A/N: Hello everyone! How's it going? I've been marinating this story for a couple months now. I kept telling myself I wasn't gonna do it but, HERE I AM. This is a sequel to Twenty Four Hours to Conceive. It'll eventually have some references to that story, and I kinda want to try to tie in an OC from those chapters a little bit as well, but we'll see. Enough from me, let's Demily! Enjoy xoxo ;)
He inhaled, something close to a yawn, but really that contented deep breath of a new morning. Mind emerging from a peaceful slumber, he cracked his eyes open. After a good night's sleep, his first instinct was always to sit up and stretch, flex and warm up all his muscles, but he soon realized that stirring too much would disturb the woman resting still against him.
With him… she was with him. Emily Prentiss was with him, and the disbelief that seemed to linger in his mind barely let him believe it. Even as the two of them were naked, tangled in cotton sheets, Derek Morgan found himself still amazed and dumbfounded. And grateful.
When he thought about all the times he started a new day without her by his side, he wondered how he even used to get out of bed. This intimate routine they'd fallen into rather effortlessly, was, in the most cliché way, everything to him. Her dark hair draped over his bicep, the palm of her hand over his chest— everything made so much sense. She was here, she was his… and she would slap him if she ever heard him say that.
It had been a little over a month since he decided to stay the summer. So far, it was the best decision he'd ever made. With 120 days of temporary duty, he was still working. The FBI legat office kept him busy— not BAU busy, but for the most part he had a regular schedule, and plenty of field action. Though, at the end of the day, what mattered most was that he was with her.
Leaving nothing unobserved, Morgan watched as her chest rose and fell, and took careful notice of how the sunlight peeking though the window illuminated her pale complexion. Sunlight was rare in London. Despite the late summer days, it was overcast more than blue-skied. But, regardless of rain or shine, he preferred to take to the time to appreciate moments like this. Especially, when the alarm he set the night before was a minute away from going off.
His gaze shifted to the red analog numbers. 6:43 AM. He hadn't planned on waking up just before his alarm went off, but it was rather convenient that he did. Reaching out his free arm, Morgan tapped a button on the clock's head. Now that he was up, he could prepare for the day a little bit sooner— which usually meant getting in a few extra sit ups during his workout, but in this case, was an opportunity to make them breakfast.
Taking care not to wake her, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. Then, with expert level stealth, he slipped away from the bed. Ducking into the closet to pull on a t-shirt, some boxers and sweatpants, he clothed himself appropriately for the task ahead of him. A quick trip to the sink to brush his teeth, and it wasn't but two minutes later that he was tiptoeing out of the room, heading down the stairs of her loft.
Morgan took a left turn into the kitchen. Everything from the dark tile floors to the stainless steel equipment, was still pristine, like something out of a magazine. This was mostly evidence of the space not being fully lived in, but also on account of the fact that, between two working government officials, there was barely anytime at the beginning or the end of the day to stand leisurely and cook a meal.
As a result, both he and Emily would alternate who put breakfast on the table. More often than not, this meant alternating who would pick up the breakfast order from the bakery around the corner. This worked, the bakery's menu was on par, there was nothing wrong with this arrangement. However, to Morgan, there was something undeniably special about time spent, both in preparing a meal and gathering to eat afterward.
Plus, after a month of stressful work days, transitioning from one country to another, and watching her mount herself as chief to run a London Interpol office, there seemed no better time to do something slightly outside of their routine. Something a little different for her, and for the both of them to enjoy.
Grabbing a few mixing bowls from below the countertops and ingredients from the fridge, Morgan began to prepare their morning feast. It took him all of an hour to get everything just right. Pre-heating the oven, placing the right amount of batter in the pan, leaving the pan in for the perfect length of time. Even the table placements, he painstakingly arranged with purpose.
When all was finished, a scrumptious display of chocolate chip muffins, juicy raspberries and a savory side of scrambled eggs was set upon plates at each end of the table. To compliment the meal, he poured orange juice into champagne glasses, and placed a sliver of an orange wedge on the rim of each glass. Also, mugs of coffee. Emily may have swore off caffeine when she returned to the BAU, but that commitment slowly dwindled into a relapse with each cup of brew she gulped down after moving overseas.
Just as he was placing napkins and putting the finishing touches on the table, Morgan heard her distinct footsteps coming down the hall. Trailing down the stairs, and coming round the corner, Emily entered the room, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of slippers. Her black bob was a little tossed, sleep was still in her eyes, and there was an expression across her face that could only be described as "passive aggressively plotting murder".
"Good morning, princess." He greeted her with a chuckle and a kiss on the forehead.
Pulling her in for a firm embrace, he tucked his head into the crook of her shoulder. Slowly but surely, her arms wrapped around him as she earnestly hugged him back. They leaned against each other not unlike two bending trees — reaching out and holding each other up.
