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Better Left Unsaid - Criminal Minds - Penelope Garcia/Kevin Lynch - Words: 1,816
Written for Angst bingo; Prompt: Moments Lost.
Summary: Garcia is kept awake as she thinks both about the events of the past few days and those that happened long ago.
Content Notes: Discussion of nonconsensual sex involving a sixteen year old. R.
Author Notes: Episode tag to 7.13 Snake Eyes. Heavy spoilers for that episode and light spoilers for the season in general.
On AO3: Better Left Unsaid
Garcia shifted in Kevin's embrace and folded her pillow in half so she could curl up on her side for a little while. Kevin's arm moved easily with her and when she'd settled he scooted a closer and she felt his head rest against her shoulder. This was one of the things she loved about sleeping in the same bed as Kevin - she never woke up thinking she was alone. Even if she got out of bed in the night, as soon as she climbed back under the covers Kevin would reach for her and wrap his arms around her once again. It helped after bad cases and it especially helped when she woke from nightmares where her mind mixed the memories of being shot outside her old apartment with whatever horrors she'd wound up researching over the last few weeks.
She hadn't woken from nightmares tonight, but she hadn't gone to sleep yet either. When they'd come back from their date it had already been pretty late for a work night and she had mostly wanted to go straight to bed. They'd kissed for a few minutes, Garcia grateful that she hadn't lost this due to a stupid fight and too much wine, and cuddled under the covers. Kevin's breathing had evened out a while ago but Garcia's eyes had stayed open.
It had taken a few hours for the relief of what Derek had told her to fully sink in and let her more rational mind start to kicking again. Now, with Derek's confirmation, she felt a little bit silly having thought that at all. At the time the evidence had seemed overwhelming; a man's clothing in a careless pile, the shower running, her head pounding as she fought her way out of a hangover. Garcia loved wine, quite a lot, but she didn't always fare so well when it came to large quantities of alcohol. With a clearer mind, one that wasn't occluded with fear that she'd manage to ruin two of the most important relationships in her life, she had vague recollections of being led to her bed, a soft touch of lips to the top of her head, and then the person walking away instead of the mattress dipping with the weight of another body.
She honestly felt a little guilty about what she'd thought at all, especially during the hours she'd been waiting alone while the team worked the case on their end and she worked magic with her fingers on the little information they already had. The more she'd worried about the consequences, about telling Kevin what she'd done and how it would change everything between her and Derek, the more she'd struggled to try to be sure that she'd done what she thought she had. The first few moments were the most vivid, she'd been fairly well on her way to drunk by the time Derek had arrived but not all the way there yet, and the sense memory of Derek putting her arms around her when she opened the door was the most powerful. They'd sunk down on the couch together, Derek's arm around her shoulders as she'd explained the fight as well as she could, and from there things just got hazier and hazier. It was too easy for her to imagine how sitting so close could have turned into a kiss, and how a kiss could have turned into something much more.
What she did remember, all too well, was how easy it was to drink a little too much and then do something you didn't mean to at all. Garcia realized she had tensed up, which was not conducive to falling asleep, and took a few slow breaths. "Calm Garcie, that's a girl," she told herself, knowing she wouldn't wake Kevin. Sometimes she thought Kevin could sleep through a bomb going off in the next room, though he'd responded quickly and valiantly the one time the neighbor's cat had tumbled in through her propped open kitchen and scared them both quite badly.
Thinking of Kevin, wielding a broomstick as he charged into the kitchen while she hung back in the bedroom and hit her speed dial for Derek, made her smile. She'd been clinging to both her stuffed Ugly Doll and a heavy metal lamp that she felt would make a pretty good weapon if necessary - they had lots of cases where the victims had been bludgeoned with lamps. Garcia reached out and found her Ugly Doll, an orangish pink creature named Mrs. Kasoogi, and found it near the top of the bed. She pulled it close, resting her chin on the soft fabric, and let Kevin move closer again.
