Chapter 3
Derek knew that he was dreaming. Knowing it was a dream, however, did not reduce the the horror of it. Nor did it make it possible for him to wake up.
He heard a menacing voice, one that the rational side of his brain knew had to be a figment of his imagination. Because George Foyet had been dead for years.
"Agent Morgan," the menacing voice drew out. "You sure as hell took your time. Your precious Baby Girl and I thought that you had forgotten about her."
Can't be happening, can't be happening, he thought. But he couldn't deny the gut wrenching fear at Foyet's words. "You will not touch her," he growled. He pressed down on the accelerator. He was driving, to wherever the asshole had Penelope. But where?
Foyet laughed. "You can't bully me through the phone, Agent Morgan. Have you forgotten I had your life in my hands, and let you live? I've already beaten you."
Morgan arrived at his destination, and at first he didn't know where he was. Then he realized. This was Hotch's house. This was not his nightmare. This was Hotch's dark reality. The reality in which he arrived too late to save the woman he loved. He slammed the car into park and jumped out, the phone still to his ear.
"Say goodbye to him, Dear Penelope."
"Derek, don't come!" He heard her voice, panicked and desperate.
And then in stereo, both over the phone and from the house before him, he heard a gunshot. He screamed and ran toward the house. And then he was in the door. Foyet stood before him, grinning. On the ground lay his woman, blood and bits of brain matted in her blonde curls. Then suddenly it wasn't Foyet, but Diane there, and Penelope was alive again. But Diane wrapped her arm around her neck, pulling her close. Garcia met his eyes, love shining through the fear. He could do nothing but watch as Diane raised her gun and fired the shot that would kill them both.
Derek jerked awake, closing his arms tightly against the woman curled up against his side. He tried to slow his breathing and wiped some of the sweat from his forehead. Garcia sighed and reached a hand up to caress his face. "Shh, hotstuff," she murmured sleepily. "S'ok . . . it's all ok." Her breathing evened out again, although her hand stayed on his face. He reached up with one hand and placed it over hers. His breathing was almost back to normal now. He breathed in her scent and relished in her nearness.
At some point, he calmed down enough to think about what it all meant. There was a terrible, ugly truth in that dream—something he really hadn't considered before. Being involved with the men of the BAU was hazardous for your health. Hotch's wife had left him, and even that hadn't saved her from Foyet. Maeve was dead, too. Granted, her stalker had nothing to do with the BAU, but still . . . And then there was this unsub that had come to their attention right after he was shot. Someone was out there replicating the cases the team solved. They were all being watched. Becoming involved with someone meant that your enemies would know the very best way to reach you.
Derek took in another deep breath and caressed the hand he held gently. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he knew that he was holding a woman he could easily spend the rest of his life with. He couldn't imagine his life without her. If he made her see that when he said he loved her, he meant it in the most passionate, amazing, life altering way, he knew that they would have something amazing. But what would it mean for her? One day, would he make an enemy like Foyet, who would take her away simply to punish him? He imagined trying to live through what Hotch had been through. What Reid had been through. He couldn't imagine how they could go on. Hotch had finally opened his heart again, after years of healing.
As Morgan lay there, he thought of another long-ago conversation.
"I don't need you to protect me." She had murmured
"Tough, I think I'm going to stay on the job a little bit longer."
"Yeah? How much longer?" She asked
"Every day of my life."
He had meant it—every single word. Even then, when she was still with Lynch, he was already hers. He realized the meaning of his dream. Protecting her meant never allowing her to see how much he loved her. In the past, he had thought he couldn't give her what she would eventually want—children, a stable home, a forever. Now he could see forever all too clearly with her. But it would be hazardous for her health to be with him. He could never let her see how he truly felt. Because he couldn't bear it if someone used her against him.
He felt sad and tired, even more than he had when he had gone to bed. It was a huge weight to carry. He fingered the blonde hair fanned over his chest. He knew she was a sound sleeper, and there was little chance she would hear him if he spoke. So he allowed himself to say the words he could never let her hear. "Do you know, Baby Girl, that I think I've always been in love with you? And that if I could, I would spend the rest of my life loving you? But that happily ever after can't be for us, so I'm just really, really thankful to have you in my life." Even if he couldn't be with her in the way he wanted, he would make sure she knew what she was to him. He would say it out loud as often as he could. Because Reid's loss had reminded him that tomorrow was not a guarantee. He pressed a gentle kiss to her hair and closed his eyes. But when the sun came up, sleep still hadn't come.