Bookstore Girl, 𝘴. 𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘥

xxxiii.

✧.* season three - continued from last part.

(ᴊᴀɴᴜᴀʀʏ 2008. )

He sat down across from her quietly, his dark eyes carefully looking down at the papers he was shuffling through. (y/n) waited patiently, giving him a bored stare. When he was ready, she leaned forward, bracing her forearms on the table. 

Not that there was any other comfortable way to sit when one was handcuffed to the table in front of them. 

Derek Morgan finally sighed, leaning back in his chair. 

"Heard you wanted to talk to me," he stated plainly, his voice monotone. (y/n) was yet again shocked by a profiler's ability to completely change personalities for whatever the occasion called for - only to realize she had done the same. 

"I just wanted to ask you a favor, Morgan." 

He arched a dark eyebrow, waiting. 

"I have a couple of plants in my apartment. I love them very much, and I'd like someone to look after them while I'm locked up."

His expression didn't change, but she could see from his eyes that he knew exactly what she was talking about. 

"You're not getting locked up," he whispered, still sitting comfortably. "You have an alibi." 

(y/n) snorted, looking around the room. "Sure looks like I'm getting locked up." 

Morgan leaned forward, his expression changing into something more earnest. "I would never let that happen. Reid would never let that happen." His words caused (y/n) to sober up, the feeling of being arrested slowly fading as he mind grew clearer. 

"The lipstick," she guessed, sneaking a glance at the two-way mirror behind Morgan. "they found my DNA on it?" He nodded, and she chewed her lip as she processed the information. 

She owned two shades of lipstick, both of which could be found in the bathroom of her apartment in D.C. Whoever lipstick that was, it sure as hell wasn't hers. 

Unless her home had been broken into, and the lipstick stolen. The mere thought nearly sent her into a tailspin. 

"Your hair was found on Randall's clothes, and in the bed. Care to explain how that got there?" 

If her and Morgan weren't already friends, she would have thought his gruffness was genuine. It wasn't - he was faking. She could tell, because he winked at her. 

(y/n) ducked her head so no-one could see the smile that threatened to appear on her cheeks. "No. I don't have an explanation." 

The moment the last syllable fell from her lips, Morgan had left the chair and shut the door behind him. A few minutes later, and Campbell had returned - evidence bags in his hands. 

"Do you recognize this?" He taunted, grinning like the cheshire cat. Doubt swirled in her belly, and for a minute she was glad she was still cuffed, otherwise she might be knocking the man onto his ass. 

She studied the lipstick, determining that it was, in fact, the exact shade she borrowed from Penny the night of the gala. 

"Yes, I do." 

"Is it yours?" 

"No, sir." 

He scrubbed a hand down his face, clearly getting tired of her shenanigans. Unluckily for him, he'd chosen the wrong person to be his protégé, because she was a quick learner.