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Epilogue: Next Course of Action

As Reid had predicted, Davies had talked, and now both he and Mesner were in police custody – where they belonged. Once they'd wrapped up the case, the team had returned, and, much to Garcia's inner, and outer, delight, Morgan and Reid had excused themselves shortly after arriving, and left together.

Later that week, Garcia had gotten her shoulder rub, and figurative Scooby Snack, in the form of Morgan giving her a somewhat detailed account of how the king-sized bed had come in handy for him and Reid. What he had shared with her left little, and a lot, to the imagination.

Reid's wearing a scarf to work – covering a hickey that Garcia had learned had occurred sometime after they'd eaten the dinner she'd ordered for him – was an added bonus. Garcia hadn't missed out on a single opportunity to make the younger man blush, or walk away, flabbergasted, at something she'd said or alluded to.

Today, there was another case, and they were gathered in the conference room. Garcia was doing her best not to look at the pictures strewn out over the table, because they were even more gruesome than the last batch, and that was saying something.

She sometimes wondered if she'd ever get used to seeing grisly pictures detailing the horrible crimes that humans performed against one another, and if there'd ever be a time when she could honestly say that she'd seen it all. She hoped to god that such a time never came.

She tapped her fingers on the hard wood of the table, needing the distraction the noise provided from the photos, the case, the familiar conversation that the team was having about their newest unsub. A heavy hand, landing on her shoulder, caused her to jump, and she turned to scowl at Rossi, even as she stopped tapping her fingers. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, and raised an eyebrow in question. Her gaze darted toward the photos, and then slid away quickly, before she could really see the contents of the photos. As it was, they'd already been burned into her memory.

Rossi leaned in close to her, moving his hand from her shoulder to her wrist when she'd started tapping again. He squeezed her wrist, and then pointed, covertly, across the table, to where Morgan was sitting. Garcia was certain that no one else was paying any attention to Rossi and her, or to Morgan.

The man, unaware of his peers' attention, appeared to be listening to whatever it was that Prentiss was saying about their unsub. His head was tilted to the side, and he had a serious look on his face. He gripped a pen tightly in one hand and appeared to be writing something on a pad of paper that sat in front of him.

But, much to Garcia's satisfaction, she could see that, rather than looking at Prentiss, Morgan's eyes were transfixed, unblinkingly, on Reid. In particular, they were on Reid's mouth. Morgan's mouth was slightly open, his tongue darting out between his lips every now and again to wet them.

Rossi rolled his eyes at Garcia, and mouthed, 'He's got it bad.'

Garcia snorted, and blushed, and quickly looked away when everyone turned to frown at her.

"Is there something that you'd like to add, Garcia?" Hotch asked. His tone was sharp and serious, and Garcia looked away as she shook her head.

"No, sir, nothing to add," she murmured, and then she looked up at the team leader, meeting his gaze head on. "Except, can I just say, ew." She shivered dramatically as she gestured at one of the more grisly looking photos. "Whoever is carving these people up is in the wrong line of work, whatever it is. He'd make an excellent butcher, if he isn't one already. Or, he could always work at Arby's, manning the roast beef slicer."

Even though no one laughed – how could they with what they were looking at? – there was a collective sigh and a much needed release of tension. Rossi nudged her gently, and she could see, out of the corner of her eye, that he was smiling at her.

"Well done," Rossi whispered, once the others had resumed their discussion. "We need what you do, perhaps more than we let on. Even Hotch," Rossi cleared his throat, "appreciates when you do something like that, aimed at lightening up the atmosphere. Not that he'll ever say anything." Rossi snorted, and rolled his eyes. "Man's too serious for his own good."

Garcia agreed with a nod. She was still focused on watching Morgan, watching Reid. His pupils were wide, and his breathing was a little too shallow. She turned her attention to Reid, and almost fell off her chair.

The younger agent, even as he appeared to be unaware of Morgan's undivided attention, had his head resting on his hands, his elbows propped up on the table. He was chewing on the end of his pen, and, every now and again, he'd roll his tongue around the end of it, and move the pen in and out of his mouth, in a manner which was highly suggestive of something else entirely. It was a wonder that no one else appeared to be noticing this, other than she and Rossi.

Garcia felt heat rise up along her neck and to her cheeks, and, when Morgan wet his lips once again, and then reached below the table, she tried to force herself to look away. She had the feeling that, in spite of the distinct lack of privacy, some sort of private, silent conversation was going on between Morgan and Reid, and she felt like a voyeur.

Garcia shivered when Rossi leaned close, his lips touching the outer edge of her ear, as he whispered, "Think you can arrange for us to double up on rooms again? Wine, steak, and perhaps a massage?"

Not trusting her voice, Garcia swallowed, and straightening up, she nodded. Reluctantly, she pried her gaze away from Morgan, who had dropped the pretense of writing anything on his pad, the pen lying discarded on the tabletop, beside the notepad.

She focused her attention, instead, on Hotch, noted the deep frown lines etched in his face. Her heart ached in her chest, and she decided that, since the Morgan/Reid Project had been a fabulous success (what was Morgan doing with the hand that he'd had snuck beneath the table, and what was causing Reid to smile like he was holding the secret to the universe and was not going to tell anyone?), she'd now turn her focus on Hotch and Rossi. The two, or rather, Garcia mused that one of them – Hotch – wouldn't know what had hit him, when all was said and done.

Rossi's whispered, "I'm counting on you," accompanied by a gentle squeeze to her shoulder, goaded her into action. Before the meeting was adjourned, and travel arrangements made, Garcia had already set the first part of her new plan – The Rossi/Hotch Undertaking – into motion.

Smart phones are the handmaidens of modern-day goddesses and cupids, Garcia thought to herself as she booked the hotel rooms and arranged for little gifts and surprises for the team that would hopefully make their stay in Missouri a little more pleasant than it would otherwise be. They worked hard, and she reasoned that they needed to have something relaxing waiting for them at the end of the day – and, if it was just a little more suggestive of things other than strict rest and relaxation, she couldn't be blamed (at least not in a way that would stand up in a court of law).

Seeing Morgan and Reid kiss in the corridor, after the team had been dispersed, and they thought that they were alone, was the icing on the cake, and all the proof that Garcia needed that she was doing the right thing in meddling in affairs that others would argue weren't hers to mess with. If pressed, Garcia would argue, tooth and nail, that this was her business, that the happiness of her men was hers, and hers alone, to meddle in.

The kiss was almost chaste, save for the fact that Morgan's tongue found its way into Reid's mouth, and a soft groan escaped the younger man. She might be mistaken, but Garcia thought that she'd seen Morgan's knees buckle a little before he pulled away. Both men were shaky and breathing heavily, foreheads resting against each other's', when she walked away, burning that image in her mind, hoping that it would replace that of the ugly photos that she'd seen.

Humming to herself, Garcia got back to work. She had much to do, and little time in which to get it done. She wasn't called a miracle-worker for nothing, though, and Fate was counting on her to do her part. A part which she was more than willing to do.

"Just call me, Garcia, the goddess of technology, hotel-booking, and love," she said aloud when she'd reached the privacy of her lair. The image of Morgan and Reid kissing was at the forefront of her mind, and, as her fingers flew across the keys of her super computer, Garcia smiled to herself.


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Mahalo