Author's Note: We have a couple of announcements for you all today. We're proud to announce that signups are open for the Fanfic Challenge - Round 4 on our forum, "Chit Chat on Author's Corner" or, as we like to call it, the "PYOP Challenge" (pick your own pairing challenge) through September 1st. For those interested, simply go to the forum to the PWOP Challenge thread and sign up with your favorite pairing. On September 2nd, we'll assign you a scenario to write provided by some of our lovely fellow authors. This will give everybody an opportunity to write what they love and provide readers with some awesome stories. Please sign up at the forum or shoot us a PM signifying your willingness to participate. So, please come join the fun and let's make this the most successful challenge yet!

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Penny's Got a Gun

Chapter One

She hated guns. She really, really did. With a virulent passion, she despised them. She hated the destruction they caused, the lives they could ruin, and the chaos they could inflict.

However, everything had a use, no matter its destructive capabilities. And, she'd learned that lesson firsthand tonight.

Years ago, her best and pushiest friend Derek Morgan had insisted she learn how to fire one after she'd nearly died at the hands of a deranged angel of so-called mercy.

She'd resisted. Vehemently.

But, ultimately, her hunky Hershey's Kiss had gotten his way, like he always did. Sparkly hair barrettes and promises of technological gizmos had indubitably weakened her iron will.

And she'd never been more grateful for that failing than tonight.

Looking around her living room, nearly filled to capacity with both her colleagues and some of Washington's finest, Penelope Garcia sighed heavily.

It looked like a volcano had erupted inside her small abode. And she had no one to blame except herself. Well, herself and one particularly determined would-be thief. She'd warned that no-good son of a biscuit eater that she'd shoot, hadn't she? Darn skippy, she had.

He deserved what he got. Her home, on the other that was a different story completely.

Scoffing the toe of her bright yellow SpongeBob slipper against the worn rug beneath her feet, she inwardly groaned as she heard David Rossi's deep baritone ask loudly from the threshold of her apartment, "Would somebody explain to me how she could discharge nine bullets and only manage to wing him?"

Eyes darkening dangerously as she narrowed them on the senior profiler, Penelope rose from her perch swiftly, dropping her hands to her neon pink terrycloth covered hips in a graceful movement. "Well, why don't you ask him?" Pen huffed imperiously, gesturing toward the hapless criminal the paramedics were currently bandaging.

"Garcia, I wasn't..." Rossi began, seeing the flush climbing the young redhead's cheeks as she glared toward her would-be assailant.

"Well, tell them!" Penelope demanded, marching toward the greasy haired man, his groans emanating loudly from her couch. "Tell them how you kept darting around my living room like a wild baboon hopped up on crack!"

"You SAID get out or you'd shoot!" the pasty-faced youth yelped as the EMT poured iodine on the skin where the bullet had grazed his bicep. "I was trying to follow your directions. It was dark. I was disoriented. You didn't have to SHOOT me!"

"I barely hit you," Garcia snorted unsympathetically. "Besides," she asked with an imperious look at Rossi, "weren't you the one that told me that if I was gonna fire the gun, to empty the clip, Agent Know-It-All?"

"Yeah, but I meant empty it INTO the unsub, Kitten," Dave muttered, surveying two bullet holes now marring a perfectly good wall. "I never said anything about decimating your house."

"Then all of you should have been more specific," Garcia charged, sweeping an arm around her apartment. Eyes rounding as she caught sight of her desk, she shrieked.

"Baby Girl!" Morgan shouted, the sound of her fury assailing his ears. "What the hell?"

"Daisy! I murdered Daisy!" Garcia wailed, skirting a uniformed officer as she ran hastily toward her desk.

Looking around the room warily for a small furry animal, Dave growled, "Who the hell is Daisy? Do we need an ambulance? A vet? What?"

"I'm thinking we need the service tech guy from the local Radio Shack," Emily commented, lips twitching as she nodded toward the smoking laptop perched precariously on the edge of Garcia's brightly painted orange desk.

"Jesus!" Rossi groaned, collapsing against the wall as his heart struggled to return to its normally scheduled rhythm. "Garcia, you scared the hell out of us!"

"My baby!" Garcia moaned, touching her computer almost reverently. "My poor sweet innocent baby!" she said, stroking the smoking piece of equipment woefully.

"Princess, we'll get you a new one," Morgan soothed, slipping an arm around Garcia's quaking shoulders.

"It'd be like replacing a child," Garcia said morosely, shaking her head. "You just can't." Turning on her heel, she stomped toward the man sitting on her couch, pointing accusingly as her robe flared behind her. "You! This is all your fault! You're responsible for her death, you miserable excuse for a wannabe felon!"

"Listen, lady! I wasn't the one waving the gun around, firing at everything. That was your crazy ass," the oily weasel whined as he tried to sink deeper into the sofa.

"Crazy? Did you just call ME crazy?" Penelope asked sharply, eyes blazing. Looking from Morgan to Dave to Hotch, she held out her hand imperiously. "That's it! One of you, gimmee your gun! I promise, each and every bullet will land in a different part of this little maggot's anatomy. And I know which part I'll start with!"

"Do us all a favor," Hotch ordered the now bandaged robber, his voice lined with a thick layer of heavy steel. "Invoke your given rights and REMAIN SILENT from this point forward."

"Can we give the same order to her, too?" Rossi muttered, waving his hand toward the violently-inclined woman currently stomping around the room, her yellow SpongeBob slippers flopping loudly against the debris ridden floor with each step.

"I'd watch it if I were you, Agent Smarty Pants," Garcia warned, tilting her roller-wrapped head as she narrowed her eyes in his direction. "I'm not in a very charitable mood right now. The world might be far better off with one less windbag author in it tonight, if you get my drift."

"He didn't mean anything by it, Garcia," Emily soothed, helping to guide the frazzled woman to a painted chair beside her desk and mangled electronics. Watching as Penelope once again reached out to stroke the damaged computer, much like one might pet a wounded kitten, Emily could only wonder exactly what type of pets the other woman had had as a child.

But any introspective musings were interrupted suddenly. Yelping as the paramedics started to bandage another scrape against his injured shoulder, the criminal-turned-victim yelled, "Hell's bells! That hurt!"

"Don't you DARE curse in my home, you heathen!" Garcia snapped out suddenly as she jerked her head in his direction. Narrowing her blue eyes on the scumbag currently bleeding on her perfectly wonderful sofa, she kicked his ankle with her fluffy house shoe as she declared, "And you ain't even seen pain yet! I should have made you leak like a sieve, you good for nothing fruit loop!"