geekystudmuffin | Cara Mia, Rossi/Garcia, PG-13

innerslytherin posting in

geekystudmuffin

Title: Cara Mia
Authors:

innerslytherin and

severity_softly
Pairing: Rossi/Garcia
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dave's weakness is strong, colorful women. It starts innocently, with a lesson on technology. But it leads to shared coffee, flowers, and endearments in Italian.
Word count: ~11,000
Notes: AU: Garcia never met Kevin Lynch at the end of Penelope. This is self-betaed, so feel free to point out any errors. Many thanks to

living_to_read for all Italian translations. Any mistakes are ours.

David Rossi stared at the tiny device in his hand. He could barely read the thing without a magnifying glass, not to mention the fact that it was full of incomprehensible symbols instead of a normal list of words.

"You want me to what the what?"

"Just move the little jog dial thing until you see the one you need," Morgan said, sounding impatient. "I don't know, man, go ask Garcia! I've gotta get to my class." He walked away.

Dave sighed and glanced over in the direction of the technical analyst's office. He didn't mind a casual question to Morgan about how to get the address book open on this thing, but going into Garcia's office and admitting that he was in over his head with this thing... "Smart phone," he muttered, flipping it shut. "Damn thing is smarter than me."

But he couldn't find the address he needed in any of his notes or emails, and finally he had to admit defeat. He knew Garcia had sent it to him on the phone the first time around. He just didn't know how to find it.

He headed for Garcia's office and rapped grumpily on the door.

"Who dareth knock upon the door of Penelope the Great?" he heard her call from the other side. "Enter and be heard, mere mortal, and perhaps I will shall be gracious enough to bestow upon you some of my most wise wisdom!"

"Boy, you really know how to make a guy feel good about himself," Dave remarked as he opened the door. "I approach humbly, but maybe I should have brought chocolate."

She laughed and swiveled in her chair to face him, grinning. His eyes flicked to the cup of coffee on her desk, and he wondered just how many she'd had today.

"Bribery is never a bad idea, young knave," she said.

At least three cups, he thought. Maybe more.

"What's up?" she said brightly.

"I haven't been young in a long time," he muttered, and thrust the phone out at her. "And this was obviously designed for young eyes. Minds. Young people."

She rolled her eyes and took the phone. "Pish," she said. "You're still a spritely lad," she added absently as she looked at the phone and took another sip of coffee.

"You're a strange lass," he replied, sitting down in her extra chair. "I need an address."

She glanced up at him, seemingly confused for a minute, and then she put the phone down, and pulled up a window on her computer. "You love it," she said, smiling again. "For what?"

He gestured at the phone. "It's on my phone. PDA. Thing."

She looked back, then swiveled around to face him again. "Oh." She eyed him for a moment--which might have been embarrassing, except she had this funny sort of fond expression on her face as she did, one he didn't see directed at him on other people's faces often--and then picked the phone back up and rolled over next to him to demonstrate how to find the address.

When she deemed him accomplished at his contacts list, she showed him how to use some of the other important features, which was how he came to be taking pictures of her when Hotch knocked on the door and stuck his head in. He blinked at Dave for a minute, then glanced at Garcia.

"I'm sorry to interrupt the photo shoot," he said, "but JJ has a case to present."

"Oh!" Garcia exclaimed, the smile she'd been wearing for Dave's picture not fading for a moment, until she looked at her screen to see JJ had already sent her the case too. She reached out and patted Dave's knee. "All right. Off you scramble," she told him. "Be free."

Dave snorted and stood up, then paused. "Thank you for your help," he said, wondering if it would get him another smile.

She gave him a sort of half-smile, though it was no less genuine. The crime scene photos were already popping up on her screen, though, so it was better than nothing. "My pleasure, poppet," she said, and turned to face her screen. He watched her expression abruptly change from the reflection in her monitor, and then followed Hotch out.

***

There was nothing unusual about the case, or at least there wasn't if you were used to gore and violence the way the team was. Penelope could never understand how they could look at crime scene photos so calmly. She'd never had an easy time of it, even before she'd become a crime scene photo. Now... She shuddered at the view on her screen, but sent the requested photos to Rossi's phone.

It had been so cute, the way he'd come to her for help in using it. He wasn't the sort of man who liked admitting he wasn't good at something, and he'd spent months insisting his pen and a notebook were all the data organization he needed. Penelope had finally prevailed upon Hotch to pressure Rossi to get up to speed technologically speaking, which was what had led to Rossi appearing in her office with a request for help.

Her phone rang. "Office of Impossible Requests, Penelope the Magnificent speaking."

"How am I supposed to get these pictures off my phone to give to the locals?"

Penelope laughed. "Well, hello, sugar. It's good to talk to you, too."

"Charmed, as always," he said. His voice was gruff. She wondered if the case had gotten worse, or if sometimes he just got annoyed with her for being so chipper. She couldn't bring herself not to be, though; she couldn't not try to brighten their day even if just for a minute, not when she knew they were dealing with the real thing while she was having a hard enough time with the pictures on a screen.

"Maybe you should get some conversational tips from Morgan," she teased. "Or the handsome doctor."

He growled something wordless, then drew in a breath. She repressed a smile, waiting. "Tell me, gorgeous, is there a trick I don't know about this phone thing of mine?" His voice was polite, with barely a hint of sarcasm.

"Ooh, 'gorgeous'. Much, much better," she said. "Just promise me if you ever have the impulse to call me Baby Girl, you'll do it in front of both me and Morgan. I've always wanted to watch two big, strong, alpha males fight over me." She grinned, and paused long enough to hear him sigh, then took pity on him and launched into a simple explanation of how to do what he wanted.

By the time he'd got his pictures, she'd bantered him into a better mood. He ended the phone call with a "Ciao, cara," and then a chuckle that confused her until she heard Morgan demanding to know who Rossi was talking to. She strained to hear Rossi's answer, but the phone clicked off into silence.

It wasn't until the silence that she realized her cheeks were a little warm. It was weird. Silly. She 'flirted' with everyone, and no one cared. Morgan was the only one who'd ever flirted back, though, not that it had ever meant anything. This didn't either, she knew, but it was Rossi. She had had no doubt he had it in him, but he wasn't the playful sort, like Morgan was.

She sat there for a moment, and then shook herself, and decide to put it down as a minor victory that she'd made Rossi 'play' with her at all.

