GARCIA

Since the team's return from the field, the conference room that had been set up to house them had been filled with activity. Reid had already filled in some of the missing spots in the timeline, though it was still woefully bare. Prentiss and JJ had already contacted Gerald Rinks' parents in Florida and Rossi was looking into SanTech more closely. Hotch was coordinating with the local PD as well as the FAA, TSA, and the NTSB to stay in the loop, leaving Garcia to do her magic.

So far she'd accumulated several notebooks' worth of information on both pilots, but nothing stood out to her. She'd handed the information off to Reid as soon as she got it, and he was currently sifting through the files at lightning speed as she worked to restore Rinks' nearly-destroyed laptop.

Surprisingly the case had remained mostly in tact, earning a note of admiration from the tech. But the impact had shattered some of the internal components, and she was currently attempting to connect the hard drive to her system without damaging it any further. Finding out what Rinks was working on could help the team find whoever had orchestrated the crash, and Garcia's mindset had shifted suddenly from grief to vengeance. Whoever had ordered the plane crash needed to be caught and punished, and Garcia was going to do everything she could to make sure that happened.

Her computer beeped to indicate it was ready, and she plugged in the hard drive while whispering a quiet prayer. The indicator light flashed twice then stopped, but she could hear the device whirring as it turned on. It sputtered a few times but remained working, though for how long Garcia couldn't say. After a few seconds, her monitor showed she had access to the new drive and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Thank God," she breathed, and at her feet Clooney woofed his agreement softly. She reached down and patted his head once before diving into the files with gusto. Everything she opened was copied onto both her hard drive and the FBI internal network; in the very unlikely event that Reid couldn't figure it out, they needed to connect to an expert back at the Bureau.

The world around her faded away as she delved through file after file. She didn't even stop to look at any details or try to decipher the complex formulas she stumbled across. She had to retrieve as much data as possible before the hard drive gave up altogether. A few times the hard drive refused to open a folder, and on more than one occasion she had to unplug it and try again, but finally she managed to pull almost eighty percent of the information from the damaged drive.

Hotch came back just as she finished copying the last folder, and he stopped just beside her. "How's it going?"

"I've got most of the data off of the drive," she told him. "I have to say, sir, it's amazing this thing survived the crash. Someone should really write a testimonial to the manufacturer." She was aware of her rambling, but now that her primary task was completed she couldn't seem to stop the adrenaline coursing through her. They were one step closer to discovering the evil mind behind this entire tragedy. "Sorry," she added as Hotch gave her a steady stare, "I've copied it all to my main drive as well as the Bureau's network. We're not losing it."

"Good work," he praised. "We'll get Reid to look at this and try to figure out what Rinks was working on. Once we know that, we can start compiling a list of people who might want to kill him."

"Sir," she started, but then closed her mouth and shook her head. "Never mind."

"What's on your mind?" She knew he wouldn't leave it alone until she told him, so she just blurted it out.

"What if Rinks wasn't the target? What if it was someone else on the plane? We could be looking in the wrong place and giving whoever it really was more time to get out of the country or -"

"Garcia," he placed a hand on her shoulder in a rare show of affection. "I'm coordinating with another team at the BAU, and Kevin is going through the other passengers to see if they have anything in their backgrounds that might warrant such drastic measures. Don't worry, we're doing everything we can to find the person responsible."

"Okay," she looked down at her hands as she absently twirled a ring on her finger. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"Actually, yes there is," Hotch dug into his coat pocket and pulled out the keys to the Bureau issued SUV. "I'm not sure any of us plans on resting very much until this case is solved," he told her pointedly.

Garcia plucked the keys from his fingers and offered him a smile. "I'll find us provisions, sir." She grabbed her coat and fled the room, Clooney hot on her heels, grateful for something useful she could do for the team. Taking care of others made her feel better, and all it would take was a quick internet search to find the nearest coffee house.

She added a stop at the grocery store for snacks, and half an hour later she returned bearing bags of food and enough coffee to fuel the entire station. The deputies smiled thankfully as she deposited cups on each desk before zipping back out to the SUV for the rest of the drinks. She'd long ago memorized her team's coffee order, and she was smiling when she entered the conference room. Reid had switched from the pilots' information to the work she'd pulled from Rinks' laptop, and as she set his cup near him he grunted his thanks without looking up from the screen.

JJ and Rossi both patted her arm in thanks as they accepted their drinks before returning to their respective tasks, and Hotch even gave her a half-smile as she passed his cup across the table. Prentiss pulled hers from the carrier as she passed, and Garcia held the last one out with a flourish.

Activity stopped for a moment, as though time had frozen, and a cold realization washed over her. She set the extra cup on the table with a shaky hand, and her breathing became short and shallow as her heart began to pound. No one spoke for a moment, and Garcia felt all of their eyes on her as she stared at the unclaimed cup.

"I'm sorry," she muttered before racing out the door, her hurried footsteps echoing off of the linoleum floor. She found the women's restroom after only a quick glance, and she managed to stifle her sob until the door was closed behind her.

Her hands clutched the cold porcelain of the sink as she hunched under the force of her emotion. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she cursed herself for letting herself lose her composure in front of the team. They needed her to be focused, and she had completely lost it because of a stupid coffee cup.

"Stupid," she swiped angrily at the tears on her face, turning on the cold water to wash the rest of them away.

"No it wasn't," JJ's voice surprised her. She must have been right behind her, waiting in silence as the tech broke down.

"I'm fine," Garcia insisted, hooking her glasses into the front of her blouse as she leaned down to splash her face. Her hands groped blindly for a paper towel, but JJ was faster. She snagged two from the dispenser and handed them to her friend.

"You're not," JJ said matter-of-factly. "None of us are. We're just doing the best we can."

"Yeah, well, everyone else's best is better than mine, obviously." Garcia dried her face and checked the mirror. Her cheeks were red, but she'd managed to stave off most of the unpleasant effects of sobbing uncontrollably. Her eyes weren't puffy or red-rimmed, and her nose wasn't dripping.

"Penelope," JJ rubbed her back comfortingly, "no one is upset with you. You've already helped us more than you know. Reid's making headway with the data, and we've already started researching possible suspects."

"Really?" She dabbed her eyes with the coarse towel.

"Really," JJ squeezed her shoulder once before turning toward the door. "Whenever you're ready."

Garcia waved after her, erasing the last drops of evidence of her tears from her face. After a few more steadying breaths, she tossed the paper towel in the trash and returned to her team.

Someone had discreetly removed the cup from the table, though almost everyone was still where they'd been when she'd bolted from the room. Hotch had stepped out of the room to take a call, and by the time Garcia made it to her chair he burst back through the conference room door.

"A hospital in the next county over called the FAA. They've got a survivor."