Summary: In which JJ knows more about Derek Morgan more than any one lets on.

There are a couple of things that Jennifer Jareau knows about Derek Morgan which no one else knows. Like, for example, the fact that in junior high and his sophomore year of high school he was a member of the science club and debate team and was in the top 5 percent of his class. And the fact that he has a soft spot for all females but a weakness for brunettes, especially intelligent ones who are mostly unaware of their own sex appeal and who have a weakness for Kurt Vonnegut.

And the fact that Derek Morgan, player extraordinare, had fallen hard for Emily Prentiss and was absolutely determined not to do anything about it.

J.J. was dozing on the couch when Prentiss “accidentally” dropped the Vonnegut book on the table next to Morgan, but there was no doubt in the delight and pleasure in his voice at the discovery. J.J. was wide awake by then, though she kept up the pretense of sleep, and therefore was privy to the resulting conversation between Reid and Morgan about his intentions towards Prentiss.

When she heard the regret and finality in his tone as he stated that “girls like Emily Prentiss are not interested in guys like Derek Morgan,” it was all J.J. could do not to snort in exasperation and break her cover, but she held her silence. She’d corner him later–after she had a little talk with the unsuspecting Miss Prentiss.

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.

Happy early 4th! It’s 11:30 and I’m going to try to get some sleep, now that the idiot neighbors have slowed down with the fireworks.

 

But first, a treat: the snippet I was playing with earlier:

A Covert Affairs/ Criminal Minds crossover. Version one: in which Morgan and Auggie are roommates and brothers in law, and JJ is Joan’s niece…

Derek Morgan paused in the doorway of the office, unnoticed by the man sitting alone in the middle of the room, surrounded by computers and equipment. He had his back to the door and was clearly talking to someone on the other end of his headset. Judging by the fond exasperation in his voice, Morgan guessed that person was young, female, and cute. He waited patiently until the other man had finished his conversation and returned his attention the the computer in front of him before speaking.

“Still flirting with danger, eh Anderson?”

August “Auggie” Anderson rolled his sightless eyes at the open doorway of his office and the man undoubtedly leaning against the door frame like some supermodel, not pausing in his typing.

“Like you’re one to talk, Morgan,” he replied easily, hitting a last key and standing up to stretch. “I remember the Sheila Meyers incident at Basic.”

He could hear the laughter in his friend’s voice as a familiar, calloused hand clasped his in warm greeting. “Some spy in training you were. Your so-called intel was what got me into that mess in the first place.”

Auggie smirked but didn’t deny it, reclaiming his seat and gesturing for the other man to find one as well. “So, what brings Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan of the FBI into CIA territory? The annual softball game isn’t for another three months.”

“This is serious, Aug. I need your help.”

Auggie cocked his head. “Personal or professional?”

“Both.” Morgan said quietly. “This is deep, Blackjack.”

Auggie froze at the sound of the nickname that had been given to him at basic training nearly five years earlier. Whether you wanted to work for the CIA or FBI, all new recruits spent a year of basic training, doing the civilian equivalent of Special Forces training with a few exceptions, mostly in tactics and weapons. The people you went in with became your yearmates, your bunkmates, your teammates, and your family.

All merriment vanished from his face. “Give me a sec.” Tapping his fingers ina complex pattern on his keyboard, he waited for the beep that signaled that they were secure. “We can hear out but they can’t hear in,” he explained. “The walls still have eyes and ears, and so do bossy blondes with killer legs. Talk. Fast.”

“Emily Prentiss.”

Auggie was shaking his head before the second word was out of Morgan’s mouth. “No. I can’t.”

“Dammit Auggie-”

“No, Morgan. You’re practically family to me–”

“–I am family. Your pain in the ass brother married my baby sister.”

“I still maintain that Drew was adopted. Besides, Sarah is your older sister.”

“Let me maintain the facade of playing the indignant big bad brother just once, would you?”

“If I can’t then you can’t.” Auggie retorted. “All that aside, I can’t tell you what you want to know. Although–” he cocked his heads slightly as the faint jangle of jewelry caught his ears. “You may get some answers, thought I doubt they’ll be to what you were looking for. Bossy blonde with killer legs, headed this way.”

Morgan turned to see the head of the Domestic Protection Division, Joan Campbell, heading straight for Auggie’s office. “Shit. E and E, Aug-man. She’s got that look.” His eyes widened as he noticed another familiar blonde hot on Joan’s heels. “Uh-oh.”

Auggie smirked, fingers flying across the keyboard to quickly unlock the security mechanisms. “No man left behind, right?”

“That’s the Marines, jerkwad.” Morgan grumbled, bracing himself.

“Morning, Joan,” Auggie said cheerfully just before she stepped into the office.

“Gentlemen.”

There was a reason why Joan Campbell was the head of the DPD–and it wasn’t because she was married to the Director of the CIA. Cool blue eyes swept over Morgan briefly before turning to her companion.

“Auggie, you remember my niece, Agent Jennifer Jareau, don’t you?”

“Niece?” Both men repeated increduously.

“My friends call me J.J.” J.J. smirked at Morgan and shook Auggie’s hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Agent Anderson.”

“Auggie,” he corrected, intrigued. Her voice was low and smooth, and she smelled of something fresh and light, like she had just come in from a walk on the beach.

“Agent Morgan.” She finally acknowledged Morgan, raising her brows at him in query. “You’re a long way from home.”

“Visiting an old friend.” He replied. “What are you doing here?”

“You two know each other?” Auggie interjected, confused by the undercurrents suddenly flowing past him.

“J.J. and I worked together in the BAU for seven years before she was transferred to the Department of Defense as a communications liasion.” He answered shortly.