magnetic ◊ criminal minds

vii.

vii. penelope
( season three, episode nine )

FEAR was a tricky concept. Lyra was familiar with it, though fear had quickly been replaced by anger and apathy at some point during her adolescence. She wondered how scared Garcia felt when she was shot. They were not particularly close - after all, conversations were very limited and it was never one-on-one. It was hard to be close to anyone for Lyra. She was never even sure if she could have strong relationships with all her baggage and the communication barrier. No matter, she was determined to be there for Garcia. They were on the same team, and regardless of any emotional unavailability, they had each others backs.

It was late when Hotch texted. Lyra made sure her team knew about her strict no phone calls rule, one that Hotch was only okay with because she always answered his messages in a matter of seconds. Mere minutes after receiving the text, Lyra arrived at the hospital. Her hair was tangled - she had not worn her helmet in her rush to get there, so the wind messed it up. She did not care.

"Any word?" Lyra signed quickly. She tried to look impassive, and for the most part, it worked. She had learned years ago how to have a good poker face. But no amount of apathy could hide the worry she felt bubbling in her chest.

"She's in surgery," JJ replied, quietly. Her voice shook, as much as she tried to hide it to remain professional. "That's all I know."

Lyra wanted to comfort her, but she did not know how. It was never one of her strong suits. So instead, she silently vowed to get revenge on the person who had done this. Whoever shot Penelope, Lyra would catch them. Reid arrived moments later once silence had fallen. While JJ shared the same news to him that she did to Lyra, Lyra slipped into the shadows of the waiting room.

"What do we know?" Rossi asked, walking over. Hotch had reentered the room now as well.

"Police think it was a botched robbery," Hotch said. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. Everyone was worried sick.

"Where's Morgan?" Prentiss asked softly.

"He's not answering his cell," JJ responded.

"I'll call him again," Reid said, walking off as he dialed Morgan's number.

"What aren't you saying?" Rossi asked Hotch quietly.

"I spoke to one of the paramedics that brought her in. It doesn't look good," Hotch admitted.

Lyra bit her lip. She did not like the sound of that. By the looks of it, neither did anyone else.

"They won't give me an update," JJ stated.

"Morgan's phone just keeps going straight to voicemail," Reid reported.

"Where the hell is he?" Prentiss demanded, as if anyone would be able to answer.

Everyone sat or stood quietly, anxiously waiting for any update on Garcia's condition. Abruptly, Lyra left the room. She left the hospital entirely. It was getting too cramped, the air constricting around her. It was unbearable. Her hands shook as she fumbled through her pockets, trying to locate her phone. Her breathing kept accelerating to the point where it did not even feel like she was breathing anymore. Finally, she grasped her phone. With blurred vision, she searched through her contacts, but she could not bring herself to click the call button on anyone. She just let it fall to the floor. No tears came. Only numbness.

It was late - or maybe early. Lyra was not in the right mentality to think about it. It was dark, and a cool wind blew around her. She did not seem to feel it as she tried to regulate her breathing, staring at nothing as she sat on the steps in front of the hospital. Lyra was left alone to pick herself back up. To channel her worry back into anger. Anger at the UnSub, anger at herself for having been powerless to stop this from happening. Her nails dug into her palm, on the verge of drawing blood. Repressing the urge to send a bolt of electricity to the tree in front of her, which she would have done if her team was not so close.