Things We See [Criminal Minds, Derek Morgan/Penelope Garcia, PG-13/FRT]
Title: Things We See
Author/Artist: sandersyager
Rating: PG-13/FRT
Pairing: Garcia/Morgan, het
Summary: There's still the white light and the angel and the purple sheets. [2/14: Criminal Minds, Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia: first kiss, there's a light on in Chicago and I know I should be home]
Warnings: Vague spoilers for episodes "Lucky" and "Penelope" (3.08 & 3.09). Heterosexual flirting and mentions of bathing suit parts.
Word count: 2,177
Author's Note: Test reads by blueraccoon, kelly_girl, & henchgirl, but all mistakes are mine. Written for choc_fic, The Characters of Color Multi-Fandom Love Fest. This is the second of a series of semi-independent pieces set in the same universe, following Company We Keep. The next story is Things We Can't Forget.
Poet E.E. Cummings once said, “We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us something is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit.”
Three things happen when Derek wakes up on Christmas morning. He thinks he died in the middle of the night. He realizes that cannot, in fact, be true, given that one part of his body clearly still has blood flow. And then, that blood starts to flow upward when he realizes he's not dead, he's got morning wood, and he's in Garcia's bed.
To clarify, he registers a comfortable, soft warmth, blinks his eyes open and is nearly blinded by a strong white light. Through that hazy light, he can see a woman with pale blonde hair looking down at him from a distance and wearing a white robe. Figures that his angel would look like Garcia, what with the whole going back to church while she almost died thing.
Except. In rare cases, blood can settle in... interesting body parts on a corpse, but they don't usually come with damp spots on boxers, which can only mean he's still alive. That's a relief, but there's still the white light and the angel and the purple sheets.
Derek Morgan might own a few questionable household items, but purple sheets aren't one of them. Also, his room still has the generic white walls that were there when he moved in, and he has blinds, not curtains. And angels don't casually toss jeans at one's head, he thinks. His theology is a little rusty, but he's pretty sure that's odd.
"And I thought I wasn't a morning person." Definitely Garcia, definitely not dead and definitely in her bedroom with a hard on. The white light? He still isn't sure about that one, but whatever, it can wait.
"Garcia, angel," he murmurs, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?"
"Nine thirty," she says, peering at the clock. "I've been up for a while. It seemed like the best way to-how to put this-avoid being nudged into temptation."
Derek groans, covering his face with his hands as his cheeks heat. "Garcia."
"Whatever, you're a guy, it happens," she says, adjusting the curtains. "Frankly, darling, I'm flattered. Or I would be, if you hadn't been whispering Reid's name all night. Oh, Spencer... Spencer, please..."
"Get out of here, woman, so I can get dressed," Derek says, pointedly ignoring everything after the word 'flattered', even if hearing her moan like that, even when she's mocking him, is kind of a turn on.
Garcia smirks at him, stepping away from the window. "Only because I'm a good girl," she says, pausing at the doorway. "By the way, I called and the airport's still closed. We got another three inches of snow last night with a layer of ice over it, so you might be here a while if they don't get the roads cleared."
"Anxious to get me out of your pretty blonde hair?" he asks, fishing his cell phone out of the pocket of his jeans. He has one missed call, from Sarah, and he can guess what her message says.
"Nope, just out of your clothes," Garcia says over her shoulder.
"Tease," he grumbles, pushing back the blankets to wriggle into his jeans.
**
"So, baby brother would rather spend Christmas shacked up with his lady than brave the trip to Chicago. I see how it is," Sarah drawls on the other end of the phone.
Derek bites back the sound of irritation forming on his lips, refusing to rise to the bait. "You should get those eyes checked then, big sis," he says. "The whole city's under a foot of snow and ice and you expect me to do what? Take a dog sled team to Chicago? We can't even get out of the apartment much less out of the state, and she's not my lady."
"Not yet, anyway," Sarah says with a laugh. "Unless she's blind, I bet she's thinking about it. It's Penelope, right? Garcia?"
"Yeah," he says, glancing up from the laptop as Garcia moves around in the kitchen. He's taken up residence at the dining room table, at least for as long as it takes to read the major newspapers and talk to his family. "She's the one you all didn't meet."
"The one you flirt with all the time," Sarah says. "Reid told us. He was really cute about it, too, like he wasn't supposed to know and really wasn't supposed to say anything about it. Then again, he was surprised that you talk about him, so..."