A few days later, when the team returned from the case, she made a point to fill Morgan in on what he missed, in a sort of backwards way. Even she wasn't sure why.

When she walked past Rossi in the bullpen, in hearing range of Morgan, she called, "Bongiorno, principessa!" as she passed.

Both of them looked up, Morgan from his desk across the room, and Rossi blinked at her a few long seconds.

"Principessa means princess," he informed her after a moment.

"I know, but all the Italian I know comes from the movies," she said, not veering from her course to her bunker.

"That would be bel principe to you," Rossi called after her. She heard him laughing. When she got to her desk, she was surprised to find a gift bag sitting in her chair, hidden from the view of anyone standing at the door. Pulling it open, she found a bottle of Napa Valley red, obviously picked up during the case. A hand-written note thanked her for bestowing her tech goddess blessings on him, and was simply signed 'David'.

"Huh," she mused, staring at it. Gideon had given her gifts before, but then she'd always thought she deserved way more than what he'd given. She'd deserved a fully paid vacation to Madrid--maybe Italy, she thought now--for having to put up with even one day of Gideon invading her office.

She glanced back at the door, then tucked the gift into her thankfully over-sized purse before collapsing in her chair. For a long moment she just sat there, grinning, but wondering if JJ got wine for diverting attention away from Dave's celebrity status when a media storm happened during a case in Iowa, or if Emily got wine for doing the interview with the family instead of Dave. It was their jobs, but for all intents and purposes, helping Dave with technical stuff was Penelope's, too.

She made a mental note to go digging for information, then pulled out her phone and decided to test Dave's skill.

Bel Principe! Thank you for my gift. It wasn't necessary, but I will think of you when I'm dancing naked on tabletops after devouring the entire bottle. ;)

She pressed send, then put her phone down, biting her lip and wondering if he'd reply. Or if he'd know how to reply.

She stared at her phone for several minutes, but it didn't oblige her by beeping that she'd received any messages. She sighed, turning her attention to her work. Nearly half an hour had passed before the phone beeped at her. By that time, she'd nearly forgotten about the text message she'd sent. She was pleasantly surprised when she opened it and found his response.

Piacere mio. Maybe you shouldn't enjoy it THAT much, though.

She laughed out loud, and then quickly got online to find a translation for the first part. It was my pleasure, he'd said. She bit her lips together and sent another text.

You're no fun at all. Just wait until next year's Christmas party. Two words: naked karaoke. And now that you have that lovely mental image to keep you occupied the rest of the day, I should say I'm proud you responded. My little chicky is leaving the nest!

His response was only ten minutes in coming back:

Had a snppy retort until you distracted with that idea. Don't you have wwork to be doing?

She laughed, and then sent a reply immediately.

Don't you?

His response was almost immediate this time, and to the point. :-P She could just imagine the conversation out in the bullpen, Rossi asking someone what that little sideways face thing was that you typed, and Reid going through various emoticons until he found the one Rossi wanted.

She snorted and typed back: You love me. Then she flipped her phone shut and set it aside. She couldn't wipe the smile off her face, though, even after she decided it was well time she actually got to that work she was supposed to be doing, and past time to put David Rossi out of her mind for the rest of the day.

***

Dave kept watching Morgan, somewhat anxiously, and hoping the other man wouldn't ask him what he was doing with Penelope. Mostly because, Dave was discovering, he had no idea himself what he was doing with Penelope. He wasn't sure why he was so fascinated with her, but he was. Maybe it was the fearless way she was herself. Maybe it was the unpredictable nicknames she used for everyone. Maybe it was the bright red lipstick.

What he knew for sure was that she made him smile, and he enjoyed seeing those painted lips curve up because of him. That was all the answer he'd been able to come up with, and that was the only reason he showed up to work ten minutes early one day, two cups of coffee in his hands instead of one.

He balanced the cups carefully and tapped on her door, then caught the top cup as it began to waver.

He was surprised when her usual call from the other side of the door didn't come, and though he was relieved when she answered the door herself and lifted the second cup of coffee from his hand, he was surprised she didn't look overly chipper.

She did look surprised that he was here, though. She lifted her eyebrows and looked at him, the coffee delicately in her hand. "Is this for me?" she asked.

"Of course it is, bella principessa," he said, giving her the best smile he could dredge up at this time of morning. He wasn't really a morning person by choice. He tilted his head, studying her, then tapped her lightly on the nose. "Why is our tech goddess not singing at me from the other side of the door this morning?"

"I hate profilers," she said, and turned around to walk to her chair, obviously expecting him to follow. "I'm just tired. I haven't had coffee yet. Why is my favorite Italian Stallion bringing me coffee?"

Dave was glad he hadn't been sipping his coffee when she called him that, because he would have choked. "Italian...Stallion..." he repeated, staring in amused bewilderment at her back.

She looked back at him, a flash of something--was it uncertainty?--going through her expression. He wasn't generally someone she flirted with like she did everyone else, and suddenly the idea that she might stop the recent beginnings of that because she'd surprised him this time didn't sit right with him.

"What?" she asked, the expression gone in a second and covered with a slight smirk. "Go ahead, deny it. I dare you," she said, then dropped into her chair.

He raised his eyebrows, then smirked back at her. "Oh, trust me, cara, I would never deny something like that. Obviously my reputation has preceded me." He sat, too, and sipped his coffee, studying her over the cup.

She watched him back, then finally pursed her lips. "What? Stop looking at me like that, with your profiler looky-lookyness." She made a vague gesture at him. "I was just up late, that's all."

"Hmm. I hope he was worth it," Dave murmured, though he couldn't ignore the tiny...miniscule...barely even there disappointment he felt at the thought of Penelope spending her time with some faceless man who probably didn't appreciate her. Oh, God, he thought, annoyed at himself.

"I hope I was worth it for him," she said, and then shook her head at the surprised expression on his face. "I was..."

She sighed, and when she spoke again he realized why she was hesitant. He hadn't exactly been nice to her when the subject came up the first time.

"I was at one of my support groups." She shrugged. "Those families." She shook her head and took a sip of her coffee, not looking at him. "Wound up at a Denny's with this really sweet older man until after midnight, just talking..."

