AN: So one of the big mysteries of Season 8 so far is the team's stalker. I was reading a blog (yes, that obsessed) where someone commented that they knew who the stalker was—it was someone with a photography background from a previous episode. Because I just finished writing From Bad to Worse and had watched 7x20, the Company, more than once in an attempt to get things right, of course Malcolm Ford popped into my head. Don't think that's actually the case, because I'm sure Morgan would know if he was out of jail. But never the less, here we go. And I suppose this could be considered a sequel to From Bad to Worse, for those who asked for one. I'll probably post chapters in blocks, I really don't like to leave people hanging! A bit nervous about tapping into what has the potential to be an elaborate story line. Enjoy. I don't own Criminal Minds. Sad, I know. Thanks CBS for giving us such great characters to work with!

Chapter 1—Thankful

Special Supervisory Agent Derek Morgan closed the case file he was reviewing, stretching his arms above his head and leaning back in his chair. It had been a long ass day to end a long ass week after what felt like a too-long month. Apparently yesterday was Thanksgiving, but Derek had completely skipped over the holiday this year in an effort to lighten the paperwork load for his team's direct supervisor, Aaron Hotchner. Hotch was a single dad, and Morgan knew every single bit of paperwork he did for his boss gave him more time home with his son. It wasn't like Derek had any family in the area anyway—his entire family was in Chicago.

Morgan eyed his couch again. He had spent the past several nights there, feeling no reason waste time commuting to his empty, lonely home when there was so much work to be done. Time when he wasn't working could be spent thinking, and that was something he tried very hard not to do these days. Especially not after the cases of the past month—their list of collars for November included a family annihilator, a serial rapist and a collector who specialized in 10 year old girls. Not to mention the horror of the open cases they were consulting on right now. So Morgan was quite happy to spend one more night on his office couch. Tomorrow, though, he would have to go home—at least for a shower.

Just as he was rising from his office chair to collapse on the couch, there was a soft knock at his partially closed office door.

"Hot stuff, please tell me you haven't been sleeping in the office since you guys got back from Omaha?" Penelope Garcia, the team's technical analyst and his absolute favorite person in the world, shook a bejeweled finger at him. She was, as always, an absolute ray of sunshine in the darkest night—dressed in a festive orange and brown sweater, her hair up in crazy blonde pigtails with turkey hair ties. Most women in their late thirties would look utterly ridiculous with turkey pigtails, but they suited his baby girl just fine.

"Fine," he said with a laugh, "I plead the fifth."

She grabbed his jacket and keys with one hand, his hand with her other, and pulled him out the door. "Why on earth did you stay here yesterday? J.J. would have been happy to have you her place, you know. And I honestly could have used a distraction from their domestic bliss." She was dragging him toward the elevator as she gave him the lowdown on thanksgiving dinner with their teammate and her family. "It was fun, and I'm so glad they are happy, but sometimes I feel so out of place. I only had Henry to keep me company. But at least he likes to play fun games!" Garcia was J.J.'s son Henry's Godmother, and loved playing that roll to the nines.

"Um, baby, where are we going?" He asked as they exited into the parking garage.

She glared at him and pointed a finger, complete with orange nail polish, at him as she wrinkled her nose. "You're choice handsome—dinner out or dinner in. But obviously you need to vent. I can't believe you worked through Thanksgiving! What gives?"

He sighed. He was both relieved and not that she knew him so well. "In," he muttered, knowing it was pointless to argue with her. He knew he would tell her what was getting to him, and he would just as soon there be no one who was attempting to eat nearby to overhear what he had to say. It was far too gruesome for unsuspecting ears. "You pick where we get food from though." As she pulled her classic Caddy, Esther, out of the parking garage, it occurred to him that he was no longer drop dead exhausted. In fact, he felt alive for the first time in days . . . which was always the way of it when he spent time with Garcia.

They had a routine for the evenings like this. Evenings when they both knew there was something on Morgan's mind that was affecting him in a major way. First they would eat. They would make small talk; Garcia would distract him with random tidbits about her week—techie gossip, silly things Henry or Jack had done when she spent time with them, crappy coffee at Starbucks—just idle conversation that Morgan knew was specifically designed to ease the ache in his head and his heart. After dinner they would pick out a movie. They would settle on the couch, but instead of hitting play they would talk. Usually he would talk, and she would listen. And when he had finally expelled all the shit that had been making him go crazy, she would say something that made everything make sense. Then she would settle against him and hit the play button. They would laugh together. More often than not, they would fall asleep on the couch.

This time was no different—after dinner Morgan told her how all of the blood and death of the past month had caught up to him. It was hard for it not to, given the nature of their work. He often wondered how everyone else in the team dealt with it. He knew J.J. had Will, and he balanced her out well. Because he was in law enforcement too, he could handle the innate horror of their work. He supposed Reid broke everything down to statistics. He worried about the kid though, he only really had the team and he held much of his feelings back. He had no idea about Blake either—she was still new to the team and kept her personal details to herself. Rossi, he supposed, drowned out any darkness in his heart with scotch and women. He had been doing this far longer than the rest of them, so he obviously had a good handle on coping. Hotch had seen such personal horror, when his ex-wife had been murdered by a psychopath known as the Reaper, that Morgan considered it a miracle the man was able to function at all. And yet Hotch handled things better than the rest of them. It was nice to finally see the man give himself permission to have a life again—for the first time since Hayley's death, he was in a steady relationship. Even though his girlfriend, Beth, had moved to New York, Hotch and Jack often took the train to see her. In fact, that was where they spent Thanksgiving.

Once upon a time, in what seemed a former life, he would use Rossi's coping mechanism—alcohol and a hot, willing woman. He had found that to be less and less effective for filling the void in the past few years. Lately, meaningless sex had served to increase the emptiness that almost overwhelmed him, rather than dull it. Although if he were being honest with himself, it was much longer than "lately"—things had been changing for him ever since Garcia was shot, nearly four and a half years before. For the past two years or so, she was the only thing that truly made him feel better. When the darkness overwhelmed him, he had to get his dose of sunshine for her, or he would fear that the abyss would swallow him whole.

His baby girl truly believed that everything happened for a reason. So she was able to absorb all that he said, pair it with what she knew from her side of the case, and tell him something that made him feel better. Sometimes all she could say was "You did all that you could." Coming from her though, it was always enough. Tonight was no different; she held him and told him he made a difference in the world. Then she pushed the play button and the movie began. They watched Elf because it was the official beginning of the holiday season. They laughed together. But he spent as much time watching her as he did watching the movie, playing gently with the ends of her hair. He knew he was lost without her, and sent up a sincere thank you to whatever God might be listening for having her in his life. He was asleep before Will Ferrell ended up in New York City.