After a moment, Derek backed away slightly, just enough to kiss to her on the forehead once more. And on her nose. And he began moving to place one on her lips, but when his mouth touched air, he paused in confusion. It only took a few brief moments for him to realize that she, too, had backed away; the arrangement on the table suddenly catching her eye.
"What is all this?" She questioned, her expression from moments earlier softening at the sight of everything.
"For us." He responded proudly.
Like a lioness circling it's prey, Emily strode over to the table and paced around it. A look of wonder and bewilderment filled her eyes. It was almost as if she couldn't believe it — couldn't believe that he went through all the trouble, but was appreciative none the less.
"Derek, this is so sweet…" She said.
Morgan smiled. After mentally patting himself on the back for a job well done, he pulled out a chair for her to sit in. But just then, her eyes — which were glimmering over the display as she came closer — started to dim. She frowned, and froze stock-still. Not making a move at all towards the chair awaiting her, Emily backed away in the slightest. Morgan was puzzled.
"Would you… like to sit?" He asked.
With the subtlest of gestures, she shook her head,"I've got to get ready for work…"
She appeared conflicted. The look of conviction across her face belying the hollow, wistful tone of her voice. However, her response didn't take him by surprise. He half expected a small objection, and here it was.
Another thing that take-out from the corner bakery was good for: eating fast. It wasn't like she was purposely avoiding a nice homemade breakfast with him, her work really did demand her time and attention as soon as she could possibly allow it. So, sitting at the table, suspending time to eat and make conversation would be like allowing herself to eat a forbidden fruit. Especially as she was still and unknowingly overcompensating by being excessively punctual and finishing paperwork at home.
"Hey." Morgan said gently, and reached out his hand to pull her back toward him,"Have breakfast with me."
Emily inhaled, opening her mouth to offer another halfhearted objection, but he refused to let her have this one. Brows furrowing and chin tilted down, he countered her unspoken protest with sorrowful, puppy dog eyes, exploiting the very weakness he knew she had for it. The brunette averted her eyes, an attempt to leap out of the trap that she fell into. But when she scrunched her nose, and her eyes darted back to him in a reluctant, defeated glare, Morgan knew he'd won.
"Okayyy." She cracked,"One muffin, then I'm going upstairs."
He stifled a chuckle, and shook his head, "I'll take what I can get."
She took her seat and he took his. Promptly, the two of them picked up their forks and began to eat. Even though he sampled each entree earlier, Morgan was pleased to find that Emily took delight in the flavors dancing in her mouth. She moaned modestly when her mouth closed around the warm, chocolatey muffin, and then shut her eyes to deeply savor the bold taste of the coffee poured into her mug. Morgan smirked. He was no professional chef in the kitchen, but he at least knew how to perfectly make her favorites.
"So, what's on the agenda today?" He asked.
She shrugged, and pressed her fork into the scrambled eggs,"I've got a mountain of files that I need to sign off on, and then at noon I have a thing."
Morgan raised his brows,"A thing."
"Yea, a thing." She replied casually before taking a bite of the yellow protein.
"Oh yea?" He proposed equally as casually,"What kinda thing?"
Morgan felt like she was joking… maybe. While the context of their breakfast made what she was saying feel lighthearted, the obscurity of it felt subtly sincere. Given their history of secrets kept from one another for far too long (even to their own detriment) his internal alarms were going off. But he managed to tamp them down enough to let the moment play out just a little bit more.
"It's an Interpol related thing." She said with another shrug.
Morgan set down his fork, then cocked his head,"So because we don't work for the same government anymore, I get the "It's top secret." treatment?"
His statement, by design, was highly sarcastic. He was trying his hardest to mask the bubbling concern and offense he was feeling. Yet, despite his best effort, when she met his gaze, he could tell that a hint of the very thing he was attempting to conceal snuck it's way in there anyway.
Her eyes were wide with surprise, but her expression soon sank into something quite was stern. For a moment, Morgan felt as if he overstepped— fucked up by prying. But then the thin line of her mouth tightened, helplessly turning upward. Just a quickly as her disposition settled, Emily broke out in laughter.
She picked a raspberry out of its dish, and tossed one right towards his face,"I'm messing with you." She giggled,"It's a conference, Derek."
As he released a flustered exhale, Morgan rolled his eyes,"Fancy…"
"It will be." She grinned, still amused at how gullible he could be sometimes.
The two continued their breakfast, talking easily, sharing laughs, eating more than one muffin and relishing in the moment they had to spend with each other. Comfortable and contented, they could extend this kind of morning long into the afternoon. But therein lay the danger for both of them on a workday. As the minutes passed, the moment approached it's end. Taking one last swig of coffee, Emily pushed back her chair, and disappeared from the table.
Before he too hurried up the steps to get himself ready for the day, Morgan reentered the kitchen. He spent a few minutes clearing away the setting, washing the pots and pans he'd used to cook, and reflecting on the success of the morning.
Still in the kitchen, it wasn't long after he began towel-drying the cooking ware, that the man heard the sound of a patterned tapping moving closer to him. Morgan frowned in confusion. Pivoting to see what was arriving, he spotted Emily striding into the room. Tall, nude stilettos carried her fit frame — hence the tapping.