Her mind flickered back to her conversation with Derek, his wary stance and profiler's eyes active as he told her that he'd spend the night on the couch. She hadn't realized it at the time, her attention caught between relief and Kevin waiting, but she was starting to wonder if she'd hurt Derek's feelings. She hadn't told him that she'd thought they might have had sex but Derek was exceptional at reading in between the words that were said and that was only doubled with her. They had been friends, flirty and quirky and everything in between, for nearly a decade now. He had to have known what she'd thought, even if he didn't know why.
Thinking of Derek only reminded her of finding Derek's clothes, male clothes, all bunched together, and of why she'd thought what she'd thought. She tightened her grip around the soft toy she was holding and wiggled back until she was safely ensconced in Kevin's embrace. The memory was still strong 18 years later, even through the hangover she'd had at the time and her confusion and panic. Actually, her confusion and quiet panic were the things she remembered the most; her heart was already beating faster just from letting her mind go where she usually forbid it.
She'd been sixteen, bright and headstrong, and she'd wanted to do everything and be everywhere at once. Her mom and stepdad, bless them, had indulged her as much as they could. She didn't quite run wild, not truly, but there was seldom a night she was home when she could have been out with friends doing something. Her love of computers was slowly being kindled and it was equally likely on any given afternoon to find her in the local university computer lab as it was to find her roaming the streets with her friends. In the evenings she migrated from place to place and it had felt like she'd known everyone and would see everything there was to see.
That particular night she'd gone out to a party with two of her best friends. Her mom knew she was going even though her friends had to lie to say they were going to sleep over at one of their houses. The plan had been to sneak into one of their bedrooms in the middle of the night, probably whoever's house was closest when their night ended, and sleep off the partying until they were all put back together on Saturday afternoon.
To this day Garcia wasn't sure if someone had spiked one of her drinks or if she'd just drunken too much or something that she hadn't realized was a strong as it had been. She just remembered waking up in a stranger's bedroom, her clothes at the foot of the bed mixed up with the clothing that clearly belonged to a man. There was blood spotted on the sheets of the bed, not a lot but enough that along with the somewhat uncomfortable feeling between her legs she knew what had happened. She didn't recognize the clothing, didn't know where he'd gone, and she'd gotten dressed before finding her friends sleeping on a pile of couch cushions and blankets in one of the side rooms. She'd roused them and they'd all managed to get back to her house in one piece. She never told her friends, or her mom, what had happened.
This was something she hadn't told anyone, especially not the team. Garcia knew from the years she spent running her support group and just from the sheer number of cases she'd helped work that there wasn't any reason to feel the shame that bubbled up when she thought about it. There wasn't any reason she couldn't just tell Derek that's why she'd overreacted a little - okay, a lot - and it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with circumstances out of their control. If JJ or Emily ever heard of the situation between her and Derek, which Garcia didn't think would happen but that was always possible when working in constant close quarters with a group of profilers, they would probably put it together almost instantly. Their training was cultural and even though there were plenty of male victims of sexual assault, men weren't brought up to be aware of the possibilities the same way women were. That persisted even through the profiling training and experience that the team used every day.
If she told Derek, he would understand. He'd be quietly angry in the same way that he was during any case that involved someone taking advantage of another person sexually, but he would be supportive. Garcia didn't want to tell him. She didn't want to change their relationship more than it had already been changed in the past few days. She'd been holding out hope that everything would go back to normal, and nothing had been normal this past year, but she suspected this had done more damage to their relationship than either of them realized yet.
Garcia wiggled her way out of Kevin's grasp and propped up her pillows so that she could sit. Her glasses and one of her laptops were easy enough to reach on her night stand and she turned the screen away from Kevin so the light wouldn't rouse him. Kevin's head settled against her thigh and Garcia ran her fingers through his soft hair and smoothed the cowlicks that gave him a permanently disheveled look. It would probably take a few more hours for her to fall asleep, maybe longer, but she didn't mind so much. If anything, her thoughts had reminded her how important her job was and how working for the FBI had turned out to be the best thing that had ever happened to her. It took a few minutes to set up the database queries she'd been working on in the back of her mind and then she started the research she'd been doing on the side for another team. A technical analyst's work was never done, much like the work of a profiler, and a quiet and grim sense of purpose filled her as her fingers worked steadily at the keyboard.