He couldn't help the cynic in him that wondered if the man had really wanted to 'just talk'. Then the phrase hit him--'really sweet older man'--and he couldn't help wondering if those were the words she used to describe him, except substituting 'grumpy' for 'sweet'. Why was he even doing this, whatever this was? He craved her attention, and he was probably making an ass of himself.

After a moment he realized he hadn't responded, so he just nodded. "People who are hurting sometimes just need someone to listen," he said vaguely.

She looked back up at him after a moment and just watched him, then shrugged again. "Yeah," she said, then narrowed her eyes in thought. "You probably still think I shouldn't be doing it, don't you?"

"I never said you shouldn't be doing it," he said, surprised. He thought back to the way they'd found out about that...the way he'd found out about that. Maybe that's why she hadn't warmed up to him quite the way she was with everyone else. He'd been something of a bastard the night Battle had tried to get to her a second time. But he'd needed to be, because the rest of the team was tiptoeing around her. He sighed. "Look, I think it's very kind and noble that you do that," he said slowly, searching for words. "I don't know that I would go out looking for more pain, after spending all day doing what we do...but I don't disapprove of the counseling."

She watched him for another long moment, but her expression warmed slowly, and he felt himself relax when he hadn't even realized he'd tensed. She curled both of her hands around her coffee cup a moment later and took a long sip, then murmured, "I don't do what you do."

"You still see what we see," Dave said. "We forget that sometimes. You watch videos of women being tortured. You reconstruct voice mails from dying girls. And you never flinch. Woman of steel."

She snorted and pushed her glasses up her nose. "I flinch a lot. All the time. Emily and JJ are the women of steel. I'm made out of multi-colored jelly and just happy my Mason jar hasn't broken yet." She made a face at him and rolled her eyes.

"Please," he scoffed, leaning back in his chair and watching her. "You think just because you don't carry a gun, you're not tough? You send this team away from you time after time, and you have to watch Morgan try to make a hero of himself, and you still manage to make us all smile. You're undervaluing yourself, cara."

Her grin went affectionate at the nickname, but she shook her head. "There's a difference between tough and..." She waved her hand, as if to brush away the subject, and made a dismissive noise. "You never told me what brought you to my Palace of Knowledge this morning," she said. "Or what I did to deserve the fancy coffee. White mocha was a good choice, by the way; did you profile me to determine what my coffee preferences might be?"

"Maybe I asked Derek," he said, choosing to answer her second question instead of her first, implied one. He couldn't imagine how Morgan would have reacted if he'd asked him Penelope's favorite coffee, but he had a feeling it wouldn't be very nice.

She sat back and smirked at him. Obviously she knew he wouldn't have asked, given the way Morgan seemed utterly perplexed by the way he and Garcia were talking to one another lately. He wondered suddenly what the team thought; none of them had been so obvious in their interest as Morgan, though. "Maybe you did," she agreed after a moment, letting him off the hook anyway.

"Maybe I just pay attention," he said after a while. He sipped his coffee, content to just sit here as long as she'd let him. He'd always known that strong, colorful women were his weakness. He hadn't really expected this particular strong, colorful woman to step into that role, but now that it had happened--and it had, he couldn't deny that any longer--he wasn't really surprised.

He wasn't quite sure what the expression on her face meant, but she didn't look away from him for a few moments. Then she swallowed and dropped her gaze, looking unsure what to say. It was at that moment that there was a knock on the door, and then Morgan pushed it open without waiting for her reply. "Hey, mama, I brought you--"

Morgan stopped in the doorway and stared at them, and Garcia instantly beamed at him. "Morning, sweet cheeks," she greeted.

"I brought you coffee," he finished, and stepped inside to hand it to her. She drained the last of Dave's coffee and tossed the cup as she took Morgan's.

"My boys are going to have me wired today."

"Baby girl, that is a scary thought," Morgan said, but he sounded preoccupied.

There were only two chairs, and he glanced around a moment. Then Garcia sat back and patted her lap for him to sit, a playful 'come hither' look on her face. Dave raised his eyebrows, wondering if he ought to cede his chair to Morgan. Then again, being suddenly included as one of Penelope's 'boys' made him feel particularly bold. When Morgan glanced at him, he just tilted his head back a little and smiled.

"Morning, Derek."

Morgan's eyes narrowed a little. "Rossi," he returned. It was sort of amusing the way he went into alpha-male stance apparently without meaning to. Dave just kept smiling at him, and out of the corner of his eyes he saw Penelope look between them, then bite her lips together in a smile.

"Are you going to sit or not, hot stuff?" she said, and nudged his foot to get his attention back on her.

"Sure," he said, looking away from Dave after a moment. Dave wanted to grin, but managed to behave himself. That desire to grin lasted just as long as it took Morgan to take Penelope's hand, tug her to her feet, and sit in her chair. A moment later Morgan was pulling her back down into his lap, and Dave had to fight to keep his expression from souring. The little bastard was doing it just to spite him, wasn't he? Well, Derek Morgan might think he was top dog around here, but David Rossi was a sly old fox, and he'd been born knowing more tricks than Derek Morgan had learned yet.

Oh, listen to yourself, you idiot, Dave thought at himself, but he just stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles, not looking away from Penelope's face.

Garcia smiled at him, but she seemed to have not expected that Morgan would take her up on the offer and wasn't sure what to do about this strange vibe in the room. She sipped her coffee.

"Mmm, white mocha," she said, and Dave thought that was probably for his benefit. "Thank you, my pet," she added, and kissed Morgan's forehead. He seemed to mostly ignore that, other than squeezing his arms around her waist.

"You're up early, Dave," he pointed out.

Dave shrugged. "Felt like drinking something other than the swill we get here." He wasn't going to be pushed out, damn it. Not even by Derek Morgan, who probably had more right than anyone to do so.

"Have Reid make it for you sometime," Garcia said. "It's sweeter than this. It's sort of like coffee flavored ice cream after being boiled. Fantastic stuff."

That made Dave grimace. "Come on, this is me you're talking to. I can only tolerate limited doses of sweetness from...well, just about anything but resident principessas," he joked.

Garcia snorted. "Aw, you guys are so naive." Morgan was frowning at Dave, which Garcia noticed, because she started to pet his cheek. It didn't appear to help. "I'm only sweet to you because I like you," she continued, then her gaze turned a little sharper, but not enough to do anything but impart a slight warning when she continued, pointedly looking between them. "But piss me off, and you'll see how incredibly not sweet I can be."

