Work Text:
Penelope Garcia likes bright clothes and bright hair and bright jewellery. When she looks in the mirror, she's pleased with what she sees, because that's her, Garcia, staring back. But she's a woman in twenty-first century America, and it's not like she's immune to self-loathing and warped expectations of feminine beauty, and she knows (heck, yeah, she knows) that she doesn't fit the mould. She isn't thin enough. Her face isn't perfect enough.
And you know what? Penelope Garcia thanks God every day that she has the strength in herself and the love of those around her to know that all that crap isn't worth a hill of beans. She knows when Derek laughs out loud, and brushes her shoulder with his hand, and calls her his baby girl, that she's beautiful to him. She knows when she solves a puzzle and allows Hotch to catch the next freaktastic serial killer, that she's beautiful to him. She knows when she tells Reid something wonderful he doesn't know, and he stares at her, half-amazed, half-delighted, that she's beautiful to him. She knows when JJ and Emily have seen horrors she can (unfortunately) imagine only too well, and she forces them to her apartment to watch shit films and drink too much vodka, that she's beautiful to them. She knows when she fixes Rossi's cellphone, that she's beautiful to him.
So, here's the thing: sometimes she'll see a woman on a street who's skinny and gorgeous, and she feels kind of envious, because that's just not who she is. But then she remembers that who she is, is just fine. She's Penelope Garcia, FBI Analyst, and she is fucking awesome.