Criminal Minds Fic: Point of Impact
Posted to bau_fic
Crossposted to morgan_garcia
Title: Point of Impact
Pairing/Characters: Derek, Penelope, Spencer, Emily, JJ, Aaron, David
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: Seasons 1-3
Summary: A tragic accident ends careers but not lives and not friendships
Notes/Warnings: Read the disclaimer on my LJ
Penelope hated being out in the field.
Sitting in the passenger seat of just one in a sobering line of black SUVs, she gazed listlessly out the window as Derek drove to yet another crime scene in yet another state.
Anonymous cars passed anonymous people who lived and breathed and felt in ways that disturbed her more than raw data and digital mugshots ever could.
It could have been Pittsburgh or Poughkeepsie, it was all the same - faceless cities facing crime and all she wanted was a decent Internet connection and Derek nearby.
Derek drove like he lived, outwardly aggressive, but calculated and skillful in reality - mindful even.
There was never any question when she went out into the field - she was always in his car.
She wouldn't have it any other way and neither would he.
/
"Country? Oh, come on, baby girl! I'm sure you can find something better on that radio than dueling banjos!"
"Hold your horses, cowboy. I'm just leaving the radio on until I can hook up my iPod adapter."
In a matter of seconds the song on the radio cut out and was replaced by 70s funk.
"Old school! Now that's more like it!" Derek bobbed his head in time with the music. "You, hot stuff, have great taste in music."
"I have great taste in everything," Penelope gloated.
"Doll, you own a little of everything. I've seen your apartment," he teased.
"Hey, it's not clutter when they're collectible!" she protested.
Derek slowed the car, waiting behind Aaron's SUV to make a left hand turn.
"They are you and that's all that matters. I wouldn't want you any other way."
"Sugar, I don't come any other way," she tossed back saucily. "This is the genuine article right here. Accept no substitutes..."
/
Pain...
Penelope's eyes opened to slits as she winced in pain.
The world looked wrong - askew somehow - and she struggled to make sense of what she was seeing.
It hit her then the blur before her eyes could be partially blamed by the fact that her glasses were missing.
They lay, as far as she could make out, next to her right hand which hung limply off her wrist at an angle that made her feel queasy. A long crack split the glass on one side of her favorite red glasses. The other side no longer had a lens in it at all.
The glasses - and her hand - seemed to be laying flat on what looked like a car window.
But car windows didn't have gravity; they didn't lie on the ground.
Large colored blobs moved outside of what she finally realized was the windshield - Aaron's navy blue suit and JJ's teal blouse making a pretty kaleidoscope of color in the shattered web of glass.
They were yelling and although it sounded muffled in the fog of her head something got through to her.
They were yelling more than just one name.
It was hard to turn her head: everything hurt, but somehow she managed to twist to look to her left - to look up - into the driver's seat.
Derek hung suspended by his seatbelt, his smooth head marred by sticky blood and shards of glass.
Not moving.
Not breathing.
/
Truck!
"Morgan..."
She woke with a start in a drugged haze that was not totally unfamiliar to her memory.
"Shh, Penelope. Try to rest..."
"JJ?" she muttered into the darkness.
"No, Emily," came an apologetic tone. "But JJ will be right back. She just went to get some coffee."
"Morgan..." This time more insistent. "Where's Derek?"
"Shh... You're hurt. You need to rest. Try to sleep."
She heard a click near her left hand and it made her realize she couldn't move her right one. It felt heavy, immobile, trapped.
"My hand..."
"It's broken, but the doctors fixed it," Emily explained slowly. "It's in a cast."
Penelope opened her mouth to ask about Derek again, but the pain medication sucked her back into the black hole of oblivion. Before she succumbed, she overheard voices.
"Here's your coffee. Any change?"
"Yes, she woke up for a few seconds. Asked about Morgan."
"You didn't tell her, did you?"
"No, poor girl. I couldn't do that to her..."
/
Each time she woke the cycle played itself out in much the same way: a voice or two would urge her back to sleep, a click or two of the pain medication button she'd come to know so well after she'd been shot, then darkness.
Except each time she woke she remembered more.
A left hand turn.
A truck bearing down on them from out of nowhere.
Her genius brain had seen it coming and immediately calculated velocity, trajectory and point of impact.
It hit exactly where she feared: dead center of Derek's door.
How the SUV had ended up on its side she wasn't sure. The force must have been greater or something about the angle... It had been years since she'd studied physics, yet the improbable had happened and the firefighters had had to extract them via the opening where the windshield had been pulled out.
Her brain kept going back to the physics in the scant seconds she had.
The alternative was thinking about what had become of Derek after they pulled him out.
And since no one would tell her anything she was too afraid to think the worst.
/
"Don't touch that button."
She'd rehearsed it before she opened her eyes, but it took a glare to get JJ to pull back her hand from the now automatic gesture of reaching.
"I just wanted..."
"Well, I want to be awake," Penelope groused then winced as she attempted to shift position. "At least for a little while. Tell me what's going on."
