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29 October 2008 @ 11:59 pm
Criminal Minds Fic: Never Stop Talking  
Posted to bau_fic
Crossposted to morgan_garcia

Title: Never Stop Talking
Pairing/Characters: Derek/Penelope
Rating: R
Spoilers: Seasons 1-3, Mayhem
Summary: Derek needs Penelope to know how much she means to him (Mayhem Post-Ep)
Notes/Warnings: Read the disclaimer on my LJ

She doesn't pick up when he calls back. He may have told her he can wait, but standing there watching the remains of the ambulance burn a hole in Central Park there's an unfamiliar urgency rising up inside of him.

He has to see her. Now.

A uniform gives him a lift after the paramedics - real ones this time - give him an obligatory once over.

His shoulder's sore from jumping from the bus before it blew, but grass makes for a far better landing than concrete so he'll live.

Thanks to her.

He finishes his check in, wisely calling David instead of Aaron, using Aaron's ear trauma as a good excuse, and waits out the rest of the short trip bouncing his leg impatiently.

He weaves his way through the desks to get to the CCTV command post, shaking off the agents who want to talk to him: to pat him on the back or berate him, he doesn't care.

It hits him that he has no idea what to say to her, how to make this up to her, but he doesn’t care. He just needs her to know, needs her to understand what she means to him.

Because now he's finally realized exactly how much she does mean to him.


Six missed calls: Kevin, Kevin, Kevin, her mom, Kevin, Derek.

Penelope snaps her cell phone shut, annoyed. Apparently her giving away the chocolates and trashing the roses he sent weren't enough to give Kevin a clue.

He can apologize all he wants, try to woo her back, but her stance is firm: no man in her life has any right to be jealous of who she chooses to spend her time with.

She put up with the snide little remarks at first, caught up in the flush of new, well not love but a wild crush, and dismissed them. But as they started to spend more time together at work - in the break room, in her bunker - Kevin's jealous streak started coming out.

He finally lost it one day after sitting through a particularly flirty phone call between her and Derek and told her that if she was going to be his girlfriend she had to stop flirting with other guys.

She threw him out of her bunker.

That weekend he came over, they argued and she threw him out of her apartment.

For good.

Since then he's been campaigning to get her back.

The guy really can't take a hint.

She puts her laptop away in her bag and glances around to make sure she hasn't missed anything.

The things she's seen here… The fear she felt… She really hopes they don't get a case in New York City again. Ever.


As he strides through the door she looks up, startled. He sees her expression in an unguarded moment, pain still etched in the eyes hidden by glasses, makeup smudged by carelessly wiped away tears.

Two steps in and he envelops her in his arms, holding her tight and breaking a little inside when a choked off sob slips out of her, muffled in his shirt.

"It's okay, baby girl. I'm here. I'm not leaving you."

He presses a kiss to the top of her head and tries to stroke her hair only to be frustrated by her severe ponytail.

"Now this won't do," he complains, frowning at her hair. "This hairdo is way too uptight for my girl."

Penelope sniffs and pulls away, working her fingers into her do. "It's been bugging me all day," she mutters, not meeting his eyes. "I meant to take it down…" Her nimble fingers extract a ponytail holder and a clip then her blonde hair cascades down around her shoulders.

Derek's fingers weave into the silky strands, cupping the back of her head in a motion both totally new and achingly familiar. He tilts her head up to meet her eyes and holds her gaze, looking down at her, unable to express what he came to say.

"I'm still mad at you," she finally huffs in her most petulant tone and her voice in his ears is like coming home.

"Be as mad as you want, sweetheart. Nothing you do will ever make me stop loving you."

He presses a tender kiss to her forehead and she sinks against him, the last of the tension evaporating from her body as she slides her arms tight around his waist.

His mouth lowers, grazing her skin until he presses a second kiss to her temple above her trademark glasses then a third to her cheek.


Her voice is a question, an answer, a plea and a promise.

"I'm right here, baby. Always…"

His lips find hers, soft but not tentative, assured and reassuring all at once.

Even though he hasn't planned this, hadn't ever considered it, the rightness of it all resonates through him and his hands tighten on her as he deepens the kiss, thrilling when she responds, opening herself to him without reservation.

It takes a few seconds for his brain to re-engage and memory to return to him.

He pulls back reluctantly, breathing his control back into place as she blinks up at him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." he stammers. "I forgot. You and Kevin…"

"Broke up. That jerk thought he could tell me what to do, so I told him to beat it," she says with a smirk. "So get back down here you stupid brave idiot hero and kiss me again."

"Yes, ma'am," Derek replies, happily obeying his goddess' command.


A noise outside the door jars them into breaking apart and she smiles, both giddy and foolish.

"I probably look like a mess," she mutters, self-conscious, rummaging in her purse for her compact.

"You're always beautiful to me, Penelope," he tells her, stilling her hand and pulling it from the purse. "Come on. Let's just get out of here." He takes her hand and gives it a little tug. "Let me take you back to the hotel."

Her breath catches in her chest at his words and she watches mesmerized as his thumb sweeps across the back of her hand that he's holding.


She shoulders her bag and he puts his arm around her as he leads her out, keeping her close to him.

It takes a minute to get the keys to another SUV to use, but then they're out the door and into the night air where she breathes it in - all urban exhaust and lingering humidity - and tries to let go of the images haunting her memory, focusing on the feel of the man beside her.

He opens the door for her as always, but he's more attentive, constantly touching her until he closes the door on her and joins her in the car.

The drive is brief, they have less than a mile to go, then he's guiding her inside and into the elevator.

"What floor are you on?"

"Seven," she manages.

He presses the button for her and pulls her into a fresh hug as the car ascends.

"Do you want some time alone? To freshen up?"

She nods into his chest, grateful for his understanding.

"Just a little while," she says. "My eyes will thank me if I get rid of this mascara."

When the doors open, he walks her to her hotel room, brushing a thumb across her lower lip before kissing her gently.

"Call me when you're ready. I'll come tuck you in."

She smiles slyly, looking up at him from beneath her still moist lashes.

"Does that mean I should put on footie pajamas?"

Derek throws his head back and laughs, his joy ringing out in the empty hallway.

"Sugar, you could wear long johns and rainbow socks and you'd still be hot stuff."

"That's good," she teases, opening her door and stepping inside. "Because you so know I own rainbow socks…"

He lets her go, reluctantly, and starts to step backwards away from her.

"When you're ready," he says.

She watches him go for a few seconds then closes the door, placing her back against it as she steadies herself with three deep breaths.

Her head is spinning with past, present, future and the alternate realities of possibility.

But for now, she needs to take off her makeup.


By the time he gets back to his own room, doubts have started to creep in.

He's worried that she doesn't really understand, that she thinks nothing has changed.

He's worried that she does get it and is freaking out right now.

He paces, wondering if she thinks he's pressuring her for sex.

In the end he ends up shedding his clothes and taking a quick shower, erasing the smell of smoke and the last of the day's tension away.

His thoughts keep coming back to her and by the time he's dressed again, he's calmed down.

This is his Garcia. They're solid.

She's his rock. He knows her, knows there's no way she'd ever let him do anything she didn't want, never let him get away with any sort of bullshit on her watch.

And he adores her for it.

It's late, but the hotel restaurant responds when he flashes his badge discreetly at the maitre d'. They take him back into the kitchen and let him have his pick of desserts.

He selects a crème brulee and watches as the chef applies the kitchen torch to the sugary surface, blinking away too fresh memories of the fireball that could have claimed his life if not for the guardian angel in his comm link.

They set him up right: the dessert, two spoons, and a side of whipped cream and fresh strawberries under a silver dome. He tips well and thanks them profusely before heading to the elevator, hoping she calls soon.

He finds himself at her floor without meaning to be and chuckles to himself when he gets a text message from her as he hovers near her door.

'Don't just stand out in the hallway. Get your ass in here!'


She hears the door and types faster, trying to get the last email out before he sees she's doing work. She closes the lid and puts the laptop aside to turn and find him playing waiter with a stately bow and a smug grin on his face.

"I come bearing dessert."

"Ooh!" she says rising, not missing the sweep of his eyes over her. She had agonized about what to change into, but her inner bohemian won out and she'd slipped into a long gauzy flowered skirt and her favorite camisole tank top - her comfortable around the house clothes, packed because they take up the least space in her go bag yet offer her a piece of home away from home. "What have you brought me?"

Derek brings the silver platter over to her and lifts the dome with a flourish.

"Crème brulee for the lady."

Her smile is wide and genuine; he always disarms her with ready charm.

"Two spoons?" She raises an eyebrow at him playfully. "What makes you think you're getting any?"

He picks up a spoon and waves it around, cocking his head like the devil that he is. "The better to feed you with, my dear," he teases. "How about we find ourselves a good movie to get lost in and do some damage to this crème brulee?"

"A man after my own heart," she mock swoons only this time it's married to a real swoon inside. She covers her flush by stepping away to look for the TV remote control and TV program guide. "Any requests?" she asks.

"I figure what I don't want to see, you don't want to see either," he says, a bit more subdued than she expects. She's been so distraught over him almost dying tonight she forgot about him knowing he almost died too.

"Comedy or romance then?"

"Both?" he suggests.

"Sounds right up our alley…"

As she starts flipping channels, he sets up the dessert on the coffee table and settles down on the couch.

"Come here, mama," he beckons. "Sit with me."

She settles down with her feet underneath her beside him, head on his shoulder as his arm goes around her with a gentle squeeze.

"The Wedding Planner?" he says. "A J.Lo flick?"

"What?" she says. "It's got Matthew McConnaghey in it! Besides, it's cute, sweet and nothing gets blown up in it."

"Sounds perfect." He presses a kiss to her temple and then looks back at her with an odd expression. "You took your glasses off. How are you going to be able to see the movie?"

"I see well enough," she replies with a shrug. "Besides I've seen it before."

He moves away long enough to retrieve the crème brulee and a spoon.

"Then you won't mind if I distract you with dessert."

"Never, sweetness," she says with a throaty chuckle. "And if you're good I'll let you lick the spoon."


They get through the movie easily enough, their banter back in place, the horrors of the day finally starting to fade away with each laugh, with each screen kiss.

He winds up agreeing to find an outdoor movie night, like they show in The Wedding Planner. He vows to dance with her in the moonlight the same way, which earns him a heartfelt kiss. His girl's a closet romantic apparently, but far from a traditionalist.

That works for him.

When the movie ends, she takes the remote and starts flipping through channels. Busy perusing the TV listings, he doesn't see until he looks up at her startled gasp.

It's the news: footage of the burning ambulance.

Like her, he stares helplessly at it, transfixed, before he shakes himself back to action, taking the remote from her and turning the TV off.

He barely has time to toss it aside before she flings herself into his arms - practically into his lap - tears running anew.

"It's okay, baby girl," he soothes. "I'm right here. You've got me. I'm not going anywhere. You hear me?"

"You can't die," she mutters into his shirt, clutching at him. "You can't do that to me."

"Nothing's going to happen to me, sweetheart. Not with you as my guardian angel. Long as you're with me, sitting on my shoulder, I'm always going to come out okay."

She rises up abruptly and kisses him with a vigor that surprises him. Far from seeking reassurance, the kiss is passionate, demanding.

Penelope shifts, moving to straddle his lap, pressing herself against him.

He manages to break the kiss with difficulty when Penelope starts trying to unbutton his shirt.

"Whoa, babe!" He blinks at her as his hands come to rest on her hips. "Not like this, not here."

"Yes here, yes now," Penelope says adamantly, going back to trying to get Derek's shirt off.

He grabs her hands, stilling them. This isn't what he'd had in mind: a bed, a long leisurely session, time to do this right.

"Penelope..." He has his argument ready, but the wild desperation in her eyes tells him she doesn't want a debate. Caving, he takes her face in his hands and kisses her soundly, giving his tacit permission.

Her nimble fingers make short work of his shirt buttons and her hands are on his chest in a heartbeat.

He slips his hands under her skirt to find creamy pale skin, so soft he groans his delight into her hungry mouth. His hands roam over her thighs, working his way up until he breaks their kiss in surprise.

She isn't wearing any underwear.

And then her hands are at his pants, opening them up.

"Give me a second," he says, trying to help.

"No," she responds, pouting. "No more waiting."

Between the two of them they finally move his pants down and out of the way, but she refuses to get off him long enough to let him finish the job.

Instead she gathers up her long skirt and moves herself into position over him.

"Penelope!" He looks at her, questioning, but she shakes his concerns off.

"I trust you."

He feels her then, slick against him, and his mouth falls open at the sudden rush of pleasure.

Hands on his shoulders to steady herself, she sinks down on him as he guides her with his hands on her hips.

His head falls back against the couch and it's all he can do to manage to keep his eyes open against the onslaught of bliss.

Penelope's eyes drift closed as she rises up and sinks back down, her pace urgent, but not frantic.

Derek moves his hands under her skirt to the full roundness of her ass, pulling her against him, driving up into her.

They rock together, panting in time as they both seek forgetfulness in each other, an experience to erase - however briefly - the terrible visual imprinted behind their eyes.

Derek pulls his hands out to slip down the straps of her camisole, revealing the near translucent perfect porcelain skin of her breasts.

Running a hand over her breast, he captures a delicate pink nipple in his mouth, grazing it lightly with his teeth then laving it with his tongue.

He slips his other hand back under the skirt, seeking the tell tale triangle of hair by touch, only to reach his destination - slipping a finger into her folds to stroke her - and find her completely shaven.

A shudder runs through him and he almost comes at the mere thought.

His fingers learn her automatically and within seconds he has her writhing on his lap, her movements losing cohesion as she surrenders control.

"Let go, baby girl," he urges breathlessly, rubbing a gun calloused thumb across her sensitive nipple. He jacks his hips up, bringing more force to their joining, upping his efforts everywhere until she stiffens, his name falling from her lips as she comes apart.

He only has seconds to watch before he's undone by the feel of her clenching around him, a wordless shout escaping his lips at the overwhelming sensation.

She collapses on him, trembling. He pets her back as best he can as they breathe in tandem, trying to recover.

"Please tell me round two will be in a bed," he finally manages.

"What's the matter, lover?" she snarks in his ear. "You too old school for a couch?"

He lets his head fall back as he laughs, looking up to find her smirking above him.

He'd been right.

They're solid, no matter what.

"Darlin', if you don't want me to lavish your goddess self with hours of attention, I can accept that, but I'd appreciate the opportunity to show you just what you mean to me."

"As if I didn't already know," she scoffs, kissing him lightly. "Still..." She rises slowly, tugging him up by his hand, giving him a second to pull up his pants. "That offer's too good to pass up." She walks backwards into the bedroom portion of the suite, beckoning to him with her finger. "I believe you have to make up for getting me mad at you."

Derek raises an eyebrow at her as he follows.

"Okay, but you owe me a promise in return."

"Oh?" She stops at the edge of the bed and he takes her into his arms.

"I asked you before to promise me something, remember?"

"Yes, but you said you could wait," she tosses back, settling into his arms contentedly.

"I guess I couldn't wait," he admits. "So promise me..."

"Promise you what?" she asks, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Never stop talking to me, woman," he says solemnly. "Don't you ever stop talking to me. No matter what."

She pulls him down closer until their lips are almost brushing and they are sharing each other's air.

"I promise."

patch_tankpatch_tank on November 9th, 2008 05:35 am (UTC)
After weeks away from LJ and my blessed flist, I return to an M/G fic by Emma? Joy of epic proportions! Well done Emma, great job as always :)

-Patch xx
Emma DeMaraisemmademarais on November 9th, 2008 05:53 am (UTC)
Welcome back, Patch!

And it's not just one, there are two! I just posted a second one a couple of hours ago!

Thanks for your lovely praise as always.