"Don't start, woman, just don't even go there," Derek says, shaking his head. "Garcia's been giving me the blues about him since I got here last night, and I can't take it from all the ladies in my life."
"What? You might have to admit we're right?"
"You know I could hang up on you right now," he threatens, but they both know it's hollow.
"And you wouldn't get to talk to Momma or Desi, and I'd have to return your Christmas present," Sarah says. There's a pause and voices in the background, Desiree and one Derek recognizes as their aunt Rita, then Sarah's back. "Apparently not just Momma and Desi. Anyway. You're really doing okay down there?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I am," Derek answers, letting the weight of the question and her tone settle around him. "The last couple of months have been... intense, but I'm okay, Sarah, really. Now, stop acting like Momma and put her on the phone."
"I have to ask," Sarah says. "We miss you around here, even if you are a pain, and I... I worry about you, Derek. We all do." She sighs and when she speaks again, the lightness is back in her voice. "Okay, you brat, I'm going to get Momma on the phone for you. Let me know when you manage to get a flight and I'll meet you at the airport."
"You think I want to get in that death trap you drive?" he teases. "I'll let you know, but bring Mom's car."
"And to think I was going to wish you a merry Christmas." Sarah makes a 'tsk'-ing sound. "Take care, little brother."
"You, too, Sarah," he says softly.
Garcia comes in when he's done, head in his hands, phone off and laying on the table. She places a fresh cup of coffee in front of him, squeezing his shoulder. "It's okay to miss them," she says simply, and he knows he doesn't have to respond, but he still catches her hand for a moment before she turns back toward the kitchen.
**
The sun's sinking lower in the sky when Derek brings two cups of cocoa, made with real marshmallows, to the living room. He hands one to Garcia, curled up under a brightly colored afghan, and wraps his hands around the other, taking a seat at the end of the couch.
"You're too good to me," Garcia says, closing her eyes as she breathes in the steam of chocolate. "An absolute prince, and I don't deserve you."
"Stop it, angel face," he says, reaching out to brush his fingers over her cheek. "You deserve someone a hell of a lot better than me and you know it."
Garcia smiles at him, taking a sip of cocoa. "You stop it. You're the best and you know it," she says. "You bring me cocoa, you make me laugh, you call me a goddess and you take care of me. What more could a girl ask for? I mean, other than someone who does all of that and finds me attractive? And expecting that would just be greedy."
Derek barely keeps himself from wincing, and as it is, he has to glance away, hands going tight against his mug. "Just because you wouldn’t cross a crowded room to hit on me does not mean that a more perceptive, less superficial guy wouldn’t." He takes a breath and shakes his head. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Don't put yourself down like that," he says, looking at her. "You're one of the smartest women I know, and then you---the way you talk about yourself when it comes to this stuff, to dating, it's just stupid, Penelope."
She looks back at him for a long moment, long enough that he wants to look away again and he doesn't let himself. This is too important to back down, and she knows it, too, from the way she worries her lower lip with her teeth and hesitates before she finally speaks.
"I know what I look like, Derek," she says, "and I know that most guys don't look at girls like me. I can be smart, I can be funny, I can flirt and charm my ass off and I'm... a friend. You know, the reason I went out with that asshole is because I was flattered. A guy like that, a hot guy like that, usually doesn't even see me, and you were right. It was too good to be true." She pulls the blanket tighter around her, and stares into her cup. "So, don't tell me I'm being stupid. I'm being realistic."
"Baby, that didn't have anything to do with you," Derek says, shifting to face her. "Battle was a sociopath and it's not like you could've known that from one conversation in a coffee shop."
"No, I couldn't, but everything happens for a reason," Garcia says. "So, I know to be careful now, and the fact is, guys who seem like he did, the ones who really are? The ones like you, they're not looking for me, and I'm okay with that."
He has his doubts about that, and her tiny, forced smile doesn't do anything to change them. She shrugs and picks up a book from the table, the conversation clearly over, and he finishes his cocoa, thinking about everything she's said.
**
"You're wrong," Derek says, three cups of cocoa and a half-hearted conversation about dinner later.
Garcia looks up at him, in the middle of changing the bed linens. "What? These sheets are warmer," she says, sliding another pillowcase into place. "The temperature's supposed to drop again tonight."