"You're at the University of Alabama Huntsville Medical Center. You got in a car accident. You have a concussion, some lacerations and bruises and your hand was broken in... Well, a number of places."
"What about Derek?" she asked, impatient. JJ lowered her gaze to the blanket as her fingers worried the edge. "JJ, talk!" she ordered.
"He didn't make out so well," JJ said reluctantly.
Penelope grabbed JJ's hand abruptly.
"Stop beating around the bush. Tell me!"
When JJ's eyes met hers again they were brimming with tears.
"He's in the ICU. Massive head trauma. He was in surgery for hours. They..." Her voice caught as the first tear slipped loose. "They don't expect him to pull through."
"I want to see him," Penelope said staunchly, her voice strong even as her eyes filled up as well.
"The doctors won't let you, not yet at least."
This time Penelope reached for the button herself.
"Then don't wake me until they will."
/
She promised herself she wouldn't break down in the ICU.
Aaron, stoic as ever, wheeled her in to Derek's room. He was probably the only one who could bring the two of them together - knowing how close they were - and retain some sense of composure.
He purposefully aligned her wheelchair so her good hand was next to the bed, then departed, leaving them alone.
She took his hand in hers and almost put it down again, it felt so unnatural. It felt wrong to have such a strong hand from such a strong man, so limp, so lifeless. She forced herself to grip it tight anyway, hoping that he might, just might, notice her presence.
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out, just a hint of a sound so filled with anguish it shook even her to hear it. She slammed her mouth shut and wiped her tears on the arm of her pajamas, unwilling to let go of Derek's hand for even a second.
She focused on his hand, examining every tiny detail: the tonal shifts in his skin color, the carefully clipped yet not quite manicured fingernails and the rough calluses where he held his gun. It kept her from looking at his face and head: obscured by too many hoses and wires, too much machinery doing the job of keeping him alive, hiding the fact that he wasn't her Derek underneath all that equipment.
Her Derek would be dissing the hospital food and complaining about being stuck in bed when he wanted to be out and about.
This Derek was just a shell.
A nurse came to wheel her out when her visiting time was up.
She managed to keep her promise. She only broke down after she left the ICU.
/
"Garcia?"
Penelope put down her knitting with a scowl as JJ entered Derek's hospital room.
"Damn thing," she groused, half towards JJ and half towards Derek's unmoving form. "I chose the easiest stitch in the book. I should be able to do it one-handed..."
JJ crouched down in front of her, looking askance at how she'd arranged a stationary needle under the heavy cast on her right hand, then looking up at Penelope's face.
"The doctors released you yesterday. You should be home. You should be resting."
"I'm resting. I'm recuperating," Penelope protested. "It's not like it's a lot of work sitting in this chair rather than one at home."
JJ sighed and put her hand over Penelope's uninjured one.
"I miss him. We all miss him. But if he ever wakes up...'
"When!" Penelope blurted out. "When he wakes up!"
JJ paused for a moment. "You heard the doctors. There was brain damage. He's not going to just wake up and be Morgan like normal."
Penelope bit her lip for a few seconds before straightening herself up to respond. "Maybe not, but he's still Morgan and he'd do the same for me. He needs me."
JJ nodded slowly and rose to leave. She halted at the door, looking back to where Penelope was starting up her knitting again, placing the yarn skein next to Derek's motionless hand, almost as if he was holding it for her.
"Penelope... Don't forget that we need you too. The public needs you."
"Well, tell the public to leave a message," she snapped curtly. "I have a concussion. An injury, mind you, I sustained in the line of duty. I'm allowed to take some time off."
"Of course. I'll see you back at the office in a few weeks then..."
/
She filled out her paperwork for a leave of absence and had to wait until just the right time to file it - after she'd been given an all clear to return to work and before her first day back.
She claimed recurring headaches her doctors could neither prove nor deny and threw in sleep disruptions as an additional reason, citing the need to be razor sharp at all times to protect agents in the field.
Aaron looked her in the eye before he signed her leave paperwork.
Then he scheduled her for a psych eval.
The series of sessions were not optional, said the official memo, and could not be rescheduled without an explicit doctor's note.
She went to the first one, arms crossed over her chest, and watched the clock hoping the hour would pass without any change in Derek's condition.
She made it almost all the way through the psychobabble until the shrink pronounced that in order to move on she had to accept the possibility that Derek was never coming back.
She was up and out of the room so fast she almost broke a heel, breathing hard by the time she hit the street.
She didn't calm down until she was back by his side, knitting away furiously, fighting back angry tears until the yarn colors blurred.
/
"So once I had the idea to cross check the employee database with local humane shelter volunteers, which Kevin did for me - though not as fast as you would have..." Spencer paused in his telling of the team's most recent case and tried to catch Penelope's attention, which had clearly drifted back to Derek. "Garcia?"
"I'm glad Kevin's working out for you," she said, a little stiffly.
"I guess," Spencer admitted. "But he's not you. He's just filling in until..."
"Yeah, yeah." Penelope waved a knitting needle absentmindedly at him. "JJ already came and gave me the big long duty speech, saying how much you guys need me and all."
Spencer scooted his chair a little closer. "Garcia, it's not a speech. We really do rely on you. And not just us, the people in danger..."
She held up a hand abruptly, cutting him off. "Speech heard. Don't really need another."
"Garcia..." Spencer let out a disappointed sigh which was cut off by the sudden bleating of Derek's machinery. "What's going on?" he cried as nurses rushed into the room and pulled him and Penelope away to make room for the doctors. "Is he..."
Beside him Penelope just smiled serenely. "It's okay, Reid. He's waking up."
/
Walking out of the psych session got her suspended, but she didn't care. As long as she had time to be with Derek as he recovered, that was all that mattered.
It was slow - painfully slow - but the progression from comatose to unconscious to brief waking was worth it.
At first he just squeezed her hand weakly, eyes fluttering trying to stay open for more than a few seconds. She made sure to smile and look encouraging even if she crashed back into depression after he slipped away again. Those brief seconds were all she had to look forward to.
She clearly wasn't looking forward to going back to work or facing Aaron's wrath.
Then the issue got solved for her.
Just as Derek was starting to wake up for longer periods her cast came off.
'Nerve damage' they offered in explanation for her near useless hand. 'Irreparable.'
The Bureau offered her a generous disability package and she took it, eschewing the farewell party JJ offered and Kevin campaigned for. Their phone calls had become increasingly strained to the point where Kevin only contacted her on work matters and only when he really couldn't figure out her systems on his own.
She knew it really bothered him to admit he didn't measure up to her. But when Derek opened up his eyes and spoke her name aloud - his first word since the accident - she didn't care that she could do the job better than Kevin.
The job wasn't what mattered anymore.
/
Penelope walked up the hallway towards Derek's room, sorting through the day's yarn in her bag until she looked up and saw Spencer talking to one of Derek's doctors.
The doctor excused himself just before she arrived so she approached Spencer with a wary eye.
"Haven't seen you here in ages." Her tone was light, but the undercurrent of accusation and bitterness ran not far beneath.
"Work," Spencer said with an apologetic shrug. "I can only come in before visiting hours most of the time." He rocked on his heels uncomfortably, glancing around as if someone might come and rescue him from the awkwardness of the conversation.
"He asks about you. He asks about all of you," she stated flatly.
"I know," Spencer said, using a soothing tone. "He asks me about them too so I tell him. I tell him how everyone's doing, about how Kevin's working out, about the new guy Hotch and Rossi brought in to replace him..."
"It's going to take a while, but he'll be back at the Bureau in time," Penelope told him.
Spencer stared at her, blinking. "Garcia, he suffered brain damage. He can barely speak."
"He had his head bashed in by a semi!" Her voice rose to almost shouting. "You could at least give him some time to recover before you write him off!"
Spencer looked around, as if embarrassed by the outburst, and lowered his voice.
"He has Broca's Aphasia. It's been over three months and the statistics for Broca's recovery after the first three months..." He shook his head rather than continue.
"He wasn't awake for all of those three months," Penelope argued. "And he's getting more words all the time."
"But none of them are in real sentences, are they?" he queried gently. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to face that Morgan's never going to go back to work." He started to take his leave, but paused. "Morgan understands that and accepts it. I hope some day soon you will too..."
/
They'd never really needed words, she convinced herself with time, fiercely downplaying the importance of playful banter in the relationship.
Revisionist history, Spencer would have probably said, but she didn't need a profiler to profile her. She had one of her own and he already knew her.
They developed a sort of shorthand, where she understood Derek's needs so well it only took a single word, a gesture or an expression before she responded knowingly.
She hated watching him get frustrated when visitors failed to understand him, when they kept asking what he wanted as if that would help him tell them. At first she hung back, not wanting to wound his male ego, but after a while Derek just started looking to her in a silent plea to fix things.
So she did.
She took over his house too, preparing for his return even though his housekeeper took on the brunt of the cleaning given the damage to Penelope's hand.
In her spare time - which meant after visiting hours - she wired the house and set up both their laptops to accept voice commands and orders from remote control PDAs she scattered all over the house.
She'd considered just the PDAs - not wanting to show off her ability to speak in front of Derek - but the prospect of trying to deal with little icons on a touchpad meant using her left hand or risking hitting the wrong button.
Besides, she'd long since set up her laptop for voice dictation. Typing was starting to be a bit passé, or at least she told people that when they asked.
She also set up the guest bedroom for herself.
That she didn't mention, even if people did ask.
/
"Honey... Home..."
Derek tried gamely to call out the trite phrase when Penelope ushered him over the threshold of his house for the first time in months.
"Very funny, mister," she cracked. "Now sit your behind down on that couch while..."
He stopped her with a hand on her arm and a confused look on his face.
"Clooney... Dog... House..."
It took her only a split second to process the unspoken question.
"Mrs. McNamara is going to bring Clooney home at six. I'm sure he'll be excited to see his master."
Derek looked around the house, a sad frown clouding his homecoming.
"Empty..."
Penelope forced down the feelings he was bringing up in her and put on a smile for him.
"I'll call her now and see if she can bring him over sooner. If she can't, well maybe I can go get him."
"We?" Derek gestured back towards the car outside. "Now?"
"Sure," she said, a little sigh escaping. "We can go get your dog now. Whatever you want."
"Miss..." Derek repeated. "Empty."
Penelope looked around the house and realized it did seem lifeless.
"I understand. Come on. Let's go rescue your pup from the sitter's."
/
It was comfortable, for a long time actually, being housemates with all the time in the world.
They both found ways to fill their days. Derek took on home improvement projects with gusto, although he did hire out the hardest labor as per Penelope's staunch demands. He stood with pride on his brand new back deck when their former co-workers came to his birthday barbecue, beaming as they complimented his work. Penelope, when she wasn't looking after Derek, wound up involved in a support group for crime victims.
She spent so many hours talking to people, telling them what no one else would take the time to, that Derek groused when she came home. So they started holding meetings at the house. The group grew until it threatened to take over both of their lives. By mutual agreement, she turned the group over to other leadership and stepped away.
It had taken the better part of a year to figure it out: they might have left the Bureau, but the work never left them. And they wanted to work.
For Derek it was a gut instinct. Penelope had to run the statistics first, but they agreed: they wanted to reunite families, not just deliver bad news. Private kidnap and recovery specialists had been part of the landscape for years. They'd run into them plenty working in the FBI. Now that was their world, seeing it all from the other side.
They came up with a shingle and Penelope built a slick web site for advertising. Their ties in the crime victim community and their reputations with the Bureau meant almost instant referrals.
Within three weeks they brought a frightened teen home to her family and were hooked.
No one cared if Penelope was the mouthpiece. It didn't matter if she didn't type. Derek was the silent one, walking the crime scenes, sifting through missing people's effects and tapping out his findings and queries to send to Penelope via their encrypted messaging system.
She learned to do JJ's job: manage the cases and the media as well as liaise with local law enforcement. They still looked askance at her trademark funky dyed hair and colorful retro outfits, but once she presented their credentials they never had any problems.
She only once turned down a job flat. It was in Huntsville - the city where the accident that had changed their lives happened. She was so anguished over the idea of returning there that Derek just pulled her into his arms and held her. He let her know it was okay to turn down a case every once in a while; it wasn't like they were the only K&R team out there. She didn't let on how relieved she was days later when the Huntsville teen that had gone missing had been found, a mere runaway.
She found them a job in New York City instead that ended up high profile, garnering them some positive media attention and an appearance on a local radio show after the society sisters that had been taken had been recovered safe and unharmed. Derek didn't want to speak on air, but Penelope made him do it with her, holding his hand and answering any questions that needed long responses. None of the people who called in with questions for them seemed to notice anything wrong with Derek's speaking ability.
They left the studio on such a high they splurged on a night on the town. Somewhere between the fancy dinner and the glitzy clubs she realized it was always going to be like this.
The two of them.
Together.
/
It had to happen eventually.
Eventually ended up being in West Virginia.
"These are SSAs Rossi, Hotchner, Prentiss, Doctor Reid..." JJ's voice trailed off as a smile bloomed on her face.
"Nice to meet you all," the sheriff said genially. "We've already got some folks here helping out. The Crawford family hired them after their daughter was taken. She was the second victim - the one from yesterday." He gestured to the open doorway behind him, but the rest of the team had already seen what JJ had noticed.
Derek was the one who looked up first, nudging Penelope until she begrudgingly paid attention.
"Be damned," Derek said, striding out to greet all the familiar faces. "Hey..." A round of handshakes and hugs ensued.
"I didn't know you guys were coming!" Penelope said, clearly pleased by the impromptu reunion as she accepted everyone's greetings.
"We got called in when the third victim was found missing this morning," JJ explained. She glanced back at Rossi and at Aaron, the latter of whom gave her a subtle nod. "So we'd love to work with you two on this, get these girls back home as quickly as possible. What do you say?"
"Course," Derek said, nodding.
"Only it's not the two of us," Penelope added with a bit of a smirk. "We have staff now." She gestured into the room where a twenty-something woman in pig-tails and a nose ring was typing furiously into a laptop while a stocky Middle Eastern man was marking locations on a map.
"NSA," Derek explained, pointing to the woman. "CIA," he added, gesturing to the man.
Rossi chuckled. "You definitely picked the cream of the crop."
"Yup," Derek said proudly. "Want job?"
The round of laughter rang out in the otherwise somber police station. For a brief moment it was like they were a team again.
"How about we get down to work?" Aaron suggested.
"I'm ready," Derek agreed.
Penelope took her place, standing by his side.