Dave raised his eyebrows, but he grinned at her. "Trust me, I know just how lucky I am," he said mildly. Maybe it was time for a tactical withdrawal, though. Just to prove to her that, whatever he was doing, he didn't have to be territorial. Morgan's reaction was amusing, but not worth pissing her off over.

He drained his cup and stood. "You can have my chair if you want it, cara. I should probably get started on my day." He smiled at her, nodded to Morgan, and retreated.

"Grazie!" Garcia called after him, then eyed Morgan for a moment before standing and throwing herself into the chair Dave had just vacated. She ignored the way his lingering body heat felt against her back and thighs. God, stop it, idiot, she told herself, and fixed Morgan with a look. "What? It's sweet. You don't think it's sweet?"

"I think I wanna know why Dave Rossi's being sweet to my Baby Girl," Morgan replied. His gaze was steady on hers, but she could tell he was skeptical.

She pursed her lips and leaned over to get her coffee from where she'd left it by his side, then sat back again. "Does it matter? I'm sweet to him. It's about damn time he returned the favor, isn't it?" she said, knowing they both knew she was just diverting attention from Morgan's real concerns.

"Yeah, well, it makes me wonder what he's up to," Morgan said. "Sweet isn't Dave Rossi's usual MO." He tilted his head. "I don't want to have to kill him, but if he hurts you..."

"I'll hurt him right back," she said, then shrugged. "It's nothing. I helped him with his phone, he appreciated it, and that's that." That wasn't what it felt like, of course. Garcia wasn't sure what it felt like, but it was sort of exciting anyway. David Rossi really was not the sort of man she would have normally gone for, but he was smart and handsome. And yes, sweet to her.

She was more than certain she wasn't the sort of woman he would go for, though, so she kept trying to push down the funny little flutters of hope she knew she shouldn't be feeling.

"That's that." Morgan folded his arms across his chest, watching her. "Talk to me, mama. What's going on inside your pretty head?" Sometimes she really hated profilers.

She mirrored his posture. "The last time I talked to you about a man, you pissed me off and hurt my feelings," she said, then held up her hand to stop him from replying right away. "And I don't want to hear that you were right because that's beyond the point."

He looked surprised, then a little hurt. "Hey, Baby Girl, you can't blame me for worrying about you. You're my treasure, and you deserve the best. So maybe I'm a little over-protective. Can you blame me?"

Garcia pursed her lips. He'd either never really understood why she had been so hurt by what he said, or he was now conveniently ignoring that he hurt her feelings. After a moment, she decided it was a can of worms they really, really didn't need to reopen. They'd moved past it. And if he did it again, she'd kill him, and she was pretty sure he knew that.

After a moment, she sighed and slumped in her seat, looking away from him. "Has Rossi..." She frowned. There was a better way to get this information, and she knew that, but clearly Morgan wanted to know what was going on, and it was better to just let him in on it, rather than to have him and Dave go all feral on each other. "Has he ever given anything to JJ or Em?" she said finally, looking back at him.

"Given anything to them? Like what?" His brows drew together. "You mean gifts, or...or what?"

She shifted a little, suddenly uncomfortable. "When you guys got back from California, he left me a gift for helping him figure out his phone," she admitted.

Morgan tilted his head. "Really. Huh. No, I don't know that he's ever given them anything like that." He leaned his elbows on his knees and looked at her. "What did he give you?"

"Wine," she said, careful not to let her voice betray anything (she hoped), and then took a sip of her coffee, dropping her gaze.

"Wine." Morgan sat back in his chair. "Rossi gave you a bottle of wine because he's appreciative." He shook his head. "Baby Girl, I don't think that's quite why he did that. The man's calling you Italian nicknames and giving you wine. This...isn't gratitude."

She pursed her lips. "He texts me in Italian too, every once in a while. It's sort of adorable." She frowned, realizing how that sounded. "Do you know how to say 'Your smile brightened my morning,' in Italian?"

Morgan's eyebrows had lifted. She wasn't looking at him, but she could hear it in his voice. "No, I can't say that I do."

"Neither do I, but right before I promptly forgot it, he sent that to me, and I looked it up. Babelfish isn't all that hot, but I got the jist." She shrugged. "I don't know, Morgan. It's David Rossi. How am I supposed to understand him? This? Anything about him? He's an alien creature to me."

Morgan snorted. "He's an alien creature to everyone but Hotch." He grinned. "There ya go, you could ask Hotch for romantic advice." The grin faded quickly, though. "Penelope, the man's flirting with you. And I don't think it's exactly the playful sort of flirting you and I do." He frowned. "And I'm not sure I like it."

Her first impulse was to insist it couldn't possibly be anything but playful, but then he finished, and she had flashbacks to when she first met Battle, and a tiny little spark of indignation again that maybe he still didn't think she could or should 'get the guy', so to speak--Dave was famous, after all, possibly out of her league. She frowned, and all she managed was a slightly defensive, "Why?"

Morgan sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Look, I like the guy, okay? But...he's only been here a year. I can't say I totally get him. And he's not exactly known for sticking around. I mean, he's got three ex-wives. So he might treat you like a princess now, which is totally what you deserve, but...I'm not sure I trust him to do right by you."

She pursed her lips and watched him for a moment, then finally sighed. "You'll never be satisfied with any man that wants me; there are never any guarantees, precious." She shook her head. "Anyway, I think you're wrong. Honestly, he doesn't strike me as the type to go for purple hair and green fingernails." She made a face.

"Well, you've got a point there," he said. "No man will ever be good enough for you, treasure." He leaned forward. "You know I love you, right? I want you to be happy. And if you think David Rossi would make you happy, you've got me 100% supporting you. But I will kill him if he hurts you. I wasn't joking about that."

She shook her head. "I don't know what I want, but I really don't think he wants me as much as you might think. So I guess I don't want anything." It was nice to make him smile, though. And laugh. And play, because he was a funny man when he relaxed.

And the Italian was sort of sexy too, and part of her wondered if he spoke it in bed.

Oh, dear God, she was fantasizing about David Rossi.

"Hm." Morgan didn't look convinced, but he just shrugged. "If you say so."

"I say so," she said quickly. "And now it's high time you actually did some work. Shoo."

