CHAPTER 27: Lucky (Season 3, episode 8)

Character(s): Morgan, Garcia

A/N: Notable spoilers for the end of the episode, both in regards to the (horrifically disgusting) unsub and what happened to one of his victims, as well as what happens to Garcia. Brief reference to a scene from the episode "Penelope". Quoted lines are courtesy of the episode writer, Andrew Wilder.

"A belief which leaves no place for doubt is not a belief; it is a superstition." – Jose Bergamin

"You are not alone, my son. God is in all of us," Father Marks said in a reassuring tone. Whether he was talking solely to Floyd Ferell, or to Derek Morgan as well, Morgan wasn't quite sure.

Then again, that question wouldn't matter to Morgan in a moment.

That chillingly creepy smirk kept flashing through Morgan's mind, haunting his dreams for a long time. He would always remember the way the smile spread torturously slowly across Floyd's face, as he dropped the metaphorical bomb on Father Marks, on Morgan, on the rest of his team.

Floyd turned to face Marks. "So is Tracey Lambert."

Morgan felt himself practically retching once again at the memory of that conversation. He remembered looking at his teammates as they left the station that night. They kept going back and forth between looking sickly pale and turning various shades of green. Nobody had eaten a single thing the entire way back to Virginia.

There were many things about this case Morgan would never forget. Floyd's demented laughter. The chewed and chopped up body parts strewn across the swampy fields of the Florida landscape. The cookbook – the actual cookbook – that Floyd had made! Pictures of the victims scattered throughout the book. Recipes typed up (he took the time to do this! Morgan thought in amazement), complete with measurements for the ingredients…as well as other notes.

"Some have a smiley face by them. Others have a frowny face," Floyd had explained flatly, sounding downright eerie in his childlike explanations.

"Sure do. Why?" How he'd managed to remain composed enough for this discussion, Morgan would never know.

"They didn't turn out so good."

Morgan had absolutely no desire to delve any deeper into THAT explanation.

And then there was that music. An old song by Louis Armstrong. The crackly-sounding record, with that low, scratchy voice, echoing throughout Floyd's lair as it played on a loop. The jubilant-sounding trumpet making the hairs on Morgan's neck stand on end.

His dad had been a fan of Louis' music. It was a love that had been passed down from Morgan's grandfather. He remembered sitting on his father's knee as a little boy, listening to his dad hum along to the songs, telling him the stories behind the lyrics. Now Floyd had forever ruined any of those positive memories.

My dad. Just another in Morgan's ever-expanding list of reasons to explain his complete disdain for religion, for God, for his supposed "good" works, as he'd professed to the others throughout the case. Why would a "loving, caring" God think it's a good idea to leave a ten year old boy without a father? Why would a "loving, caring" God think it's a good idea to let that ten year old boy actually witness his father dying in such a violent manner?

And why, why, would that same "loving, caring" God allow someone like Floyd to do what he did? To have the kind of sheer luck he'd had up to now, allowing him to get away with all the things he had? Why did God let innocent volunteers become unwitting participants in Floyd's sick acts?

Perhaps the biggest question: why would God allow someone like Floyd to even exist at all? Morgan couldn't even begin to make sense of this last case, couldn't see the "justice" in the situation at all.

Floyd had to have been born messed up. That was the only plausible explanation. His records had stated that he was already exhibiting excessively violent tendencies at the tender age of seven. Seven! He bit his baby sister!

No way somebody who acted like that as a child just "woke up" one day deciding to do such a thing. No. Something had to be defective in his creation altogether. And if that was the case, if one wanted to believe God was "in all of us", and created everyone in his image? Well, then they had some serious explaining to do right now.

"The job is to find evil, to stop it. Not to know where it came from." Rossi had reminded Morgan of this fact on the plane ride home. Morgan wasn't sure if he agreed with that statement. After all, if they had to delve into the motives behind why people did what they did, wasn't that their own way of trying to figure out where the evil in people came from? Did Rossi have a case or two, or a traumatic personal event in his life, that weighed on his mind, made him question humanity and God? Morgan knew the rest of the team definitely had their own lists of that sort.

