Title: Untitled: An Elle and Morgan Challenge
By: Gabigail
Pairing: Elle/Morgan
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and its characters are the creation of Jeff Davis and are copy written under CBS (as far as I can tell). No infringement upon their rights is intended. The stories written under the penname Gabigail, however, do belong to me. None are written for profit and are intended for entertainment purposes only.
Summary: This is an answer to a challenge by Rach112. Essentially, I had to write an ElleMorgan piece. There were no restrictions, so I present to you the reader, the second half of the challenge.

***

Friday Afternoon:

Derek is well aware of the fact that he has accidentally been eavesdropping on Elle's conversation— and feels the heat as it rushes to his face. However, in his defence, he would no doubt attempt to cite the proximity of her desk to his own. He hopes that she doesn't notice his quickly jotting the name of the restaurant on a slip of scrap paper and hiding it under his desk calendar out of sight.

"Okay then, I'll see you there." He hears her say happily and suddenly feels something tightening within his chest. Jealous much? Every bone in his body shouts at him, yet at the same time has him wondering why he would feel, or rather react in the way he is— when he sure as hell knows that he should be happy for her. She had always been very quiet about her social life and she had finally met someone worthy of her. He finds himself thinking that they guys name is Martin— a forensic accountant or something like that. Just play it cool, pretend that you didn't hear a thing, he reminds himself as she sits herself on the edge of his desk. He keeps his head down as though concentrating on signing the last page of another lengthy report on their last case. She casually mock clears her throat in an attempt to get his attention. He lifts his head and fights to smile.

"Elle." He says as though playing hard to get, he turns his attention back to the page. She tilts her head, glances at Reid, who only shrugs his pointy shoulders, and frowns. Reaching out, she gently rests her hand on his shoulder. He tries to ignore the rush of heat that one touch sends through his entire body, like an electric current.

"Looking forward to the weekend?" she inquires innocently. He turns his head and looks up at her.

"Sure, I guess. I have a ton of things to do. My sister is visiting from Washington and I still have the guest bedroom to paint." He sits back and secretly admires the view. "How about yourself? Any plans?" he closes the file and places it off to the side.

"No, not really. I suppose it will be another quiet weekend. Maybe I'll get some shopping done." She replies hopping off the desk as Gideon and Hotchner both exit their offices. All eyes roll in anticipation that their weekend is officially shot, as fear of a new case brewing washes over the team. They are unable to hear the exact conversation; however, they content themselves with reading the pair's body language.

"It's after five. What are you guys still doing here?" Hotchner inquires from the stairs. Looking at each other, they all crack up into bright smiles of relief.

"Just thought something might be brewing. Didn't want a call at two in the morning again." Elle says as Morgan quietly watches her saunter back to her desk. Very nice view, he muses on one hand, and scolds himself on the other.

Elle and Morgan had been, as of late, working closely together. Many of their cases had the team divided into partners or working with the local authorities— yet he somehow always ended up working with her. It had been like a brick dropped on his head as one day he looked at Elle and had finally become privy to the woman artfully concealed within the tough exterior.

Saturday Night:

Suddenly wondering why she had agreed to the date in the first place, Elle stands in front of her closet, wearing only her favourite lacy black bra and matching panties, mulling over the plethora of clothes hanging on various hangers, agonising over what to wear and the impression she wants to make. This? She wonders, pulling out another dress and holding the soft fabric against her slender body and turns towards the full-length mirror. Wrinkling her gently freckled nose with a frustrated frown, she tosses the offending dress onto the bed along with other discarded dresses, pants, skirts, tops and blouses; in an array of colours. Taking a break in uncovering the perfect attire and quickly glancing at the clock on the bedside table, a sigh escapes her lips as her hand rests upon a short black dress. I suppose this will have to do, she smiles to herself and grabs a pair of gently tinted black sheer stockings and sits on the dressing table's matching chair. Artfully guiding the nylon over her long legs, she checks for runs. Letting out a sigh of relief, she looks at her hair.

