CHAPTER 38: Penelope (Season 3, episode 9)

Character(s): Garcia, Morgan

A/N: Some spoilers for this episode, as well as reference to and spoilers for events from "Lucky", "Tabula Rasa", and "The Black Queen".

"Are you upset, little friend? Have you been lying awake worrying? Well, don't worry...I'm here. The flood waters will recede, the famine will end, the sun will shine tomorrow, and I will always be here to take care of you." ― Charles M. Schulz

He'd actually gone to bed at a reasonable hour for a change. The events of the last few days – the ordeal with the case in Florida, Garcia being shot, the race to find the sick sonofabitch who shot her – had finally caught up to Morgan. He'd returned home in a state of sheer exhaustion, managing to stay awake just long enough to scarf down a quick microwaved meal before deciding his comfortable couch would do as a makeshift bed for the night. Surely he'd be out like a light in no time.

What was that old saying about the best laid plans…?

Two hours later, and Morgan had lost count of how many times he'd wound up tossing and turning. Even his usual sleeping positions weren't working. Apparently his brain hadn't caught up with how the rest of his body felt. There was too much running through his mind.

Floyd Ferell's demented laugh. Tracy Lambert. Father Marks.

Colby.

Garcia.

What was she doing right now? Sleeping peacefully, he hoped. If he knew her as well as he felt he did, though, he doubted that was the case. How could anyone manage to sleep well, after…?

Morgan took a deep breath. Steady. Calm. Don't think about that. Colby's dead, remember? Garcia's at her apartment, safe and sound. He'd just been over there a few hours ago to check on her, after all.

None of his reassurances worked, though, and the adrenaline began pumping through him again. Morgan jumped up from the couch, pacing back and forth, running his hand over the top of his head, down his face, along the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of his phone resting on the table, and picked it up, scrolling through the messages.

He still had the frantic texts and voicemails from that night on his phone. "Get 2 hospital. NOW." "Morgan, if you get this, you need to get over here fast. It's Garcia." "CALL US. EMERGENCY. GARCIA." He could still recall his stomach dropping once he'd finally checked his phone that night, could still remember how his breathing sped up, his hands becoming slick with the coldest sweat.

He should delete those messages. He certainly wanted to delete those messages. But his guilt wouldn't allow him to do that. Not just yet.

How could I have been so stupid?

She shouldn't have even been on her front stoop that night, especially not with Colby. The evening should've played out entirely differently. It was supposed to be her and Morgan, having a night on the town. He would've taken her out for a nice dinner. They would've gone out dancing together. Maybe even seen a late movie. Something, anything light, upbeat, just so he could hear her laugh, see her smile, and know all was well with the two of them. They would've been able to banter and flirt back and forth without having to worry about the amused looks or rolled eyes from their teammates, or the stern glares from Hotch.

And then he'd have been the one to drop her off at her door, seeing to it she was safe and sound inside her home, instead of laying sprawled out on a stoop, bleeding.

Of course, he'd have profusely apologized to her before any of that happened. Morgan may not have meant any of his advice to her regarding Colby to come off wrong, but he'd spent more than enough time around his mom and sisters to know that if a woman was mad, it didn't matter if a man felt he was in the right. Instead, it was always best to simply apologize and move on.

And I'd very nearly lost that chance. To think that he'd come so close to having his last ever interaction with Garcia be a fight shook Morgan. Hard. He should've been all too aware of how important it was to part with a loved one on positive terms, after all.

Morgan was old enough to understand the concept of death when he'd lost his dad. And yet, that still didn't make the loss any easier for him to wrap his brain around. All he knew for sure was that one day, his dad had been helping him with his schoolwork before dinner, telling him and his mom a joke to make them laugh, and listening to his sisters babbling on about school or boys or some silly girly thing.

The next day, he was out with his dad, there was an…incident…and his dad never returned home with him. His father's last words to him had been a warning to stay safe, stay back. His last words to Morgan's mom and sisters were, "I love you."

Why didn't I say any of that to Garcia?

Morgan could still remember, the night his father died, looking at a photo of him, and instantly bursting into tears. He could still remember waking up in the middle of the night upon hearing noises outside, startled and scared, the following nights, when he heard footsteps in the house (or thought he did), thinking his dad was up and about. And he'd have a fleeting moment of reassurance and hope. It was a dream. He's okay.

Obviously, that hadn't been the case. And now those memories were all that ran through his mind when he barreled down the road towards the hospital upon getting the news that Garcia had been shot.