And so it was that Morgan now found himself heading straight to church once he'd returned home. He'd been sitting in the pew for at least the past hour or so, trying to sort through all his questions, and figure out some explanation or answer about God's "mysterious ways" that made any sort of sense to him.

He was still waiting.

Penelope Garcia bustled about her room, which now looked as though a tornado had breezed through it. Clothes were strewn everywhere, and her dresser was nearly overflowing with possible makeup options for her evening out.

Her evening out. Garcia felt a nervous flutter in her stomach as the realization hit her. She had spoken the truth when she'd told Morgan the other day that she usually did fine on the dating front.

Speaking recently, though? Garcia had to confess that it had been a while. Not long enough that she completely forgot what to do on a date, mind, but still…

Garcia frowned as her thoughts turned to Morgan. Things had been rather…tense…between them lately, and she wasn't really sure why. He was her best friend. She always trusted him to be open and honest with her about anything, hence why she'd felt comfortable talking to him about Colby after he asked her out.

But if he was always honest with her, then he had to mean what he'd said about "something being wrong" with Colby. Right? He had to believe that Colby wasn't the right kind of guy for her.

He couldn't mean it like that, though. Could he?

Garcia stared at herself in the mirror. Clad only in her underwear at the moment, she took a good appraisal of herself. She didn't have JJ's perfectly thin figure, or Emily's statuesque build. But she'd always generally been fine with how she looked. A bit of leftover "baby fat" still showed in various spots, and her arms and legs were a little more on the "thick" side…but she had curves, and she loved her curves. And awesome hair. And a killer smile. And rather nice legs, if she did say so herself.

Some men liked that, too, didn't they? She'd heard guys talk about how they didn't go for the "stick-figure" girls, preferring women "with a little meat on their bones", and stuff like that. Maybe Colby was one of those types. Sure, he looked like the kind of guy who stepped off the set of some action film, looking every inch the heroic, handsome male lead. But a guy like him and a girl like her could work. Couldn't they?

Yes. Of course they could. Garcia had no problem believing that.

So why did Morgan's words keep echoing in her head anyway? Why was she feeling so deeply nervous about tonight?

Morgan saw a woman walk down the aisle past him, taking a seat in one of the pews up front.

He found himself back in that church in Florida. Coming across that woman. Touching her…only to see her slump over. He touched a dead body.

And all because he'd actually come to apologize to Father Marks! Things had become rather heated between him and Marks during the case, as they'd butted heads over their religious beliefs, or lack thereof. Morgan may not have stated in explicit detail what all happened to him as a teenager, but Father Marks was a smart man. Surely he would've gotten the hint when Morgan told him "something bad" had happened to him as a kid.

And yet he'd still came back with the, "He never gives us more than we can handle" response. Really? Morgan was supposed to just learn how to handle that?

He'd heard that phrase so many times he could scream, and Morgan always wished that everyone who said such a thing had to stand before a family whose loved one had been murdered, or a woman who had been violently abused, or a child who'd lost their parents. He would dare them to try and say that very thing to any of those people, always curious to see what would happen.

"Your God expects way too much of thirteen year old boys," Morgan had shot back, and at that moment, he would've been happy to never interact with Marks, or any religious figures, ever again.

But that couldn't happen here. Like it or not, they had to work together. And, luckily, Morgan had managed to patch things up with Marks at least a little bit. When he'd taken a moment to calm down, Morgan understood that Marks was simply trying to send comfort the best way he knew how. While Morgan didn't agree with the method or sentiment, there was good intent behind it.

Then the interrogation happened. For once, Morgan had been the one restraining somebody, as he'd tried to keep Marks from flying across the table and killing Floyd with his bare hands.

