Fic: the fun of carpentry

[shamir-26.livejournal.com]

Title: the fun of carpentry

Author: Sara Nublas

Characters: Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan

Rating: T

Summary: Emily learns that assembling furniture can turn into a pleasant surprise.

Warning: Fluff

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything; the show, the characters and IKEA are not mine. I’m just playing (and having considerable fun) with them.

A/N: this story is heavily autobiographical, unlike Emily though I didn’t have Morgan at my side, but a bunch of equally amazing friends and flat mates helping me and nurturing my inspiration.

Again thanks a lot to nix1978  for providing encouragement and feedback. Twitter rocks!

 

 

 

 

Emily walks haphazardly through the bullpen and sits down at her desk, taking off her jacket and switching on the computer.

“Morning stranger!” Garcia cheerfully greets her, “did you have a late night?” she winks at her with a naughty expression on her face.

Emily stares at her wide-eyed, then sobers up reclining on the back of her chair “you caught me,” she rises her hands, “I had a late night with two friends…”

Garcia quits her mocking demeanor, stunned by the answer. Then she grabs a chair, sits down in front of Emily and locking eyes, demands trenchantly “I want details.”

Emily leans in closer, “We’re like old time buddies…” she starts mischievously, “We spent all the night snug and comfy on my mattress..” she explains, while a mocking grin widens on her face “While Pillow was kissing my cheek, Blanket was wrapping me up in a soft embrace…”

Garcia rolls her eyes with disappointment, and gets up from the chair “Very funny, Emily Prentiss. Very funny”. She’s about to leave, when she changes her minds and turns “then why did you come in late?” she questions suspiciously.

Emily exchanges an entertained smile with JJ, who just walked in.

“I was waiting for the delivery guy.”

“Oh right, you bought some furniture at IKEA, right?” JJ butts in.

“A bed, a sofa and a bookcase” she confirms.

“And was the delivery guy hot?” Garcia tries, her hopes rising again.

“No, Garcia” Emily repress a laugh, “he was a chubby, middle aged guy with a grumpy attitude…”

“Uh?” her smile fades again, leaving a disappointed pout, “so what did you? You watched some ugly, sweaty guy assembling your furniture?”

“Oh, no. I’m going to do it.” Emily clarifies with nonchalance “I’m going to put it together!”

“You’re going to build your furniture…?” JJ repeats skeptically, while Garcia tries to keep her laughter.

“Hei, can I have a little faith here? IKEA furniture is designed to be user friendly and easily assembled by non-expert customers” Emily responds pointedly, as if quoting from the brochure.

“Emily, when was the last time you assembled something?” JJ tries to make her reasonable.

Emily’s shoulders heave a bit; she opens her mouth than she closes it, unable to find any memory of such an occurrence in her life.

“I’m sure if you ask Morgan, he will be more than happy to help you…” Garcia offers, not having a good feeling about her friend’s initiative.

“No! Just because I’m a woman it doesn’t mean that I’m unable to hammer some nails and tighten some screws.” she argues.

Garcia and JJ know well that reasoning with Emily’s stubbornness is like crushing one’s head against a concrete wall. They both nod amenably and back off, going back to their tasks. While they head toward their offices, they exchange a quick bemused look, “I just regret not being able to witness how Emily Prentiss will turn a Swedish bed into an abstract sculpture” JJ comments.

“Hammering some nails and tighten some screws” Garcia shakes her head, “I’ll call Morgan” she resolves, before bidding goodbye to JJ.

 

Once at home that evening, Emily stares at the boxes left in the middle of her house that morning.

She really doesn’t recall ever assembling anything; but if Morgan can build and tear down houses, she doesn’t see why she can’t put together some pieces of wood.

After all it’s not brain surgery, is it?

She starts with the sofa, which seems the easiest and most straightforward of all the items.

After an hour and few curses, she takes a step back and proudly looks at the successful result of her work. Cheered up by this huge ego boost, she approaches the bookcase with a renewed confidence in her carpenter abilities.

After all, she reflects while taking the pieces out of the box, it’s just a matter of piling few wooden boards parallel to each other within a frame. How could this be difficult?

She opens the instructions; at this point she’s accustomed to the series of detailed and self-explanatory drawings. IKEA apparently considers prose useless; it’s a functional solution she agrees, but in someway she misses a narrator to her enterprise.

