"What's up, Garcia?" Derek Morgan asked as he let himself into her office. It was after hours, but Penelope was still digging. And in true Penelope style, wasn't going to leave until she'd exhausted all possible options. She yawned and lifted her arms into the air for a stretch.

Morgan couldn't resist the opportunity—he spun her chair around. She squealed at the speed and immediately grabbed the arms of the chair. He stopped when she was facing him, and as usual when she saw him, her heart melted at his grin.

She tilted her head to the side. "So, if we ever end up in bed together, are you gonna call me Garcia or are you going to call me Penelope?" she asked with a grin.

Morgan moved closer to her so they were nose to nose. "Wanna find out?" he asked in a teasing tone.

"No," she said quickly in a small voice.

He rubbed her nose with his. "I'm too much man for you, anyway, Babycakes. No way could you handle me. What's up?"

"I can't…get this case out of my head," she admitted.

He walked over to a clear space on her desk and leaned against it, crossing his arms. "I hear you," he agreed.

"Does it scare you that you can think like them?" she asked quietly.

He nodded slowly. "More every day."

"Me, too," she told him. And then, "I applied for a transfer."

"What?" he asked, as he straightened.

She nodded. "And do you want to know the worst part? I don't even care where it is. I just want out of the BAU."

"Garcia—"

She shook her head. "I want to do this, Morgan. Even more, I need to do this."

"You do know that you're as much a part of this team as I am, right? As much as Hotch and Reid and—"

"No, I'm not," she said dismissively.

"Do you really think that?" He sighed heavily. "It's so much easier to do our jobs out there, Garcia, knowing that it's you who's back here. I know you think all you do is man the keyboard--"

"Woman," she corrected.

He grinned at her again. "See. There," he said, pointing at her. "When we're out on a tough case, sometimes, the only time I smile all day, is when I talk to you."

She took a deep breath, but he kept talking.

"I like it when I look down and your name pops up on the caller ID."

"Oh, yeah," she said doubtfully. "Very exciting stuff."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," he told her. "But then again, you never have."

"That's not true," she argued.

"Do you want me to profile you?" he asked.

"No," she muttered.

"Then the conversation should probably stop here," he advised.

She nodded and spun her chair back around to face her computer screen.

Taking that as his cue to leave, Derek threw his empty coffee cup in the trash and headed for the doorway.

"Oh, and Derek?" Penelope said, spinning herself around in her chair.

"Yeah?"

"You couldn't handle me." She winked at him. "Just wanted to set you straight."

"Whatever gets you through the night, Garcia," he said as he left her office.

She sighed as the door swung shut behind him. "You have no idea what gets me through the night," she muttered.

___

Penelope stepped out of the bathtub and grabbed her towel to dry off. She put some baby powder on—she liked it when her sheets smelled good—and then put her pajamas on—a pair of white cotton pants with red flowers on them and a matching red spaghetti strap tank top. It didn't hold her up very well, but then that wasn't the idea. She had just finished brushing her teeth when her doorbell rang. "What the—" she said, and then jumped at the sight of lightening followed by booming thunder. "Penelope Jane Garcia," she said to herself, "You have been looking at one too many crime scene photographs." With a sigh, she put her toothbrush away and went downstairs to her front door. She turned her outside light on and peeked through the peephole, then pulled her door open.

"Morgan!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here? In the pouring rain?"

"I don't want a new Babycakes," he told her fervently as droplets of rain fell down his face and under the collar of his brown leather jacket.

"What?" she asked confused.

"If you leave," he clarified. "I don't want someone new, Garcia. I want you."

"But I—" she stopped as his gaze perused her body. She blushed as she realized her attire. This wasn't an outfit she was meant to be seen in.

"Damn, you look so much better than I even imagined," he said in a hoarse voice.

"Derek?" she asked.

"It would be…polite of you to ask me in," he told her.

Without saying a word, she stepped backwards, allowing him to enter her apartment. "Good enough," he said.

"You…imagined me in my pajamas?" she asked.

He nodded. "Surprised?"

Her eyes widened. "I'll…be right back," she said as she started for the stairs.

But Morgan was too quick. He grabbed her arm and turned her around, forcing her to make eye contact with him. "Don't you dare change," he warned her.

She nodded as she swallowed past the lump in her throat. Was Derek Morgan really here in her house? Or was this another dream?

"Talk to me," he commanded as he took his jacket off. He must have hit the gym after he left work, because he was wearing a white t-shirt that molded perfectly to his upper body and a pair of sweatpants. His t-shirt was still damp with sweat.

"About what?" she asked.

He sighed. "A transfer? Really?"

"It was just a thought," she said.

"Can we sit?" he asked, nodding his head toward her living room.

She led the way in and after he sat down on the couch, she walked over to the chair and had a seat. She didn't miss his grin at her seat choice. Far away from him. She folded her arms across her chest self-consciously and met his eyes hesitantly. He stared at her without saying a word until she finally spoke. "Would you please stop doing that?" she asked.

"What?" he asked.

"Interrogating me with your eyes!" she said hotly. "I'm not a suspect."

"Hot damn," Morgan said with a grin. "Garcia gets fired up. And all this time I thought you were unflappable."

"OK, look at me the other way," she said.

"What?" he said with a laugh.

"At least then I know what your eyes are trying to say to me," she said.

"What are you talking about?"

"I can't tell what you're thinking!" she said. "And it's throwing me off."

"You wanna know what I'm thinking?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"You sure, Garcia? Because I won't be able to take it back."

She didn't say anything, but he answered anyway. "I'm wondering what your lips taste like."

"Toothpaste," she blurted out.

He laughed. "Aside from the toothpaste," he told her.

She sighed. "I think you need to go," she told him, standing up. "I'm…tired. It's been a long couple of days."

He stood, too. "Chicken," he taunted.

"Bawk bawk," she said, earning herself another one of his disarming grins.

"You should really think twice about transferring. The BAU needs you," he said. "Not just anyone who can type 75 words a minute. They need you. We need you."

"I'll think about it," she promised as she walked him to the door. What else was she going to say? She was still reeling from the news that he was interested in her lips.

He shrugged into his jacket and she walked him to the door. "But no matter what happens, you have to promise me one thing, Garcia."

"What?" she asked.

"Don't let anyone else call you Babycakes," he warned.

She grinned at him. "Cross my heart."

"Oh, and the answer to your question? Penelope."

"What?" she asked confused.

"You asked what I'd call you if we ever ended up in bed together. And the answer is Penelope. But it's not if. It's when."

And with that, Derek Morgan opened the front door and left Penelope Garcia standing there speechless.