Afterward, he passed Father Marks, who now sat in one of the office chairs. His eyes were haunted, his whole body was shaking. He wore the look of a man who just realized that everything he'd believed up to that point was now a lie, or at the very least, had to be deeply reexamined.

Morgan knew that look all too well. He had that very realization when he returned home after the…events…at Carl Buford's place. He found himself staring into his mirror, his eyes wide with horror, his face full of embarrassment, shame. Blinding anger coursed through him.

That didn't happen. I'm having a nightmare. That has to be it.

Unfortunately, future events would prove otherwise. And it would be a good, long while before the horrible events of his youth would stop. The nightmares that played in his head, however, those still had yet to go away.

Then again, Marks was a pretty devout man. He might be horribly shaken now, but Morgan could imagine him later arguing that someone like Buford, or Floyd, was possessed by the devil. That it was him who'd come to visit, not God. After all, as Reid and Rossi had both pointed out on the plane, "If you believe in one, you have to believe in the other."

Funny, Morgan thought, that Reid would comment on this topic. Who was in control when he was held captive and tortured? Morgan remembered God and the devil playing a big role in that case, too. Or at least, Hankel's warped idea of both characters.

Then again, maybe Hankel's views of God and the devil were closer to the truth than anyone realized or wanted to admit.

Wasn't God supposed to be more powerful than the devil? Wasn't God supposed to be all-knowing, all seeing? Morgan still remembered that teaching from his days of going to church, and he wasn't even religious! Didn't the people who actually were religious, or claimed to be, remember that teaching?

God could've – should've - stopped all of this insanity, couldn't he? If the devil allowed these tragedies to occur, then in some way, did that mean he'd won?

No. The only thing Morgan could seem to put any faith in at all was other people, and even then that faith was shaky at best.

Maybe that's why he became a profiler. He could size people up, and if his profile told him they were going to hurt him or anyone he cared about, he could try and get himself and his loved ones out of the way.

His thoughts turned to Garcia then. He really hadn't meant his comments to her to come off wrong. He knew full well she could get any man she wanted, knew that any guy would find himself incredibly lucky to be with someone as sweet, beautiful, fun, and smart as her.

Morgan just liked looking out for her, was all. Her behavior of late had worried him a little. She'd sounded so unlike her normally confident self when she was talking about this guy she'd met, and he'd figured that if she was unsure, there had to be a good reason as to why.

Not that his thoughts wound up being worth anything, though. It sounded as though she'd made up her mind about this guy. Morgan just had to trust Garcia on this one, and hoped that her date was going well. He knew he would be doing some serious apologizing tomorrow.

The dinner was going so swimmingly. Colby seemed like a smart guy – went to some good schools, moved up nicely within the ranks in his jobs. Sounded like he'd run into a bit of office politics as well. Garcia could sympathize – she'd seen similar things at her job, too. So refreshing, she thought, to be able to talk to someone who had some idea of what she dealt with day in and day out.

She'd frowned as Colby tried to make himself more comfortable in his seat. Garcia had found it a bit odd they were sitting at a table in a corner of the restaurant, instead of in a much fancier, more romantic spot, like, say, near one of the place's big bay windows. But then again, the restaurant did seem rather packed this evening. This was probably one of the few free tables left, and a date was about so much more than where you sat at a restaurant anyway.

Honestly, Garcia felt positively silly for waffling as she had about going out with this guy. He was charming, polite, gentlemanly. She may not be a profiler, but she'd observed her friends long enough to know what to look for, not to mention, she'd dated a few jerks in the past, and this guy seemed all right. They laughed a bit over their unusual meeting, the way she'd helped him with his computer, and she enjoyed being able to teach him a thing or two about the tech world.

"Wow, you know all the right ways to sneak around online. You're kinda naughty…" he'd teased, smirking.

Garcia giggled and blushed. Ooh. A bit feisty, this one. She liked them feisty.