What if he never got to wonder what crazy outfit she'd come to work in again? Or go to call her for information, only to realize she wouldn't be there to answer the phone? And when the cases got particularly dark, who would he turn to to lighten the mood with some silly flirtatious remark? Hell, just the thought of never hearing the phrase "chocolate God of thunder" again was enough to chill him to the bone.

To say nothing of the fact that her last words to him before that night had been full of anger and hurt, assuming he was implying she wasn't worthy of a man's love.

"I'm not the kind of girl men see across a smoky bar and write songs about."

She'd already shown her insecurities as it was when first talking about her date, and he just had to put his foot in his mouth and make it worse. If she'd died thinking that was what he truly thought of her…

Morgan tossed his phone back on the table then, before settling himself on his couch. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands were clasped together, pressed to his mouth. His eyes scanned the room, landing on a photo of himself and Garcia, taken during an evening out with the team a few months back. They were both pulling silly faces, giving each other bunny ears, and had very…"spirited"…expressions on their faces.

He shook his head, a twitch of a smile fighting to appear. If ever the phrase, "life of the party" perfectly described someone, no doubt it would've been a fit for Garcia. Even during her "lost period", as she alluded to the time after her parents' death, Morgan refused to believe she was incapable of being anything less than entertaining.

He smiled fully now at the memory of their very first encounter. It'd only been three years or so ago, but it almost seemed like a lifetime in distance, due in no small part to the noticeable difference in Garcia's look and overall attitude between then and now. Back then, she'd been dressed entirely in black, the embodiment of the stereotypical goth look. Her personality was deeply sarcastic and snarky, due in no small part to her pissed off reaction to having been caught by the FBI thanks to her hacking skills.

Even then, though, as Morgan had assumed, she was still quick-witted and intriguing, certainly hard to forget. His brief interaction with her could've been described as cool at best, yet there was still a hint of a rapport between them. She'd made a remark about him being part of an FBI calendar, and sure, her comment had a nasty bite to it, but he simply rolled with it and remained cordial to her.

Never would he have imagined that he'd run into that same woman again down the line. When he'd first heard they were getting a new tech girl, he didn't give it much thought. When he first saw her in person, however, he'd sensed she looked familiar. But still, he shrugged it off…until a simple mix up in attempting to pronounce her last name changed everything.

Who could've blamed him for being fooled, though, really? The woman that stood before him the day he made that gaffe with her name was a stark contrast to the goth hacker he'd first come to know, after all. And thank goodness for that, too. Morgan shuddered to think of what would've happened if he'd called the hacker version of Garcia "Baby girl".

But get to know her, he did, and Morgan could safely say his life had never been the same since then. As cheesy as it might've sounded, the truth was that the world literally felt and looked brighter with her around. Her smile was infectious, her enthusiasm even more so. Just talking to her on a particularly bad day was enough to reassure him that everything was going to be all right. When she'd awoke in the hospital, her voice was croaky and tired, but at that moment, it was the most beautiful sound Morgan had ever heard.

"I'm afraid if I start crying I'll come unstapled." Even after recovering from surgery, she still managed to find the humor in her situation. Her endless wit and whip-smart abilities never failed to amaze him.

Of all her traits, though, Garcia's endless compassion was the quality Morgan admired and loved most in her. Not many people would take time out of their already busy workload to help victims' families through their grief, and actually give them believable hope that things would get better. Even fewer would actually break protocol to see to it they got the justice and closure they longed for. He'd seen more than his fair share of fellow cops get burned out and lose their ability to care back in the day, and he saw similar reactions from some people in the FBI over the years.

But that wasn't the case with his teammates, and it especially wasn't the case with Garcia. Her determination was beyond compare – if she wanted something, she got it or fought for it, no questions asked. And her demands were never to benefit herself; rather, they were always used to help someone else.

Hell, the expression on Garcia's face after JJ shot Colby was proof of the kind of person she was. She didn't look relieved. She didn't look smug, nor did she cheer, or throw a bitter closing remark Colby's way. Quite the contrary – she looked horrified. Sure, her reaction was mostly the result of hating to see JJ put herself in such a dangerous position, but Morgan also sensed it was because she didn't want Colby to die. Be punished, yes. But not die.