Surprisingly, mounting the bookcase takes Emily longer than expected and she has to put some creativity to understand how to make all the pieces hold together. But at the end the score is still in her favor: Emily vs handcraft :2-0.

When she finally turns to the last and most dreaded item, it’s almost dinnertime, she’s tired and a despondent sigh escapes her mouth.

She reminds herself that tonight she’s going to sleep on her new bed and that, considering all she’s been through, a sliced birch is not going to stop her determination.

She proceeds to separate the different kinds of hinges as suggested by the speechless instructions, double-checking if everything is there and in the correct number. After all the parting and counting, she gulps, realizing that there are fifteen different types of screws.

Taking the phone and calling Morgan would be a minute, and she knows that he would be happy to help her; but to her pride the distance between her and her phone is an unbridgeable gulf, and she resolves that she will be better off doing it by herself.

She resumes her motivation and soon she’s deeply engaged in a frantic choreography of lifting, pressing, pushing, screwing and hammering.

She ruffles her hair and puffs angrily every time that, despite the clinical accuracy of the drawing in the instructions, she realizes that sometimes is not right. Her patience falters, her stomach grumbles and she starts understanding where Morgan got those biceps. Soon this enterprise takes far-fetched proportions. It’s not a simple exercise of carpentry; but a fight for life and dignity, Emily versus the laws of physics.

 

When Derek knocks at Emily’s door, he doesn’t get any answer. He knows that she’s at home, because Garcia told him about her intentions to prove that she can be a good carpenter and also because he saw the lights on in her house.

He knocks another time and then, reluctantly uses the copy of her keys he was given months ago, to use in case of an emergency.

Closing the door behind himself, he stops immediately as he hears banging noises and yelling from the bedroom. He approaches the source of the uproar and finds Emily, knelt down, beating the crap out of a wooden board with a hammer and swearing profusely.

“You, bloody bast…”, the word is left hanging.

Emily suddenly freezes as she realizes that someone else is in the room.

She stares at Morgan, hammer suspended over her head and eyes wide, full of mortification and shame.

She should be scared and pissed at the fact that someone entered her house, but right now all she can feel is humiliation for being busted by the very person she wanted to prove her ability to.

Morgan, without saying a word, goes and sits down in front of her and takes the hammer out of her hands. Then he levels his gaze to hers, “I think those are supposed to be screwed in and not hammered” he gently comments, pointing at the objects of her rage.

Emily looks at the boards and chuckles, exhausted. She just wants her bed mounted so that she can sleep in it tonight.

“Ok, let’s make a deal” he recalls her attention, “I’ll not assemble the bed for you. I’ll just help…”

Emily smiles, moved by the kindness of her friend and silently grateful for the unrequested call Penelope made.

 

Three hours later the two profilers are standing in front of the fully assembled and made bed, with a look of satisfaction.

“I have to give it to you,” Derek breaks the silence “this is one of the most complicated things I’ve assembled from IKEA.”

Emily looks at him with an unconvinced smile, “Derek I really appreciate your effort, but it’s okay. I suck at handy works and without your help I would have never made it…”

Derek looks at her, rolling his eyes, “Prentiss, you’re never happy with yourself, aren’t you?”

She gazes back, dumbfounded by the statement.

“You built a bookcase and a sofa on your own, and you did a good part of the job with the bed. Not many people I know would even try to do that by themselves. You should be proud of yourself” he reproaches sincerely.

Emily concedes a small smile, flattered by Derek’s kindness, then she suddenly stiffens in alarm.

“You know what? Now you should fill this bookcase…” Derek suggests picking up few books from the floor, and starts lining them on the shelves.

Emily raises her hands in warning, but not in time to prevent the action.

As soon as the first book is laid on the top shelf, the support falters under the small weight and the plain falls down on the following shelf, causing a destructive domino.

Morgan freezes in bewilderment; uncertain whether to laugh or to look mortified at the sight of the disarticulated bookcase.

Emily silently walks to his side and contemplates the disaster, then shifts her gaze to a frowning Morgan, “I might have forgotten one piece…” she offers, handing him a small plastic bag containing the hinges supposed to sustain the shelves.

Morgan looks back at her impassively and takes the plastic bag, weighting it in his hands, “Prentiss, what do I have to expect if I try to sit on the sofa?” he asks feigning real concern.

