Title: Meetings in the Dark
By: writteninhaste
Pairing: Prentiss/Morgan
Rating: PG
A/N: This was an experiment. I am a deep believer of Morgan/Prentiss and am lamenting the lack of MP fics out there. I'm not intending to take this one-shot any further - simply because I'm about to head off to University and just wont have the time.
Summary: One-shot. A little angsty but not too badly. What could cause two of the team to seek cladenstine meetings? Has the possibility to be expanded.

***

As Derek pulled his shirt over his head, he asked himself what had led him to this place. What chain of events had resulted in him, once again, pulling on his clothes in a darkened room, whilst he ignored the woman in the bed just as studiously as she ignored him.

They did this every time. And each time he were left questioning just what is was they hoped to achieve. Solace? Catharsis? He did not know. Derek was not sure he even wanted to. If this was something more – more than just a release of frustrations and pent up energy – he did not want to acknowledge it. Did she? He risked a glance over his shoulder, but his nightly partner refused to meet or even acknowledge his gaze. She stayed staring resolutely at the ceiling, lying on her back, sheets pulled up to cover her body, though a moment ago she had been bare.

He opened his mouth to say something and it was this that drew her attention. "Don't." She told him. "What good will it do?"

He had no answer to that question. Standing, he grabbed his gun from the night stand and moved towards the door of the hotel room. As his fingers curled around the handle, he paused. But a shift in her posture that was felt rather than heard, prompted him not to say anything.

It was always the same. She knew that, no matter what town they were in, no matter which UnSub they were hunting, this at least remained the same. She thought it strange that an anomaly such as this pseudo-relationship of theirs had become a constant, unchanging variable. As the door clicked shut behind him, a single tear threaded its way down her cheek – like it did every night. She refused to let him speak, because she knew he would never say the words she craved. She had offered this to him, the first time he had seemed to need it. And then, she had let it become a nightly activity because she needed it. After drinking from a chalice she had longed to taste, she found herself to weak to give it up. She did not know what purpose these rendezvous served for him, but she knew that for her it was a way to stay sane. It allowed her an emotional outlet, a way to express her feelings without actually confessing a thing. And in return, she received all she ever hoped to receive. After all, she told herself as she drifted of to sleep, the Emily Prentisses of this world did not deserve to be loved.