And that compassion, quite frankly, was one of the biggest reasons Morgan needed someone like her in his life. Because he did wish death upon Colby. Several times. He'd even had a few fantasies of taking the creep out himself, hostage or no hostage in sight. Ever since his father died, and after the trauma Buford had inflicted on him, Morgan had carried around this nasty, bottled up anger for so long. His time spent with the rougher kids as a teenager was his way of dealing with the pain and frustration. He'd seen some of the dark places his mind could go after the painful events of his youth, and the thought of giving in completely to that line of thinking scared the crap out of him.

Garcia always kept him from falling completely into that dark mindset, though, whether she knew it or not. Always. She knew just how to ease his temper, make him focus and see things much more clearly. He was learning how to be more sympathetic thanks to her. Any faith he had in anyone or anything was thanks to her.

It was almost like she was…his solace. Yes. His God-given solace, even. That described her perfectly. And considering he wasn't even sure if he believed in a God to begin with, that was saying something. He always spoke the truth where she was concerned, though. He'd proven that the night he brought her home from the hospital.

"Hey, silly girl. I love you, you know that, right?"

He'd already taken a big step with that deep admission, and had been incredibly relieved when she'd responded in kind. His apology for his recent behavior may have been implicit in his words, but he still wanted to tell her specifically how sorry he was all the same. He wasn't going to lose a second chance to tell her how important she was to him. If Garcia were in his shoes, she'd say what was on her mind, after all.

For now, however, he'd let her rest. But tomorrow? A long overdue talk was definitely in order.

Thump.

Garcia's eyes flew open. She pulled her blankets tighter around her, daring to take a quick listen as her eyes darted about.

No shadowy figures. No sounds of footsteps, no creaky floorboards. As Garcia's eyes finally settled on her window, she let out a sigh of relief.

Just a tree branch. Okay.

"He's gone," Garcia muttered to herself. "He can't bother me anymore." Garcia couldn't quite bring herself to say the other four letter word stating what actually happened to Colby yet. If she did that, she'd have to think about what JJ had to do that night. She'd have to think about the awful way this whole insane ordeal ended, and began. She'd have to think about the way in which he left her.

I just wanted him to leave me alone. To go to jail. I didn't want him to be…

Garcia would never voice that aloud, though, at least not to Morgan. Her other teammates would understand and sympathize, or, at the very least, they'd be diplomatic in their responses and advice. Morgan, on the other hand, would start ranting about Colby, calling him every name in the book and then some. With good reason, sure…but then he'd say that Colby deserved what he got, and Garcia just couldn't quite bring herself to go that far. For God's sake, she'd freaked when Morgan shoved a gun into her hand! She could still feel the effects of the deafening gunshot from that night! Even if Colby were standing right before her, ready to attack, she still wasn't sure she'd have the nerve to point her weapon at him and pull the trigger. That just wasn't her.

She tried to steady her breathing, tried to calm herself down. But all that did was make her think of holding her breath, trying to appear dead. She could still feel the uncomfortable edges of her front steps digging into her back, the sticky, wet blood underneath her (and of all the things to be upset about then, she remembered being very pissed off that he'd ruined one of her favorite jackets and a gorgeous dress). She could still hear, in her mind, the echo of Colby's footsteps as he came up to inspect her. Imagined his warm breath on her face as he leaned in to take a look at what he'd done.

Seeing the photo of him later on had chilled her to the bone. That face she'd found so chiseled and handsome now appeared tight and severe. Those eyes she'd thought so bright and piercing were still piercing, but in a much colder, icier way. If she'd had the opportunity to see his face the night he shot her…Garcia didn't even want to think about what his expression would've looked like then.

Another thump at the window, and Garcia yelped.

Oh, this is ridiculous. Garcia tossed her blankets aside, grabbing a pillow before making her way to her living room. If she wasn't going to sleep, she might as well do something to distract herself. Not like she had to go to work the next day, after all – despite her protests, Hotch had ordered her to take a full two weeks off to further recuperate.

She was so bored, though! Time at home recovering from a gunshot wound didn't qualify as a vacation! The only time she saw her friends was when they stopped by briefly to fuss over her and check in on her. Sure, she loved seeing them, and the attention and concern was sweet, but she was fine! She could go back to work. Or at least go hang out with the others and do something fun.

Instead, all she could do was listen wistfully as everyone either told her about funny things that happened at work that she wasn't privy to witnessing, or all the office gossip she was missing out on. Either that, or they danced around the topic of Colby, or gave her an earful of statistics about recovery and healing, or informed her of all the work waiting for her upon her return.

And then there was the thing Garcia never thought would be possible – her dread and dismay at a visit from Morgan. Her sexy hunky hero Derek Morgan.

