So this scene popped in my head a couple of days ago, and I was amused enough and finally had time to type it up today.
Summary: In which the team is stuck in Wyoming during a snowstorm, and Derek Morgan is incredibly hot. Literally.
It’s 3 am when Emily Prentiss suddenly sits up in bed, a faint mound of blankets against the darker shadows of the room. “Okay, enough of this crap. I’m freezing.”
J.J.’s eyes are open, have been fluttering open and shut for the past twenty minutes as she tries to convince herself that she’s actually curled up at home in her bed with her electric blanket and cat instead of here, stuck in a tiny hotel room in the middle of Wyoming with no power and a snowstorm building up outside. “Where are you going?”
Emily huffed, pulling the comforter with her as she lurched out of bed and stumbled to the door that led to the adjoining room. “I’m going to get warm. You coming?”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, J.J.’s lips twitched. “Make sure you knock and identify yourself, or you may get shot on accident.” She warned. Morgan was not going to be happy about being woken up at 3 in the morning.
The wind wailed outside, invoking another involuntary shiver. Morgan was just going to have to deal with it. J.J. maneuvered her way out of bed to stand next to Emily at the door. Emily cautiously tried the door nob, pleased when it opened easily. Light streaming in from the windows afforded enough light to see by as they made their way to the bed.
J.J. nudged her friend. “This was your idea, you do it.” She hissed.
Emily rolled her eyes, even though J.J. couldn’t see them in the dark.
“You know,” a husky, amused voice came from the bed. “For two FBI agents, you two suck at sneaking up on people in the dark.” A flashlight suddenly appeared and revealed a wide awake Derek Morgan, lazily reclined in the bed watching them. “I usually don’t object to beautiful women in my hotel room or trying to sneak into my bed, but what the hell are you two doing?”
The girls exchanged a sheepish look. “The power went out.” J.J. explained. “So there’s no heat, and our room is freezing.”
“And since Garcia is always gushing about how hot you are,” Emily added with a grin. “We thought we’d come get warm with some ‘hot chocolatte.’ Her words, not mine.”
Derek’s teeth flashed white in the dark as he grinned. “Ya’ll are nuts, you know that, right?” He shook his head in amusement as they simply waited. “Fine. You two stay there a second.” He slid out of bed, taking the flashlight with him, and padded over to his duffle bag. “Here.”
J.J. caught the sweatshirt he tossed at her and pulled it eagerly on. It smelled like Morgan; spicy, with a hint of aftershave and something indescribably Derek. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
He chuckled. “You’re welcome. But you two get to explain to Hotch in the morning what exactly you were doing here.”
She laughed. “Don’t worry, Derek. We’ll protect you from the big, bad, Hotchner.” She teased.
Emily was already climbing into the large bed. Derek slid in next to her, then held the covers up for J.J., who lay down gingerly on his other side. There was a moment of awkwardness as they tried to figure out how to share body heat without encroaching on personal space. Emily had no qualms about it, snuggling into Morgan’s right side and causing him to curse in surprise.
“Dammit, Prentiss, a little warning next time! Your feet are freezing!” He swore.
She murmured a sleepy apology, already lulled by the warmth creeping back into her body. Morgan huffed a laugh and scooched down a bit more so that she could use his shoulder as a pillow. On his other side, J.J. had finally relaxed enough to curl into him like a little cat, her breath warm puffs in his against his neck, one hand resting over his heart. Lulled by their steady breathing, he slept.
Derek Morgan’s life was fairly unpredictable, but there were a few things that he could count on with a certain measure of confidence. One of those things was being woken up by his alarm clock. Since it was on his phone, it was always on, which meant that it would always be set off at precisely 5:45 am. Or 5:30 on days when they stayed overnight on a case; Hotch was fanatical about starting early, and that extra fifteen minutes meant that Morgan had a more of a chance of brewing a quick cup of coffee in his room and instead of choking down the dregs of the police station’s stale brew from the night shift.
On this particular morning, however, his was not awakened by his phone alarm. Instead, he rose from sleep to the sensation of being watched, like a mouse by a hawk.
Or a mouse being watched by a Hotch.