I can't really say that I believe in fate – that concept is just a little too terrifying for someone with control issues – but it is true that if I took this very scenario and moved it two or three years back in my timeline, it would have played out a lot differently. Because just like he so accurately observed: I wasn't ready for this.
It doesn't erase the fact that it isn't his place to decide what I am and am not ready for, but then I never was very good at relying on outside sources to rescue me. Those outside sources inevitably disappear… I hope he never disappears.
Taking a sip of my drink, I point to him and say, "Don't go thinking you get to use this as an example next time you go off on a women are so complicated tirade."
"Wouldn't dream of it." He throws out his hands, grinning that infamous Morgan grin; and then he turns his hands palm-up and raises his eyebrows. "Can I get a little love now?"
God, he's about as adorable as she is. For someone who needs intense control in their life, I sure do surround myself with an abundance of people capable of wrapping me around their little finger. As I meld into his chest, I find myself clutching a little tighter than usual. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"Showing me what friendship really is." I can't see him, but I know he's shooting me that look he does when I randomly deviate from my typical guarded persona and throw something profound into general conversation.
He knows I won't elaborate, but I hope he also knows that what I said was genuine: it's difficult to form strong bonds with people when you move around as much as I have in my lifetime, and it's even harder to do that when you're pretending to be someone you're not. Hopefully my days of doing that are behind me.
When the door to our left opens, I don't move from Morgan's embrace but I do smile. Now there's the Garcia I'd expected to see today. I can't read auras, but if I could, I'm sure hers is all shades of the rainbow right now. She looks so elated and just… well, she looks so Garcia-on-steroids. When she scowls playfully – likely at the fact that I'm getting pretty damn cozy with her fiancé – I shift a little and hold out my arm as an indication for her to join us.
Add group-hugging in the kitchen to the list of things I didn't expect to be doing today. The only thing that could make this better is if that beautiful blonde of mine appeared just like Garcia did, but if the raucous elsewhere in the house is anything to go by, she's busy being that oh-so mature FBI agent that I love so much. I dread to think what she's up to, but I swear I just heard her making child-like gun sounds.
"Is there any reason for this random display of affection?" Garcia asks, her face smooshed against Morgan's chest. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm totally down but… What did he do that you had to give him one of your all is forgiven hugs?"
I chuckle to myself – oh, she is perfect for him. "Nothing much." I reply, smirking. "He just became JJ's sponsor in getting over me."
With that, and without one second of hesitation, she pulls back and swats Morgan's chest. He whines instantly, rubbing at the apparently pained area, and I do nothing to hide my amusement. I hadn't been expecting that reaction from her, but I'd be lying if I said I felt even one iota of guilt. I think he at least deserved that a tiny bit.
"Emily and JJ are delicate flowers, and you can't go messing with that with all your fancy good intentions!"
Morgan and I exchange looks, and then snicker in a way that earns us both a scowl from Garcia.
"Glass houses, Garcia." I pat her shoulder and head to join the rest of the gang. "Glass houses."
On my way into the living room, I'm almost knocked off my feet by a sugared-up seven year old and a fully-grown FBI agent who zoom by with a couple of hasty sorry's on their lips and Nerf guns in their hands – a Christmas gift I'm sure Hotch is now regretting. I guess that explains the sound-effects.
I give them ten minutes before something gets broken and they find themselves in the crosshairs of our very own mother hen. But as JJ comes storming through the living room a second time with a giggling Jack behind her, and Garcia finds herself directly in their path, I realize I was a little too generous with my timeframe. Play time is over.
Pouting, Jack and JJ hand over the guns and drop to the floor to join Reid – who, if I'm not mistaken, is in the process of building a remarkably realistic Santa's grotto from Legos. I know he wishes he could spend Christmas with his mother. I know he wishes literal distance was the only reason he can't. I hope he knows that he'll never have to spend this holiday alone.
Sinking to the couch, my eyes drift to the patriarchs of our little group, slumped into two one-seaters in the corner of the room, their paper-crowns still haphazardly perched upon their heads. It'll be mere minutes before they fall victim to their food-coma, I know. Elsewhere in the room, Garcia slips a movie – Love Actually, I think – into Hotch's bluray player and snuggles into Morgan's side on the loveseat to my left.
Love, love, love… Isn't that what it's all about anyway?
Our group is so much smaller this year… I guess we've all loved and lost in some way, but I hope we never lose this. I should have noticed it in years past, but for the first time I realize that this is what Christmas should be. For the first time I realize that I missed something in my younger years. This is my family. This is that something that can't be touched or explained that JJ mentioned last night.
And with that thought, I pull my phone from my pocket and lay back across the couch. It takes me a moment to remember the exact words, but when I type them into Google and pull up the first hit – a YouTube video – the familiar sound of a piano leaves me shaking my head at myself. Of course she got the words from that song.
My eyes naturally drift to hers to find that she's already smiling at me. And it's with that song playing as the backing track, and with her smile anchoring me to the moment, that I find myself in the very same sentimental place that I go out of my way to avoid every year at this time. The feeling is intense, and it should scare me but how could it? How could it when, in every direction, I have an angel stronger than any demons I've ever known.
They stand no chance against this little army of mine. They stand no chance against her.