He'd managed to suck all the much needed fun and joy out of his visits. There was absolutely none of his usual flirty banter and smooth one-liners to be found. His cheeky, megawatt toothpaste ad-ready grin was completely gone. Instead, he moped about with the most serious, dour expression she'd ever seen. His voice was monotone, listless. He generally only spoke when asking her if she wanted something to eat, or if she was comfortable. Occasionally he'd make small talk with her about insignificant things, but those moments were very much few and far between.

Worst of all? He was calling her "Garcia" – and only "Garcia".

And that…that just would not do. Throwing out her flirty nicknames for him only to have him say her given name in return just felt…off. So very off.

Not that she blamed him for his current mood, of course. She'd hated seeing how worried she'd made her friends as it was, hated the extra stress she'd put upon her beloved boss man thanks to her goof-ups with the files. And then there was poor, sweet, innocent JJ, and what she'd done that night in the bullpen to save that hostage, and her by extension. Garcia didn't think she'd ever fully get over putting her through that.

Seeing Morgan's face hurt worse than getting shot ever would, though. When she'd noticed that fear and panic in his eyes, it'd simply broken her heart. The poor thing had already been through so much as it was. When Garcia had found out about everything with Buford last year, she'd wanted nothing more than to wrap Morgan up in a hug and take away all his suffering and pain. She was normally a very forgiving, empathetic person, but this Buford creep…well, suffice to say she wouldn't have minded taking a page from Morgan's book and making him pay dearly for what he'd done.

Then she'd learned about the loss of his dad, and found a new way to bond with him – she knew that particular pain far too well, after all. She hated that such tragedies were a means for them to connect, but the world was a weird, unfair place like that sometimes. And now she'd made him worry about her, now she'd scared him, and that bothered her to no end. It was only further proof of how weird and unfair the world could be sometimes.

Garcia didn't want to think like that, mind, but facts were facts. And the truth was that Morgan's realism had begun to rub off on her here and there over time, much to her chagrin. It was bad enough this job kicked her faith in humanity around day in and day out. Morgan's skeptical, blunt outlook on the world just wasn't something she felt she could get used to adapting into her own life, but events like this didn't really give her much choice in that matter.

Course, on the other hand, in the moments when she had to brace herself for whatever particularly disturbing information she had to look up for a case, or when she ran up against obstacles in trying to keep up on unsolved cases for the families she counseled each week, or when a case didn't end the way she wanted it to…well, she had to admit that Morgan's realistic attitude was a much needed stress reliever. It made it easier sometimes for her to prepare for what she might find in her searches, gave her frustration and anger and determination that extra push.

And yet, on the days when she still wasn't fully prepared to learn about more injustices in the world, Morgan was also always right there to comfort her. He never once mocked her idealism (or naivety, as she might've called it on her worst days), never talked down to her. He would simply apologize for her having her worldview shaken, and share in her sadness. Underneath that tough exterior lay one of the softest hearts she'd ever known.

She wanted that Derek Morgan back. She wanted to call him a "statuesque God", or tease him with threats of Photoshopping hot pictures of him, and hear him laugh, or shake his head and give her one of his patented, "That's my crazy girl" grins. She wanted him to stop guilt-tripping himself, because damnit, she was fine, and he was right about Colby, and she knew full well he didn't mean any of what he'd said about her relationship with Colby, because she heard the way he'd said "I love you" to her and knew he thought she was pretty awesome. Stupid stressed out moods, ruining everyone's fun.

He was planning to come over again tomorrow. She made a note to tell him all of this then. For the first time in the last few days, she actively looked forward to his visit.

Unfortunately, it seemed to take a while for each of their planned talks to actually get going. "Tomorrow" had arrived, Morgan had come straight from work, and the two of them were sat on Garcia's couch…

…in complete silence. The only noise in her apartment at the moment was from the football game playing on TV. Not Garcia's first choice of something to watch, but hey, whatever helped put Morgan at ease and hopefully made him feel comfortable enough to finally open up.

Instead, for the first hour and a half or so, they'd each open their mouths at various points, as though to say something…only to immediately close them. The only words that had been spoken thus far had been in regards to asking about snacks or drinks, or wanting the volume turned up. The nerve Morgan had worked up the night before seemed to have dissipated throughout that day, perhaps out of nervousness and uncertainty. Meanwhile, Garcia had been reading his body language the entire time he was there, and had been debating just how confrontational she should be.

