Derek Morgan had waited six years for a date with Emily Prentiss.

Six years ago, Reid had told him that girls could sense when men are changing and that when he was ready, the right kind of girl would find him. (It killed him that Reid had been right – about women of all things – and he certainly wasn't about to admit that to him...) As it turned out, the right girl had already found him and she was just waiting for him to see just how right she was.

Of course, he realized it pretty early on, but what followed was years of pining, a couple drunken hook-ups, seven months of mourning, and a desperate confession of love, before anything could finally happen.

In truth, by that point they already knew each other better than most couples knew each other, but he wanted to do things right. Which meant asking her on a proper first date. When he'd actually asked her, she'd laughed a little and insisted that he didn't need to take her on a date, they could just skip to the sex. He'd resolutely refused, though, because he didn't want a one night stand or even friends with benefits – he wanted a relationship and everything that came with it.

(She'd blushed when he'd said that and mumbled something about how, if he insisted, he could take her on a real date...and he knew then that she was just as eager as him to see if this thing between them could go the distance. And just as awkwardly unsure about the unknown territory they were treading into.)

He'd spent a week planning everything down to the last detail, wanting to make sure he got everything just right because this was Emily fucking Prentiss and you didn't use your B-game with a woman like that.

He showed up at her door with a bouquet of purple prairie gentian flowers. Emily had always insisted that she hated showy romantic gestures like that, but he knew her well enough to know that she secretly had a showy romantic side. And, if the way her face lit up in a smile as she breathed in the scent of them, he was right.

"I, umm, I was going to get tulips because they're more colourful, but they're toxic to cats and I thought it would be bad first date etiquette if I killed Sergio," he said with a shrug and a playful smile. "I hope I chose something nice. I don't know much about flowers."

"You chose perfect," she assured him as she filled a vase with water. "Who knew you were so cheesy and sentimental..." she teased.

"Cheesy?" he echoed as if offended. "Woman, please...you haven't seen cheesy yet."

She raised a brow. "Well, then, by all means...cheese away." She winced then, realizing how utterly dorky that had sounded. "I warned you about this years ago," she said, "I'm a nerd."

"Oh, trust me, Princess, I'm well aware." He smirked. "Now, get that beautiful behind in gear, we're going to be late..."

"Late for what?" she asked, intrigued.

"You'll see."

He'd planned to take her dancing...

He wasn't exactly the most graceful person on the planet, but as a general rule, he knew his left foot from his right. But he didn't want to embarrass himself, which is why he'd scheduled them for a private dance lesson first, thinking it would be cute to one day look back on the memory of his hapless but well-intentioned attempts.

As it turned out, though, the memory they'd be looking back on was one of him tripping Emily and breaking her wrist.

"I'm so sorry, Em!" he said for approximately the seven thousandth time as they sat in the emergency room waiting area.

"It's not your fault," she said between winces as she cradled her arm against her chest. "It could have happened to anyone."

"But it didn't," he maintained, "It happened while I was trying to impress a really cute girl that I really like and now she thinks I'm a clumsy boob."

"I do not," she insisted, even as her cheeks pinked at the compliment. She saw his expression then, amending, "Well, maybe just a little. But I like you anyway."

He sighed, running a hand over the back of his head, apparently not consoled by her words. "This really isn't how I imagined this evening going," he said.

"It's not really what I had in mind either," she said, deadpan. But she was smiling as she said it.

"So, I had dinner reservations," Derek informed her as he wrapped his coat about her shoulders as the left the hospital. He glanced at his watch. "But seeing as we're now three hours late, I kind of doubt our table is still waiting for us."

"That's okay," she said, leaning into his shoulder, linking her arm with his. "Anywhere is fine, so long as the food is edible because I'm starving."

"I was kind of hoping to do a little better than just edible – I was going for fancy French restaurant with hors d'oeuvres and profiteroles and all that jazz. You know, the kind of place a guy takes a girl he's trying to impress."

"I keep telling you, you don't have to impress me," Emily said softly. "I already like you – that's why I'm on a date with you..."

He was still rather forlorn, though, in spite of her reassurances.

"Come on," she pressed. "There's an all-night diner nearby and I could really go for a burger and milkshake. How about you?"

"So, when did you know?" Emily asked, snatching a fry off his plate, having finished her own.

He raised a brow, swatting her hand away. "Know what?"

"Know that you liked me," she expanded. "When did you know you were going to ask me out?"

"Well, those are two very different moments..." She raised a brow curiously, so he explained, "I've liked you for a very long time, but I was too chicken shit to ask you out because you're...you and I'm, you know, me." Judging by her expression, she was more confused than ever. "Girls like you don't fall for guys like Derek Morgan..."

