Wow! Hey folks it's good to be adding another chapter again. I'm sorry I've left you stranded on two different stories for quite a while here; it honestly wasn't intentional! Hopefully you will still enjoy these latest offerings, late as they are. As usual, I don't own "Criminal Minds" or any of the characters, I'm just borrowing them! Thanks for reading!

Christmas at Quantico

Chapter Four –Morgan

"Slide on over baby, underneath this mistletoe

Here's a toast to us together, let me wrap you in this bow,

I'm in the Christmas spirit, no this one won't be blue,

It'll be the best one ever, and it's all because of you

Oh, you're the angel at the top of my tree

Best present anybody ever gave to me

I've got it decorated, all lit up, gifts underneath,

But you're the angel at the top of my tree…"

- "The Angel at the Top of my Tree" (Kenny Chesney)

The next morning, Christmas Eve, Derek Morgan woke earlier than usual, well before Penelope, and even before the sun had fully emblazoned the sky, in the light gray, still dawning hour. Rubbing a tired hand over his eyes, for a moment he was confused as to where he was – in an uncertain bed and unfamiliar room – until he sat up slowly and saw his goddess curled up beside him, her blond curls disheveled and glowing almost white in the shafts of sunlight just starting to peek through the blinds.

Smiling warmly, he gazed down at her, wanting to run his hands down her neck and over her smooth, bare shoulders, fingers itching to lose themselves in her platinum mane again. But he wanted to let her sleep – loved being able to see her in so peaceful and unguarded a moment. Another idea came to him suddenly and a grin crossed his face, making his eyes twinkle devilishly as he slipped out from under the covers, pulled on the boxers hastily discarded at the foot of the bed the night before, and slipped from the bedroom into the kitchen.

It took Morgan a bit to find all the fixings he needed when he wasn't in his own kitchen, but soon he was dipping bread in egg and flipping French toast on a griddle, sausages in a skillet, and boiling syrup on the back burner. His sisters still teased him mercilessly about the meal he had once ruined as a child trying to use the stove, but he'd actually grown into a rather skilled cook, and he loved doing it on the odd occasion that he got the chance. By the time Penelope shuffled in looking bewildered in her robe and without her glasses, the kitchen smelled heavenly.

"Derek, what are you up to?" she mumbled, brain still foggy with sleep, but smiling anyway, dazed and surprised that he was really there in her kitchen cooking her breakfast.

He turned, startled, at the sound of her voice, looking remarkably like a kid caught playing baseball in the house. Then his eyes narrowed teasingly, and he waggled a finger at her. "I'm trying to make you breakfast in bed, but now you've ruined it by not being in bed anymore."

She grinned, making her way over to the kitchen island and seating herself on one of the tall stools scooted up to it. "Well, I'm still very impressed, Honey Bun. Whether I'm in bed or sitting at the table. I never take the time to make myself this kind of a breakfast…It smells delicious."

"Least I could do in return for the best Christmas present anyone's ever given me. Now eat up and enjoy." He placed a plate of French toast and sausage before her as he spoke, along with the syrup and butter while placing a kiss to her forehead. "I wanted to do this for you."

But she reached out to catch him by the wrist and pull him back, half-standing to kiss his bare bicep and then lean into his warm body for a minute. Morgan wrapped his arms around her, holding her there, thinking that it actually felt as though there was an angel huddled in his embrace, warming him from the outside in. He couldn't remember a time since he was a very small child ever waking up feeling so happy and at peace.

After they'd sat down to share their breakfast in companionable silence, occasionally glancing up quickly to smile or wink at each other or steal each other's sausage links, Derek eventually asked, smiling brightly, his eyes lighting her up inside again, "So, Angel, what is our plan for Christmas Eve? I know you must have something fun in mind…you always do…"

Garcia didn't answer him for a moment, looking as if she were getting a delicious amount of enjoyment from keeping him in suspense as she savored the last bite of French toast she had popped into her mouth. Then she leaned forward, so close that for a moment their noses were almost touching, then gave him a quick kiss on the lips before sitting back triumphantly and announcing, "You'd better believe it, Sweet Cheeks. We're going caroling!"

Derek's eyebrows rose skeptically as he repeated her words. "Caroling? Are you serious? Have you ever heard me sing, Baby Girl? There's a reason for that."

"Oh come on, it's the thought that counts. People love being visited and sung to. It has nothing to do with having a perfect voice. It'll be fun!" She tugged on his hand, giving hi the puppy-dog eyes and pouty lips. It didn't take long for him to cave.

"Alright, you've got me, Sweetness. Let's do it. Your wish is my command."

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Hours later, they came back up Penelope's front sidewalk, faces red from so much time in the cold, but laughing together at the way her lonely elderly neighbor – the last stop on their caroling route – had reacted to seeing them on her doorstep, eventually getting them inside and feeding them warm, fresh-baked gingerbread. Fat, fluffy white snowflakes were falling all around them, looking sparklingly beautiful in the streetlights that broke the gathering evening darkness. Penelope turned to face Derek, mouth opening to tease him again about his gravelly, less-than-stellar singing voice when he surprised her by grabbing her around the waist and pulling her with him into the snow bank next to her walk.

Falling into the soft bed of white powder, she let out a squeal, grabbing a handful of snow and shoving it into his face in retaliation. Bellowing in protest at the cold, he caught her hands before she could do anymore damage, and held her captive while pulling her closer to kiss her thoroughly as they lay there in the snow.

Giggling, she pulled away to whisper in his ear, "We're making a funny-looking snow angel, Hot Stuff."

"Somehow I'm not too worried about that," he responded, lightly kissing her forehead, then trailing his warm lips down the side of her face and neck, the cold long forgotten. "You still look like an angel. If I could put you on the top of my tree, I'd have the most beautiful ornament anyone ever saw. This is definitely the best Christmas I've had in my life."

She blushed, "Come on, Casanova. Enough with the sweet talk, you're embarrassing me. Let's go in and make some hot chocolate while our clothes dry."

He stood and reached out his hands to pull her up as well. "I can think of some other ways to warm ourselves up while those clothes are drying…" he insinuated, waggling his eyebrows.

"I like the way you think, my dark, handsome knight in snow boots. If we keep on like this, I'm gonna have to hope this holiday never ends."

Pulling her into his arms again, Morgan could only agree with her as they headed inside together, "Me too, Mama. Me too."