AN: It was after midnight, very early Thanksgiving morning. I was waiting for my cream cheese to thaw for my final dessert of the night (Pumpkin bars!), so I sat down and wrote a Thanksgiving present for my friends! Happy Thanksgiving-and this includes my European, Canadian, Caribbean, and all over the world friends. Because for me, I give thanks for the truly good things in my life: the smile on my daughter's face, the warmth in my husband's kiss (He kisses like no other man on earth!), and the laughter and love in my friends' stories, reviews and emails. A special thanks to: Jenny, Betty-Anne, Sharon, Ulrike, Sara, Kirsty, Nicky and Emma. Love, Kricket

Where the heart is...

"Hey Hotch," Derek said, clapping his hand on his boss's shoulder. He had his go bag slung over his shoulder, obviously itching to get out of the BAU on this holiday weekend. "Where're you headed for Thanksgiving this year?"

"No place in particular," Hotch answered with a shrug.

He grinned at Hotch warmly. "You and the little man having your own thanksgiving at home this year?"

Hotch gave a smile back, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. "No. Jack's heading over to Haley's parent's house upstate, and I'm staying in town here."

Derek began to frown. He assumed this was a forced exile, but he couldn't verify that. This year, the first Thanksgiving after Hotch had lost Haley, was one Derek didn't think Hotch would want to do alone. He decided he needed to be more inquisitive.

"Why not go with Jack?" Derek asked.

Hotch sighed. Morgan was like a dog with a bone-tenacious and hard headed when it came to uncovering facts. The fight was worn out of him; Hotch figured he might as well give up and say what's been going on.

"I'm not exactly welcome at the Brooks' this year. Jessica understands, and forgives me, for what happened with Haley, but her parents and the rest of her siblings haven't." He gave a shrug. "I thought I'd catch up on some work here, and then watch some football later."

"Oh, hell, no, Hotch," Derek spat disgustedly, like the idea absolutely appalled him. He added quickly, "I'm not going home to Chicago; Penelope and I are going to get together tomorrow and have a little bird and a lot of pie. Why don't you come, too?"

Hotch shook his head. "I'm fine, Morgan, really." He gave a half grin. "I could use some peace and quiet, and I certainly won't get that with you and Garcia!"

"Are you sure?" Derek asked, a brow arched with obvious concern still on his face.

"Morgan," Hotch said with a laugh. "Go home. Happy thanksgiving."

"Same to you, man," he answered, turning to head towards his office, and the next door office of Penelope Garcia.

"He said what?" Penelope exclaimed, then began to flip open her phone. "Oh, no no no, mon coeur; he's so not doing that!"

"Baby, he said-"

"I refuse to let him!" She set her jaw stubbornly, then muttered and huffed, "Working on thanksgiving...bah!"

"Umm, guys?" Spencer Reid queried, popping his head around the corner. "Ah, good. You're both here. Happy Thanksgiving."

"You too, kid," Derek answered, still watching as Penelope ferociously texted on her phone.

Reid was watching, too. "What's going on?"

"Hotch is alone for Thanksgiving." Derek explained what had conspired between himself and Hotch, "...And now P's doing her best to make sure that doesn't happen."

"Oh." A moment later, Reid said, "I don't have to be on the flight to my father's house until three PM. Their dinner is later in Vegas. I'd be happy to spend some time with Hotch before hand."

"Can you cook?" Derek asked. "Gotta make a good meal; it's tradition."

Reid shook his head.

"Then he ain't going your way," Derek replied, and Reid reluctantly nodded his agreement. It was a huge part of everybody's Thanksgiving: celebrating the harvest plenty by stuffing yourself silly.

"I know, Emily. D asked him, and he won't come," Pen grumbled at her phone, rapidly texting the words she just said.

"Why not bring the dinner here to the BAU, then?" Reid commented.

Pen stopped texting, and looked up at Reid. A moment later, she flung herself in his arms and kissed him soundly on the lips. "Thanks, boy wonder! You did it again."

Reid flushed two shades of red.

"Hey!" Derek groused. "This whole thing was my idea, and I didn't get any kisses."

"You only gave me a problem, Derek," she quipped with a smirk. "Reid solved it."

"Woman, you're gonna pay for that later," Morgan grumbled.

"Promises, promises," she said in a sing song tone, before her phone beeped again, signaling a message. She looked at her phone. "Yay! Em's coming, and she's bringing pumpkin pie."

"I'll bring green bean casserole," Reid said.

"You just said you can't cook," Derek growled.

"Any idiot can make green bean casserole," Reid retorted to Morgan, as he raised his chin in his debate stance. "I've seen it done; I'm sure I can master it."

"That's great, Reid," Penelope remarked. "Derek, you and I are bringing turkey, stuffing, and rolls."

"We're riding together?" he asked.

"You're spending the night, precious," she said, stepping closer to him and patting his cheeks. "We have a twelve pound turkey to put in the oven at eight in the morning; I'm going to need your help."

"What about Rossi?" Reid questioned.

