Author's note: Hate to bring in cliche gossip like it's that type of drama series, but I've got something in mind, obviously. Hope this chapter is enjoyable for you guys! Opinions are appreciated, and if you have any idea for JJ and Morgan's future plans, please let me know, I'll try to incorporate them. Thanks so much for reading!
His eyes burn steady on my face, relaxing there. I can see the candle that's lit behind us flicker in his eyes, and something about it intimidates me. I press back on the sofa, even though I can't go much farther; I hear a throw pillow make a soft plumping sound on the floor. I don't want to look away, because I'm scared he'll think I'm afraid; but I'm afraid if I don't look away, he'll see so deep inside of me he'll find reasons to change his mind. I stare at him, as intensely as he is me. I see a dark goatee shaped just so, to the perfect form, without a chip or a nick on his face. His skin looks so supple I want to reach out and cup it in my hands, then stroke it, like I've done before. His muscles strong and restrained in his clothes, but the tightness and strength they consume when he gathers me in his arms protectively. And then there's his eyes. The darkness of their color, but the softness that they hold. The power they can control just by looking at me a certain way; the things they can convince me to do.
I don't want to say yes because he's pretty. I don't want to say yes because it's hard to say no. I don't want to say yes because I'm not even sure what he's asking me. I shift in my seat, and the couch whines as I twist. "Are you proposing to me?" I say slowly, processing it.
He pauses, there's a lapse in time, when there's nothing between us but air, which is dead silence, and I can't seem to grasp onto any other sound in the world; the wind stands still, the rushing sound of the snowstorm even seemed to quiet itself down in anticipation, like the whole world steadied on awaiting his response. And I think, this is it, he's changed his mind. I huddle my knees to my chest and force myself to sit still, like I'm relaxed, and not like I'm terrified of his next words. I've never been more sure than right now what I have to say, faced with the reality of sheer horror upon the possibility of his indecision.
"JJ," he sits upright, patiently, and touches my knee. I hug my legs closer, until my abs ache in disapproval and my knees are rubbing my chin. "I'm not trying to scare you. I thought, I mean, I know..."
I wait for him to piece his words together. God, just say it. The anticipation is riveting, but in a bad way. It's not the good kind of anticipating. Then again, how does he feel right now? He practically proposed and I practically shut the door in his face.
He sighs and cups his face. "I'm screwing this up, God dammit, I'm so," he raises his hands and then slaps them down on his legs, deciding something, officially. "JJ, yes, I want to marry you. It sounds insane, call it whatever you choose, but I want to marry you."
My answer burns the tip of my tongue, settling there like a rocket about to shoot off, ready to explore it's boundaries. But before I allow myself to give in, to feel his arms extend and then pull me in, and before I can allow myself to feel the happiness I think I've earned, given everything, I say, "Morgan, I just want to make sure this is what you want. You're not going to get bored with me and want to be single again? There's changes you have to make."
He exhales through his nostrils impatiently, and they flare as he says, "I want this."
"You're not going to change your mind?" I ask him.
He shakes his head very slowly, taking his time. "I swear, JJ," he nudges my leg. "Come on." I think my teasing is getting to him. I think he's ready to explode just like me. I think I'm enjoying it. But the cruelty eventually hits me and I decide not to be such a bitch, and instead let myself blurt it out.
"Yes," I inhale sharply. "I'll marry you." I never really said those words before. Even when Will semi-proposed (which was never actually an official proposal; which then again, neither is this) and I semi-said yes, it didn't feel like this. I felt like I just released something off of me, like I unhooked something and am finally freed. It's a weird sensation, but a good one more importantly, and now all I want is for him to kiss me like a man who just received a Yes answer kisses his fiance.
Morgan intakes a breath that sounds like relief, then charges forward in the seat like all he can do is hold me or else he'll stop breathing, but instead slows down and reels me in slowly, patiently, drawing me closer and closer until our faces press and we kiss. He's taking his time when kissing me, but I can tell by his heavy breathing that he's excited and wants to go much harder. I appreciate his patience, because I know he's only doing it for me.
