Disclaimer: I don't own a single thing.

There's something to be said about love. Something haunting. Something devastating. Something heart breaking. You find yourself questioning every move you make, every move he makes. You find yourself questioning everything. Before him, you never questioned your decisions. Before him, you wouldn't cry over missed phone calls. Before him, everything was perfect. But before him…everything was gray.

Gray like your favorite sweat-shirt. Gray like your favorite sheets. Gray like your towels in the bathroom. Gray like the paint that covers the walls in your living room. But once you met him, you could see color again. Colors you never thought could be seen by the human eye. But he hurts you. He hurts you in ways that you didn't even think were possible. Not physically of course, but emotionally.

He yanks the ground right out from under you, day in and day out. He makes your world shift on it's axis, some times in a good way. But mostly, it's in the worst way.

It's in the way he calls you Baby Girl. Knowing that to him you're neither his Baby nor his Girl. It's in the way he calls you Beautiful, but when you look in the mirror all you see is fat, and you are ashamed. It's in the way he hugs you, kisses your forehead, and tells you he loves you. And you know he does, on that platonic, best friend, godmother to his son with this tall, lanky, beautiful woman, way. Yes, he loves you. But he's not in love with you, and therein lies the difference. Because you are irrevocably, unequivocally, desperately, hopelessly in love with him.

Your heart hardens, and you find someone else to lie with at night. Someone else who cuddles you close, kisses you deeply, and even though your heart isn't in it, makes love to you in your bed. Someone who doesn't understand why you won't let him call you Baby until he meets the man who can. And then it's clear to the place keeper that you're in love with a man, but the man you love obviously isn't him. You know it. He knows it. You all know it.

But you pretend that you don't.

And life carries on.

Until he leaves, and your world is gray again.

And then one day it happens. You're walking into work with a tablet in one hand, a pink pen sticking out of a messy bun, and a cup of coffee almost to your lips when you see a flash of color. Your heart stops, because you haven't seen color in months and you think it's him. But it's not, and your heart shatters and your world collapses, and it's hard for you to catch your breath. But what you can't understand is that this man standing and talking with your boss is wearing blue, and his eyes are brown, that melted honey shade that people fall in love with. He doesn't turn to look at you, but judging from the side of his face you can tell that he is handsome.

But your heart is scattered at your feet in a million pieces, and you've just managed to grab a dust pan to start to sweep them all up, and you know you can't afford to fall in love again…not with someone so clearly out of your league. But there you go again. Ready to pick up the pieces of your heart, assemble the remains into something functioning and mask the holes with scotch tape, which we all know is flimsy at best. Good for holding together the wrapping paper you used to send off his wedding gift, but not good enough for your heart, but it will have to do for now.

You're ready to prance over to this stranger and hand him your fragile organ, because that's what you do for color. You then realize that you would do anything for color. You, my dear, are a color addict and it's time to come to terms with that. But how do you come to terms with the fact that he left? That he used you for the color you brought into his world, and when his life was colorful enough, packed up his bags, his wife, his kid, and he left.

That's not how you really see it, because deep down you know, that he left because it was time. He has a child to worry about now, your godson. And even though you know that, even though you can clearly see that's what happened, it doesn't hurt any less. You don't think it will hurt any less, ever, but maybe…

This knowledge doesn't help you sleep better at night, it doesn't help put your heart back together, and it sure as hell doesn't bring the color back into your world. So you file it away, deep in the recesses of your mind. You'll look at it another time, or not. That's entirely up to you.

This stranger is tall, and broad shouldered, and looks like he has also seen some things in his life. His shirt stretches across his back, and you wonder deep down, what he would look like kicking a door in. Any door? Your door…probably. Considering you've already gotten ahead of yourself. He's deep in conversation with your boss, probably about the latest serial killer he helped capture, and deep down you are thankful for his presence. But you're not thankful for why he was there, or whose place he was taking. Or not taking, you're really trying hard not to eavesdrop, but it's part of who you are. So go on, listen.

The weeks go by and you finally get the name of the man who has caught your attention, and for a fleeting minute, you feel as if you've caught his attention too. But that's preposterous, because you look at yourself after a shower and you cringe at what you see. There is no way that SSA Luke Alvez can find any part of your body attractive. The way your stomach has those four rolls in it, and it's offensive that even they can't be symmetrical. You stare at yourself as you towel off, counting for another morning, the many stretch marks that litter your skin. You look at the cellulite on your thighs…you know that you are beautiful but you can't help but feel inadequate compared to the others around you.

You start to dress carefully again, outfits designed to draw a man's eye to your best features, because besides your brain the best thing you think you have to offer is what is between your legs. But you're more than that deep down inside. You start to smile more, especially when he's around, and don't think that the others haven't noticed because they have. They think it's nice, that you're finally coming back to yourself. Yes, it's only been about a month but the old Penelope Garcia is starting to shine through again, and Hotch will do anything to keep Luke around. He wants to save you. They all do.

