You're 15 when you find yourself fed up with Mother's Day—fed up to the point where you may have caused a bit of a commotion, and found yourself in the principal's office. You realize that Ms. Kirkpatrick, your well-meaning teacher, had meant nothing of it when she inquired about your mother. You realize that your peers should not be held at fault for actually having mothers to go home to. All the same, your realizations did nothing to assuage the welling anger in you, and you had found your chair overturned along with a mess of books strewn across the floor in your wake.

So now, because your dad was caught up with something at work, and because she was the next-listed contact, you find yourself with your godmother at Quantico headquarters. She had picked you up from school and signed you out for the day, insisting to your principal that all you needed was some time to clear your head and blow off some steam.

Of course, you've been to Quantico enough times to be familiar with it. However, today, you slow to a stop as you reach a wall full of framed portraits—meant to commemorate fallen agents and comrades—and you stare at her photo. And as you continue staring, you feel your godmother watching you expectantly. Waiting for you to explain. "Henry? What's up, jelly bean?"

"I hate Mother's Day," you state.

"Oh?"

"We're meant to… to celebrate our mothers. And yeah, other kids have a mom to go home to while I don't—fine. Okay. I've dealt with that my entire life. But what gets me the most is that I don't know what to celebrate."

Aunt Pen nods at you, as if encouraging you to continue. So you do.

"I don't know what she did for me." You avert your gaze from the unblinking gaze of your mother's photo. "I-I know that's a horrible thing to say. I mean, you all talk about what a great person she was. How kind, and selfless, and heroic. It's not that I don't believe you. I do! Like, this damn plaque here shows that. But that's it. That's all I know about her. She did great things for other people; hell, she ended up dying for other people. But what about me?" You feel the corner of your eyes burning, and the threat of overspilling tears mounting. "She was a great agent, sure. A wonderful human being. But was she a good mom? Maybe she could have been, but from where I'm standing she's not—when it matters most, she isn't here. And that's not fair. It's not fair at all."

Penelope is quiet for a moment, so you turn to look at her. "You know how my parents died when I was 18? I was mad, Henry—so mad at everything," she says quietly. "First I was mad at that drunk driver that killed them… but then he was arrested and charged and I had no one left to be mad at. So I… I became mad at my parents. Tried to go against everything they wanted for me. I even dropped out of college. It was horrible, you know. And it took forever, but I eventually realized I was never really mad, just hurt."

You swallow, and avert your gaze.

"It'll always hurt a bit, because you loved them and it feels like you were robbed of the family you were supposed to have. Actually, not even feels like; you were. It's so unfair. But I've learned something over the years: that there's more to family than just blood. I've made my own family with the BAU. That doesn't completely make up for no longer having parents, but it goes a crazy long way to making it better."

Because you don't respond, she continues. "JJ loved you so incredibly much, Henry. I'm sure we've like, drilled that into you, but we only say it 'cause it's so true. It's definitely not fair that you don't get to have her in your life, but consider that it wasn't fair for her either. I'm sure there's nothing she wanted more than to be there for you. It's not fair that she doesn't get to see what a man you're growing up to be."

You look down at your feet. "I'm sorry, Aunt Pen. I didn't mean to get in trouble at school… there are just times I really want her here, and it sucks so much. It's-!" You don't get to finish, as your godmother swallows you in a bear-like hug.

"Say no more, jelly bean. I wish JJ were here too. God, I really do," Aunt Pen sighs as she steps back. Both you and your godmother take a moment to look up at the portrait of the late Jennifer Jareau, both lost in your own respective thoughts.

After a while, you speak first: "Could you… could you tell me about her? I mean, beyond the fact that she was brave, or died a hero. I just want her to be more real to me, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone paints a picture of her that's so awesome—and I'm sure she was—but it sounds almost too good to be true. I want all of her to be remembered, not just the good parts. I want to know all her quirks and idiosyncrasies. Does that make sense?"

Aunt Pen smiles at you, eyes twinkling with amusement. "First of all: idiosyncrasies? You, my brilliant blonde boy, have been spending too much time with Spencer Reid. I know you're bright as they come, but chillax on the genius lingo!" she says with a chuckle. She swings an arm around your shoulders and guides you towards her office (lair). "Second, I'm proud to have such an inquisitive and deep godson. Oh, where to begin?"

And so, you spend the rest of Mother's Day in the company of your eccentric godmother, learning about the quirks of your mother, JJ: how her office was always a mess, her strange addiction to Cheet-o's, and her impeccable shooting accuracy, among other things. You soak it all in, allowing your godmother to tell you about your mother. It's an afternoon loaded with as much laughter as there are tears—bittersweet as they come.

When your dad finally gets off work and is about to swing by to pick you up, you give your godmother a peck on the cheek, and you tell her honestly: "Aunt Pen, I may not have been able to spend mother's day with mom… but spending it with my godmother definitely made up for it."

And with a final wave, you leave the office of a teary-eyed but beaming Penelope Garcia.