Eventually, though, after the fourth time he called her "Garcia" in that bland tone, she'd decided she finally had enough.

"Okay, you," she said, grabbing the remote and clicking off the TV.

"Hey!" Morgan protested, and Garcia was relieved to finally see some spark in him. "That was a –"

"Yeah. Football. Woo. You can check the score later," she said, waving a hand dismissively, not noticing the shocked look he was currently giving her. "Right now, you and I need to talk." She turned to face him. Geez, he wasn't even sprawled out comfortably, one arm slung over the back. He was sitting all rigid and stiff, hands neatly folded in his lap.

"Haven't we been talking?"

"No. Not like we normally do." Garcia took a moment to note the deeply confused look on Morgan's face. She steadied her breathing, silently counting to ten to temper her growing irritation, before she continued.

"Derek, you haven't called me 'Baby Girl' for the past three days. I haven't gotten one flirty compliment from you. A freaking football game was on," Garcia gestured dramatically in the direction of the television, "and you're not yelling at the players or cussing them out or cheering so loud that you make me go deaf. Our whole…thing…has been thrown off, you're not acting like yourself, and frankly, I don't like it." He felt her hand on his knee then, saw the genuinely worried look in her eyes. "What happened to my chocolate God of thunder? You know, that sound that makes a lot of big noise?"

He sighed. "You know what happened, Garcia." His hand traveled in the direction of her injury. "You got…you know."

"Shot? You can say it, Morgan. I'm not going to fall apart if you do." She frowned as she noticed him gaze down at his lap, arms folded, his temper just barely visible thanks to the twitching of his mouth.

"I know I can. I just…" He took a deep breath then, trying to calm himself.

"Talk to me, Derek. Please?" Garcia said softly, rubbing his knee. Morgan finally met her eyes. After a moment, he spoke, his voice sounding very ragged.

"You nearly died, Garcia. I nearly lost my best friend, forever. If I hadn't checked my phone that night at church, if I hadn't been at the hospital, and you had –" Garcia held in a gasp as she saw Morgan struggling to hold back the tears that were now forming. "I never would've forgiven myself."

"I'm not dead, though, Derek. I'm right here." She grabbed his hand in hers, caressing it, giving it a gentle squeeze, before placing it to her cheek. "See? I'm okay."

He shook his head in frustration. "I should've been there."

Garcia rolled her eyes, dropping his hand and throwing hers in the air. "And what would you have done, Morgan? You didn't know he was going to shoot me. I didn't know that."

"You were unsure about him, though."

"Yeah, but not because I thought he was a psycho killer! I thought at worst maybe he'd be one of those guys who'd string me along or something until some pretty girl caught his eye."

"He would've been an idiot if he'd done that, too," Morgan spoke up then, glancing over at her and catching her off guard.

There was that look again. The same one he'd given her a few nights ago, when he told her he loved her.

"Morgan…" she began cautiously.

"What?"

"I just…" For perhaps the first time in her life, Garcia found herself at an actual loss for words.

"What?" Morgan asked again, more insistently this time. "Hey." He leaned in to look at her. "You do know I didn't mean any of what I'd said about the sorts of guys you could get to come off that way, right?"

"I know, I know." Garcia had begun talking over him as he finished his sentence, nodding. "I was just…nervous…about the whole situation, and I took my own worries out on you. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too. I should've just kept my damn mouth shut."

"You were right, though. There was something wrong with him. Just not the something I thought." She let out a dark laugh. "I can't believe I didn't see it."

"No. Do not do that to yourself, Garcia. Listen to me," he continued, seeing her about to protest. "I know what it's like to be fooled by someone you're supposed to trust." He paused for a moment, allowing her to let that sink in. "Even now, in our job, there's still people who can trick us. Contrary to what you think, we profilers aren't perfect." He gave her a small smile, pleased when she responded in kind. "Don't go blaming yourself for any of this. He's the bad guy. Not you. Understand?" He waited until she nodded once more, certain his message had gotten through.

"And don't ever think 'certain guys' wouldn't go for someone like you, either," Morgan continued. "Frankly, any guy who can't see just how sexy and awesome you are isn't worth your time."

That was twice now he'd left her speechless. It took a few attempts at opening and closing her mouth before Garcia finally gave up trying to respond, choosing to simply wrap her arms around Morgan's neck instead. "Thank you," she finally managed to say, her voice wavering. The two stayed like that for a few moments, not wanting to let each other go.

