Chapter One:

Garcia lay supine on the unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling. Her hands fiddled unconsciously with the cool sheets as she focused on not looking at the figure lying next to her. The last twenty-four hours had been a blur. It had been an incredibly amazing blur to be sure, but nonetheless it was a blur she would rather forget.

Looking back she still didn't know exactly what had inspired her to be so incredibly stupid. It wasn't as though she didn't know what would happen. She was a smart woman, but alas even the most intelligent must sometimes fall prey to the uncanny wiles of the opposite sex.

Garcia rose from the bed and began dressing in silence. She hardly dared to breathe for fear of waking him, but somehow managed to replace all of her fallen clothing. All that remained was her shoes. She located one beside the near-empty bookcase. The other, however, remained elusive. It seemed to have disappeared in the mere hours they had been separated. As quietly as possible, Garcia circled the room, checking every nook and cranny, but still there was no shoe. She was about to give up the search and just leave, when she remembered her shoe being kicked beneath the bed in the passionate frenzy that had taken place not too long before. She crouched beside the bed and slid her arm beneath the frame in search of her missing footwear.

She tried not to think as she searched, but failed miserably. Her thoughts seemed magnetically attracted to the figure sprawled across the mattress beside her, and every time her eyes veered in his direction she could not help the feeling of complete and utter helplessness that washed over her. It was not a feeling she was accustomed to, nor was the stupidity that accompanied it any more familiar.

In truth, she knew her situation was not a new one. How many others must have been in this same position? How many other women had shared his bed? How many women had he used to placate his lusty urges and then discarded without a second thought? What ever the number, she knew she was no different. Why should she be different? What made her naïve enough to believe she would be the exception, that she was special? There really was no excuse.

Her hand found the evasive shoe and she stood again. Gripping both shoes in her hand she moved slowly through the bedroom towards the door. Before she reached her destination, however, she walked straight into the large armoire, stubbing her toe on the wooden base.

Garcia stood for a moment in anticipation before the dull throbbing began working its way through her toe. She hissed in pain, silently cursing her flat-footedness, and then froze as the figure on the bed before her began to shift restlessly. She watched as he rolled over, murmuring contentedly to himself and began patting the empty space where she had lain not five minutes before. When his hand encountered nothing but wrinkled sheets and mattress, he sat up groggily. It was obvious that he was not fully awake as he smiled sleepily at her.

"Whatcha lookin' for, baby girl?"

Garcia tried her hardest not to be drawn in by the seductive tone of his voice but that along with the fiery look in his eyes was all she needed to be pulled back over the edge.

"I…um…" she stammered, no longer sure of her motives. What had she been thinking before, anyway? Of course she was different. Of course she was special.

Derek climbed out of bed, his beautifully sculpted brow furrowing in confusion as he took in her fully-clothed figure.

"Garcia," he repeated. His voice had lost all hints of the playfulness it had contained before. Instead, it was replaced by an uneasiness that seemed to fill the room. "Where are you going?"

Penelope fought a silent battle as she stood staring at him with wide eyes. A part of her longed to stay, longed to return to the warmth of his arms, but another part of her realized that doing just that would be the death of her. Letting herself get sucked in by the Derek Morgan Charm would only destroy her later, no matter how utterly blissful it might make her now. Leaving was the only option. Her only chance of survival was to leave now and forget all that had transpired between them.

If only it was that easy, though. Standing there, feeling his eyes devouring her, she could not help but feel like maybe leaving might not be the best idea after all. His eyes had paranormal powers when it came to Garcia, and now was no excuse. She felt as though she were about to melt under the intensity of his gaze and just barely managed to squeak a scarcely-audible "home" in response.

Morgan chuckled and took a few steps forward, grasping Garcia by the wrist. He obviously thought the whole thing to be some sort of ruse, though he could not understand what the point was.

"Come back to bed, princess," he whispered huskily.

Garcia could feel her knees giving way as he spoke, but she somehow managed to maintain her balance and remove herself from his grasp. She shook her head defiantly and took a step backwards.

The coy smile that had been playing at his lips until this point disappeared, replaced by a rather enigmatic frown.

"Penelope, what's wrong?"

His use of her first name was a sure sign of just how serious he was. She could count on one hand the number of times he had abandoned his flirtatious endearments for her given name, and it made her feel slightly uneasy – or more so than she was already feeling – to hear him use it now.

"I have to go," she murmured.

"Baby girl, why?"

"This was a mistake," she whispered.

Derek cringed at her words. He walked slowly forward, positioning himself before her. He cupped her chin in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Don't say that," he told her firmly. "Don't ever say that."

She shook her head, ending the hold he had on her.

"This was a mistake," she repeated quietly. "I have to go."

"Baby girl, look at me." His words came out in almost a desperate manner. That in itself shocked Penelope, but then she felt his thumb gently guiding her chin upwards and she saw the look of utter pleading in his eyes and she was sent over the edge. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks as his eyes searched hers for the answer to what was going on. His thumb left her chin and softly brushed the tears from her cheeks. He leaned closer to her so that his forehead was resting against hers. "Stay."

Garcia stepped back, shaking her head. Her resolve had returned to her and she refused to let it leave her again.

"I can't let you do this to me, Derek," she whispered brokenly. She shook herself free from his grasp. "I can't do this to myself."

Derek watched in confusion as Garcia walked out of the bedroom, and then he grabbed his boxers from where they had been strewn on the floor, pulling them on as he followed her into the living room. He stared at her in disbelief as she pulled the front door open and turned back around to face him. From where he stood, he could see the fresh tears welling in her once-lively eyes.

"I have to go," she repeated for the third time that night, and she was gone.

A/N: Okay, so I realize that this is a tad bit different than traditional Morgan/Garcia fics. I find that I can't write a story unless it's smothered in angst. Anyhow, I'd love to hear from everyone on whether or not to continue. I'm not sure I like the melancholy ending all that much, especially not so close to Christmas, so be a doll and tell me what you think. Thanks so much and happy holidays!