"Huh. We'll see." He stood up quickly as she swatted at him, and held his hands in the air, laughing. "All right, all right. Later, my goddess."

"Ciao, Bel Principe Numero Dos!" she said, cobbling together languages, and grinned, turning around in the chair to face her monitors.

***

"So." Dave glanced up from his desk, unsurprised at hearing Morgan's voice. He was surprised that it had taken him until the end of the day to show up here, but then again, it had been a busy day, and he could respect Morgan's putting work first.

"So?" Dave replied. If Morgan had something to say, he could say it first.

Morgan folded his arms across his chest. "This is the part where you tell me your intentions towards my Baby Girl."

Dave's eyebrows lifted, and he folded his arms too, sitting back in his chair to look at Morgan. "My intentions?"

"Are you just messin' with her, or are you serious?"

Dave held a sigh. He could continue to play dumb, which would have been the easy thing, and possibly the smartest thing, given their job situations. But if Garcia hadn't told Morgan everything by now, she probably would, and they were close enough that Dave supposed he could understand Morgan's concern, even if he didn't feel like he should have to explain himself. "Why would I mess with her? She's never done anything to deserve that, and furthermore, I don't make a habit of toying with women, regardless of what my reputation might imply."

Morgan stepped inside and shut the door, then crossed the office to sit across from Dave. "Okay, here's the thing. The flirting she and I do? We both know it's just play. You, though...you're calling her 'beautiful' and 'princess' and you're giving her gifts... You have to know how that looks."

"Yeah, I do," Dave replied. He hadn't known exactly what he was doing when it started, but he was fully aware of his actions now. "What's your point?"

"I just want to make sure you're serious about that, that's all," Morgan said. "You saw what happened to the last guy who hurt her." His gaze on Rossi's was dead serious for several seconds before he smiled faintly. It was clearly a threat, but it was being delivered in as friendly a method as possible, Dave supposed.

Dave watched him a moment, then chuckled. "All right. I hurt her, you have JJ shoot me in the head. Got it." He tilted his head. "But I already told you, I'm not fucking with her, and I don't think you have any reason to believe I'd lie just to make myself look chivalrous."

Morgan tilted his head back a little, studying Dave. Then he nodded. "As long as we understand each other." He stood.

"You're not exactly speaking Chinese, Derek," Dave said, but nodded towards the door, an almost-but-not-quite dismissal.

"Right." Morgan turned and left, leaving Dave to think about things. Not what Morgan had said; Dave wasn't worried about that. But if Morgan was here issuing threats, what was Penelope thinking? Did Morgan's reaction mean Penelope was taking this seriously? Maybe it was time for Dave to show her--and Morgan, apparently--how serious he really was.

***

Garcia almost gasped when she arrived at work the next day to find a single red rose on her keyboard, but her heart jumped into her throat too quickly and kept her from breathing at all. She then proceeded to stare at the flower as if it might bite her for a long moment, trying not to choke.

Morgan was right. How the hell could Morgan have been right? Not that she hadn't had her suspicions, but men like David Rossi confused the hell out of her.

It took a long time for her to notice the note underneath it, handwritten in Dave's neat scrawl:

I'll pick you up at seven tonight... if that's all right with you, cara. David

Garcia squeaked in a register she didn't know she possessed, then sent a text message to Dave, not touching the rose or the note.

Come to my office RIGHT NOW.

'Right now' took about fifteen minutes, which she spent doing nothing and touching nothing, and then he came in and shut the door, smiling at her faintly.

"Everything okay?"

She frowned at him. "I don't understand you," she blurted.

He tilted his head, his smile widening. The bastard. The cocky, charming, handsome bastard.

"I don't understand you either, but I think that's okay for now."

Her mouth fell open, and she blinked at him for a few moments, unable to think of a retort.

He laughed. "Do we have to understand each other to want to spend time together? You're a fascinating woman, cara, and I enjoy your company. Not to mention you're already a goddess to two of my nephews, who never thought they'd get text messages from Uncle Dave." He moved closer slowly, like he was afraid she would pull away, and brushed a thumb along her cheek. "Bella principessa," he murmured.

She barely repressed a shiver at the touch and the sound of his voice when he said things like that, but she sucked in a breath and held it for a moment. "Why me?" she asked, and was surprised that her tone was almost accusatory.

His eyebrows went up. "You fascinate me," he said frankly. "You make people happy just by being yourself. And you're beautiful." He shrugged. "I've never met anyone like you."

There were about five hundred retorts she could think of, but all she said was, "Why now?"

"Why not?" he countered, looking at her. Seeing her skepticism at that answer, he elaborated. "I've been married three times, cara. I'm not unrealistic about my success rate at relationships. I wanted to be sure of myself before taking any action that might end up causing you pain." His lips quirked. "I know what happens to people who hurt you."

"Oh God, Morgan gave you The Talk, didn't he?" she asked suddenly, clamping her eyes shut and making a face. "Damn it, I knew he would do that." She opened her eyes and gave him a flat look, her lips tight for a moment, and then said, "I'm not unrealistic about the fact that guys like you don't want girls like me, so..." What gives? was what she wanted to say, but she realized that he'd been through the 'hurt her and I'll kill you' Morgan talk, and was still standing here touching her, so she shut up.

"What the hell does that mean, 'girls like you'?" he asked her, sounding annoyed for the first time. "A girl who is smart and funny and always has a smile and a kind word for people? A beautiful girl who fills her life with color and still takes time to help people who have been victims of horrible crimes? What exactly is wrong with a 'girl like you'?"

"I don't know why you're asking me. Ask... men," she retorted defensively, and then started feeling ridiculous, so she added, "I think I'm fabulous!" She wasn't sure that made her feel any better.

He snorted. "Of course you're fabulous," he said. "Which is why I want to take you to dinner. Did you order me in here to interrogate me, to say yes, or to reject me?"

"The first one," she said. "And then one of the other two options, dependent on your answers." She watched him for another long moment, and then had to press her lips together quickly to keep from laughing at herself when she suddenly realized she must sound like a crazy person. God, she'd been fantasizing about him; why the hell was she trying to run him off now?

He raised his eyebrows. "So how am I doing so far?" he asked, but his eyes were dancing with amusement. "Penelope, I am drawn to you for reasons I can't entirely explain to myself. What I know for sure is that I want to spend more time with you. I want to know you better. And I want to make you smile. Is that answer enough?"