"That's not what I meant," he says from the other side of the doorway. "Earlier, all that stuff about you not being attractive. You are; you've got a beautiful face---"
"Derek." Garcia cuts him off, and he takes a half-step back at the look on her face and the hands on her hips. "If I had a bedroom door, I'd be slamming it on your beautiful face right now." Door or not, she's got a hell of an arm, and he has to duck the pillow aimed at his head.
"That's not..." He shakes his head, not sure where he went wrong. It's enough for her to turn her back to him, whatever it is, and her shoulders settle into a tense line, her movements quick and stilted. The gestures are familiar enough from growing up with three women, and anything he says is going to make it all worse.
Garcia takes two deep breaths and sighs, tucking the bedspread into place. "That wasn't what you meant?" she asks quietly. "It's what you said, and, you know, I've heard that my entire life. It doesn't matter that I'm fat, I have a pretty face, like that's some kind of consolation. Like it makes the rest of my body disappear. It doesn't, Derek, and I'm not ashamed of-of who or what I am, and that's a curvy woman, and I'm sick and tired of jerks like you who want to pretend it doesn't matter."
"Jerks like... damn it, Penelope." He takes the four steps needed to close the space between them. The fingers of one hand close around her wrist and the other cups her cheek. "I'm on your side here," he murmurs, holding her gaze just long enough to see some of the hurt and anger recede. Just long enough to feel her draw a shaky breath and for her eyes to flicker down to his mouth, and if he doesn't do this now, he never will.
First kisses are never perfect, but this one... This one goes a long way in shattering that thought, with Garcia easing against him, kissing him back with soft lips and her hands sliding up over his chest to rest on his shoulders. She's the one to break it, tilting her head away with a shy smile. "So help me, if that was out of pity, guilt or a-a prelude to some speech about just being friends, you'll be sleeping in the snow tonight."
"Listen to me carefully, sugar," Derek says, brushing his thumb over her lower lip. "I don't have to look for you, I already found you, and I see a sexy, smart, sweet woman who could stand to give me a chance once in a while."
"I... yeah," Garcia says, barely above a whisper. "Yeah." Her fingers move over the back of his neck and she nods slightly. "Derek? I'm still cranky at you, but can you kiss me again? I think it might help."
Author/Artist: sandersyager
Rating: PG-13/FRT
Pairing: Garcia/Morgan, het
Summary: There's still the white light and the angel and the purple sheets. [2/14: Criminal Minds, Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia: first kiss, there's a light on in Chicago and I know I should be home]
Warnings: Vague spoilers for episodes "Lucky" and "Penelope" (3.08 & 3.09). Heterosexual flirting and mentions of bathing suit parts.
Word count: 2,177
Author's Note: Test reads by blueraccoon, kelly_girl, & henchgirl, but all mistakes are mine. Written for choc_fic, The Characters of Color Multi-Fandom Love Fest. This is the second of a series of semi-independent pieces set in the same universe, following Company We Keep. The next story is Things We Can't Forget.
Poet E.E. Cummings once said, “We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us something is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit.”
Three things happen when Derek wakes up on Christmas morning. He thinks he died in the middle of the night. He realizes that cannot, in fact, be true, given that one part of his body clearly still has blood flow. And then, that blood starts to flow upward when he realizes he's not dead, he's got morning wood, and he's in Garcia's bed.
To clarify, he registers a comfortable, soft warmth, blinks his eyes open and is nearly blinded by a strong white light. Through that hazy light, he can see a woman with pale blonde hair looking down at him from a distance and wearing a white robe. Figures that his angel would look like Garcia, what with the whole going back to church while she almost died thing.
Except. In rare cases, blood can settle in... interesting body parts on a corpse, but they don't usually come with damp spots on boxers, which can only mean he's still alive. That's a relief, but there's still the white light and the angel and the purple sheets.
Derek Morgan might own a few questionable household items, but purple sheets aren't one of them. Also, his room still has the generic white walls that were there when he moved in, and he has blinds, not curtains. And angels don't casually toss jeans at one's head, he thinks. His theology is a little rusty, but he's pretty sure that's odd.
"And I thought I wasn't a morning person." Definitely Garcia, definitely not dead and definitely in her bedroom with a hard on. The white light? He still isn't sure about that one, but whatever, it can wait.
"Garcia, angel," he murmurs, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?"
