CHAPTER 19: Hope (Season 7, episode 8)

Character(s): Garcia

A/N: Apologies for getting behind in the posting! Thanks to thesoundofasmile for poking at me and getting me in gear again. I promise from here on out I'll see to it it won't take so long.

As always, spoilers regarding the unsub, brief mentions of the case as well. Quoted parts in the first couple of sections are courtesy of the episode's writer, Kimberly Ann Harrison.

"Most of the important things in the world have been accomplished by people who have kept on trying when there seemed to be no hope at all." - Dale Carnegie

I can't do this.

Why did I think I could do this? Why did I insist on going inside the house?

Monica, remember? You're helping her.

But there's other ways to do that. The others have training and experience in hostage negotiation. I don't. Because I'd suck. I'd get nervous and all emotional and start sweating and confuse the hostage or the unsub and start rambling on kind of like I'm doing right now and…

Breathe, Garcia. In. Out. In. Out. The others are in back. JJ's here with you. Think of Monica. Think of Hope.

I'm not sure what scares me more right now. Dealing with Bill, or what I might see once inside. I know Monica's alive, I heard her voice on the phone, but…but…

JJ's radio crackles with an announcement that the others are inside. Okay. Maybe I can do this now.

First surprise upon entering the house? The place is actually really nice. Modest, yet comfortable, homey. And it's clean. It's so well-kept! Practically spotless…and I really hope that doesn't imply what I think it might.

Second surprise? Monica's in one piece. Physically speaking, anyway. Thank God.

"Bill?" Remain cautious, gentle. Don't spook him. "Bill, I don't want to upset you."

Actually, I want to strangle your neck. "Attentive and compassionate" my ass, JJ.

He's calm, though. Her advice seems to be working, and she'd know better than me how to deal with these situations, so I'll go with it.

"I know the pain you feel, I get you."

He buys that line! How? I can't even believe it, and I'm the one who said it!

I can't imagine there's much out there that would be creepier than trying to talk to a kidnapper and rapist about love. About the person they "loved". And yet here I am, talking about such things anyway. Trying to actually sympathize with this guy's warped feelings for a child. "You were trapped inside a cocoon just waiting for somebody to set you free."

Really, Garcia? I know, butterflies and all that, but still, how cheesy can you get?

"I lost my child!" I can't even look at her right now, there's so much anguish in her face, in her voice. Whatever resolve I currently have is quickly slipping away, and I wish to all that is good that I were having this conversation with Bill someplace far away from her.

"You need to let her know why this is all happening." I can feel my stomach churning as I say those words. I know it's not what Monica wants to hear, it's certainly not what I want to talk about. It's a crappy explanation for all this madness. But she needs answers. I'd rather she hear about this from me than in some interview room at a police station with some random officer anyway.

Bill simply gives me an odd look. "…my baby?"

That does it for Monica. She's breaking. She's breaking, and if I weren't so scared to move, if I weren't so busy worrying about what Bill might do next, I'd wrap her in the biggest hug imaginable.

The sudden sound of footsteps answers my questions for me as my friends enter the room, guns drawn. All I'm focusing on are JJ and Reid's voices. They're so calm and controlled, ready to get Monica and me out of the potential line of fire at any time.

Bill knows they mean business, and I feel my knees wobbling as he slowly sets down the gun.

Oh, thank goodness. I distracted him. We talked him down. Nobody got hurt. I don't have to see –

There's sudden movement out of the corner of my eye. Monica, sit still. Sit still. No, don't grab the gun…

"MONICA!"

I immediately shut my eyes. The sound of the gunshot rings in my ears for a long time afterward, though.

"JJ, the things we talk about in that group are beyond personal."

I don't even know if I want to go to my support group tonight. I don't know if I can face them.

There were two things about my job I absolutely hated. The first one was also the most obvious – all the gory images and stories I had to see and hear. I've been doing this job for years, and yet I still don't think I'll ever fully understand how or why people can be so cruel to each other.

The second reason involved snooping around. Not so much because I have a problem with snooping in and of itself. I'm a hacker at heart, after all – I can be very sneaky in my searches. I love hearing all the juicy details about who my friends might have a crush on, might be dating. And lord knows I can gossip with the best of them.

But see, that's the fun kind of snooping. I'm learning good things about people, seeing them happy, talking about lighthearted topics. Even my hacking activities were never used for bad purposes, contrary to what the FBI may have thought way back when.

Unfortunately, I deal with the complete opposite at my job. I've learned dark secrets about close friends. I research innocent victims, only to find out their lives were not always so innocent. I have to keep my suspicions up, have to wonder sometimes what other secrets the good people in my life are hiding from me.

It took some of the people in that support group months, if not years, to fully tell me or the others everything they felt, thought, did, to deal with whatever tragic event they were struggling with. I looked them all in the eyes and swore to them anything they shared would stay in that small meeting room.

On this past case, though, in one fell swoop, I became a liar. I know it was for a bigger cause, I get that. I was willing to do anything to help save Monica – luckily, my information helped. And ultimately, the people in the group will never know I talked about them to JJ or the rest of the team, and I know none of my teammates will ever tell anyone else the information I shared (nobody they know would realize who they'd be talking about anyway).

None of those facts will ever erase my guilt, though.

It seems the group becomes fuller each week. Plus side: Strength in numbers. Downside: Knowing there's that many people out there in pain.

The regulars smile as they come in tonight, their usual greeting. The new ones hang about nervously for a moment or two, before sneaking in. Like they think someone's going to tell them they don't belong there, or they're afraid someone will hear their story and think they're crazy.

One of them was crazy. And I didn't see it at first. How could I be so blind?

No. Stop. Bill was an anomaly. The Bills in this world are outnumbered by all the good people. I have to believe that.

I do trust people. I trust my team. I trust my support group. I wouldn't open up to any of them about my own tragic loss, nor would I allow others to open up about their own personal, painful moments, if I didn't.

I've been down this road before. My support group, my teammates, and I have all literally danced with death, many, many, many times. We've encountered the worst of the worst of humanity along the way. We've felt pain and grief and sorrow.

Somehow, though, we always come out of those moments better and stronger than before. We all seem to come to the same conclusion every single time: Life is too short to live in fear of everybody, to believe it won't ever get better. I think that's going to be the topic of discussion for our group tonight.

It's just about time to begin the meeting. There's only one more person I'm waiting for.

Seven pm. Not here yet.

Seven-ten. Well, maybe she's running late.

Seven-twenty. Oh, god, tell me this isn't happening again. Tell me she's okay.

Seven-thirty, and my hand is on my phone, ready to dial. Then I see her head poke in.

I let out one hell of a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "Monica."

"Sorry I'm late," she says softly as she takes a seat amongst the others. They all throw her reassuring, understanding smiles.

"Good to see you." And I mean that in every way imaginable. "Shall we begin, everyone?"

"Hope is necessary in every condition. The miseries of poverty, sickness, of captivity, would, without this comfort, be insupportable." - Samuel Johnson