The more we kiss, the more his breathing fastens and the harder he pulls on me, yanking at the thin material of my shirt, pressing me harder against his chest. My feet feel tingly and numb underneath my butt, so I reposition and fall into his lap, my body fitting perfectly on top of his. He groans contently and nuzzles my neck, biting and nibbling on my earlobe and collarbone, his tongue grazing across it every now and then like he's stroking an easel with the tip of a brush. I'm losing my breath and every time his body presses against mine, and I can feel the hardness of his chest meeting mine, all I can focus on is the desire to tear off his shirt and feel him in my hands. But I contain myself, pulling away, despite my body's strong itching not to do so.
His cheeks are hot and his lips are a bright pink when I look at him, and there's a slight hint of perspiration beginning on his forehead. "I'm sorry, was I moving too fast?" he says frowning, apologetically.
"No, not really," when I run my fingers along my hair, I feel my forehead beginning to dampen too. I play with his hands in mine as I talk. "I was just thinking, since we'll be getting married..."
He's still attempting to catch his breath. And it's not like I hadn't noticed the rapid tightening of his jeans. Or my own body craving this; I noticed that too. I also realize that we've been dating for quite a while, and he's probably not used to going this long without getting some. It almost feels wrong to deny him of it for much longer. He waits for me to talk, but I think he already knows what I'm going to say.
"I was just thinking, that since we'll be getting married, that we should wait..." he stares at me. "To have sex..."
He sighs and rubs his forehead. "JJ, you're killing me here." he mumbles, taking my hands back in his, twisting the thin ring I have on my index finger. Back and forth, back and forth; the silver of the ring catches light, and I imagine him twisting a wedding band on my ring finger. I smile. I lay forward and rest my head on his chest, and he lowers on the couch, his heart beat speeding up every time he inhales. His heart beat fills my ears.
"We'll start planning for the wedding soon, I promise," I look up at him. "Right away, I swear. I just think it'd be more special that way."
"And what about the baby? Are we going to have one?"
I place my hand next to my face, on his chest. "Yeah, we're going to have one," I lay my chin on his chest to face him; he cranes his neck to look down. "But shouldn't we be married when we conceive it?"
"But, but," he sounds like he's whimpering, and I have to bury my face in his shirt to keep from laughing. "Don't you think we should practice before trying to conceive it? To make sure we're doing it right?"
His excuse makes me actually laugh, and I look up at him; he's smiling too. "Come on, Morgan, please?" I reach forward and kiss his neck, leading up to his ear, up higher, then lowering down. I choose a spot right below his jawline and use my tongue to tickle him. "Please?"
He closes his eyes and grunts. "This isn't helping," he says. I can tell, because his body is tightening and his abs are contracting every time I flick my tongue.
I pull away long enough to say, "This is an example of what you'll be getting on our wedding night," I hold his hand and he looks down at me. "And we'll be married. It'll be right that way."
He sighs and kisses the top of my head. "Okay," he says reluctantly, sounding displeased. "I'll...wait." he decides, sounding like he's choking down the word.
"Thank you!" I lean up and kiss his cheek, then place my hand on his stomach, raising his shirt up, running my fingertips along the trail of black hair running down a line below his belly button. He closes his eyes.
"You're a tease." he mumbles. I laugh and stop tickling him, retreating my hand back up to his chest where it's safe. He cradles me in his arms, restricting my hands. "You can't move now. You're untrustworthy."
I laugh and he keeps me still as promised, attempting to restrain my naughty hands. It's okay with me, I like it when he holds me like this; like nothing can reach me. Nothing can harm me.
The feeling of darkness surrounds the BAU now that Valentine's Day is approaching. Everyone seems to go about so slowly, progressing like they're all on slow motion. I feel like I'm the only one walking around in a normal time frame. Morgan and I drove to the BAU together today, and upon entering, it feels like we're a bright red heart balloon amongst a bunch of black dread flowers. He squeezes my arm and walks off to pour himself some coffee, and I head over to my office. Our deal naturally, although has gone undisclosed, is that we don't act couple-y when working. Not only is it unprofessional, neither one of us feel the strong need to have everyone on the team gossiping about our relationship; namely, Garcia and Prentiss.
