Title: Spots
By: patch-tank
Rating: G
Pairing: Morgan/Garcia
Summary: Garcia has chickenpox.
Feedback: Makes me smile all pretty.
Archive: Okily-dokily-doo (/Flanders). Just tell me.
Disclaimer: Running out of clever ways to say "not mine".
Warnings: Nope.
Author's Notes: Written for 2dozenowies, crossposted everywhere. I realise my title sucks, but I couldn't think of anything better. I am teh fail.

***

Garcia squeezed her eyes shut and tried to ignore the annoying itch on the sole of her right foot.  Thinking about it makes it worse, she told herself.  So don't think about it.  Think about something else.  Puppies, think about puppies.  You like puppies.  Think about. . . work.  No, that'll never do it.  Think about shopping.  Shopping for handbags, earrings, shoes. . .   "shoes. . . shoes with no soles on them so I don't have to keep taking them off when my feet are itching like crazy," she muttered, kicking off her yellow ballet flats and rubbing the offending itch over the base of her chair.

A knock came at the door.  "Go away," Garcia pleaded.  "Unless you happen to be a giant vat of calamine lotion."

Morgan chuckled.  "Can't help you there, sweetheart.  I just came to say hey.  We've missed you these last few days."  She turned to face him, displaying her spot-riddled arms and face.  "Damn girl," he grinned.  "You weren't kidding about that calamine."

Garcia shook her head miserably.  "I'm not contagious anymore, and all the hideous flu symptoms are gone, thank god.  I'm just ready to take to my skin with a cheese grater."

Morgan laughed again and moved to lean against the desk.  "Well, they say it's worse to get it as an adult.  Then again, I remember when I had chickenpox as a little kid, my mother yelled at me for rolling around on the carpet.  I was so goddamn itchy -"

"Derek!  You're really not helping," she complained, hearing the whine in her voice and for once, not caring.  She squirmed uncomfortably against the back of her chair, trying to relieve the itch on her shoulders that was only being made worse by her clothes.

"Sorry baby.  Hey, don't do that," he admonished, catching her wrist as she raked her fingernails over her cheek.  "You'll get scars."

"So what," she muttered grumpily.  "Chicks dig scars."

Morgan smiled at her in combined sympathy and amusement.  "Come here," he said, pulling her to her feet.  "You're feeling so damn sorry for yourself, I'm actually feeling sorry for you too."  He gave her a hug, holding her tight against his chest.  Garcia sighed and closed her eyes, trying to forget, for the second time in five minutes, how miserable she felt.  It wasn't easy, but being in Morgan's arms definitely helped.

Morgan lifted the hem of her shirt slightly, his hands traveling up the bare skin of her back to her shoulders.  Garcia was about to make a joking comment about how she knew he couldn't resist her even in the confines of the workplace, when he dragged his nails along her back.  Her gasp turned into a groan as she relished the delicious feeling.

"Mmmm. . . . oh, god that feels so good," Garcia breathed, relaxing against Morgan as he scratched her gently.  "Please don't stop.  Promise me you'll never, ever stop."  Garcia felt Morgan's chest shake slightly as he chuckled, but his nails continued to run slowly up and down her back.  His hands were cool and soothing against her skin, which had felt like it was on fire for days.  She took a deep breath and leaned against him, the occasional whimpering moan escaping her lips as he eased the torturous itching.


Eventually Morgan's hands stilled and he held Garcia gently in his arms.  She'd almost forgotten the maddening itch of the chickenpox. . . almost. . . 

Garcia's hand crept surreptitiously toward her face.  Her back felt so great, there was just one tiny spot beneath her left eye, if she could just reach it -

Morgan grabbed her hand away.  "Don't even think about it."

"You're so cruel!" she exclaimed, beating her fist against his arm wearily.

Morgan stepped away from her slightly and took her hands in his.  "Hey, your back is one thing, but this angel face?  Uh-uh, no way girl," he said.  "Besides, you'll thank me for this one day when you look in the mirror and realise I'm the reason you still look so pretty."

This time it was Garcia who laughed.  "I guess you're right.  After all, I fully intend on being back to my usual fabulous tech-kittenish self before long.  It'd be a shame to ruin the perfection now."

Morgan grinned.  "That's my girl.  Hey, what are you doing after work tonight?"

"Going home to eat icecream and watch bad TV.  Why?"

"You want some company?  I could rub some of that calamine lotion on you."

Garcia smiled.  "Now that sounds like a plan!"

****