"Nine thirty," she says, peering at the clock. "I've been up for a while. It seemed like the best way to-how to put this-avoid being nudged into temptation."
Derek groans, covering his face with his hands as his cheeks heat. "Garcia."
"Whatever, you're a guy, it happens," she says, adjusting the curtains. "Frankly, darling, I'm flattered. Or I would be, if you hadn't been whispering Reid's name all night. Oh, Spencer... Spencer, please..."
"Get out of here, woman, so I can get dressed," Derek says, pointedly ignoring everything after the word 'flattered', even if hearing her moan like that, even when she's mocking him, is kind of a turn on.
Garcia smirks at him, stepping away from the window. "Only because I'm a good girl," she says, pausing at the doorway. "By the way, I called and the airport's still closed. We got another three inches of snow last night with a layer of ice over it, so you might be here a while if they don't get the roads cleared."
"Anxious to get me out of your pretty blonde hair?" he asks, fishing his cell phone out of the pocket of his jeans. He has one missed call, from Sarah, and he can guess what her message says.
"Nope, just out of your clothes," Garcia says over her shoulder.
"Tease," he grumbles, pushing back the blankets to wriggle into his jeans.
**
"So, baby brother would rather spend Christmas shacked up with his lady than brave the trip to Chicago. I see how it is," Sarah drawls on the other end of the phone.
Derek bites back the sound of irritation forming on his lips, refusing to rise to the bait. "You should get those eyes checked then, big sis," he says. "The whole city's under a foot of snow and ice and you expect me to do what? Take a dog sled team to Chicago? We can't even get out of the apartment much less out of the state, and she's not my lady."
"Not yet, anyway," Sarah says with a laugh. "Unless she's blind, I bet she's thinking about it. It's Penelope, right? Garcia?"
"Yeah," he says, glancing up from the laptop as Garcia moves around in the kitchen. He's taken up residence at the dining room table, at least for as long as it takes to read the major newspapers and talk to his family. "She's the one you all didn't meet."
"The one you flirt with all the time," Sarah says. "Reid told us. He was really cute about it, too, like he wasn't supposed to know and really wasn't supposed to say anything about it. Then again, he was surprised that you talk about him, so..."
"Don't start, woman, just don't even go there," Derek says, shaking his head. "Garcia's been giving me the blues about him since I got here last night, and I can't take it from all the ladies in my life."
"What? You might have to admit we're right?"
"You know I could hang up on you right now," he threatens, but they both know it's hollow.
"And you wouldn't get to talk to Momma or Desi, and I'd have to return your Christmas present," Sarah says. There's a pause and voices in the background, Desiree and one Derek recognizes as their aunt Rita, then Sarah's back. "Apparently not just Momma and Desi. Anyway. You're really doing okay down there?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I am," Derek answers, letting the weight of the question and her tone settle around him. "The last couple of months have been... intense, but I'm okay, Sarah, really. Now, stop acting like Momma and put her on the phone."
"I have to ask," Sarah says. "We miss you around here, even if you are a pain, and I... I worry about you, Derek. We all do." She sighs and when she speaks again, the lightness is back in her voice. "Okay, you brat, I'm going to get Momma on the phone for you. Let me know when you manage to get a flight and I'll meet you at the airport."
"You think I want to get in that death trap you drive?" he teases. "I'll let you know, but bring Mom's car."
"And to think I was going to wish you a merry Christmas." Sarah makes a 'tsk'-ing sound. "Take care, little brother."
"You, too, Sarah," he says softly.
Garcia comes in when he's done, head in his hands, phone off and laying on the table. She places a fresh cup of coffee in front of him, squeezing his shoulder. "It's okay to miss them," she says simply, and he knows he doesn't have to respond, but he still catches her hand for a moment before she turns back toward the kitchen.
**
The sun's sinking lower in the sky when Derek brings two cups of cocoa, made with real marshmallows, to the living room. He hands one to Garcia, curled up under a brightly colored afghan, and wraps his hands around the other, taking a seat at the end of the couch.
"You're too good to me," Garcia says, closing her eyes as she breathes in the steam of chocolate. "An absolute prince, and I don't deserve you."
"Stop it, angel face," he says, reaching out to brush his fingers over her cheek. "You deserve someone a hell of a lot better than me and you know it."