She let herself smile finally, it creeping over her face as she looked up at him. "That depends," she said. "If it doesn't go well, you're not gonna shoot me at the end of the date, are you?"

He laughed, though she thought he looked like he wasn't sure he was allowed to. "I promise, I won't even carry my gun."

She could feel her smile slowly turning into a grin. "Okay," she said softly, and nodded. "Okay," she repeated, then, "You can say more pretty Italian things to me now." She shrugged, giving him a playful look. "Or, you know, you could go back to work, but that's not nearly as much fun for me."

Dave thought for a moment, then grinned at her. "Non c'è niente di meglio per un uomo che mangiare, bere e dirsi che il lavoro va bene," he said. "Ecclesiastes 2:24." He brushed his thumb against her cheek again, then added, "I' il ll lo vede a sette, tesoro."**

She grinned at him for a moment, feeling her cheeks get warm for no explainable reason other than his touch and the fact he was talking like that again. "I don't know what you just said, but I bet you tell all the girls that," she teased, and thwapped him playfully in the chest before pushing him towards the door, making a mental note to look up the verse.

He was still laughing when the door closed behind him.

***

Dave had been awfully proud of that blush he'd managed to get. Garcia made other people blush, not the other way around. For most of the day, Dave tried to forget the expression on her face when he'd left her in his office, but it hadn't worked very well. He felt inappropriately pleased, given that he and Reid were working on finding a new angle on a particularly gruesome consult.

When he got to her apartment, a few minutes early, he was still smiling and clutching a bouquet of mixed flowers against his chest. He'd pulled the rose he'd left on her keyboard this morning out of the bunch, betting optimistically on not having to throw the rest of them out. He'd been inclined to buy just roses, but in the end, decided she'd probably like all the color, and bought the brightest mix he could find.

When she answered his knock, he smiled and held out the flowers. "Buona sera, bellissima. Sei fantastica." He knew he sounded a little breathless. She did look fantastic. She was wearing a bright red dress, which was a wonderful color on her, and the wrap thing she had over her shoulders was white with a brightly colored pattern. And that red lipstick...God, there was just something about her.

She beamed at him for a moment, then said, "Are you going to talk like that all night? Because I won't stop you. I have no problem with a language barrier if it sounds like that." Her eyes flicked down to the bouquet. "You brought me flowers? Thank you," she said, and took them, motioning for him to follow her inside.

Dave laughed and followed her in. "You look fantastic," he said, his voice low. He'd been here before, of course, but at the time he'd been a little preoccupied with trying to figure out who was trying to kill her. As he gazed around her apartment now, he realized how it perfectly reflected her unique and colorful personality.

She laughed quietly as she got a vase and filled it with water, and he found himself watching the way her dress hugged her curves and made himself look away. "Isn't that what... um, sei fantastica means?" she asked, the words sort of getting mangled a little, but not too badly.

"It is," he said, "but I wanted to make sure there was no language barrier about that." He fingered a strand of the bead curtain that hung in an archway. "I didn't think to ask if you like Italian food as much as you like the language."

"I do," she said. "You have to promise me you're going to order for me, though." She shrugged. "Assuming we're going someplace authentic."

He grinned and put his hands in his pockets. "Of course we are. The place belongs to the cousin of a good friend of mine. I was planning to ask your permission to order for you," he admitted. "Is there anything you dislike?"

"I prefer white sauces and am not fond of fungus," she said, setting the vase in the middle of her table and looking back up at him. "Are you ready?" She shook her head quickly. "Of course you are. I'm ready," she corrected, her smile going lopsided.

He nodded, but didn't move. "Cara..." He hesitated, not wanting to upset her, but feeling they should be clear about something. "I don't know if you've dated since, ah, since Battle. And you don't need to tell me, but..." He met her gaze. "If you would prefer to drive, or to choose a restaurant, or...well, that's fine with me. I have no trouble letting you take control."

She blinked at him for a moment, then shook her head. "I haven't. But you know, I should probably warn you that if you try to lie to me about what you do for a living, you're not going to get very far."

His lips quirked up against his will, but he finally gave in to the fact that she was making light of it. "All right," he said, smiling. "But you'll let me know if I mis-step." It wasn't a question.

She nodded. "All right. And you stop worrying about my non-existent post traumatic stress, or I'll sew your mouth shut with a yarn needle," she said, smiling sweetly. "Let's go, hot stuff."

"Ouch," Dave said, and gestured for her to lead the way.

When they arrived at the restaurant, they were greeted by the owner, who addressed Dave warmly in Italian, and then turned a bright smile on Penelope. Dave knew she didn't understand a word aside from 'bellissima' of the lengthy greeting Paola gave her, or else he would have been worried. Paola went on about how nice it was to see David with a beautiful young lady, and what a striking couple they were. She added that the combination of chocolate dessert and the Barolo red they had would have Dave wrapped around Penelope's finger by the end of the evening.

Dave coughed to interrupt the spatter of Italian, and Paola glanced at him. "Or perhaps," she added, still in Italian, "he already is." She grinned at Dave and fluttered them toward their table, which was the best table in the house.

Penelope's brows were still raised as she sat and looked around the restaurant. She seemed impressed, but preoccupied with Paola for the moment. "Okay, translate. What was all that?"

Dave scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. "She's delighted to see me here again, and with such a beautiful young woman. She knows you'll love the chocolate dessert and she recommended a wine." Okay, so it wasn't exactly the truth. There was no way he was translating what she'd actually said.

"Hm. I understood the wine part. I feel a bit like I'm cheating. I'm kind-of-sort-of learning something here, and not teaching you anything in return," she said, then grinned mischievously. "How do you feel about taking up knitting?" she asked, and winked at him.

He raised his eyebrows. "You know, I have been wanting a new set of golf club covers..." he joked.

She grinned. "I didn't know you golfed. I thought you just shot down cute little feathered things," she said, and made a face, though it didn't look like real disgust.

"Cute little feathered things that taste really good in the right sauce," he corrected, grinning. "Don't tell me, you used to get up at oh-dark-thirty to go bird-watching with Gideon."

She made another face. "Cute? Very. Yummy? Yes. Worth getting up just to look at before you should legally be allowed to be awake? Absolutely not." She glanced up when the waitress came over, and let Dave order them wine, then shrugged. "Gideon and I were co-workers at best. Though I don't think he was ever really close to any of us... Maybe Hotch." Her expression changed abruptly. "I really shouldn't say that, actually. I don't suppose it's fair now."

