As always, thanks for the kind words and feedback on the last chapter. And thanks as well for being patient with me. I promise I haven't forgotten about this story!
I realized it's been quite a while since we heard from Mr. Derek Morgan, so I figured I'd cover something quite a few of you have asked for - their first date!
Happy reading =)
"To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead." – Bertrand Russel
I take a quick, deep breath and let it out quickly as I try to quell the waves of nervousness coursing through my body. On the surface, it's a bit silly that I'm trying to muster the courage to knock on her door. We've been good friends for years, and I've trusted her with my life in dangerous situations. She came back from the dead, and I forgave her for having to disappear. We'd survived many ups and downs over the years. This is the woman who has no problem deflating my ego, and matching me step for step in our workouts. So why is it that I find my palms surely sweating, and my lips suddenly dry? Hell, I'd already kissed her. Why was going to dinner with her so damn terrifying?
Because this is Emily Prentiss I'm talking about, that's why. She's not like any of the women I've dated, and that scares me as much as it excites me. She's one of my best friends, and I desperately don't want to screw that up. I know something more with her would be special, and would be nothing short of amazing, but I'm still worried that it'll end badly and I'll end up losing her.
Another breath and quick exhale. This time I bring my hand up and knock on her door. She answers the door a moment later, and I can't help the frown that forms when I take in her t-shirt and yoga pants. They're a far cry from my suit and tie.
"Hey, sorry," she says quickly, her tone apologetic. "I'm not ready yet." She holds up a hand when I open my mouth to reply. "I know, it's cliché. Just one of those days, I promise I'm not usually this…"
"Frazzled?" I supply with a cheeky grin. It's not often Emily Prentiss is off her game.
"Yeah," she says as she exhales. "Come on in, I'll just be a couple minutes, I promise."
"No problem, Princess. Take your time," I say as I shoot her a grin.
"Thank you!" she calls over her shoulder as she heads back toward her bedroom quickly.
I glance around her apartment, noticing how distinctly different it is from her old apartment. Maybe it's a conscious effort on her part. A new look for a new part of her life? My eyes flit from object to object, finally settling on her collection of books. I smile as I spy the first-edition Vonnegut I'd gotten her nestled in among the rest of her Vonnegut collection. Just another reminder of the fact that Emily Prentiss is certainly not just any woman.
I glance to my left when I suddenly get the feeling I'm being watched. A black cat, curled up on the windowsill is staring directly at me. Its tail is flicking back and forth every so often, giving it a very "who the hell are you, and why are you in my house?" kind of vibe. What did Garcia say the damn cat's name was again? Sarge? Sergei? Sergio? Yes! Sergio, that's it. I maintain eye contact for a few moments before I regrettably have to blink. There's no way I'm letting a cat think it's the boss around here. I give him a quick glare before turning my attention back to her bookcases and shelves. Damn cat. I find a few pictures of the team from over the years in frames, and I can't help but laugh quietly at the evolution of Reid's hair.
"What's so funny?" I hear her ask.
I turn around and feel my eyes widen as I take in the sight before me. She's wearing a simple black dress, but the effect is powerful. It hugs her in all the right places, and with the heels she's wearing, I could swear her legs go on for miles. "Wow," is all I can manage to say. God damn, she looks beautiful. No, she is beautiful.
I swear I see her blush ever so slightly at my words. At the very least, she looks self-conscious – a stark contrast to the strong Agent Prentiss I see every day at work. "Is this okay?" she asks. "For dinner, I mean," she clarifies after a beat. It's both strange and intriguing to see her that little bit unsure of herself.
"Um, yeah," I mumble, my eyes feeling very much like they're going to bug out of my head. I don't know how I hadn't noticed this earlier. Well, I mean I had noticed that first day when she joined our briefing – it would've been impossible not to given the striking contrast of her dark eyes and long lashes against her pale skin. I remember thinking those eyes were some of the most intense I'd ever seen. They just seemed to be so impossibly deep.
But she'd quickly fit into the team and had become my partner, so I'd pushed aside those thoughts of how beautiful she was, and instead focused on getting to know her quirks and habits as an agent. She never became 'one of the guys'. No, I was always acutely aware she was a beautiful and impressive woman and agent. She was just Emily – completely badass, amazing, and remarkable Emily Prentiss.
But I never gave a second thought to pursuing something more with her because it never would have worked with us working in the same unit. Not to mention I was terrified she'd have me in a headlock if I ever broached the subject. Okay, so maybe that was a bit of an irrational fear – but this is Emily Prentiss I'm talking about… Once I pieced it together that she was leaving us though, I felt all those feelings and thoughts rise to the surface again. It was the thought of her moving away that made me realize I wanted more.