Finally, upon parting, Garcia found her voice again. "I did have an interesting discussion with him, though, before…well...you know," she said, wiping quickly at her eyes all the while.

Morgan raised a brow, confused. What could this guy possibly have said that would be even remotely interesting?

"We were talking about luck, and whether or not I believed in it."

"What'd you say?"

"I said, 'I believe everything happens for a really good reason'." She beamed at Morgan. "And I still do. Think about it. What are the odds that I, a nerdy California hippie slash hacker girl, and you, a tough, badass cop from Illinois – a sexy, tough, badass cop, by the way –" her smile grew bigger as she noticed Morgan (finally) chuckle at that statement, "– would eventually live not just in the same state, but in the same town, and share the same job? And what are the odds that we'd not only wind up being co-workers, but best friends as well?"

She looked down at her lap. "That's why I said what I said in the hospital, about how, if I don't believe everything happens for a reason, then nothing in my life makes sense. I have to think there was a reason I've gone through everything I have. I wish every day that I'd never lost my parents, but that loss drove me to my hacking life, and that led me to the FBI, and…well, you know the rest, obviously." She looked up now, waving her hands in a general circular motion. "I really don't even want to imagine what my life would be like if none of you were in it. If I didn't have my hero." She looked at him meaningfully.

He hadn't exactly felt like a hero the last few days, but they were on such a good track at the moment, so he let that comment stand. "Thanks, Garcia." He gave her a small smile.

"What about you?"

"What about me, what?"

"Do you believe everything happens for a reason?" She'd known a little about his struggles with faith over the years, could certainly understand why he'd come to hold that wary attitude. But just what all did he believe in? Fate? Free will? Spiritual forces of any kind? It was clear that their friendship was the epitome of "opposites attracting", and she would've respected his belief system, no matter how similar or different it was to hers.

Still, though, she couldn't help but be curious anyway. Had she convinced him to her view? Had they always shared the same outlook and just never voiced it until now? She waited, watching him try and sort out a response.

"The truth?" She nodded. "I don't know that I ever fully thought about it. On the one hand, I want to disagree, because the thought of there being a 'good reason' for the stuff that happened to me doesn't sit well." Garcia winced as she considered his point, and nodded. Hard to argue with that line of thinking. "I feel that way when we don't save innocent people on the job."

"But on the other hand," he continued, "I honestly can't think of any other way you and I, or the rest of the team, would've met. I don't know that I would've gone to college had it not been for what happened to me. I'd always wanted to follow in my dad's footsteps, but I'd be lying if I said his death didn't push me harder towards that goal. So is it fate, or the result of 'good reasons'?" He shrugged. "I guess, if I had to answer, I'd have to say all of this is the result of some weird mystery we can't solve, and never will be solved, no matter how much we try."

He'd worried his answer would read as a cop-out. He was so used to having a specific stance on an issue, but he and religion were on shaky ground at the moment, so that was about the best answer he could give.

Fortunately, however, Garcia seemed to get what he meant. I shouldn't be surprised. She smiled, nodding at his response. "Very diplomatic of you," she teased, elbowing him in the arm. He chuckled. "But I know what you mean. However we wound up meeting, the bottom line is, I'm glad we did."

"So am I, Baby Girl."

And with those simple words, Garcia breathed a massive sigh of relief. "Oh, my god, you have no idea how much I've longed to hear those two words again!" Morgan smirked upon seeing her look dramatically towards her ceiling, her hands in the air. "Oh, thank you! The world has officially been restored to its rightful order!" She threw her arms around Morgan once more, reveling in his deep laughter, his strong arms enveloping her in a tight embrace.

"I love you, Derek Morgan."

Morgan swallowed the lump in his throat. "I love you, too, Penelope Garcia."

Shortly afterward, the TV went back on, and the two friends snuggled up against each other on Garcia's couch, holding each other tightly.

"So, speaking of guys and love…Kevin Lynch, eh?" Morgan asked after a few moments, looking down at her. He'd heard JJ talking to Emily about their encounter in the bullpen the other night, and was admittedly curious.

"Mmhm." Garcia looked up at him. "He's nice. And a total nerd." She flashed him a big grin. "We have a date planned after I get out of this forced vacation from home." Any guy who could challenge her in a hacking duel had to be a man after her own heart, she reasoned. Plus, he was pretty darn cute.

Morgan shook his head, smiling softly. Even after everything with Colby, she was still willing to take a chance and trust someone. She really is amazing. "Sounds good," he replied, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Yep. Things were going to be all right.

"If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you." ― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh