Philophobia

Forty-Nine; Goodbye

March 3rd, 2011
7:40 am
The Bullpen of the Behavioral Analysis Unit
Quantico, Virginia

Eliza, Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan walking into the bullpen, ready for another day's work. Reid was already at his desk, sketching on a legal pad. He looked up as they entered, making sure to avoid looking at Eliza. Eliza waited for her colleagues to drop their stuff in their offices and desks, not wanting to make awkward conversation with Reid. The team gathered around Reid's desk, Eliza handing towards the back of the crowd.

"Reid, you got anything?" Morgan asked, clapping the man on the back.

"The damage is pretty extensive, but luckily some of the tattoo remains," Reid replied, his eyes not leaving his sketch.

"Eliza, get the victim's photo out to the press," Hotch commanded. The girl turned, using the phone on Morgan's desk to place her call.

"I think I know who dug the hole!" Garcia chirped as she entered the side door of the bullpen. "The journo told me to follow the money, Like straight up, that's what he told me, so I did. It turns out The Gazette is owned by a multinational global conglomerate... oil, new technologies, shipping, air and ground transportation, all of which employ the services of one company... CWS."

"Clear Water Securities?" Hotch asked.

"You know them?" Rossi countered.

"I've come across them. They're a private counterintelligence group out of Geneva." Hotch's face was straight as he spoke, not letting anyone know what he was thinking.

"Ron Cosenza, Byron Delaney, Kerry Fagan... all worked for CWS," Garcia finished happily.

"How long ago?" Eliza hung up the phone as she spoke.

"Nine years." Garcia handed files over to Hotch and Rossi, smiling as she did so. Eliza took a breath before standing from her seat on Morgan's desk. She strode towards the bathroom trying to keep her composure. Her back to the door, Eliza whipped her phone out to ring Declan.

"Hey. What's going on?" asked her brother as the bathroom door opened and closed.

"Sorry, bye," Eliza whispered, turning to see Garcia standing behind her.

"Are you okay?" Garcia asked, her voice soft.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I'm good," Eliza lied.

"I'm not a profiler, but you..."

"Don't start," Eliza snapped. Garcia's face became more sad than worried. "I'm sorry. I'm... I'm gonna be all right."

"Okay. I'm just really worried about you." Garcia moved closer. "I think the flu is going around," she joked before opening her mouth and asking "Are you pregs?"

"No. No!" Eliza defended herself, almost too much. "No, I'm just... I'm not sleeping." It wasn't technically a lie, more an illusion to the truth. Garcia's eyes widened. Eliza opened her mouth slightly, tilted her head to one side, then returned it to look dead at Garcia, her mouth closed. "I'm having this nightmare. It's a recurring nightmare. I'm a little girl again, only like six years and I'm on this hill, like the very top of this hill. I'm dancing in the sun, and I'm waiting for someone.

"I can see her,  this woman I'm waiting for. She's standing at the bottom of this hill, asking me to wait for her. She has this dark hair just like mine. I see her walking, but the hill is moving underneath her and it takes her so long to get to the top and by the time she does, I'm gone. Even I don't know where I've gone and I have to watch this woman look for me, and watch her panic because she couldn't save me from something that seemed so inevitable because little girls only see the beauty that's in the world. Like how you only see the beauty in the world." Tears spilled from Eliza's eyes as she spoke, realizing how much Penelope Garcia meant to her. "Garcia, you always make me smile. I don't think I've ever thanked you for that."