"Says who?"

"Anyone with two eyes and a brain," he insisted. "You're gorgeous and classy and smart enough not to get mixed up with a guy like me – a guy who has a history of playing the field and breaking hearts."

"So, why did you?" she pressed, more curious after his self-deprecating explanation.

He shrugged. "For seven months I mourned a friend and tried not to listen to the little voice telling me that if we really were just friends it wouldn't have hurt this badly..." He glanced down at his plate, suddenly shy. "I knew I couldn't make that mistake again. The day you came back, I vowed to stop being an idiot..."

She nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "That didn't answer my first question..." she pointed out.

He sighed, rolled his eyes playfully. "Fine. If you must know, I started falling that day you confessed to being a nerd. I must've spent about three weeks trying to talk myself out of it because you're a coworker and a friend and could kick my ass in a heartbeat. I went on dates and tried to convince myself it was just a little crush and I'd forget about you as soon as I met someone else...but all I could think about was how I'd rather be on a date with you."

Her cheeks were a bright shade of pink now and she was biting down on her bottom lip to keep from smiling.

He continued, "And now I'm on that date and I think it's safe to say I'm officially bungling it."

"If it makes you feel any better, it's not the worst first date I've been on..."

His mouth hung open slightly for a few moments. "What the hell kind of dates have you been on?" he asked incredulously.

She just smiled mysteriously.

Derek was still moping as he drove her back home. The final part of the date – the one where he took her for ice cream and they laid in the back of his pick up and stared up at the stars – had capped off the night with failure when the ice cream parlour had been closed.

She felt bad that all his efforts to impress her had gone so wrong so quickly – he just looked so utterly crestfallen over everything that her heart wanted to break.

"Pull over," she demanded.

He looked at her, brow raised, curious and concerned. "Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?"

"Pull over," she repeated. "Into this parking lot."

He obeyed, feeling his heart hammering in his chest. "Emily, I'm so sorry," he started to apologize yet again. "This night has been a catastrophe and I know I have no right to ask this, but please just give me another chance to make it right and I swear..."

She cut him off, holding up one finger in an indication to wait as she started fiddling with the buttons on the radio.

"Uh, Em? What are you..."

Finally, she must've found what she was looking for because she threw her door open, exiting the vehicle and, for a moment, he thought that maybe she was calling a cab and cutting bait. Then, his door flung open and she was standing there, fixing him with a stern expression.

"Get out," she demanded.

"What..."

"Come on," she coaxed, gentler then.

The delicate tendrils of a slow song spilled out of the radio then and a soft smile crossed her painted red lips.

"Dance with me," she murmured, reaching for his hands, placing one on her waist.

Almost numbly, he placed the other hand on her shoulder, but made no move to shift his feet. "Right here?" he asked skeptically. "In the middle of a deserted parking lot?"

"Yes," she maintained. "You wanted to dance, so let's dance." Carefully, so as not to knock him out with the cast on her wrist, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body up against his.

Deciding she was, indeed, serious, he began moving his feet, gently swaying them in a soft circle, carried about by the strains of music. With a contended little sigh, she rested her head on his chest and he was suddenly afraid that she'd be able to hear the way his heart was pounding like a war drum at her closeness.

"You look really beautiful tonight," he whispered, as if afraid to shatter the moment with his voice. "I wanted to tell you earlier, but I got all tongue-tied and couldn't make the words come out without embarrassing myself because I've got this reputation as a smooth operator and you just turn my brain to mush whenever you're around..."

She laughed quietly, the sound muffled by his chest. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"To be fair," he amended, "You always look beautiful..."

She pulled back then to look him in the eye and for a split second, he thought he'd pushed too far. Then, she declared, "Derek Morgan, you'd better kiss me right now."

"Are... Are you sure?" he stammered, "I mean, it's the first date and... I mean..."

"Kiss me," she repeated firmly.

He didn't need to be told a third time. He leaned in to capture her lips with his as they swayed in the headlight glow.

"So..." he said, clearing his throat as he pulled away, breathless. "Does this mean I get a second date?" His grin was playful and teasing.

"Hmm..." she teased right back. "I don't know – are they all going to go like this?"

"I'd ruin a hundred dates if you promise to keep kissing me like that," he vowed.

She pretended to think about that. "I could do without the trip to the emergency room next time," she amended.

"Princess, that kiss almost stopped my heart, so I'm not going to make any promises..."

Smirking, she leaned in so their lips were almost touching. "You haven't seen anything yet..."