#7 - Hoodie
Prompt: Borrowed Hoodie
Sickie: Garcia
Caretaker: Morgan
Word Count: 1,411
“Hah? What? Since when!?”
Garcia can’t believe it. She swears she hadn’t heard a word of this until now, and she usually keeps a tab on office renovation schedules because she knows the noise bothers Reid.
“Listen, lady, we’re just the repair guys, it’s not our fault your bosses didn’t tell you. Take it up with them. We still have our job to do. Feel free to work somewhere else.”
“Some- this is my place!” Garcia tries not to shriek, but she can’t help it when they’re shoving her oh-so-carefully painted minifigures aside for their dusty work bags. She rolls her chair over just in time to prevent an elf from being crushed and scoops the rest of her plastic children into her skirt, just to be safe.
“And the aircon is old and falling apart, it's an OSHA violation waiting to happen. If you wanna be in here when it causes a spark, be my guest.”
“UGH!”
The repair only takes a half hour, and truthfully, she is grateful, grumble as she may. A fire or even too much smoke could kill her hard drives.
The real problem is when they finish.
“Um, could you turn the heat up a bit, please?” Even through her chattering teeth, she tries to be kind to the repairmen. She knows how hard they work.
“Sorry, ma’am, not yet. We’re still workin’ out some kinks. The HVAC’s been updated and we’re still trying to patch in the new system and the old system together. As I said before, other parts of the building will be warmer, but hey, you’re welcome to remain in your fortress of solitude if you want.”
She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes.
‘Can’t they see I’ve got a complicated setup?’
But, she shows no outward aggression. She’s not really that upset, just cold. “It’s fine. Thank you for your help. Could you at least tell me when it’ll be fixed?”
“Sometime in the next few days.”
She can tell that’s as good as she’s getting so she nods and waves as they head out.
Instead, she directs her ire towards the faulty machine itself.
“If I could hack you I would, but you're older than me, so you're safe . . . for now.” She holds up the minuscule screwdriver from her glasses repair kit as she glares at the aircon.
- She was being dramatic before, but she really is well and chilled now.
‘Ugh. Isn’t this just Bonita?’
“I’m a California girl, I wasn't meant for the cold.” She whines to her screens.
‘If I catch a cold, I’ll really be annoyed. And everyone knows my brain goes to complete mush when I’m sick. I’m useless. I can’t afford to be out of commission, not when the team seems busier than ever. Maybe I should move outside. I can always come back in here real quick if I need more computing power. The team’s still on the jet, so I’ve got some time to compile files.’
-
“Garcia, we need a list of all homicides involving victims with cuspids removed. Go back at least 10 years. We think this may be our unsubs signature.” Hotch’s voice is firm, but calm, as usual.
“You got it, cap’”
‘All those records, I’ll need my office for that, ah, oh well.’
She hurries back to her little corner of Quantico, opening the door to find that it has, somehow, gotten colder.
Still, she sits down and gets to work.
-
Just as she hits send and gets up to retreat to the land of warmth, her screen dings.
It’s Rossi this time.
“What can I do for ya, Italian amor?” Penelope finds it hard to keep a cheery tone with the cold blasting at her, making her lips quiver, but she hopes she manages.
Her effort is wasted because Rossi ignores the quip, pressing straight to business. Another request that requires her big screens.
“All these records are from the way back when before our good friend the internet. They’re unorganised at best. Combining through all of them will take a while, I’ll pull as many as I can, and send them to you as I get them.”
“Good.”
He hangs up. She sits back down, huffing.
“Potential OSHA violation? This is an OSHA violation right here!” She mutters, pulling her cardigan around herself.
‘If I’d known I’d be working in Antarctica today I would’ve worn a jumper.’
Nevertheless, she begins.
—
Her hands are freezing, her fingers stiff and every click of the keyboard takes conscious effort. Okay, maybe she’s being dramatic, but she’s a California girl! Can you blame her?
Just when she thinks she’s done, more files under the search parameters come up. It’s unusually demoralising.
‘If only I had a jumper or something. Note to self, pack extra clothes for future emergencies. . . . Wait, emergencies! That's it!’
She springs up, with newly formed determination, and heads out to the bullpen.
She has a destination in mind, but as she draws closer, doubt creeps in.
‘I hope he won’t mind. Is this creepy? No, it’ll be fine, I’ll wear it, then put it right back like nothing ever happened at all. That’s what I’ll do.’
She reassures herself as she approaches Morgan’s desk. Everyone has two go bags, just in case they don’t have time to wash one set of clothes before departing again.
Garcia knows that in this bag she’ll most likely find one of Morgan’s many grey or black hoodies. And she’s right.
It’s right on top. She takes it gingerly, slipping it on, careful not to disturb her hair ornaments. It’s warm and soft.
With the extra layer, her office feels almost normal.
Her typing speed quickens again until she’s at normal capacity. Rossi gets the data within the next 15 minutes.
She sighs, happy with her work.
And, now that she takes time to notice it, ‘This hoodie does smell nice.’
She catches herself, then remembers she’s alone and takes another deep sniff. Morgan’s detergent has a pleasant smell that reminds her of him. Yeah, this was a good decision.
—
“Give us the best you got, pumpkin.” Morgan teases
“Oh, that’s for your ears only, handsome.”
“I know. I’m going to transfer to video call, so you better be decent.”
“Never.” She teases with a theatrically breathy sigh.
The video chat opens revealing the team gathered around a desk, and maps in front of them.
“So Garcia, what did you find on-”
Prentiss cuts Reid off, “Wait, is that Morgan’s hoodie?”
Penelope blanches. “Wh-hat?” After a second of hesitation, she looks down, hoping by some miracle that all she’ll find is her cardigan and dress, but she already knows. She can still smell the detergent. “Oh, I- they were fixing the aircon in my office and it’s colder than the Fortress of Solitude in here so I just . . . I honestly don’t know what I was thinking! I wasn’t, I was just really cold! I can take it off. Let me just . . .” She fumbles with the hoodie, starting to pull it over her head.
“Slow down, baby girl. You look even cuter when you’re in my clothes, and I can’t have you catching a cold now can I, hmm?”
Penelope makes a noise somewhere between a squeak and squeal. “ . . . okay.”
Rossi clears his throat loudly, “Now, tell us what you found, we’re running out of time to find Kate.”
“Yes, at your service.” Still shaken, but with a new warmth in her chest, she continues.
—
“Baby girl, you in here?” Morgan’s familiar warm timbre drifts in from the door over the audio of an RPG game.
“Yes.” She blushes fiercely.
“I talked to Max and he said the system would be back to normal by tomorrow.”
“Oh, thank god. . . . I guess I should give this back to you then.” The end of the sentence is noticeably less enthusiastic than the beginning.
“Well, I was actually thinking you should keep it. Gotta mark my territory, don’t I?”
Penelope giggles, getting up to hug him.
He smells even nicer in person . . . like home, sometimes more so than the dozens of candles that fill her flat.
“Yeah.” then softer, “I’d wear a collar for you, Derek Morgan, you know that.”
“Tempting, but that can wait till tomorrow, it’s late, and even girl geniuses need their sleep.”
What a day, huh? And tomorrow she could come back to a warm office. Gideon was right, like he always said, life really is about the small things.