Written for Angst bingo; Prompt: Moments Lost.
Summary: Garcia is kept awake as she thinks both about the events of the past few days and those that happened long ago.
Content Notes: Discussion of nonconsensual sex involving a sixteen year old. R.
Author Notes: Episode tag to 7.13 Snake Eyes. Heavy spoilers for that episode and light spoilers for the season in general.
On AO3: Better Left Unsaid
Garcia shifted in Kevin's embrace and folded her pillow in half so she could curl up on her side for a little while. Kevin's arm moved easily with her and when she'd settled he scooted a closer and she felt his head rest against her shoulder. This was one of the things she loved about sleeping in the same bed as Kevin - she never woke up thinking she was alone. Even if she got out of bed in the night, as soon as she climbed back under the covers Kevin would reach for her and wrap his arms around her once again. It helped after bad cases and it especially helped when she woke from nightmares where her mind mixed the memories of being shot outside her old apartment with whatever horrors she'd wound up researching over the last few weeks.
She hadn't woken from nightmares tonight, but she hadn't gone to sleep yet either. When they'd come back from their date it had already been pretty late for a work night and she had mostly wanted to go straight to bed. They'd kissed for a few minutes, Garcia grateful that she hadn't lost this due to a stupid fight and too much wine, and cuddled under the covers. Kevin's breathing had evened out a while ago but Garcia's eyes had stayed open.
It had taken a few hours for the relief of what Derek had told her to fully sink in and let her more rational mind start to kicking again. Now, with Derek's confirmation, she felt a little bit silly having thought that at all. At the time the evidence had seemed overwhelming; a man's clothing in a careless pile, the shower running, her head pounding as she fought her way out of a hangover. Garcia loved wine, quite a lot, but she didn't always fare so well when it came to large quantities of alcohol. With a clearer mind, one that wasn't occluded with fear that she'd manage to ruin two of the most important relationships in her life, she had vague recollections of being led to her bed, a soft touch of lips to the top of her head, and then the person walking away instead of the mattress dipping with the weight of another body.
She honestly felt a little guilty about what she'd thought at all, especially during the hours she'd been waiting alone while the team worked the case on their end and she worked magic with her fingers on the little information they already had. The more she'd worried about the consequences, about telling Kevin what she'd done and how it would change everything between her and Derek, the more she'd struggled to try to be sure that she'd done what she thought she had. The first few moments were the most vivid, she'd been fairly well on her way to drunk by the time Derek had arrived but not all the way there yet, and the sense memory of Derek putting her arms around her when she opened the door was the most powerful. They'd sunk down on the couch together, Derek's arm around her shoulders as she'd explained the fight as well as she could, and from there things just got hazier and hazier. It was too easy for her to imagine how sitting so close could have turned into a kiss, and how a kiss could have turned into something much more.
What she did remember, all too well, was how easy it was to drink a little too much and then do something you didn't mean to at all. Garcia realized she had tensed up, which was not conducive to falling asleep, and took a few slow breaths. "Calm Garcie, that's a girl," she told herself, knowing she wouldn't wake Kevin. Sometimes she thought Kevin could sleep through a bomb going off in the next room, though he'd responded quickly and valiantly the one time the neighbor's cat had tumbled in through her propped open kitchen and scared them both quite badly.
Thinking of Kevin, wielding a broomstick as he charged into the kitchen while she hung back in the bedroom and hit her speed dial for Derek, made her smile. She'd been clinging to both her stuffed Ugly Doll and a heavy metal lamp that she felt would make a pretty good weapon if necessary - they had lots of cases where the victims had been bludgeoned with lamps. Garcia reached out and found her Ugly Doll, an orangish pink creature named Mrs. Kasoogi, and found it near the top of the bed. She pulled it close, resting her chin on the soft fabric, and let Kevin move closer again.