Garcia smiles at him, taking a sip of cocoa. "You stop it. You're the best and you know it," she says. "You bring me cocoa, you make me laugh, you call me a goddess and you take care of me. What more could a girl ask for? I mean, other than someone who does all of that and finds me attractive? And expecting that would just be greedy."
Derek barely keeps himself from wincing, and as it is, he has to glance away, hands going tight against his mug. "Just because you wouldn’t cross a crowded room to hit on me does not mean that a more perceptive, less superficial guy wouldn’t." He takes a breath and shakes his head. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Don't put yourself down like that," he says, looking at her. "You're one of the smartest women I know, and then you---the way you talk about yourself when it comes to this stuff, to dating, it's just stupid, Penelope."
She looks back at him for a long moment, long enough that he wants to look away again and he doesn't let himself. This is too important to back down, and she knows it, too, from the way she worries her lower lip with her teeth and hesitates before she finally speaks.
"I know what I look like, Derek," she says, "and I know that most guys don't look at girls like me. I can be smart, I can be funny, I can flirt and charm my ass off and I'm... a friend. You know, the reason I went out with that asshole is because I was flattered. A guy like that, a hot guy like that, usually doesn't even see me, and you were right. It was too good to be true." She pulls the blanket tighter around her, and stares into her cup. "So, don't tell me I'm being stupid. I'm being realistic."
"Baby, that didn't have anything to do with you," Derek says, shifting to face her. "Battle was a sociopath and it's not like you could've known that from one conversation in a coffee shop."
"No, I couldn't, but everything happens for a reason," Garcia says. "So, I know to be careful now, and the fact is, guys who seem like he did, the ones who really are? The ones like you, they're not looking for me, and I'm okay with that."
He has his doubts about that, and her tiny, forced smile doesn't do anything to change them. She shrugs and picks up a book from the table, the conversation clearly over, and he finishes his cocoa, thinking about everything she's said.
**
"You're wrong," Derek says, three cups of cocoa and a half-hearted conversation about dinner later.
Garcia looks up at him, in the middle of changing the bed linens. "What? These sheets are warmer," she says, sliding another pillowcase into place. "The temperature's supposed to drop again tonight."
"That's not what I meant," he says from the other side of the doorway. "Earlier, all that stuff about you not being attractive. You are; you've got a beautiful face---"
"Derek." Garcia cuts him off, and he takes a half-step back at the look on her face and the hands on her hips. "If I had a bedroom door, I'd be slamming it on your beautiful face right now." Door or not, she's got a hell of an arm, and he has to duck the pillow aimed at his head.
"That's not..." He shakes his head, not sure where he went wrong. It's enough for her to turn her back to him, whatever it is, and her shoulders settle into a tense line, her movements quick and stilted. The gestures are familiar enough from growing up with three women, and anything he says is going to make it all worse.
Garcia takes two deep breaths and sighs, tucking the bedspread into place. "That wasn't what you meant?" she asks quietly. "It's what you said, and, you know, I've heard that my entire life. It doesn't matter that I'm fat, I have a pretty face, like that's some kind of consolation. Like it makes the rest of my body disappear. It doesn't, Derek, and I'm not ashamed of-of who or what I am, and that's a curvy woman, and I'm sick and tired of jerks like you who want to pretend it doesn't matter."
"Jerks like... damn it, Penelope." He takes the four steps needed to close the space between them. The fingers of one hand close around her wrist and the other cups her cheek. "I'm on your side here," he murmurs, holding her gaze just long enough to see some of the hurt and anger recede. Just long enough to feel her draw a shaky breath and for her eyes to flicker down to his mouth, and if he doesn't do this now, he never will.
First kisses are never perfect, but this one... This one goes a long way in shattering that thought, with Garcia easing against him, kissing him back with soft lips and her hands sliding up over his chest to rest on his shoulders. She's the one to break it, tilting her head away with a shy smile. "So help me, if that was out of pity, guilt or a-a prelude to some speech about just being friends, you'll be sleeping in the snow tonight."
"Listen to me carefully, sugar," Derek says, brushing his thumb over her lower lip. "I don't have to look for you, I already found you, and I see a sexy, smart, sweet woman who could stand to give me a chance once in a while."
"I... yeah," Garcia says, barely above a whisper. "Yeah." Her fingers move over the back of his neck and she nods slightly. "Derek? I'm still cranky at you, but can you kiss me again? I think it might help."