She looks away when our eyes meet, and I find myself relieved I'm not the only one nervous as hell. "Sorry again about the wait. It's just been one of those days, you know?"
"Hmm?" I hum distractedly when I half-realize she'd said something. God, I feel like that nervous grade school Derek Morgan all over again.
She chuckles lightly. "Never mind. You ready to go?"
"Hmm? Oh, yeah," I answer, finally managing to get my mouth to form words. "After you, princess," I say with a smile as I swing open the door and gesture for her to go first. I let out a slow breath as she steps in front of me and steps into the hallway. If my nerves and reaction to her outfit are any indication this is going to be a long night.
"Son of a bitch!" I yell, as I hear the pop and feel the car begin to pull to the side. I maneuver the car to the side of the road and turn off the ignition before I meet her gaze and shoot her an apologetic look. "Sorry," I apologize. For the car trouble, and for the outburst. Definitely not the suave Derek Morgan she's no doubt expecting.
She waves off my apology. "Don't worry about it. It's probably just a flat, right? Let's put the spare on, and be on our way."
"Yeah," I mutter as I open my door, my frustration only growing. Our first date has certainly started off well.
I'm surprised when she joins me in immediately getting out of the car. My expression must mirror my thoughts, because she shrugs and offers an explanation of, "What? I can help."
"In that outfit?" I reply, once again letting my eyes roam up and down and appreciating every inch.
"We're changing a tire, Derek, not doing an oil change," she fires back, and this time I can't help but laugh. In a single moment, she'd lifted my mood.
"Right. I don't doubt that you're more than capable, but I really don't want to be responsible for you ruining your favourite dress."
"How do you know it's my favourite dress?" she counters.
"Because you've worn it before – to a dinner with the team – and you told Garcia that it was your favourite dress to wear because it was surprisingly comfortable."
Her eyes widen fractionally. "You remember that?"
"I remember a lot of things, Emily. Especially those things that involve you in a dress like that."
"I-" she begins, but I cut her off.
"I got this, Princess, so you just relax."
"Suit yourself," she answers with a shrug.
I glance at my watch and let out a frustrated sigh while I fight the urge to kick the flat tire on the ground next to me. While I'd had no trouble putting on the spare tire, it had taken up precious time, meaning we're definitely not going to make it to the restaurant in time to claim the reservation I'd made. It was a classy place, reputed for its excellent food and intimate atmosphere. It was the kind of place that you needed to make reservations to months in advance, or otherwise know someone who could get you in.
It definitely wasn't the kind of place I would go to frequently. I was raised on greasy Chicago-style pizza and home-cooked meals, after all, but a date with Emily Prentiss warranted something a little classier. She had grown up on fine-dining… And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't trying to impress her a little bit.
"Hey, you okay?" she asks, tilting her head to one side, her expression conveying concern.
"Yeah," I say, apparently unconvincingly if her look is anything to go by. "I just- We're not going to make our reservation, and it's not the kind of place to hold them if you're late." I look up as I hear a rumble of thunder and realize that Mother Nature has apparently decided to pile onto the disaster quota for the night as rain has started to fall, soaking me in the process. Great. Just. Fucking. Great.
She looks thoughtful for a moment from inside the car, where she'd retreated after I'd finished changing the tire. "So let's go somewhere else."
"Well, yeah, but..."
"But…" she prompts.
"But where are we gonna be able to get in on a Friday night this late? Anywhere we go will have at least an hour wait."
She looks thoughtful for another moment before she replies. "You have your go-bag with you?" My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Hang on, that's not what I meant," she adds, a slight blush tinging her cheeks when she realizes how it sounded. "I meant, do you have a change of clothes?"
"Oh. Yeah."
"Good, then let's just go back to my place. I'll cook us something."
"You don't have to do that, Emily. I can-"
"I don't mind, Derek. It'll be significantly cheaper for you anyway," she finishes with a grin.
I let out a frustrated exhale once more before relenting. It's not as if we have any other options aside from take-out – which is something I know she's been trying to eat less of lately. "Okay. But at least let me pick up dessert on the way?" Maybe there's still a way for me to salvage this…
"Deal," she agrees with a wide smile. Her willingness to abandon dinner out at a fancy restaurant is a relief. I've never felt at home in those kinds of situations, preferring a more casual approach to dining, and life in general.
"I have one condition though," I say after a thought occurs to me.
She frowns in confusion. "What's that?"
I can't help the cheeky grin from forming on my face. "You keep that dress on while you're cooking."
"You're lucky you're too far away for me to smack you," she replies sharply with a shake of her head.