A new haircut always used to make you feel better about yourself, and so you go and get your hair layered, and while you were there you added some pink to the very tips of your hair. You stare at the hair piled on the top of your head before fashioning it into something reasonable and finally exit the bathroom. There's only so long in a day that you can stare at yourself and hate everything that you see.

At least when Derek was here he used to tell you that you were beautiful.

You used to lie awake at night and recount the nice things he would say to you. At some point in your life, you may have actually started to believe him, but then he left, taking all of that positivity with him.

Derek isn't coming back, you scold yourself. He left without a second glance, he's gone.

It doesn't hurt as much to say that anymore. You're finally healing.

Yes, it's a lie you continue to tell yourself in order to get through the day. Just the mention of his name causes the pain to bubble up in your throat and you have to excuse yourself before it overflows. But you're strong. You can get through this. After all, it's only been 62 days since he left.

Your fragilely reconstructed world crumbles around you one day, as Alvez talks to you about Roxy. Someone who loves him dearly, and you quip with him, that she should call you once she comes to her senses. But deep inside you can't breathe again, this can't be happening for the second time. And you know, you just know that Roxy is tall, slender, beautiful, and intelligent. Of course she is. How could you have been so stupid, you reprimand yourself. And you hear your voice, in the hazy mess that is this entire conversation, snap that you have plans with your boyfriend, your Canadian clarinet playing boyfriend, and you know that he doesn't exist. Well not anymore.

He left you around the same time that Derek did. But that doesn't hurt you at all. Or you don't remember it hurting you at all because at that point you were already dead inside from saying goodbye to Derek. You don't like to go back to the Dark Days as you are so fond of calling them, and so you close your eyes in this elevator and concentrate on breathing. That's all you can control right now, is breathing.

When you finally get home and kick off your heels you decide that enough is enough, and you crawl into the back of your closet for the offending pair of shoes that you are looking for.

Sneakers. You stare at them as if they have insulted your parents before you change clothes. Do you even own socks? Before you know it you have driven yourself to a beautiful trail near Quantico and you stretch lightly before taking off. You don't know what the hell caused you to think that jogging was a great idea for your first go around, but you were sick and tired of looking like a damn muffin every time you sat down. And so when the pain in your calves slowly becomes unbearable, and your lungs seem like you can't get any more air, you continue pushing yourself. Sipping from your water bottle as you go. The end of the trail is fast approaching, and you can see Esther up ahead, and you know you can make it if you just push yourself.

In what seems like no time you have reached your car again, and there is this bubbling in your chest, one that has nothing to do with the exertion you just put on your body. It takes you a while to figure out what the feeling is, as you sit on the ground with your back against your tire, with your knees bent, and you concentrate on breathing. There is sweat falling into your face, and your heart rate is literally through the roof because you can feel the organ pounding against your chest. You feel alive. You feel proud.

You don't notice when another car pulls up on the other side of Esther, and you don't hear that person calling your name, asking if you are ok. What you do register is legs that are so finely sculpted and peppered with hair that it makes your blood run cold. And a dog, you notice a dog too, because the animal comes up to you and immediately licks your face.

"Roxy." He reprimands. Reaching down to grab her gently by the collar. Your eyes snap up to meet his, and the brunette smiles at you in that crooked way that he has perfected. "Garcia, meet Roxy…my girl."

You smile up at him and reach out to pet Roxy. Laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of it all.

"I didn't know you ran." He said, crouching down to be eye level with you.

"First time." You reply. Looking away from Roxy. "Nearly died back there, but it felt good to finish."

He smiles at you, and stands, offering you his hand to help you up.

"I run here every day when we're not on assignment…" he says "maybe you want to join me?" He's looking down at his feet, finding something interesting in the gravel there. Did you really imagine those feelings a while back? You question over and over again. You're brushing yourself off when you pause, realizing what he asked you.

"I'm no good." You start but he cuts you off quickly.

"We can go slow, at your pace." He looks hopeful, and so does Roxy who's begun to whine impatiently. "We can even start tomorrow, or right now if you want to walk the trail this time." You smile at him.

"Sure Newbie, I'd like that." And you take off towards the tree line for the second time that day. Wondering if there was something wrong with you.

But in that moment, the setting sun catches your hair as you run in circles letting Roxy chase you. And you don't know it yet, Penelope Garcia, but you've brought the color into someone else's world.

A/N: Hi everyone and thank you for reading. This past season, I thought it was going to be hard for me to get over losing Derek and don't get me wrong it wasn't easy. But I really feel as if Luke is everything Penelope needs at this time, even if he isn't something that she wants.

This will be a slow burn, friendship and then more type of deal. I may include cases, I may not. I don't know yet. I just know that this was itching to be written, so please let me know what you think.