"I think he spends thanksgiving with his seventy year old mother," Morgan replied.

"I do," Rossi said, walking in the office, "and the rest of the famiglia Rossi at six PM. What is the hubbub about?"

Reid gave the lowdown to Rossi, who shook his head. "I've told him a million times; he's going to regret the times he doesn't take for himself far more than the cases he can't solve." He looked over at Penelope. "Put me on the list for mostacolli con ricotta and wine."

"Mostacolli?" Reid asked.

"Of course," Rossi replied with a smirk. "That's traditional thanksgiving food at everyone's house, right?"

Penelope beamed. "That's all of us, then. See you guys tomorrow at noon."

Aaron Hotchner was finishing the last of the first stack of paperwork. He was glad to have work to think about, actually. The holidays were really rough for him; it was best to stay busy. He was reaching for the second stack when a very familiar smell wafted to his nostrils. He sniffed the air, beginning to wonder if he was having a olfactory hallucination. It was strong; he knew it had to be real.

He smelled roast turkey.

Stretching his cramped neck and shoulders first, he stood and started following his nose like Sam the Toucan would do. That only made sense; he was truly going Froot Loops.

Being the bright man that he was, before he'd even turned the corner, he figured out what was happening. He couldn't help but shake his head and smile.

In the conference room, the large, round table was covered with a stunning golden tablecloth, along with paper plates, silverware and napkins. There were even candles to add ambiance to the room.

"I would've brought something if you would've let me know," he said, causing Morgan and Garcia to look up from where they were moving a very stuffed bird onto a plate.

"Sorry, sir," Penelope said with a smile, "but we've got it covered."

"Since you wouldn't come to us, we came to you," Derek added with his trademark Morgan grin.

"And added some company, too!" Prentiss remarked, coming in the door, carrying her pumpkin pie and a bottle of Reddi-Whip. She gave Hotch a big hug. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving to you, too."

Shortly after, the rest of the motley BAU crew arrived, each carrying a different dish or two, until there was a feast fit for a king spread out on the table. All the dishes were lovely, beautifully garnished in decorator platters...spare one.

"I added all the onions and forgot to save some for garnish," Reid said, pointing at his rather flat looking green bean casserole.

In the true, giving spirit of Thanksgiving, Derek kept quiet, although everyone knew he must've been itching to pick on Reid for his mistake.

"I'm sure it will taste fine," Penelope said, patting the young genius's shoulder sympathetically.

Prentiss clapped her hands and took a seat. "Serve me up some of that bird. I'm starving."

Acting as a true hostess, Penelope began serving. She did Hotch's plate, then Prentiss's. As Penelope began dishing up Rossi's plate, he grinned even more.

"Ah, Thanksgiving!" Rossi exclaimed with a sigh. He took a big sniff of the air. "My favorite holiday."

"Really?" Reid asked, curious.

He smirked over at Reid. "Of course! Big breasts, meaty thighs...what more could a man want?"

"Rossi," Derek said, clapping Dave on the shoulder. He was smiling so hugely, the crinkles around his eyes were very pronounced. "I like the way you think!"

"Morgan, carve the turkey," Pen complained. "We have serving to do."

After everyone had a plate, Derek and Penelope served themselves.

"Hey Baby Girl," Derek asked, wiggling his eye brows. "You like white or dark meat?"

"Ah, mon cher, you know the answer to that,"she teasingly replied, her lips in a seductive smile.

"I don't know, momma," he said, his expression becoming more serious. "You always keep me guessing."

Penelope stood there quietly, holding her plate. She knew he was talking about far more than turkey. She needed to come clean, and get the ball rolling in the right direction...where it had been rolling ever since Alaska.

"I...I don't want you to guess anymore, Derek." She nervously licked her lips, then looked up at him.

His warm gaze was electric. "On the level, sweetheart? For real?"

Then she smiled brilliantly. "No more guessing, Hot Stuff; you know I'm real."

He took her plate out of her hands and pulled her into his arms, giving her a kiss without caring that there was other people in the room.

"Hallelujah!" Emily said, spearing into a piece of turkey.

"It's about damned time," Rossi added, spreading butter on his roll.

"Here, here!" Reid proclaimed, holding up his disposable cup of wine.

Morgan and Garcia simply looked at each other and grinned like silly people in love tended to do.

Hotch watched the happenings around him, watched the love and the caring that happened throughout their tight knit group. He watched as each of them gave of their time to make his time better, to take some of his loneliness by sharing of themselves so willingly. It was humbling and it was fantastic, and it filled him with utmost joy.

He cleared his throat. "I'd like to make a toast." He looked around the room, and his smile was soft with emotion, a rarity for Aaron Hotchner. "To old friends, and new beginnings. May we always cherish both."

"Cheers!" Everyone said, standing to clink their Styrofoam cups together, before they all sat back down and had a beautiful Thanksgiving meal.

Friendship improves happiness and abates misery, by the doubling of our joy and the dividing of our grief. -Marcus Tullius Cicero.