Dave grunted. He and Jason Gideon had never gotten along terribly well, despite the fact that they'd respected each other as colleagues. Then again, Dave didn't really have any room to talk when it came to running out on people. "Maybe it wasn't fair of me to bring him up at all," he conceded.

She shook her head. "It's fine. I don't mind," she said. She looked like she had more to say about Gideon, but didn't want to say it, so he didn't push.

Their server came back then for their orders, and Dave glanced at her. "You're fine with red meat?" he asked, and waited for her nod, then ordered the filet mignon and penne marinara for both of them. "So," he said when they were alone again. "Is this where we play twenty questions? Where were you born, what did you think you'd be when you grew up, where's your dream vacation destination?"

"Oh, this game is only fun if you make up answers," she said. "I was born on the back of a Blue Wildebeest in the middle of the Serengeti. I always wanted to be Bettie Page when I grew up. Aaaaand, I'd like to go... anywhere in a hot air balloon. Okay, that last one is true. Your turn."

Dave stared at her for a moment, then started laughing. "Hmm. Okay, I was born in the back seat of a taxi in Calcutta. I always wanted to be an opera singer when I grew up. And I'd like to travel to Antarctica by research boat."

She laughed, then eyed him over her wine glass as she took a sip, her eyes lit with amusement. "How much wine do I have to get you to drink to sing a few bars?" she asked.

"How much for you to dress up like Bettie Page?" he retorted.

"Not as much as you'd think," she said, her tone playfully suggestive.

He felt like he was smiling too much. He felt more relaxed than he had in ages. "She sorta had a thing for whips, didn't she?" he mused. "And leopard print." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder how much of La Traviata I can remember..."

She giggled. "The more I learn about you, the more I like you, principe."

"That's a relief. My prospects of getting a second date wouldn't be very good if you liked me less the more you learned." He leaned forward in his chair, watching her. He'd known what she meant by 'girls like me'. She wasn't exactly a size six. But Dave couldn't imagine how she could see herself as anything other than utterly beautiful. She was deliciously curvy and he couldn't help but imagine her dressed in a fancy piece of lingerie. "And somehow I don't think I'd stand any chance of seeing the Bettie Page get-up if you didn't like me," he added in a lower voice.

She fought the widening on her smile for a moment, and blushed again. Oh, he could get used to getting that reaction. She looked down the table, and God, it was cute the way she could flirt and say outrageous things all day long, but the moment they got real, she apparently still held on to a little shyness.

Oh, I have it bad, he thought.

"Not a chance in hell," she said, but was saved a minute later when the waitress brought their food.

Dave couldn't help watching Penelope closely for the first several bites, hoping he'd judged correctly and she would like it. He was relieved when she seemed pleased with his choice. After that he could relax a little more. They talked about San Francisco while they ate, since that had been his first field office, back in the late seventies. It was fun remembering those days and trading their memories of the city. As the evening went on, she drew him into talk of the various places he'd visited, and he spent a great deal of time talking about his visits to Italy, though he didn't elaborate that his first honeymoon was one of those trips.

By the time Paola came by to check on them, they'd both had just a little more wine than they should have, and Dave was wondering if the date would last long enough for him to sober up a bit if he switched to coffee.

"I was right," Paola said to him. This time, of course, in flawless English, the harridan. "She does have you wrapped around her little finger." At Dave's look, she walked away, laughing.

Penelope's mouth dropped open, and she kicked him lightly under the table. "You wicked... That's it. I'm learning the language myself." She took another drink of her wine, though her cheeks were now a little pink from drink. After a moment, she leaned in, lowering her voice. "Do I? I think I like that idea a little too much," she murmured.

Dave held her gaze, wishing Paola hadn't said that. He couldn't lie, not now, but he hadn't really wanted Penelope to know quite how he felt just yet. He wasn't really adjusted to the idea himself.

"Direi che possibile," he admitted, and then looked down at his wine glass, not wanting to see her expression if she suddenly decided that he was just a 'sweet older man'.

She was quiet for a moment, but then she reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. "Well," she said slowly. "If it turns out to really be the case, I promise I won't abuse my power." He glanced up to see her gaze was surprisingly affectionate, until she added, "much," and then grinned again.

He was startled into laughing. He turned his hand and curled it around hers, rubbing his thumb lightly across her skin. "Paola really did suggest dessert," he said. "And I wouldn't mind a cup of coffee."

"Okay," she said. "I hope it's chocolate."

They ordered coffee and split the chocolate dessert Paola had suggested, talking and laughing some more as they did, and Dave's buzz was starting to wear off by the time they neared the end of their meal. He realized, after a moment, that the dinner crowd had thinned significantly while they were here too, and wondered how long they'd been here. It hadn't really felt like long at all, and he was almost regretful that it was ending as he took the check and paid.

He opened her car door for her after they left, and drove back to her place, where they headed up the walk. He slowed a little, not wanting to push his luck too much, and he wasn't sure when she tensed, but she reached out and took his hand a moment later, her shoulders just slightly stiffer than they had been. "Come up," she said.

He tilted his head at her, wondering how much she was actually asking with that.

Her lips thinned, and she glanced around the courtyard. "I don't want to end the date here," she said after a moment, looking like she wasn't sure she wanted to say it, and then she gave him another tug toward the door.

"All right," he murmured, and let her lead him inside and up the stairs. He leaned against the wall, admiring her silently as she rummaged her keys out of her purse and let them in the apartment. Once they stepped inside, though, she seemed almost at a loss. Maybe, Dave thought, she hadn't been sure how much she was actually asking, either.

"Grazie per la tua compagnia questa sera, cara," he said quietly. He was standing close to her, but not quite close enough to touch. He wanted to kiss her, but while he felt confident she wanted that, too, he had to admit he wanted her to make the first move.

She watched him for a moment. "I got 'thank you'. Is there more to what you just said that's important?" she asked, suddenly sounding a little breathless, though her gaze didn't leave his.

He smiled and leaned a little closer. "Thank you for your company tonight, Penelope," he murmured. "The evening was too short." Yes, she wanted him to kiss her. He wasn't going to give her much longer to make the first move.

