( Hey everyone! I'm so very very sorry for the delay on this chapter. I honestly thought I'd get it up in only a couple days' time from the last one, but as usual, real life seems to love interfering with my best-laid plans. Hopefully though this will be worth the wait, as things are about to go back on an upward swing in this one.)

Come Back To Me

Chapter Seven

Derek Morgan felt strangely as if he were floating; in the dark, without knowing where he was, or being able to feel or see anything to help him figure it out. He wanted to open his eyes – tried to as hard as he could – but found he simply couldn't seem to make his body obey. It was like a blindfold that he could remove; being caught in darkness this way. And that small part of him that still always felt like a powerless teenager panicked for just a moment. Why wasn't he able to control his own body? Where was he? Why couldn't he see anything? What had happened?

And then, terrifyingly, one single clear thought burst through, Where was Penelope? And with that the rest of what he knew had happened seemed to return. Had those thugs hurt her too? If they had so much as touched even one beautiful blonde curl on her head, he'd beat them to a pulp. Or he would once he figured out where he was and how to make himself move again.

It was maddening – the sense that his mind wasn't at all attached to his limbs; that he couldn't connect his mind's commands to the rest of him to carry them out. Were they still in the little 7-11? Had the others gotten his 911 call? Were the police there yet?

None of his questions were getting any answers, and he couldn't make his voice work to ask anyone, even if he didn't feel like he was completely and utterly alone. "I'm sorry, Pen, I tried," he found himself trying to tell her, even if the words were only audible in his own mind. "Please, Baby Girl, you have to be alright."

The monitors attached to his frighteningly still body showed a brief agitation – a speeding up of his heartrate – but nothing else let on what was troubling him even in unconsciousness, or showed that anything was wrong. And Morgan himself was dropping back off into the blank darkness of comatose sleep before he could try any harder to break through.

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Everyone had quietly gone in to see with their own eyes that Morgan was indeed alive and breathing on his own. IT seemed they all wanted to touch his arm or shoulder or say a couple of words to him; let him know that they were there. But then, just as quickly, Hotch was attempting to usher his team back out, reminding them that they needed to let his family have some time with him and that there were too many people crowded in the room.

Garcia, however, wasn't budging, and Fran Morgan made the decision for her when she reached out and grasped her hand firmly, "You're welcome to stay with us, Penelope," she assured her, indicating the seat next to her, as Desiree and Sarah had taken up posts on the other side of their brother. Hotch and the rest of them goodbye, making sure to give Reid and JJ a grateful, if teary, hug and thanks for staying with her earlier and keeping her together.

She took up the chair next to Morgan's mom and watched as the older woman leaned over to kiss her grown son's forehead and brush a loving hand over his shaved hair, whispering motherly words of love to her baby. Blinking back tears, Garcia couldn't help thinking again that her own thoughtless reaction had possibly taken him from all the rest of them. He would never have rushed that guy like that if he hadn't thought that she was in danger. He wouldn't have gotten himself shot if not for trying to keep her safe.

Though she knew she was welcome, she felt like an intruder, a bad omen, more trouble than she was worth. In fact, she was just about to excuse herself and leave the family alone for a bit, when Fran stood, her daughters following suit, as if reacting to some silent signal.

"We're going to find something to eat, some coffee, and freshen up a little," Morgan's mom explained. "We haven't taken time to do anything since we got the phone call and flew out of Chicago." They started to file out, but Fran stopped again for a second, bending over to gently squeeze Garcia's shoulder and whisper in her ear, "Talk to him, Sweetie. Let him know you're here. I'll wager he wants to hear your voice most of all. Call him back for us."

A single tear spilled over Garcia's cheek at that, but she nodded quickly and forced a little smile in return to Fran's kind one. And then, she found she was once again alone with Morgan, as she hadn't been since this all happened. Her Morgan. It was hard to believe that just a few short hours ago, they had been headed home to let off some steam, and enjoy a rare night alone together with nothing but the wonderful distractions her own chocolate sculpture of a man could provide to occupy them. They'd been so lighthearted, or she had been. She remembered now that something had been troubling Derek, though he'd assured her it was nothing. But she had been happy; basking still in the glow of knowing that he loved her; that he needed her and trusted her as he did very few others. And now this. Instead of spending the evening showing him just how glad she was to be with him, she'd somehow managed to get him shot. How horribly the course of the night had careened off track.

With a quiet, wistful sigh, she moved her chair as close to him as she could possibly get and reached out to touch him. To trace her fingers down his beautiful dark muscled arm and take his hand. Bowing her head, she rested it on the bed's cool, metal railing for a second, trying to collect herself to focus. "Lord, please, help me be strong for him. And please help him. Let him come back to me."

She didn't know what else to say, and after another minute's silence, finally just whispered an 'amen,' and looked up to study his motionless features. He was as handsome and flawless to look at as ever, but seeing him so still made him seem cut from stone like a statue instead of a living, breathing man, which was disconcerting to say the least. It made her not want to stare at any of those attributes that usually took her breath away and seemed impossible to stop staring at. Even when she'd spent many of her wee morning hours curled up in bed, her head resting on the pillow next to his, watching him sleep, there had been something different about his features at rest. Something just still alive and letting her know that any minute his eyes could pop open, bearing that devilish twinkle they sometimes had in them, and he'd be awake, grinning, to start kissing her 'good morning' before she could even react. At least in sleep he looked like he was finally at peace. He still looked pained now, as if he was troubled even now while barely looking alive.

Sitting forward, she ran and feather-light hand along his cheek, cupping the side of his face as she kissed his lips, wanting to start sobbing again when there was no response; no answering challenge from his mouth to her kiss. Sighing, she touched her forehead to his, wishing she knew what was happening in his mind, if he was able to think anything right now. Then she resigned herself to sit back in the chair, just holding his hand, and began to speak.

"Hey cowboy, did ya miss me?" she whispered, forcing the playful words out past a huge and unyielding lump in her throat. If only he could answer her, then everything would be okay. She could pretend things were like they always were, after all, if he could hear her words, she wanted to make sure he'd know who it was that was talking. "The nurses said you were fretting about me, even with two bullets in you, and I can't have that, now can I, Handsome?" I'm here, and I'm fine, thanks…thanks to you," she said after a pause and swallowing hard to choke back a sob. "But I wish you wouldn't have taken the risk. Do you think I'd really be okay if…if you aren't? Anyway…" she blinked back tears furiously, "quit worrying. Your goddess is right here waiting for her hero to wake up. So open those sexy chocolate eyes and come back to me already." She gave him a wavery smile, trying to be brave and hoping he could feel it, even if he didn't see.

Penelope sat there for so long she lost track of time, studying him closely, hoping against hope for even the smallest, subtlest movement or sign. She'd take anything, any tiny hint that he'd heard her in there somewhere. There was almost on chance, and yet she couldn't seem to help it.

Just when she was giving up, and about to sit back and try fruitlessly to get a little sleep – she felt it. The weakest, faintest pressure of his fingers squeezing her hand as it held his. It was so quick, so light, the she thought she'd probably imagined it, logically at least. But it didn't even matter, grinning she realized it made all the difference in the world to her. Leaning forward, she gently stroked his arm again, speaking quietly once more. "Derek, can you hear me? I'm here, and you know it, don't you?"

She didn't get another sign, but he one she had been given seemed more than enough. Clutching his hand in hers to her chest, she kissed his knuckles and leaned back in her seat, still holding his hand. He was going to be okay; she finally felt able to believe that now. And when his mom and Sarah and Desiree returned a few minutes later, they found her finally asleep by his side, with relief showing on her face.