She sweeps her silky chestnut tresses between slender fingers, twisting and pilling the thick hair on top of her head. Carefully examining the possible result, she lets the hair fall around her shoulders in raging waves. Up seems most appropriate, she grins mischievously as she plugs in the curling iron and as it heats, begins the process of securing her hair in an array of messy curls, creating a sophisticated soft crown. Leaving a few strands free, she adds a gentle spritz of hair spray and returns to the dress. Carefully stepping into it, she zips it up with ease, then stands in front of the mirror once more— happy to see the result in her reflection, Elle picks up her evening bag and makes her way downstairs. Picking the proper coat for the evening, she plucks her keys from the tray on the hall table before heading to meet Martin at the restaurant.

Arriving at the restaurant, Elle enjoys the softness of the décor; the soft salmon fresco walls compliment the rich wooden floor, moulding, chairs and probably the tables concealed with their crisp white linens. She waits for the host to show her to the table. He quickly makes his way to the podium that housed the reservation book.

"Good evening." He says with a warm smile.

"Good evening. I believe that my party may already be seated." She replies. "The reservation should be under Martin Thomson." He quickly runs a long, thick finger down the cream coloured page.

"Yes, of course. Right this way please." He gestures for her to follow. The dinning room is just as elegant as the restaurants grand foyer. A darker shade of salmon covers the walls and candles provide the perfect illumination, creating an ambience duplicated by no other restaurant she had dined at. Martin's smile widens as he stands in greeting.

"Elle, you look lovely." He says, suddenly feeling shy and nervous— captivated by her beauty.

"Thank you." She is seated and the menu placed in front of her. "Have you been here before?" she inquires leaning in towards her dinning partner in an attempt to begin the conversation, as she really didn't know very much about him. They first met when the BAU was working on a kidnapping case. He seemed really nice and when he had finally asked her out, she essentially thought what the hell. Although she cannot help herself from wishing it had been Morgan who had asked her out to dinner instead.

While perusing their menus, she manages to exchange the usual conversation— how long have you worked for the FBI? Or what do you do exactly? Elle's mind, however, begins to wander and she wonders why exactly she is on a date with a man who really doesn't interest her. If only it were Morgan, I know that I would be having a good time. She looks down for a moment, feeling guilty for thinking of Morgan.

"Martin, I'm not really sure about this." She finally manages and is actually surprised by his sigh of relief.

"I figured that the moment you sat down. I had thought it presumptuous of me to ask you out in the first place. I really hadn't thought how awkward this might be. You work with the BAU, you're off her and there. I'm in an office most times, and there's only the odd time when I'm shipped off somewhere and only then because it's usually a pile to paperwork that you could get lost in for days. Look, I'd completely understand if you want to call it a night. It's still early and you might even have some luck with the man of your dreams." He lets his menu rest open upon the table.

"Really? Are you sure? I'm really sorry." She doesn't quite stammer and he merely nods; she only attempts to hide the look of relief. "Have a good evening." She smiles and pats his shoulder before making a quick exit. Thank goodness! She breathes a huge sigh of relief and heads back to her car.

"Elle!" That's not Martin's voice, she knows exactly whose voice that is. Slowly, she turns around and her smile widens into a grin. "What a coincidence." The gentleman exclaims with his suave, toothy smile.

"Morgan!" she tilts her head and gives him quite the look. "Coincidence my ass!"

"I told you that you needed to show a little more leg." Ignoring her previous remark. "You look stunning."

"Thank you." She shakes her head and the loose pieces of hair caress her collarbone.

"So I'm guessing things didn't go very well with Martin." Reaching out, he takes her jacket from her and holds it out for her. "I'm thinking you and I have dinner." He manages to inhale the scent of her shampoo.

"Dinner? What about your plans? You had quite the weekend." She turns her head to get a read on him.

"Oh that was done weeks ago. I just didn't want you to know what I happen to have in store for us this evening." He holds out his hand for her to take. "I had something far more interesting planed for a night like this." He adds with a glimmer of mischief in his dark eyes.

"Really?" she replies as she places her hand within his and lets him lead her to his car.

***