She nodded, still watching him. She was obviously waiting for him. "It got late fast," she said, then bit her lips together and stood her ground, but didn't move closer.

Dave gave in. He took a step closer. "Stop me if I'm wrong," he murmured, his tone and the heat in his gaze making clear, he thought, that he knew he wasn't wrong. Then he lifted his hands to cup her face and pressed his lips gently against hers.

She made a little noise, and let him kiss her for a moment before she responded, as if she'd needed to make sure. She slid her hand around his neck after that, though, her fingertips slipping into his hair, and she deepened the kiss.

Little frissons of want went through him at the slide of her tongue, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, letting some of his hunger show, and then forced himself to pull back. He'd had enough messing around for one lifetime, enough of letting his body lead him to race a woman to bed as quickly as possible. He was done with that, though, and she deserved more.

She smiled at him, her fingers still brushing through his hair and her other arm moved up to drape over his shoulder. "Thank you for dinner," she murmured. "And my flowers. And the kiss." Her lips quirked into a wicked grin. "That last bit was stellar, by the way."

"I'm glad you think so," he murmured, smiling back at her. "Il silenzio di un bacio vale più di mille parole." The silence of a kiss is worth more than a thousand words. It was also true that a kiss was the silent poem of love, but even if it was just a proverb, amore was a word that didn't need to be thrown around yet. He brushed his lips lightly against hers again, relishing the way she melted into his touch. God, she was wonderful.

She hummed happily again, tightening her arms on him. When he pulled back again, she was flushed. "I understood silenzio." She grinned. "Did you just tell me to shut up and kiss you again?" she asked, and he started to laugh, but she kissed him again before he could answer.

"Mmm, not exactly," he said when they parted. "'The silence of a kiss is worth more than a thousand words.' It's an Italian proverb." He brushed his knuckles against her cheek. "Of course, I happen to like your words, too, but there's a time for words and a time for silence, yes?" One more kiss, and then he was going to make himself leave.

"If you say so," she whispered, and leaned up to kiss him again.

He wrapped his arms around her again, his body very aware of the way her body felt against his, and kissed her with all the hunger he felt, all the want for her in his body. He was going to regret that when he pulled away, but he couldn't help himself, and when she made a little noise that was almost a whimper, he made himself pull away again before he stopped thinking and just started acting.

"We need to stop," she said breathlessly, her cheeks even pinker than they were the last time, her eyes fixed on his mouth.

"Yes," Dave agreed. He traced a fingertip over her lips. "I don't want to, but I agree." She wasn't the sort of girl who ought to sleep with a man on the first date. She needed to be romanced, courted...won. He liked the idea of winning Penelope Garcia's heart. "I hope you'll agree to see me again."

"Trust me, if you hadn't asked me, I would have to do terrible, horrible things to your reputation," she said, then added, "Oh, wait. Never mind."

Dave frowned, but there was no heat to it. "I can take it back, you know."

She leaned up and kissed him lightly, chastely. "I normally say credit history, but I doubt that would have worked on you."

He grinned crookedly at her. "I don't doubt you'd find a way to make it stick," he said. "I've learned never to doubt your abilities, cara." Reluctantly he loosened his arms and stepped back. "Thank you for a lovely evening," he said, his voice formal though his gaze was amused.

She breathed a laugh, trailing her hand down his arm as he pulled back to squeeze his hand before letting go. "Thanks," she said.

He didn't let her pull her hand away. Instead he lifted it to his lips and kissed it, holding her gaze. "I'll see you Monday. Have a wonderful weekend."

***

The prospect of Monday didn't seem quite so bad when Penelope had seeing Dave to look forward to. She cut one of the flowers from her bouquet and pinned it in her hair and practically floated into work. She wasn't sure exactly how they were going to work things out, considering the anti-fraternization rules...which were apparently attributable to Dave, come to think of it. Well, she'd worry about that later. Obviously he wasn't worried.

She passed Morgan on her way to the coffee maker. "Morning, baby girl."

She grinned. "I'll show you a good morning, bel principe," she retorted. That would get his attention.

By the time she reached the coffee, he was out from behind his desk and had an arm around her shoulders.

"You didn't, did you?" he murmured. "Rossi?"

She raised her eyebrows and looked at him, then put on an over the top French accent to say, "What ees eet you theenk of me, monsieur? Ah am a laydee." She pressed her hand to her chest for a moment, then reached for the creamer.

"So help me, Penelope Garcia, if you don't tell me..." He kept one arm around her shoulders and poked a finger gently into her ribs. "Ve haf vays of makink you talk."

She looked at him and giggled. "What accent is that, exactly?"

He glared at her. "Spy. Now talk, baby girl, or I'll have to tickle you."

"I told you," she retorted. "I am a lady."

"Come on, I don't need all the details, but..." Morgan fixed her with a glare. "You went out with him, didn't you? Something happened."

"Yes, we went out, and as much as I hate to ruin his reputation, I can trust you to keep a secret, right?" she said, she curled her fingers into his shirt to pull him closer, then rolled up onto her toes to whisper in his ear. "He was a complete gentleman."

Morgan gave her an exaggerated gasp and shook his head. "Oh, Mama, don't go spreadin' that around, or you will ruin his reputation." He ducked his head to study her expression. "And this is what you want, isn't it? Somehow or other that old dog won my baby girl over."

"Somehow or another," she said and nodded at him, then cupped his cheek with her hand and gave him a warm look. She appreciated that he cared, even if he could be a little bit of a drama queen about it. "Any more questions, mi amore?"

"Two. First of all, you'll let me know if he ever needs to be shot, right? And secondly, please tell me you'll spare me the details of your sex life."

She patted his cheek, then dropped her hand. "Oh, see, that was a mistake. You tell me not to do something, and then all I want to do is do it!" she teased, and started off toward her bunker.

"I so do not need that mental image," he muttered. She just laughed and ignored him.

When she got to her bunker, she squeaked in happiness. A trio of red roses were in a vase on her desk. A moment later she recognized the shape of the vase as Betty Boop. The note underneath said, "Cara Mia, Couldn't find Bettie Page. This Betty will have to do. D."

She couldn't stop smiling the rest of the day.

** Translations

There is nothing better for a man than to eat and drink and tell himself that his labor is good. - Ecclesiastes 2:24

I'll see you at seven, treasure.