Here it is, the beginning of the end. Just one more chapter after this and this saga is complete. I just want to take a moment to thank everyone who came on this ride with me. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I would also like to take this moment to state that I am not a medical professional, nor am I an expert on impact trauma, so I didn't detail specific injuries. Undoubtedly some broken bones, maybe some internal bleeding they had to stitch up, head injury, etc. I also have no idea about recovery/release times. Garcia was shot in the abdomen and they released her the next day, so *shrug*. Please accept any errors as my own, and suspend disbelief for just a few more moments. Thank you.

MORGAN

The first thing he became aware of was the soft sound of voices in the distance. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the heavy haze that had settled over his vision. The world around him came into focus a little at a time, and he finally realized he was lying in a hospital bed. He could hear the steady beeping of the monitors next to him, and as their tempo changed the distant voices stopped.

"Derek?"

He turned his head slightly to look at his mother, and he wondered at the deep worry lines that had been etched into her face. It seemed like he'd left her just hours ago, but she'd aged ten years since the last time he'd seen her. At first he panicked, thoughts of lying in a coma for a decade causing his heart rate to spike. But then another face stepped into his field of vision and he relaxed.

Garcia looked exactly as he remembered, if a little more frazzled. He wondered what had happened to him to cause two of the most important people in his life to look like he'd come back from the dead.

"Derek?" His mother moved closer and settled a cool hand on his forehead. "How are you feeling, baby boy?"

He tried to answer, but his throat caught fire the moment he tried to speak. His face must have betrayed his discomfort because Garcia reached immediately for a cup of water sitting on a table next to his bed.

"Here," she tipped the straw toward him and he took a few sips. "Easy," she warned, pulling the cup from his reach. "Not too much."

Satisfied that his throat would cooperate without protest, he tried again. "What happened?"

"Oh my God," Garcia's hand flew to her mouth, "you don't remember. No, that's probably better. You really don't want to remember." She switched directions so quickly that Morgan knew she was feeling overwhelmed. He managed to slip his hand out from underneath the blankets and she latched onto it like a lifeline.

"I remember calling you right before getting on the plane," he told them, noticing her visible relief at his words. "And talking to the older couple across the aisle. I put my headphones on and sort of dozed in and out." He frowned as his memory refused to supply any explanation for his current condition. "That's it," he said. "That's all."

"It's alright, baby," Fran cooed, running her hand over his head in an affectionate gesture she'd often used when they were younger and sick. "I'm going to call the doctor and let him check you over, then tell your friends you're awake. They're all out in the waiting room." She leaned over and kissed his head, and when she stood up there were tears in her eyes. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"I'm okay, Ma," he reassured her. "Just tired."

"Rest then. I'll be right back." She patted his shoulder once before leaving him alone in the room with Garcia.

"What happened?" He asked her directly, knowing she was less likely to skirt around the truth if he surprised her with the question.

"Derek, I don't think -"

"Baby girl, don't do that," he cut her off. "I need to know." Her eyes filled with tears, and he instantly felt bad for being so short with her. "I'm sorry," he squeezed her hand. "I just hate having this whole gap of time missing. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"It's not that," she shook her head and wiped her eyes with her free hand. "I just...I never thought I'd hear that again. Baby girl, I mean." The pure distress in her voice panicked him a bit and he struggled to sit up. He silenced her protests with a look, and with her help he managed to lift the bed into a sitting position.

When he was finally eye level with her, he tried again. "Please tell me what happened."

She had just opened her mouth to answer when the door opened and a team of two nurses and a doctor walked in. Garcia scooted back and let them do their job, but Morgan could see that she was deep in thought. He answered the doctor's questions as truthfully as he could, and nodded in acceptance when the older man ordered him to take things easy for a few weeks. Morgan caught the words "undernourished" and "dehydrated" and wondered again what had happened to him.

