A/N: This story is now a series of unrelated one-shots centered around the same theme. Thanks for reading!

Penelope Garcia had never been so unhappy to see her team. After all, her BAU coworkers were her family; she worried herself senseless whenever they were out of town on a case. She loved each and every one of her teammates in a unique but meaningful way, and she knew they loved her, too.

At the moment, thought, Penelope wanted nothing more than to turn right around on her five inch sparkly heels and leave before they noticed that she was here.

No such luck.

She watched in horror as Derek Morgan stood from his seat with unrivaled grace and walked in her direction, maneuvering easily between the handful of couples already on the dance floor, his eyes fixed on hers and an impossibly white grin on his face.

It was certainly not lost on Penelope how amazing Derek looked tonight, not that that was anything out of the ordinary. Tonight, though, was decidedly different. The FBI Christmas Ball called for a slightly different standard of appearance than did hunting UNSUBS, and Derek had stepped up the plate beautifully: his goatee was neatly trimmed, his tuxedo fit him absolutely perfectly, and as he approached her, Penelope could practically see her reflection in the shine of his shoes as she conspicuously avoided eye contact.

"You look amazing, Baby Girl," Derek purred, taking in her appearance appreciatively. Her deep red ballgown hugged every delicious curve perfectly. Her beautiful arms were on display tonight, and Derek realized he didn't think he'd ever seen her bare arms, what with her usual colorful cardigans. She'd even swapped her glasses for contact lenses, giving him an even better view than usual of her expressive brown eyes.

At least, it would given him a better view if she would look up from the ground.

"Hey," Derek murmured softly, his voice laced with concern, lifting her chin ever-so-gently until she was looking into his eyes and placing a hand on the soft exposed skin of her arm. She shuddered, slightly and apparently involuntarily, at his touch and his brow furrowed immediately. He was a profiler; he knew the signs and symptoms of self-consciousness, he'd just never seen them played out so vividly in Penelope.

"C'mere," he said after a moment. He took Penelope's hand in his and led her through the crowd and back into the foyer from which she'd come rather than towards the BAU table with the rest of the team.

When he spotted a small wooden bench near the door, Derek guided her towards it and sat down. After a moment's hesitation, Penelope joined him on the bench. She shivered almost undetectably when he took her hands in his. Most people wouldn't have notice, but Derek Morgan was both profiler and Penelope's best friend - it was both his career and his duty to notice such things.

"You cold, Goddess?"

"N- I- Um, I uh, forgot my sweater," she muttered dully, staring at anything other than Derek's face or the pair's entwined hands.

Derek blinked slowly before he realized that she was seriously going with this lame excuse. He knew his Baby Girl too well for her to get away with that nonsense: Penelope Garcia didn't stutter, she didn't avoid eye contact, and she most certainly didn't forget any of her crucial accessories.

Unimpressed, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and said in a serious tone, "Tell me what's wrong, Penelope." He had a sinking feeling that he knew, and while he hated seeing her worry needlessly like this, he knew she needed to tell him herself before he could start changing her mind.

Penelope had not been expecting this sudden change of tone. Just who did he think he was, practically ordering her to spill her guts to him? "Yo-you can't make me-" she started to stammer, but Derek cut her off quietly.

"You're right, I can't make you," he agreed, surprising her a bit, "But I wish you would talk to me, sweetheart. I don't like seeing you like this."

Neither do I, Penelope thought meanly, tensing a little as she thought about how atrocious she knew she looked tonight. She wished she'd just stayed home, and was about to tell Derek as much, then storm out the door, when she looked up. Something about the look of deep-rooted caring and concern in his eyes cut straight through to her heart, and suddenly tears were spilling down her face, probably streaking her makeup and making her look even worse than before.

"Oh, God, Derek," she said shakily, her voice masked slightly by tears, "I tore my sweater."

For a moment, he was very confused - all this over a sweater? - but then she kept talking.

"I was getting out the car and my sweater got caught on something - I don't know what - but it tore, like, a giant hole in it, and obviously I couldn't wear it, so I just went without it. I mean, I know I usually cover my arms, but tonight was supposed to be special, you know? But then I was coming in and the doors are glass so I could see my reflection and my arms - they just looked so big, kind of like the rest of me, and then I came in, and I was already feeling bad, but then I saw Em and JJ, andthey'rebothjust so thin and beautiful and I'm just-" she tapered off for a moment - "and then there you were, looking so perfect, and just - all of you are so . . . so elegant, and I'm just - not." By the time she finished talking, Penelope's voice had raised about an octave, she'd cried off most of her makeup, and she was even more embarrassed than she'd been when she said "talk dirty to me" to Erin Strauss.

"Oh, God," she whispered, and turned away from Derek in a feeble attempt to hide. A moment later, she was startled by the gentle brush of facial hair and soft lips across the sensitive skin of her upper arm. "Wha-what are you doing?" She asked incredulously, but it was pretty obvious what Derek was doing. He was kissing her arm!

"You are beautiful, Penelope Garcia," he informed her in a rather matter-of-fact sort of voice, "Every single part of you - even your arms." A small, uncertain smile spread slowly across her face as Derek began to dry her tears gently with his calloused thumbs.

"Why don't you go wash all this silly makeup off your pretty face," Derek suggested, and Penelope let out a small giggle as he led the way towards the ladies' room, shrugged off his jacket, and found a piece of wall to lean on while he waited. When she reemerged, her face scrubbed clean but still red and blotchy from tears, Derek brushed his lips across her forehead and said, "Gorgeous as ever." Penelope gave him a tiny smile; she certainly didn't believe him, but she didn't feel like arguing.

"Now, we've got three choices here, Baby Girl," he informed her, looking into her eyes with a loving and unwavering smile. "We can head on back to your apartment, curl up in old sweats, and watch Christmas movies until you fall asleep; you could put on my jacket so you feel more comfortable; or you can head back in there and let me dance with your beautiful self, arms and all."

Penelope hesitated slightly. She was sorely tempted by his first offer, and especially by his second suggestion, since she really didn't want to miss the party. Finally, though, she said, "That jacket with this dress? You gotta be kidding." With a grin that she hoped suggested more confidence than she was feeling, she grabbed Derek's hand and headed back into the party, feeling a little less uneasy and a lot less alone.

Derek could've jumped for joy when Penelope decided to stay, and even turned down his offer to loan her his jacket. He knew she was less confident with her decision than she wanted him to think, and he knew she wasn't really convinced of her own beauty. For the moment, though, he'd take what he could get. Someday she'd know how amazing she was.

He would make sure of it.