She'd really liked it when Colby basically made her out to be some sort of hero, or made her job sound glamorous. Not so much because of the ego boost (though that didn't hurt). No, she loved knowing people found the idea of helping those in need just as wonderful as she did. Colby worked in law, and had also worked as a police officer. He'd shared a story or two about a couple people he'd saved on some cases, went on and on about how good it felt to rescue somebody. What a great thing to have in common with a person!

Garcia wasn't in the mood to delve too deeply into her job with Colby, though. Especially not in regards to the recent case – but that was mostly because it would not make for good dinner conversation. She'd never been more thankful to be stuck back home in Virginia. Just hearing about what the rest of her friends were dealing with in Florida had been enough to send chills through her.

It also made her feel even guiltier about yelling at Morgan. Anyone's mood would be a bit "off" when dealing with a situation like that, after all. She was nervous about the date, and Morgan was upset about the case – no wonder they'd wound up miscommunicating so badly.

She made a mental note to talk to Morgan tomorrow and apologize.

"I guess it's lucky my laptop froze up on me when it did," Colby commented as he and Garcia made their way to her sidewalk later that night.

"Ah, I don't know about luck, but it was awfully good that I was there to fix it," Garcia had replied as she threw him a smile.

Colby stopped, concentrating intensely on her. "You don't believe in luck?"

"Not really, no." Garcia shook her head firmly.

"Huh." Interesting. "Do you believe in coincidences?" He smiled, but his smile held traces of an inevitable smirk.

"I believe that everything happens for a really good reason," Garcia explained. That was a belief she'd found had held true throughout her entire life. Even when she'd gone through her biggest tragedy, the loss of her parents, Garcia had still managed to find some good in the situation. She'd been motivated to turn away from the sketchy path she'd been starting down before the accident. Thrown herself into her schoolwork, pushing herself to do better, eventually finding her way into her dream job, meeting her wonderful group of friends.

She worked with families who'd lost loved ones themselves, trying to help them through their grief and bring some sense of closure to their pain. They knew she understood exactly what they were going through, and were much more receptive as a result. Their own lives steadily improved as a result. Garcia knew her parents would be proud to see their teachings being passed on to their daughter.

The loss had also been a jolting reminder to Garcia that life was short. Her job only reinforced that fact. So why not grab life by the horns, take chances? Like she'd done tonight.

Colby's smirk had grown even wider at her answer. He seemed slightly skeptical of her stated philosophy, but Garcia could deal with that. It'd be a hard belief to explain to, say, someone who'd just seen a loved one violently hurt or killed, after all. And she did also believe that everyone was entitled to their own views on the concept of fate.

All her meandering thoughts were soon halted as she gazed at Colby again. They'd said "good night"…and then he started to lean in towards her.

This was it. Garcia felt the nerves in her stomach again, and wanted to slap herself across the face. Stop it, Pen. For God's sake, you're not a teenager!

But…but…look at him! He's gotta be a good kisser! A really good kisser!

…or he'd just be a really good hugger. Hm. Okay.

Colby pulled away from the brief embrace, and Garcia studied him for a moment. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something seemed…off. This shouldn't be such an awkward moment, should it?

Maybe he's just shy. Or nervous. Maybe he's one of those super-virgin, "no kissing until marriage" types. Still, Garcia nonetheless felt the slight sting of tears as she started up the steps to her place after they parted.

Guess Morgan was right. Definitely going to need to apologize to him tomorrow. He'll understand…I hope.

"Hey, Garcia?"

She tried not to look desperately eager as she turned back. "Yeah?"

"I've been thinking about doing this all night."

Garcia's eyes lit up. Maybe Morgan was wrong after all!

She saw Colby rummage about his body a bit. Saw the black object pulled out, its barrel suddenly pointing directly at her. Heard the shot echo throughout the neighborhood.

That was the last thing Penelope Garcia remembered.

Back at the church, Morgan's phone soon became flooded with frantic calls and texts.

"The only sure thing about luck is that it will change." - Wilson Mizner

As always, I welcome reviews/critiques/etc.!