"We're ready."
///
Crossposted to morgan_garcia
Title: Point of Impact
Pairing/Characters: Derek, Penelope, Spencer, Emily, JJ, Aaron, David
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: Seasons 1-3
Summary: A tragic accident ends careers but not lives and not friendships
Notes/Warnings: Read the disclaimer on my LJ
Penelope hated being out in the field.
Sitting in the passenger seat of just one in a sobering line of black SUVs, she gazed listlessly out the window as Derek drove to yet another crime scene in yet another state.
Anonymous cars passed anonymous people who lived and breathed and felt in ways that disturbed her more than raw data and digital mugshots ever could.
It could have been Pittsburgh or Poughkeepsie, it was all the same - faceless cities facing crime and all she wanted was a decent Internet connection and Derek nearby.
Derek drove like he lived, outwardly aggressive, but calculated and skillful in reality - mindful even.
There was never any question when she went out into the field - she was always in his car.
She wouldn't have it any other way and neither would he.
/
"Country? Oh, come on, baby girl! I'm sure you can find something better on that radio than dueling banjos!"
"Hold your horses, cowboy. I'm just leaving the radio on until I can hook up my iPod adapter."
In a matter of seconds the song on the radio cut out and was replaced by 70s funk.
"Old school! Now that's more like it!" Derek bobbed his head in time with the music. "You, hot stuff, have great taste in music."
"I have great taste in everything," Penelope gloated.
"Doll, you own a little of everything. I've seen your apartment," he teased.
"Hey, it's not clutter when they're collectible!" she protested.
Derek slowed the car, waiting behind Aaron's SUV to make a left hand turn.
"They are you and that's all that matters. I wouldn't want you any other way."
"Sugar, I don't come any other way," she tossed back saucily. "This is the genuine article right here. Accept no substitutes..."
/
Pain...
Penelope's eyes opened to slits as she winced in pain.
The world looked wrong - askew somehow - and she struggled to make sense of what she was seeing.
It hit her then the blur before her eyes could be partially blamed by the fact that her glasses were missing.
They lay, as far as she could make out, next to her right hand which hung limply off her wrist at an angle that made her feel queasy. A long crack split the glass on one side of her favorite red glasses. The other side no longer had a lens in it at all.
The glasses - and her hand - seemed to be laying flat on what looked like a car window.
But car windows didn't have gravity; they didn't lie on the ground.
Large colored blobs moved outside of what she finally realized was the windshield - Aaron's navy blue suit and JJ's teal blouse making a pretty kaleidoscope of color in the shattered web of glass.
They were yelling and although it sounded muffled in the fog of her head something got through to her.
They were yelling more than just one name.
It was hard to turn her head: everything hurt, but somehow she managed to twist to look to her left - to look up - into the driver's seat.
Derek hung suspended by his seatbelt, his smooth head marred by sticky blood and shards of glass.
Not moving.
Not breathing.
/
Truck!
"Morgan..."
She woke with a start in a drugged haze that was not totally unfamiliar to her memory.
"Shh, Penelope. Try to rest..."
"JJ?" she muttered into the darkness.
"No, Emily," came an apologetic tone. "But JJ will be right back. She just went to get some coffee."
"Morgan..." This time more insistent. "Where's Derek?"
"Shh... You're hurt. You need to rest. Try to sleep."
She heard a click near her left hand and it made her realize she couldn't move her right one. It felt heavy, immobile, trapped.
"My hand..."
"It's broken, but the doctors fixed it," Emily explained slowly. "It's in a cast."
Penelope opened her mouth to ask about Derek again, but the pain medication sucked her back into the black hole of oblivion. Before she succumbed, she overheard voices.
"Here's your coffee. Any change?"
"Yes, she woke up for a few seconds. Asked about Morgan."
"You didn't tell her, did you?"
"No, poor girl. I couldn't do that to her..."
/
Each time she woke the cycle played itself out in much the same way: a voice or two would urge her back to sleep, a click or two of the pain medication button she'd come to know so well after she'd been shot, then darkness.
Except each time she woke she remembered more.
A left hand turn.
A truck bearing down on them from out of nowhere.
Her genius brain had seen it coming and immediately calculated velocity, trajectory and point of impact.
It hit exactly where she feared: dead center of Derek's door.
How the SUV had ended up on its side she wasn't sure. The force must have been greater or something about the angle... It had been years since she'd studied physics, yet the improbable had happened and the firefighters had had to extract them via the opening where the windshield had been pulled out.
Her brain kept going back to the physics in the scant seconds she had.
The alternative was thinking about what had become of Derek after they pulled him out.
And since no one would tell her anything she was too afraid to think the worst.
/
"Don't touch that button."
She'd rehearsed it before she opened her eyes, but it took a glare to get JJ to pull back her hand from the now automatic gesture of reaching.
"I just wanted..."
"Well, I want to be awake," Penelope groused then winced as she attempted to shift position. "At least for a little while. Tell me what's going on."