Finally, the doctor dismissed the nurses and slung his stethoscope back around his neck. "When this hits you fully, you might want to find someone to talk to. Survivors tend to feel a sense of guilt that's completely normal, but with proper time and care you will come to accept what has happened." He patted Morgan on the shoulder twice, then grabbed his chart. "I'm going to finish this up. We'll be keeping you here for a while longer to monitor your progress, but I'm confident you're out of the proverbial woods. If everything goes well, you could be going home in a few days."

Morgan waited for the door to close before he turned a pointed stare on his best friend. She looked...well, the only word he could think of was defeated. Her shoulders were slumped and her mouth was curved downward in a frown he never wanted to see on her face again. He didn't ask again; he knew she would tell him now.

"Your plane crashed," she started. "It's a big muddled mess and Hotch can probably fill you in on the whys and hows." He sat there stunned for a moment, and Garcia took the cue to continue. "Three days, Derek. I thought you were dead for three days. And then they found you, only you wouldn't wake up and they almost lost you here. You've been unconscious for almost a week, and the doctor's didn't know how well you would be when you woke up. Or if you'd even be you. Strauss gave everyone time off, and no one's really left the hospital since you came back." Her voice caught near the end of her admission, and a single tear spilled over her cheek. He struggled to sit up just a bit more, reaching for her in invitation. "I don't want to hurt you," she shook her head, but he just wriggled his fingers.

"Baby, get over here," he pressed, sliding a wire out of the way as she stood up and folded herself into his arms. He felt her weight settle on the bed, and he scooted over to give her some space as she cried into his shoulder. He whispered soft reassurances as she sobbed, letting out days of turmoil and grief as he stroked her head in an effort to calm her.

She quieted after a while, pulling back from him in embarrassment. He kept a hold of her hand to let her know she didn't have to hide from him, and he finally got a good look at her face.

"Penelope, when was the last time you slept?"

She shrugged in response, wiping the evidence of her tears from her face with her free hand. "Last night," she answered vaguely.

"How long?" He pushed, knowing how restless she could be when under stress.

"Two hours, maybe?" she glanced down sheepishly.

"And the night before that?" He added a lift of his eyebrows, trying to convey the importance of his question.

"I've been under a lot of stress lately, Derek," she snapped, lifting her head to meet his eyes. "My best friend died suddenly and then I had to call your mother and listen to her sob over the phone which led to a crying fit of my own. And to top it off, I had to go out to the site and investigate the whole thing. Then there was the whole week of not knowing if you'd wake up a zombie or if I'd even get to see your smile again. I've run the whole gamut of emotions from anger to depression to hysteria and back again."

"You need to sleep," he told her. When she started to protest, he lifted his arm and placed a finger over her lips. "Think about it, baby girl. If you didn't sleep, then my mom didn't either. She's probably just as exhausted as you are. The others can stay here and keep me company, but I need you to take her back to a hotel and let her get some rest in a real bed." He released her with a satisfied smirk, accepting the half-hearted slap she gave his shoulder.

"You don't play fair, Derek Morgan."

"Of course not," he gave a cheeky grin. "Now get going. I don't want to see you for twelve hours."

"But -"

"Twelve hours," he repeated. "Go." She stood and shuffled toward the door, hesitating as her hand fell on the handle. He knew what she was thinking before she even turned around. "I'll be here when you come back. I promise."

"Alright," she nodded and left, casting the room into an eerie silence. He laid back on the flat hospital pillows and tried to digest the enormity of what she'd told him. A plane crash? He tried for a few moments, but no matter how hard he thought he couldn't remember anything about it. It must have happened fast - too fast for him to have done anything about it.

His mind wandered to his aisle-mates, the lovely couple who would never get to celebrate their anniversary in D.C. The thought made him sad, and he spent the next few minutes committing their faces and names to memory. He made a mental note to ask Garcia to track down any family they might had when they got back to Quantico.

His eyes began to droop as the combination of exhaustion and medication weighed on him. He lowered his bed back down and let the gentle beeping of his heart monitor lull him to sleep.