"That's not a no…"
She just laughs and shakes her head again in reply. Maybe tonight wouldn't be such a disaster after all.
"I gotta say, Emily, I'm feeling a little spoiled that you're going to cook for me," I say as she pushes open the door to her apartment.
"Oh? Finally come around on your opinions of my cooking skills?" she says with an eyebrow raised in amusement as she slips off her heels.
"Hey, I'm a man and I'll admit when I'm wrong," I reply as I close the door behind me and lock it. "My teasing of your inability to cook was definitely uncalled for. Your cooking rivals my mama's!"
"Let's not set the bar too high," she says, dropping her purse on the couch. "Bathroom's through there, second door on your right," she says as she points down the hallway to my left. "There should be a few towels in there if you need. Just hang the wet clothes in the shower."
"Thanks," I say with a nod, definitely glad to be able to get out of my soaked clothes. I change into some jeans and a long-sleeve tee, make sure to hang up my dripping wet clothes, and make my way back to the kitchen.
I grin when I realize she hadn't changed out of her dress before starting to cook. "So what are you making?" I ask as I take a seat at the island, intent on watching her work her magic.
"We are making Coq au vin," she says, shooting me a look that tells me I'm definitely not going to just watch her cook.
I get the feeling I'm being watched again, and turn to find Sergio's unwavering stare on me once more. This cat is downright creepy. I keep my gaze on him, wondering what he's planning, because with eyes like that, he's most definitely planning something. "Does he always do that?" I ask.
"Who? Sergio?" she asks distractedly, peeking over at the windowsill. "Oh, yeah. He likes to curl up there when I'm in the kitchen."
"No, I meant the staring," I press, not liking the way this cat is eyeing me. It's like he's figuring out how to pounce or something. This is why I prefer dogs – much easier to predict their behaviour. "Does he do that with you too?"
"What staring?" she asks before turning around. "Oh, no. I suppose you are new to him though, so maybe it's not so strange. He's just sizing you up a bit."
"He won't do anything though, will he?"
Emily chuckles. "Scared of a little cat, Agent Morgan?"
"He's not that little," I point out emphatically, "and you can't tell me he doesn't look like he's got it in for me."
"He's a cat," she says slowly, as though she doesn't understand my hesitation.
I shoot him a side-eyed glare before resolving to ignore him, and instead meeting Emily's gaze. "Okay, Julia Child. Put me to work."
She lets out a short laugh. "Peel those carrots? And chop them up a bit, not too small though."
"Right, I think I can manage that," I say, reaching for the carrots, cutting board, and knife she'd already pulled out. "And I'll definitely leave the actual cooking to you."
"You never learned how to cook?" she asks, turning to face me for a brief moment before turning her attention back to the stove in front of her.
"My mama taught me a couple of easy recipes – chicken soup, spaghetti, that kind of thing – but nothing too fancy like Coq au vin. I mostly get by on takeout, to be honest. It's just easier with our crazy hours."
"Mm," she replies with a nod, "I know what you mean. I've been trying to eat less take-out lately, because I realized how often we that crap."
"I noticed," I reply with a smile, pausing my peeling to meet her gaze.
"You did?" she says, her eyebrows rising in surprise.
"Yeah. Ever since you got back from…" I trail off, not sure how to refer to her time away. I settle for forging ahead without a specific explanation. Better not to linger on that topic, I think. Doesn't really make for great date conversation material. "You've been bringing in lots of leftovers when we're in the office. It always makes the bullpen smell great when you reheat them."
"I never used to cook, because the leftovers always went bad when we got called away for another case. But I've started freezing the portions now," she explains.
"How domestic of you."
"Hey, it's saving me a ton of money, and cutting my sodium intake down, which makes my doctor happy."
"I bet," I answer distractedly as I chance a glance over to the windowsill, where I find Sergio has disappeared. I scan the apartment quickly, not seeing the bundle of black fur anywhere. Just when I'm about to resume my peeling, I glance down toward my feet, and find Sergio staring up at me. I glare at him again, and shift my legs to make sure he can't aim for anything sensitive.
"How is it that you can be so fit with all the crap that you eat anyway?" Emily's question grabs my attention from Sergio's plotting.
"Just good genes, I guess," I answer, flashing her a grin.
We continue to chat about cooking, favourite meals, the best takeout places we'd found, and a variety of other food related subjects as we prepare our meal. An hour later, and we're grabbing our plates and heading toward the table to enjoy a heavenly smelling meal. Forty minutes after that and we're enjoying the cheesecake we'd picked up. Twenty minutes after that and we're curled up on her couch, getting to know each other better via a series of questions.
"Favourite place you lived?" I ask, genuinely curious, given how many places she'd lived in throughout her childhood.