"You're at the University of Alabama Huntsville Medical Center. You got in a car accident. You have a concussion, some lacerations and bruises and your hand was broken in... Well, a number of places."
"What about Derek?" she asked, impatient. JJ lowered her gaze to the blanket as her fingers worried the edge. "JJ, talk!" she ordered.
"He didn't make out so well," JJ said reluctantly.
Penelope grabbed JJ's hand abruptly.
"Stop beating around the bush. Tell me!"
When JJ's eyes met hers again they were brimming with tears.
"He's in the ICU. Massive head trauma. He was in surgery for hours. They..." Her voice caught as the first tear slipped loose. "They don't expect him to pull through."
"I want to see him," Penelope said staunchly, her voice strong even as her eyes filled up as well.
"The doctors won't let you, not yet at least."
This time Penelope reached for the button herself.
"Then don't wake me until they will."
/
She promised herself she wouldn't break down in the ICU.
Aaron, stoic as ever, wheeled her in to Derek's room. He was probably the only one who could bring the two of them together - knowing how close they were - and retain some sense of composure.
He purposefully aligned her wheelchair so her good hand was next to the bed, then departed, leaving them alone.
She took his hand in hers and almost put it down again, it felt so unnatural. It felt wrong to have such a strong hand from such a strong man, so limp, so lifeless. She forced herself to grip it tight anyway, hoping that he might, just might, notice her presence.
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out, just a hint of a sound so filled with anguish it shook even her to hear it. She slammed her mouth shut and wiped her tears on the arm of her pajamas, unwilling to let go of Derek's hand for even a second.
She focused on his hand, examining every tiny detail: the tonal shifts in his skin color, the carefully clipped yet not quite manicured fingernails and the rough calluses where he held his gun. It kept her from looking at his face and head: obscured by too many hoses and wires, too much machinery doing the job of keeping him alive, hiding the fact that he wasn't her Derek underneath all that equipment.
Her Derek would be dissing the hospital food and complaining about being stuck in bed when he wanted to be out and about.
This Derek was just a shell.
A nurse came to wheel her out when her visiting time was up.
She managed to keep her promise. She only broke down after she left the ICU.
/
"Garcia?"
Penelope put down her knitting with a scowl as JJ entered Derek's hospital room.
"Damn thing," she groused, half towards JJ and half towards Derek's unmoving form. "I chose the easiest stitch in the book. I should be able to do it one-handed..."
JJ crouched down in front of her, looking askance at how she'd arranged a stationary needle under the heavy cast on her right hand, then looking up at Penelope's face.
"The doctors released you yesterday. You should be home. You should be resting."
"I'm resting. I'm recuperating," Penelope protested. "It's not like it's a lot of work sitting in this chair rather than one at home."
JJ sighed and put her hand over Penelope's uninjured one.
"I miss him. We all miss him. But if he ever wakes up...'
"When!" Penelope blurted out. "When he wakes up!"
JJ paused for a moment. "You heard the doctors. There was brain damage. He's not going to just wake up and be Morgan like normal."
Penelope bit her lip for a few seconds before straightening herself up to respond. "Maybe not, but he's still Morgan and he'd do the same for me. He needs me."
JJ nodded slowly and rose to leave. She halted at the door, looking back to where Penelope was starting up her knitting again, placing the yarn skein next to Derek's motionless hand, almost as if he was holding it for her.
"Penelope... Don't forget that we need you too. The public needs you."
"Well, tell the public to leave a message," she snapped curtly. "I have a concussion. An injury, mind you, I sustained in the line of duty. I'm allowed to take some time off."
"Of course. I'll see you back at the office in a few weeks then..."
/
She filled out her paperwork for a leave of absence and had to wait until just the right time to file it - after she'd been given an all clear to return to work and before her first day back.
She claimed recurring headaches her doctors could neither prove nor deny and threw in sleep disruptions as an additional reason, citing the need to be razor sharp at all times to protect agents in the field.
Aaron looked her in the eye before he signed her leave paperwork.
Then he scheduled her for a psych eval.
The series of sessions were not optional, said the official memo, and could not be rescheduled without an explicit doctor's note.
She went to the first one, arms crossed over her chest, and watched the clock hoping the hour would pass without any change in Derek's condition.
She made it almost all the way through the psychobabble until the shrink pronounced that in order to move on she had to accept the possibility that Derek was never coming back.
She was up and out of the room so fast she almost broke a heel, breathing hard by the time she hit the street.
She didn't calm down until she was back by his side, knitting away furiously, fighting back angry tears until the yarn colors blurred.
/
"So once I had the idea to cross check the employee database with local humane shelter volunteers, which Kevin did for me - though not as fast as you would have..." Spencer paused in his telling of the team's most recent case and tried to catch Penelope's attention, which had clearly drifted back to Derek. "Garcia?"
"I'm glad Kevin's working out for you," she said, a little stiffly.
"I guess," Spencer admitted. "But he's not you. He's just filling in until..."