Her mind flickered back to her conversation with Derek, his wary stance and profiler's eyes active as he told her that he'd spend the night on the couch. She hadn't realized it at the time, her attention caught between relief and Kevin waiting, but she was starting to wonder if she'd hurt Derek's feelings. She hadn't told him that she'd thought they might have had sex but Derek was exceptional at reading in between the words that were said and that was only doubled with her. They had been friends, flirty and quirky and everything in between, for nearly a decade now. He had to have known what she'd thought, even if he didn't know why.
Thinking of Derek only reminded her of finding Derek's clothes, male clothes, all bunched together, and of why she'd thought what she'd thought. She tightened her grip around the soft toy she was holding and wiggled back until she was safely ensconced in Kevin's embrace. The memory was still strong 18 years later, even through the hangover she'd had at the time and her confusion and panic. Actually, her confusion and quiet panic were the things she remembered the most; her heart was already beating faster just from letting her mind go where she usually forbid it.
She'd been sixteen, bright and headstrong, and she'd wanted to do everything and be everywhere at once. Her mom and stepdad, bless them, had indulged her as much as they could. She didn't quite run wild, not truly, but there was seldom a night she was home when she could have been out with friends doing something. Her love of computers was slowly being kindled and it was equally likely on any given afternoon to find her in the local university computer lab as it was to find her roaming the streets with her friends. In the evenings she migrated from place to place and it had felt like she'd known everyone and would see everything there was to see.
That particular night she'd gone out to a party with two of her best friends. Her mom knew she was going even though her friends had to lie to say they were going to sleep over at one of their houses. The plan had been to sneak into one of their bedrooms in the middle of the night, probably whoever's house was closest when their night ended, and sleep off the partying until they were all put back together on Saturday afternoon.
To this day Garcia wasn't sure if someone had spiked one of her drinks or if she'd just drunken too much or something that she hadn't realized was a strong as it had been. She just remembered waking up in a stranger's bedroom, her clothes at the foot of the bed mixed up with the clothing that clearly belonged to a man. There was blood spotted on the sheets of the bed, not a lot but enough that along with the somewhat uncomfortable feeling between her legs she knew what had happened. She didn't recognize the clothing, didn't know where he'd gone, and she'd gotten dressed before finding her friends sleeping on a pile of couch cushions and blankets in one of the side rooms. She'd roused them and they'd all managed to get back to her house in one piece. She never told her friends, or her mom, what had happened.
This was something she hadn't told anyone, especially not the team. Garcia knew from the years she spent running her support group and just from the sheer number of cases she'd helped work that there wasn't any reason to feel the shame that bubbled up when she thought about it. There wasn't any reason she couldn't just tell Derek that's why she'd overreacted a little - okay, a lot - and it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with circumstances out of their control. If JJ or Emily ever heard of the situation between her and Derek, which Garcia didn't think would happen but that was always possible when working in constant close quarters with a group of profilers, they would probably put it together almost instantly. Their training was cultural and even though there were plenty of male victims of sexual assault, men weren't brought up to be aware of the possibilities the same way women were. That persisted even through the profiling training and experience that the team used every day.
If she told Derek, he would understand. He'd be quietly angry in the same way that he was during any case that involved someone taking advantage of another person sexually, but he would be supportive. Garcia didn't want to tell him. She didn't want to change their relationship more than it had already been changed in the past few days. She'd been holding out hope that everything would go back to normal, and nothing had been normal this past year, but she suspected this had done more damage to their relationship than either of them realized yet.
Garcia wiggled her way out of Kevin's grasp and propped up her pillows so that she could sit. Her glasses and one of her laptops were easy enough to reach on her night stand and she turned the screen away from Kevin so the light wouldn't rouse him. Kevin's head settled against her thigh and Garcia ran her fingers through his soft hair and smoothed the cowlicks that gave him a permanently disheveled look. It would probably take a few more hours for her to fall asleep, maybe longer, but she didn't mind so much. If anything, her thoughts had reminded her how important her job was and how working for the FBI had turned out to be the best thing that had ever happened to her. It took a few minutes to set up the database queries she'd been working on in the back of her mind and then she started the research she'd been doing on the side for another team. A technical analyst's work was never done, much like the work of a profiler, and a quiet and grim sense of purpose filled her as her fingers worked steadily at the keyboard.
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