Penelope Garcia is no profiler, and by gods, she likes it that way. Her dark lair and the entire Internet spread out in front of her, this is her comfort zone. It is her domain. People? Not really her strong suit. But she's not blind either, and while yes, people are not as reliable and open as the web, she knows her family. She knows when they're in distress.

But this is beyond 'distressed'. She's not sure there's a word other than potentially 'devastated' to describe what they're all going through right now. She's reeling from it, Emily and the undercover work, trying to reconcile the woman she knows with a woman that doesn't seem to fit. The life she had, the life she'd lived, that's not her Emily. That's not the gentle, compassionate heart or the fierce strength. There's a part of Penelope weeping for that part of Emily, knowing that all of those beautiful pure parts of her had been, even for a moment, drowned out by ruthlessness and reckless darkness.

"Hey."

Penelope spins in her chair, heart in her throat. She'd retreated to her lair for a breath and a break, feeling like too bright of a beacon in the crazy darkness of agents and officers. She's not sure if this timid creature standing in her doorway is better or worse.

Emily looks ashen. She looks… broken, in a way that makes Penelope's heart ache. She doesn't like it. This isn't the fierce Mama Bear that stood by her when she'd been shot. This isn't the woman that had stood so stoically beside Hotch, defended him after the Foyet fiasco. This scared, timid, intimidated creature is not her Emily.

"Hi."

God, her voice sounds ridiculous. Wrecked even, choked in grief for a piece of her friend she didn't know and doesn't know how to handle. She feels it all well up in her, the protectiveness, and yes, maybe even the ruthlessness. Penelope can take the Mama Bear reins for now.

Emily's setting down the box she's carrying, stepping back, poised, her smile shaking around its edges. "I need you to- Oh."

Penelope's not even convinced she'd felt herself move, isn't sure she'd been aware of the thought, but the moment she catches Emily up in the hug, she knows she's made the right decision. Emily is only tense for a moment before her arms come up, a little hesitantly, to return the hug.

"I'm okay," she says.

"You're not," Penelope answers. There's no heat in it, just flat statement. There's no way Emily can be okay with what's going on right now, with what's happened, with the people she's lost. She sighs, then pulls back and lands a smack against the other woman's arm.

"Hey!"

"That's for thinking you could do this without us," Penelope says as she takes her seat again, primly spins the chair around.

Emily's mouth opens and Penelope knows what's coming next, has a counter argument prepared, even. She braces for it, but a moment later the fight drains out of Emily.

"That's what I thought." And she is not shifting gleefully in her chair. She is not. Even if she does know that avoiding an argument with her is all but an admission. "What did you bring me?"

"Carelli's work."

Penelope hums as Emily opens the box, pulls out a large plastic bag of passports, driver's licenses. "Not electronic."

"No," comes Emily's murmured agreement. "I need you to pull everything there is on Declan Doyle. And then I need you to see if there's anything in this box related to him."

There's something else here. Penelope's learning quickly that with this case, it's the default setting. She wants to push and knows she should, but she also knows there are big parts of her own past she's not all that forthcoming about. She can respect Emily's need to let the metaphorical sliver work its way out. Or at least, she understands she has to.

For now.

Penelope spins back to her screens. "Anything in particular Secret Agent Prentiss?" She knows it's the smile that she shoots over her shoulder that softens the sting of her words.

Emily taps her fingers on the evidence box. "Just that it's here."

But while the statement is nonchalant, there's something about it, about the whole situation, that's setting Penelope's teeth on edge. Emily only confirms it when she says, "And Garcia? Until we know for sure, that it's all here, this is just between us."

It makes Penelope shiver, the uncomfortable weight of it settling in her chest. "I don't like it."

Any of it, the case, the requests, all of the secrets and hidden lies. Outright lies. This isn't her family.

"I know," Emily promises and Penelope genuinely believes she does understand. "But I've spent a decade protecting him and damn if I'm going to give him up if I don't have to."

It takes Penelope aback in ways she thinks it shouldn't. "Emily," she breathes. "Who is Declan Doyle?"

The brunette stays frozen for a moment, her hands clenching and releasing before she shakes her head. "I can't."

Penelope likes that even less.

Hey 2 weeks in a row! I may be a little proud of myself.

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving to all of my fellow Canadians!