"Yeah, yeah." Penelope waved a knitting needle absentmindedly at him. "JJ already came and gave me the big long duty speech, saying how much you guys need me and all."
Spencer scooted his chair a little closer. "Garcia, it's not a speech. We really do rely on you. And not just us, the people in danger..."
She held up a hand abruptly, cutting him off. "Speech heard. Don't really need another."
"Garcia..." Spencer let out a disappointed sigh which was cut off by the sudden bleating of Derek's machinery. "What's going on?" he cried as nurses rushed into the room and pulled him and Penelope away to make room for the doctors. "Is he..."
Beside him Penelope just smiled serenely. "It's okay, Reid. He's waking up."
/
Walking out of the psych session got her suspended, but she didn't care. As long as she had time to be with Derek as he recovered, that was all that mattered.
It was slow - painfully slow - but the progression from comatose to unconscious to brief waking was worth it.
At first he just squeezed her hand weakly, eyes fluttering trying to stay open for more than a few seconds. She made sure to smile and look encouraging even if she crashed back into depression after he slipped away again. Those brief seconds were all she had to look forward to.
She clearly wasn't looking forward to going back to work or facing Aaron's wrath.
Then the issue got solved for her.
Just as Derek was starting to wake up for longer periods her cast came off.
'Nerve damage' they offered in explanation for her near useless hand. 'Irreparable.'
The Bureau offered her a generous disability package and she took it, eschewing the farewell party JJ offered and Kevin campaigned for. Their phone calls had become increasingly strained to the point where Kevin only contacted her on work matters and only when he really couldn't figure out her systems on his own.
She knew it really bothered him to admit he didn't measure up to her. But when Derek opened up his eyes and spoke her name aloud - his first word since the accident - she didn't care that she could do the job better than Kevin.
The job wasn't what mattered anymore.
/
Penelope walked up the hallway towards Derek's room, sorting through the day's yarn in her bag until she looked up and saw Spencer talking to one of Derek's doctors.
The doctor excused himself just before she arrived so she approached Spencer with a wary eye.
"Haven't seen you here in ages." Her tone was light, but the undercurrent of accusation and bitterness ran not far beneath.
"Work," Spencer said with an apologetic shrug. "I can only come in before visiting hours most of the time." He rocked on his heels uncomfortably, glancing around as if someone might come and rescue him from the awkwardness of the conversation.
"He asks about you. He asks about all of you," she stated flatly.
"I know," Spencer said, using a soothing tone. "He asks me about them too so I tell him. I tell him how everyone's doing, about how Kevin's working out, about the new guy Hotch and Rossi brought in to replace him..."
"It's going to take a while, but he'll be back at the Bureau in time," Penelope told him.
Spencer stared at her, blinking. "Garcia, he suffered brain damage. He can barely speak."
"He had his head bashed in by a semi!" Her voice rose to almost shouting. "You could at least give him some time to recover before you write him off!"
Spencer looked around, as if embarrassed by the outburst, and lowered his voice.
"He has Broca's Aphasia. It's been over three months and the statistics for Broca's recovery after the first three months..." He shook his head rather than continue.
"He wasn't awake for all of those three months," Penelope argued. "And he's getting more words all the time."
"But none of them are in real sentences, are they?" he queried gently. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to face that Morgan's never going to go back to work." He started to take his leave, but paused. "Morgan understands that and accepts it. I hope some day soon you will too..."
/
They'd never really needed words, she convinced herself with time, fiercely downplaying the importance of playful banter in the relationship.
Revisionist history, Spencer would have probably said, but she didn't need a profiler to profile her. She had one of her own and he already knew her.
They developed a sort of shorthand, where she understood Derek's needs so well it only took a single word, a gesture or an expression before she responded knowingly.
She hated watching him get frustrated when visitors failed to understand him, when they kept asking what he wanted as if that would help him tell them. At first she hung back, not wanting to wound his male ego, but after a while Derek just started looking to her in a silent plea to fix things.
So she did.
She took over his house too, preparing for his return even though his housekeeper took on the brunt of the cleaning given the damage to Penelope's hand.
In her spare time - which meant after visiting hours - she wired the house and set up both their laptops to accept voice commands and orders from remote control PDAs she scattered all over the house.
She'd considered just the PDAs - not wanting to show off her ability to speak in front of Derek - but the prospect of trying to deal with little icons on a touchpad meant using her left hand or risking hitting the wrong button.
Besides, she'd long since set up her laptop for voice dictation. Typing was starting to be a bit passé, or at least she told people that when they asked.
She also set up the guest bedroom for herself.
That she didn't mention, even if people did ask.
/
"Honey... Home..."
Derek tried gamely to call out the trite phrase when Penelope ushered him over the threshold of his house for the first time in months.
"Very funny, mister," she cracked. "Now sit your behind down on that couch while..."
He stopped her with a hand on her arm and a confused look on his face.
"Clooney... Dog... House..."