Emily chuckles back, “Oh I haven’t tried it yet… But we can do this way. I test the bed and you’ll get the sofa”, she proposes and without leaving him the time to answer she runs toward the bed landing middle of it and giggling like a child.

Morgan, at first perplexed, takes few steps toward the bed and stares at her, smiling back at him, for a long minute.

“This bed is perfect, even suitable for diving” she jokes rolling on one side.

“You know something?” he comes to sit on the border “I’m really grateful that you are so crazy. Don’t ever change Emily Prentiss.”

She squints, as if having the impression that there’s much more to what he just said that the mere words would suggest. But she shrugs this idea quickly, afraid it might ensue more complicated questions.

“Promise” she whispers back, in a softer tone.

For a moment, as the sun finally sets down and the room darkens, they stare at each other with an intensity new to their relationship. There’s no precise aim or stream of thought driving the moment, just the awareness that they haven’t felt so good with someone else in a long, long time. Then a draft of cold air through the open window, makes Emily shudder and takes her back to reality, to rules, protocols and to the infinite infrastructure of ifs and maybes moving as ratchets in her mind.

“Would you like some dinner?” she asks somewhat awkwardly.

“Hmm, yes” he responds after swallowing away the inappropriate thoughts that just floated in his mind. He clenches his jaw, reminding himself of the lines that must not be crossed and smiles back “Yes, I’m starving.”

 

While they sip red wine and eat their Chinese take away, the conversation returns being amiable and pleasant, and the next time they look at the clock, they can’t believe so many hours have passed.

“Ok… I should go now” Morgan gets up from the sofa, which didn’t swallow them and successfully passed the test.

“Thanks a lot for the help. You can tell JJ and Penelope that I didn’t destroy or torch the bed. Even if the temptation was strong” she smiles, musing on the consideration that she dated for longer time several men that she liked much less than Morgan.

“Ah, and for the key… I apologize for entering the apartment before” he clarifies before stepping out of the door.

“Derek, I gave you the key. And I did it because I trust you” she minimizes, that detail being already forgotten and widely compensated by his huge help.

“Okay then. Sleep well and don’t enjoy to much the diving” he smirks.

“You’re just jealous of my bed” she nudges him, “you should go and buy one as well.”

He chuckles, leaning on the doorframe, “Yeah. I’m afraid it wouldn’t be as much fun as with you” he comments, and one second after bites his tongue, not knowing why the hell did he just say that.

“Then, feel free to come by anytime you miss some craziness” Emily leans a bit forward, feeling tipsy with the wine, and still wondering if this conversation shouldn’t end, before venturing on a slippery terrain.

The moment she lays her eyes on him again, she can see that her words didn’t fall unnoticed as part of her is wishing. Derek’s dark eyes are staring at her, in a way that it seems he’s about to devour her, “Emily?” he asks, almost in a whisper, his expression confused and searching for validation, for permission.

There’s much more to put on the stake, than just a simple attraction. Their career, their job, their friendship; yet the easiness of the night they just spent together, the electricity that is running through them right now, the feeling that they could drown in each other, seem to offer a very convincing counterweight in this moment.

“…Or maybe stay away from craziness, and search for easier, less complicated… destinations” she manages, gasping for words, with her mouth suddenly dry.

“I like complicated,” he takes a step back into the apartment, his face now serious. There are no signs of a mocking grin, no traces of the shallow flirting they usually engage during the long working hours, no cues of a joking snap in his expression, “and I like where I am and how I feel now” he concludes, as his hand brushes Emily’s cheek.

It feels so new, but also so natural and meant to be.

After staring at him, searching for doubt or second thoughts and not finding any, she places a feather kiss on his jaw and slowly walks him back to the bedroom. None of them lose eye contact, none of them falters while they take the time to explore and savor each other.

 

“Anyway, how did you plan to use the bookcase?” he asks later, while she lies on his chest, his arm around her.

She chuckles lightly, “I thought that if I stuffed it with books it would have turned into a self-sustaining structure…”

He looks down at her brown eyes unabashedly defending her absurd theory, “Please don’t ever stop being the way you are” he smiles wrapping her tighter.

“Meaning you’ll fix it?” she pledges smugly.

“Meaning I’ll fix it”

“…And you’ll tell Penelope” she frowns.

“Well, it depends. If you can convince me not to do so…” he challenges her, and smiles as she gladly takes up the dare.