As I walk past the small space where Morgan, Prentiss and Reid (used to) work, I notice the deathly embrace that surrounds the entire place. I feel like I'm walking in a colorless world. Then again, nothing has returned to normal since Reid died. Not me, not Morgan, not our team, and not the BAU. I touch the empty space of Reid's desk and stare at it for a while, like I expect him to appear. Prentiss comes behind me and says, "You look nice,"
I turn around, shaking my hand that touched Reid's desk off like I just put it in something sticky. "Thanks," I say casually, tugging at my light blue sweater. Every time I wear blue, Prentiss compliments me. She always says blue brings out my eyes. Maybe light blue and white should be the color pattern for my wedding? "You always say that when I wear blue."
"I always mean it, too," she smiles, bringing her lips that are drawn in red to her coffee mug. "You're here early. So is Morgan. You two feeling alright?"
I laugh, brushing my hair over my shoulders. "I'm always here early, Morgan's the late one," I shrug my shoulders, playing it cool. "He walked in the same time as me." I'm not sure if I'm allowed to say that we're engaged. I'm not sure what Prentiss would say. No one even knows we've been going together. If ever I get bored, I could blurt it out in my desperate need of attention. For now, I'll fold it up and put it in my back pocket where it's safely hidden.
"Morgan, how's he been?" she asks me, eying me almost suspiciously with her dark eyes. I look straight at the charcoal that shapes the corners. "He doesn't talk much about it."
"He's alright," I smile. "He's doing better; everyday he feels a little bit better."
"You guys have been getting close," she looks down tentatively, like she's carefully trying to ask me something without rushing into it. "Has he talked to you at all about how he's been feeling?"
"He's not much for talking about stuff like that," I say honestly, carefully tiptoeing around the accusation that we've been "getting close". I make a note in my mental notebook to discuss with Morgan what we can and cannot say at work. "You know Morgan." I roll my eyes and smile.
She doesn't seem to cheer up any; in fact, she looks nervous. "Are you two dating, though?" she lowers her tone to a hushed whisper. Before I can say anything, or express my surprise with my facial movements, she squeezes my wrist and drags me into the women's bathroom, locking me in a stall with her. She chose the biggest stall, that's for handicapped or mothers who can change their baby on the changing table.
"How do you know that?" I ask.
She gives me a look that I can only take as, I'm a profiler, hello. "Right, well, actually..." I instinctively go to lift my left hand, to show off my engagement ring, but since I don't have one, I don't. I stare at my ring finger with admiration, like I'm just noticing it's there. "We're engaged."
Her eyes widen to triple their normal size, and I notice something strange when looking at them; they look like big cow eyes. I laugh, because she looks funny that way. "You're engaged to him?" she says this, kind of snorting. "Since when?"
"Last night." My tone flattens at the sound of her shock, which is laced with bewilderment rather than excitement.
"I can't believe it, you guys are engaged." she's not saying even half of what she really thinks, I'm sure of it, but I try to force a smile and choke down the hurt.
"Yep," I say flatly.
"Oh God, see, this is why I asked you if you two are dating..." she looks down, twiddles her fingers, wipes something on her boots on the tiled floor. Anything but looking at me.
"What is it?" I say.
She looks up, sympathetically, keeping her hands clasped together. "I saw Morgan talking with this woman the other day, over lunch. You know that cafe and brunch place right around Middleton Street? Right there."
My throat feels sore, even though I haven't spoken a word. Instantly my mind traces back to Morgan, laying on the couch with me, holding me tightly, transferring his body heat over to mine like a heated blanket. I imagine me convincing him to wait until we're married, insisting that he can wait for me. Then I see him lying in bed with another woman, unable to wait. My heart hurts, like it's physically been wounded; and all I can do to keep from expressing how heavy I feel right now, I smile weakly and say, "I know about that." the words burn coming out.
Emily's body completely relaxes and she loses all tension, even releasing a sigh of contentment and relief. "Thank God, I was worried about telling you," she touches my arm reassuringly. "I just know with Morgan that he can be hard to handle sometimes. He's got a good heart, though."
I force another smile, but I'm cringing and cracking inside. "Yeah," I nod, but it hurts to even do that. "A good heart."
Emily whirls around and opens the bathroom door for me, waiting for me to leave first. "You go," I say, smiling so much it aches. I feel like as long as I keep smiling, it's not affecting me. "I have to pee first."
Emily seems to not notice and exits merrily, like she just done a good thing. And in some way, I guess she had. I shove my boot hard into the bathroom door and try to remain calm, to keep from crying or running out like a madman screaming at him. Lunch is just lunch after all, right? He eats with Hotch occasionally, and Rossi too. I never get jealous then. But a woman is different. Why didn't he tell me? I'd tell him if I had lunch with Will. I tell him when I go to drop Henry off at Will's. It's just the considerate thing to do. My head is pounding with thoughts and images and each one tears off an even bigger piece of my heart, crumpling it cockily as if to say, What are you gonna do about it? Morgan is not used to being in a committed relationship. He can't do it. He's not going to stay married to me. I'm surprised he even stayed one night engaged. I'm trying not to cry, trying not to cry. Anger fills me instead, like it's overflowing my sad emotions. I'll hate him instead.
I creep out of the bathroom, hardly making a sound, like a blip in a sea of people. I go unnoticed, and hurl my way up to Rossi's office. Sneakily, I need to know more about this woman. Files are stacking high in my office, and I really ought to be finding us a case, but I have to do this first, or else everything will fall short on my priority list, as selfish as that is. I'm sure Rossi knows something. I run into Morgan on my way to Rossi's, as he's heading to Hotch's office.
"Hey," he winks at me and cups my wrist. I don't blurt out, "I hate you", or wink back, I just stare at him. He doesn't seem to notice my coldness, and enters Hotch's office carelessly. I curse him under my breath the second he's gone, then raise my fist to knock on Rossi's door. Before I do, I make out the sound of Morgan's voice coming from the office next door. With the toes of my boot, I creep over, leaning against the door, listening.
"You can't tell JJ, Hotch," Morgan says. "I'm serious. She'll lose it."
Hotch sighs, then the sound of something slapping envelopes the room. I think it's the sound of Hotch closing a file. "How are we supposed to do this, professionally, without her knowing? How are you supposed to do this?" Hotch asks, then the sound of him sliding something comes out. "She has to know."
"Not yet," Morgan says, pleading. "Not until I figure it all out. Please, man, I need you to not say anything. You don't understand..."
"No, I do," Hotch says, but Morgan cuts him off.
"Last night, I asked JJ to marry me," silence. "She said yes. Hotch, look, if she knows about this, she's not going to go through with it. Not until this is over, anyway. I don't want to lose this, please Hotch, it's all I've got going for me."
Hotch sighs and for a while there's only the sound of Hotch's strong hesitance before he says, "Fine, but she's going to find out eventually. You can't hide this forever, you know that."
"Thanks, Hotch, you're the best." and I'm assuming that's the type of words you use at the closing of a conversation, so I dart out of the way and down the stairs, like I'm just innocently exiting Rossi's office. I hear Morgan click the door shut on my way to my office, and I walk inside, settling in my chair, peering at files, case after case. Morgan knocks on my door.
"Come in." I say, adjusting my hair.
"Hotch says we have a case," he informs me, opening the door only a crack. "Briefing on the jet."
I'm so used to saying those words. All I can do is nod with the weight of this knowledge. "Yeah, okay." I say solemnly. He sneaks in quick enough and leans down and kisses me. I feel dirty, his lips on mine. He pulls away and looks at me funny, but leaves, not asking why I'm drawn away from him suddenly.