Penelope Garcia was walking towards the BAU when she heard the noise from his stereo. Instinctively, she rolled her eyes—she tended to do that a lot when he was around. If she looked behind her, he'd probably have his shades on, too. A fitted shirt, perfectly tailored pants… Derek Morgan was so predictable. And an ass, to boot.

Maybe it was his SLWNEZ license plate that turned her off. In Penelope's experience, guys who were fantastic didn't need to advertise it; they radiated it. He was probably all about himself in bed—probably rolled right over and went to sleep afterwards. She snorted at the thought—until she realized she was thinking about Derek Morgan's bedroom habits. Get a grip, Garcia, she silently scolded herself.

She hurried her pace, not wanting to have to ride in the elevator with him again. Silence for someone like her was excruciating. Penelope liked noise; she liked talking. And Derek was neither noisy nor talkative. It was enough to make her uncomfortable. She scanned her badge and had just hit the button that would take her to the floor where the BAU was when the doors started to slide shut. "Come on," she muttered urgently.

Just as they were about to close, Derek practically flew through them, his body angled so it just fit through the opening. "Mornin'," he said breathlessly.

Penelope gave him a forced grin, then turned her attention to the numbers above the door. Six, seven, eight… Penelope held back a sigh. This was what she got for being on time.


"Garcia," Penelope said as she answered her phone.

"Aaron Hotchner would like to see you in his office in fifteen minutes," the voice on the other end of the line said.

"Thanks, Starla," Penelope said to Hotch's secretary. She hit the button to disconnect the call and then returned to her computer. She continued on with what she'd been doing, and when twelve and a half minutes passed, she pushed her chair back and stood, then made her way to her boss's office. She was disgruntled to find Derek standing there as well. "What are you doing here?" she asked as she approached.

"I was invited," Derek said indifferently. He had his hands in the pockets of his gray trousers, and the black, maroon, and gray striped tie rested crisply against his maroon button up dress shirt. "You?"

"I was also invited," she said primly. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited. They stood there for a few minutes before Hotch opened his door.

"My apologies for the wait; I had to take a call," he informed them. "Please. Come in."

"What's this about?" Derek asked as he took a seat across from Hotch's desk.

Penelope did the same.

Hotch sat down and cleared his throat. "November 13th, Tempe, Arizona," he said, looking at a piece of paper on the desk in front of him. "Penelope Garcia issues Derek Morgan a 'Fuck you' over speaker phone in front of a room full of officers. November 16th, Atlanta, Georgia, Derek Morgan says, and I quote 'Better get your shit together, Baby Girl, or you'll be the first to be gone when budget cuts rear their ugly head.' This was in Boston, in front of a room full of senior F.B.I agents on January 14th, 'Maybe if you weren't so busy spending your weekends bed hopping, you could have done a little research and found out—'"

Penelope cleared her throat. "We get the picture. Bottom line?"

"The bottom line is, if you two don't get your shit together, you're gonna be transferred out of my department."

"He's the one who—"

"She too damn snippety for her own good!"

They spoke at the same time and Hotch sighed. "This is exactly what I'm talking about," he informed them. "We're supposed to be a team, but any time the opportunity arises, you two are throwing each other under the bus! Do you know what that tells me?"

They both just sat there, not saying a word. Out of the corner of her eye, Penelope could see Derek's jaw ticking. Clearly he was pissed. Well, welcome to the club! she wanted to shout.

"It tells me that maybe you aren't ready for the F.B.I. at all."

Still, neither spoke.

"You're both on probation for the next six weeks," Hotch informed them. "One wrong move from either one of you, and you're gone. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," Derek said, standing. His eyes were blazing. "Are we done here?" he asked with forced composure.

Hotch nodded and Derek left the office.

Penelope was right behind him, and when he went right—the same right she needed to take to get to her own office, she took a left. She needed to be as far away from him as possible. She wasn't as composed as he was—she stalked to the kitchen, grabbed a mug from the cupboard, and slammed it down onto the counter.

"Everything all right, Garcia?" JJ asked as she walked into the kitchen.

Penelope looked at JJ—glared daggers, actually. "No, everything is most definitely not all right," she muttered.

"What's going on?" JJ asked, reaching into the cupboard for a tea bag.

"Dim-witted Derek Morgan, that's what!" she snapped.

JJ bit back a grin. "You guys at each others throats again?" she asked.

"No. We are not at each others throats. We were, however, just in Hotch's office."

"And?"

"We're on probation."

"You're kidding me," JJ said.

"Does this look like the face of someone who is kidding?" Penelope hissed.

"Mmm…maybe not," JJ said carefully.

Penelope stirred some creamer into her coffee and picked her mug up off the counter, then headed for the bullpen. "I'll show him professionalism," she muttered on her way out of the kitchen.


Penelope picked up a pile of files and left her office, heading for the BAU room. Her office was cluttered—leaving her little space for the project she was working on. Penelope hated clutter—she couldn't concentrate when there was clutter. But they were rearranging things in the building right now, and unfortunately, her office had turned into a 'catch-all.' She pushed open the door and froze in her tracks, then turned to leave.

"I think we can work in the same room," Derek said dryly.

"You can't work when I'm in the same room," she reminded him. Those words had come from his own lips. "You don't like me because I'm annoying."

"I don't like you because you're distracting," he told her.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know. My voice is too shrill, I chew my gum too-

"No," he said firmly. "You're eyes are too blue, your hair is too soft, and your lips look way too damn…kissable," he finished.

Penelope felt her eyes widen and she was pretty sure her jaw dropped. "But you…don't like me," she said in a small voice.

"I don't like that when you're around, I get sidetracked," he corrected. "There's a difference."

Disbelieving laughter bubbled up Penelope's throat and she shook her head furiously. "No," she said firmly. "You hate me!"

Derek gave her a harsh look. "Darlin', given enough time, I'm sure I could learn to really…" He looked her up and down. "Like you."

The statement itself was innocent, but his tone...suggestive was the only word she could use to describe it.

Penelope took a deep breath, opened her mouth…then turned and fled the room.