It took her only a split second to process the unspoken question.
"Mrs. McNamara is going to bring Clooney home at six. I'm sure he'll be excited to see his master."
Derek looked around the house, a sad frown clouding his homecoming.
"Empty..."
Penelope forced down the feelings he was bringing up in her and put on a smile for him.
"I'll call her now and see if she can bring him over sooner. If she can't, well maybe I can go get him."
"We?" Derek gestured back towards the car outside. "Now?"
"Sure," she said, a little sigh escaping. "We can go get your dog now. Whatever you want."
"Miss..." Derek repeated. "Empty."
Penelope looked around the house and realized it did seem lifeless.
"I understand. Come on. Let's go rescue your pup from the sitter's."
/
It was comfortable, for a long time actually, being housemates with all the time in the world.
They both found ways to fill their days. Derek took on home improvement projects with gusto, although he did hire out the hardest labor as per Penelope's staunch demands. He stood with pride on his brand new back deck when their former co-workers came to his birthday barbecue, beaming as they complimented his work. Penelope, when she wasn't looking after Derek, wound up involved in a support group for crime victims.
She spent so many hours talking to people, telling them what no one else would take the time to, that Derek groused when she came home. So they started holding meetings at the house. The group grew until it threatened to take over both of their lives. By mutual agreement, she turned the group over to other leadership and stepped away.
It had taken the better part of a year to figure it out: they might have left the Bureau, but the work never left them. And they wanted to work.
For Derek it was a gut instinct. Penelope had to run the statistics first, but they agreed: they wanted to reunite families, not just deliver bad news. Private kidnap and recovery specialists had been part of the landscape for years. They'd run into them plenty working in the FBI. Now that was their world, seeing it all from the other side.
They came up with a shingle and Penelope built a slick web site for advertising. Their ties in the crime victim community and their reputations with the Bureau meant almost instant referrals.
Within three weeks they brought a frightened teen home to her family and were hooked.
No one cared if Penelope was the mouthpiece. It didn't matter if she didn't type. Derek was the silent one, walking the crime scenes, sifting through missing people's effects and tapping out his findings and queries to send to Penelope via their encrypted messaging system.
She learned to do JJ's job: manage the cases and the media as well as liaise with local law enforcement. They still looked askance at her trademark funky dyed hair and colorful retro outfits, but once she presented their credentials they never had any problems.
She only once turned down a job flat. It was in Huntsville - the city where the accident that had changed their lives happened. She was so anguished over the idea of returning there that Derek just pulled her into his arms and held her. He let her know it was okay to turn down a case every once in a while; it wasn't like they were the only K&R team out there. She didn't let on how relieved she was days later when the Huntsville teen that had gone missing had been found, a mere runaway.
She found them a job in New York City instead that ended up high profile, garnering them some positive media attention and an appearance on a local radio show after the society sisters that had been taken had been recovered safe and unharmed. Derek didn't want to speak on air, but Penelope made him do it with her, holding his hand and answering any questions that needed long responses. None of the people who called in with questions for them seemed to notice anything wrong with Derek's speaking ability.
They left the studio on such a high they splurged on a night on the town. Somewhere between the fancy dinner and the glitzy clubs she realized it was always going to be like this.
The two of them.
Together.
/
It had to happen eventually.
Eventually ended up being in West Virginia.
"These are SSAs Rossi, Hotchner, Prentiss, Doctor Reid..." JJ's voice trailed off as a smile bloomed on her face.
"Nice to meet you all," the sheriff said genially. "We've already got some folks here helping out. The Crawford family hired them after their daughter was taken. She was the second victim - the one from yesterday." He gestured to the open doorway behind him, but the rest of the team had already seen what JJ had noticed.
Derek was the one who looked up first, nudging Penelope until she begrudgingly paid attention.
"Be damned," Derek said, striding out to greet all the familiar faces. "Hey..." A round of handshakes and hugs ensued.
"I didn't know you guys were coming!" Penelope said, clearly pleased by the impromptu reunion as she accepted everyone's greetings.
"We got called in when the third victim was found missing this morning," JJ explained. She glanced back at Rossi and at Aaron, the latter of whom gave her a subtle nod. "So we'd love to work with you two on this, get these girls back home as quickly as possible. What do you say?"
"Course," Derek said, nodding.
"Only it's not the two of us," Penelope added with a bit of a smirk. "We have staff now." She gestured into the room where a twenty-something woman in pig-tails and a nose ring was typing furiously into a laptop while a stocky Middle Eastern man was marking locations on a map.
"NSA," Derek explained, pointing to the woman. "CIA," he added, gesturing to the man.
Rossi chuckled. "You definitely picked the cream of the crop."
"Yup," Derek said proudly. "Want job?"
The round of laughter rang out in the otherwise somber police station. For a brief moment it was like they were a team again.
"How about we get down to work?" Aaron suggested.
"I'm ready," Derek agreed.
Penelope took her place, standing by his side.
"We're ready."
///