In addition to her heels, she wore a white blazer with a white pencil dress. Her hair was sleekly brushed back into a low bun, and her face was glowing as her features were accentuated with subtle, but flattering make-up.
"What do you think?" She asked as she posed, offering herself for his observation.
He was at a loss for words. Genuinely, he hadn't expected the presentation he was witnessing. His jaw fell a little bit open, but he was speechless. She looked amazing— radiant really. And as he continued to draw in her appearance, a small, strange sensation plucked at his heart.
This was Emily Prentiss he was gazing at, but he could've swore this person was someone entirely new. And not just "shedded her morning affect" new, but "Executive London Interpol Chief" new. She was no longer the Agent Emily Prentiss he'd known for many years, who he'd learned and grown with. Immediately, she was different. Upright and extremely sophisticated, this was the new her.
Eyeing her purposefully, he spoke,"New outfit, huh?"
"Well, I am attending a major conference later this afternoon, so I thought…" She gave a broad gesture to her outfit of choice.
Morgan nodded and continued to take her in. Her question from seconds ago, echoing in his head,"I think…"
She didn't often want his opinion on things, especially when it came to what she wore. That was her choice. A choice that was more often than not one of her many black turtlenecks and some black slacks. But this choice, blew him away. This choice… admittedly, this choice kind of turned him on. But now that she seemed to be asking, he wasn't going to express any of that.
On the contrary, he concealed a smirk as he decided to toy with her, to get back at her for messing with him earlier. So, instead of offering her any feedback, he promptly and silently went back to drying off the pans and dishes.
Emily scoffed,"You hate it." Her voice was deadpan.
Morgan shrugged aloofly,"Doesn't matter what I think."
"You just started a sentence and didn't even finish it," Emily said pointedly,"You really hate it."
"Nah, I don't hate it."
"Okay…" She cocked her head,"But?"
"There's no but, Emily." Morgan insisted.
"Derek, the seams on this skirt are snug, but I can still kick you where it hurts." She said, leaning forward to swat at him,"Tell me the truth! This is important."
Spinning around, and biting firmly on his lips, he shuffled towards her intently. His arms extended to embrace her, then snaked around her body. His hands slid down her back, soon reaching the lower curve of her spine, and splaying out to hold and caress the pronounced shape of her backside in his palms, leaving no room for her to guess what the "but" was.
"You got me." He said and kissed her fully, deeply on the mouth,"I think you look amazing."
Their lips meeting with searing passion, he could hear her breathing slowing down as his heart rate picked up. She looked so fine in her white, pundit-like attire, but on an impulse, there seemed nothing greater than having the pleasure of taking it off her. Moving his hand up her back, his fingers searched for a zipper and when he found it, he tugged.
"No— no." Emily said firmly, as she pulled away, and pressed her palm against his chest,"Thank you, I love you, but I gotta hurry or I'll miss the tube."
Giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, she tapped away on her heels and left him to stand in the kitchen. A little deflated and displaced, he hated to see her go. He hadn't allowed himself to get too excited because he knew there wasn't much time. He needed to get to work as well. But now, alone in the silence of the loft and the absence of her presence, that small, lingering feeling plucked at his heart again.
Her warmth leaving him and the sound of the door closing behind her clarified (if not intensified) the feeling. Suddenly, it was more than noticing an outward difference. It was distance. In spite of reality, of the evenings and mornings they spent together, for the first time in a while, he looked at someone he'd known for a long, long time and she seemed far away.
The adjustment was so small, almost impalpable compared to everything else that might've made him feel this way. Events like the circumstances which brought them here with each other, her new job and the dynamic of them no longer being professional equals, relocating to England and deciding to start a more intimate relationship— given it all, he was comfortable.
But changes and differences were expected. And sometimes, just like when she strode away, clad in her declarative Interpol Chief ensemble, it felt like they were two embryo seedlings potted next to each other, and she was growing into her own much quicker, at a rate which he could not keep up.
Subconsciously, he feared that he might be holding her back. Bringing that thought to the foreground, he profiled himself, concluding that was why he felt the need to do a little extra this morning. Maybe even partly why he initiated a few moments ago— he needed to soothe his disbelief.
The man exhaled sharply, and shook his head. There was no use worrying about a drift between them. She was right in front of him moments ago, and she soon would be again. Their connection— both physically and emotionally— was still intact. More than anything, he could reassure himself with the fact that they both wanted to make this work, and that so far, they had.
So, quelling every other intrusive thought, Morgan finished up in the kitchen and made his way up the stairs to ready himself for the rest of day.
A/N: Just one chapter for now! I hope to do like before and upload a couple chapters at a time. But given my schedule and how sloooow I write, I can already tell you it's gonna take me a while to complete this one. But I hope you will join me on this journey! Feedback is always appreciated. Til next time! xoxo