The Myth of Love

Prompt: Scrubs – "My Last Words"

I leaned my head back against the cool wall in the busy waiting room of St. Sebastian's Hospital and told myself to breathe. Coincidentally, I had to keep reminding myself to continue that basic bodily function. Not surprisingly, I periodically still found myself forgetting to do it. Especially since seeing the man I loved.

Initially relieved, my feelings didn't last long, however. He didn't want me in there. He didn't want me to see him weak. Injured. Personally, I was too busy being thankful the stubborn man was ALIVE to be particularly concerned that he wasn't exactly at his best. Nine times. Nine freaking times the knife had pierced his perfect unmarred body. And he was alive. It was nothing short of a miracle and I knew it. Regardless of what Aaron Hotchner had said.

Looking to my right, I noticed Garcia flipping through a magazine. She wouldn't leave. I think she felt like she owed her "Boss Man" as she called him. Hotch had done much the same thing she was a year ago when she'd been the one lying in the hospital bed, the victim of a senseless crime. I remembered how when Hotch hadn't been pursuing that sick, twisted unsub, he'd sat exactly where I was…waiting for news on Garcia. He was a good man like that.

I knew Garcia knew how I felt about Hotch. Hell, the entire team knew how I felt about the cynical man in the hospital bed, even if they were normally kind enough to keep their collective mouths closed. But Garcia was different. I knew there would be no judgment passed by her. Unlike some of my other teammates.

"Why do mothers fill their daughter's heads with the lies that love is a fairytale?" I sighed, as I turned my head toward the eternal optimist of our beleugered little group.

Smiling without lifting her eyes from the magazine in her hands, Garcia replied, "Now where'd that little jewel come from, my raven haired little friend?"

"Just thinking," I shrugged. "Even my mother was guilty of propagating the myth. And it is a myth," I snorted. "Mother's never tell their girls that loving a man is more often a thankless job for which there's often little to no reward."

"Do I detect a note of bitterness, Agent Prentiss?" Pen smiled benignly.

"Maybe a smidge," I chuckled, returning her smile. "It's just that I believe it would be easier in the long run if our mothers would just tell us the score from the beginning. Tell us that love is hard work that more often than not leaves us feeling cold, desolate, and filled with a kind of bone chilling fear. Tell us that the warm fuzzy feeling is transient. Just give their daughters a cautionary tale or two. That's all I'm saying…I promise, they're my last words on the subject," I said, suddenly feeling like I was trying to buzzkill the Pollyanna sitting beside me. Oddly guilty, I hung my head.

Patting my hand, I heard Garcia's whisper, "Because if they told us the truth, none of us would have ever fallen in love."

Lifting my head and looking into her eyes, I knew she understood. She comprehended the pain of loving a man that she'd never really have. And I felt better. At least there was one person in the world that understood my pain.