"France, I think," she answers after a moment of careful thought. "Number one on your list of places to visit?"
"Europe."
"Anywhere specific? Europe's a big place…"
"Not really," I answer with a shrug. "Just want to get over there at some point and explore a bit."
She nods in understanding. "It's a pretty cool place. Lots of different cultures."
"So they say," I answer, keeping half an eye on Sergio, who is sitting on the floor behind me, still staring. That damn cat is going to give me a heart attack, I know it.
Emily seems unfazed by his behaviour. "I take it you didn't travel much as a kid?"
I shake my head. "Nah, 3 kids on a beat cop's salary means we enjoyed a lot of staycations."
"I suppose it's a case of wanting what you don't have. I would've loved to stay put."
"I guess so," I agree. "Favourite childhood memory?"
Her eyes drift to the far wall as she thinks carefully about my question. I find myself enjoying learning these little tidbits about her. She's a very private person, who holds her cards very close to her chest, so to get answers to these questions is a rare peek into the Emily I'm not yet familiar with.
"When I was about 8 or so, my mother had some meetings in the States so she let me go and stay with my grandfather for 2 weeks," she begins, a fond expression on her face.
"The one who lived on the side of a mountain?"
She nods. "Yeah. Anyway, I was his only grandchild, so he liked to dote on me."
"Of course."
"Well, since he didn't really have access to books or toys, he decided that the best way to spoil me was to spend time with me making me a secret spot."
"A secret spot?"
"Yeah. It was this crude, little wooden structure that we built together. It was far from perfect, but I loved it because it was our spot and our spot alone."
"That's cute," I say with a warm smile. It doesn't escape me that this is a very personal thing for her to share with me. "When were you last there?"
"Shortly after he died, I think. I would have been around 16."
"Is it still there?" I ask gently, knowing I'm treading into sensitive waters.
"I'm honestly not sure. He left his cabin to me in his will, but I've never gone back."
"Not even when you were in Paris?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. She hadn't told anyone what she'd done in those seven months, and I've found it's something I wonder about often.
She surprises me when she chuckles. "You know Paris is like a six hour drive from the Alps, right?"
I grin sheepishly. I hadn't known that. "Still a lot closer than D.C.," I reply.
"I thought about it very seriously," she admits, meeting my gaze. Her expression is sad, and her eyes seem…heavy. I silently curse myself for bringing up such a painful time in her life. "But I was so paranoid that Doyle would somehow find that connection and find me that I talked myself out of it."
"You should go back now."
"Yeah," she agrees quietly. "But enough about that. My turn to ask a question…"
I smile and gesture for her to go ahead. "Shoot."
"Why were you so upset about the flat tire?"
"You like getting flat tires?" I reply instantly. I definitely don't feel comfortable with this line of questioning.
"No, but I also don't get that worked up about them."
I let out a sigh. "I really wanted tonight to go well."
"I'd say it has."
"Yeah, but I had no way of knowing that when the tire blew. I just saw my perfect dinner plans slipping away."
Emily studies me carefully for a moment, her eyes kind but searching. "You don't need fancy restaurants and expensive meals to impress me, Derek."
Damn. "Is it that obvious?"
"I mean it, Derek. I'm just as happy grabbing a burger as I am enjoying fancy Italian specialties."
"I'll keep that in mind," I say with a small smile, still feeling a bit deflated. I really had wanted tonight to go perfectly. This wasn't just any woman I was dealing with.
"Hey," she says, grabbing my hand and shifting over a bit closer to me. "C'mere," she says softly, tugging on my hand to pull me even closer. I meet her gaze and shift closer to her, so our legs are almost touching.
All of a sudden I feel her lips on mine and my eyes flutter closed. A moment later she pulls away, breaking the kiss, and my eyes open slowly. Damn, this woman is intoxicating. I could spend a lifetime kissing her.
"Wow."
She grins and lets out a breathy chuckle. Shit. Did I say that out loud? "I meant what I said, Derek. You don't have to impress me. I've already seen you at your worst, and at your best."
She has a point. She already knows my secrets, and she's still here. She knows I don't do fine-dining all that often. She knows I'm a kid from Chicago who's a little rough around the edges at times. She knows my temper is all too often my downfall. She knows and understands the job that is such a big part of who I am.
"You are one of a kind, Emily Prentiss," I say, meeting her gaze and finding nothing but support and kindness in her eyes. This really could be something special.
So...did you feel for poor Derek, foiled at every turn as he tried to make the night perfect? Did you smile at Emily's admission that she doesn't need fancy dinners? And most importantly - did you laugh at Sergio's antics? Let me know!