#poor derek

"The team are on their way," she hummed as she busied herself with the foil on the unopened bottle. "They should be back in a couple of hours." A pang of guilt settled in his belly when he realized what that meant - mountains of paperwork and days of explanations to everyone who had questions, the take down had been messy and Agents were in danger. He would have a lot of talking to do. That was the job, and it was only the start. Worse than any of that, he had to worry over whether Derek was hurt, what he'd seen, what new nightmares might keep them up at night. Endless concerns, and then there would be the questions from Derek about his day, many he wouldn't be able to answer. Arguments and hurt feelings.

Not tonight.

Penelope hummed as she cooked, using the jalapeño he'd chopped with care, sure not to let a single mince go to waste. Spice hung in the air, ravaged his sinuses and he rubbed his tired eyes.

“Here you go, sir,” she said, surprising him as he worried over the conversation he was going to need to have, the ramifications of this day, each time he sorted and filed one piece another took its place. A coffee mug appeared before him, hand outstretched and he accepted it with a soft thanks. “It's not exactly a margarita, but it's all I have. Sprite with a splash of lime juice and tequila...I don't think it'll age well, we should probably drink them fast. Are you okay, sir?” Staring into the mug, he was more than a little uneasy and trying to figure out when he'd last had tequila. There was a brief flash, sand and waves crashing warm against his ankles, a stack of shot glasses and a gallon of Cuervo on a breakfast bar beside lime wedges and hot sauces...a sunburn and Derek. Mexico, that was the last time he'd had tequila. He lifted his mug and nodded, ignoring her question unintentionally and offering her a cheers in its place.

“To friendship,” he whispered, eyes twinkling in the low light, the bright tears catching the lamp's glow. His suit felt a little tight already, too warm, and there was a heavy feeling in his chest. The tears, he could feel the way they burned and he forced himself not to blink, not to let them fall. The chirp of his car lock had shuddered through him in a way it hadn't in years, the memories clear as day while he stood back and considered not getting into the vehicle at all. He could have just walked, called a cab, not touched the handle. Paralyzed by long buried fear. The scotch, begrudgingly accepted more out of a sense of obligation than anything else, had smoothed frayed nerves, helped him forget the sound of the explosion, the lick of the flames but they were there now in the caustic smell of the tequila and the burn of the peppers wafting through the air. He couldn't escape it. At best he hoped to quiet the anxious feeling, stop his fingers worrying against one another. The tequila, he hoped, might make it go dormant again, help him at least forget the way his heart jumped into his throat as flesh touched metal.

“And hope,” he added with a final nod. “We'll get you out of here soon.”

“Hear, hear!” she squeaked through tears, more tears. He hadn't intended to make her cry again, yet there they were holding mugs of effervescent future misery side by side, both brimming with tears. She cried over him calling her a friend, as silly as it was, but him...why was he crying?

"Sir?" She eyed him suspiciously. "You never look particularly cheerful but you look...are you alright?"

He took a gulp and winced at the burn, the way the bubbles burst up into his nose and cleared his throat. "Hard day."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly," he replied softly and she nodded. "Thank you though."

"Of course, Aaron...anytime."

He was drunk fast, too fast, too easy. The world was softer, slower by the time he tried to focus enough to manage the fine motor skills of using a fork, pulling it to his mouth. She was right on his heels. The omelets provided a nice landing place for the tequila they were going through a little too quickly, and as a buffer she pulled out some tortilla chips and salsa. They laughed loud, probably too loud but who was there to complain?

"Wanna play a game?" she asked, watching the way his face seemed to fall after a few moments of silence. She couldn't allow it, and if he couldn't tell her what was wrong, she'd do her best to help him avoid it. He nodded and grinned, sloshing the liquid that was now more tequila than Sprite around in his mug - her pours had gotten considerably heavier as the night wore on. The curse of tequila. She dug an old Scrabble game out of a dusty drawer and by the time the team showed up, the board was a mess. Some real high score words, some terribly close but not quite, some just random letters thrown down because they looked funny side by side. They'd long since given up on playing the game by any real rules, now they were just making them up on a whim. She talked, he listened, they played. During one game, if you could pronounce the sounds of the letters and make the other person laugh hard enough, you could have the points. She was certain she had that one in the bag, but her skills were no match for his.

"Lawyer," he offered with a shrug as he peered at his tiles, tried to clear the double vision and pick some winners. She nodded, as if she followed his winding train of thought. It was a lie, she couldn't figure it out, so she offered an alternative that made sense to her.

"Dad," she said and he nodded, smiling.

"Yes. That, too."

In another version, he'd attempted to convince her of at least three words that Shakespeare had invented that you'd never find in a dictionary, proclaiming uselessly that they had definitions and rattling them off. There was no convincing her to budge on this one, she'd lost too many games to him already...even if he could produce the name of the play, the act and the line from which the word was pulled - she just laughed in his face and pushed the tiles back into his lap.

"I don't care where infamonize is in Love's Labor's Lost, it isn't in my dictionary so it isn't a word. You can't sway me with your pretty monologues, sir."

"Hey! Blondie!"

They both heard the shout from down the hall and froze. He was already curled up on the couch, his tired eyes having finally given up the ghost. The tiles had blurred into one wooden mess before him and there was not a thing he could do to change it - he'd tried, dumping his contacts and pulling out his glasses as a last resort. Not really sleeping, just laying curled up in a blanket with his glasses low on his nose listening to the sounds of David Bowie warbling ohhhh you pretty things...while Penelope told him a story, her words flying far too fast for him to keep up. He flinched at the sound of Derek's bellow, realized he was going to be in deep trouble, but it wasn't enough to make him sit upright or even open his eyes.

Derek would either find him, or leave him be to slowly die of dehydration. There was a bottle of water somewhere in his lap, fallen beneath the blankets but he couldn't muster the energy to search it out. The room spun in circles around him, slow and methodical rocking like he was adrift at sea. It didn't exactly make him dizzy but forced him to slow down, close his eyes, relax into it. Outside he heard the chirp of car locks, one two three and he hugged the pillow tighter to the ache in his chest, wondered how much tequila it would actually take to forget the way he'd felt just a few hours before, the way he hadn't felt in years and now it was fresh, like it never went away. Blood and shattered glass all he could see.

“Next time you're gonna steal my booze,” Derek continued, breezing into the room without stopping to consider what he would be interrupting. His go bag still hung over his shoulder, eyes narrowed to slits in the dark, he didn't see Aaron at first. He'd done a fine job of blending in, curling himself up tight beneath the blankets, Penelope's blankets. "Could you not destroy my office in the process?”

“You're back!” she stumbled out of her chair and flung her arms around his neck, pushing up onto the tips of her toes. She'd given up on the formality of her heels when Aaron slid out of his jacket, it seemed a fair trade. "My love, my light, I'm so glad you're all back safe and sound and OHHHH...you're in trouble you know that? Biiiiiiiig trouble. You and Dr. Lewis didn't take back-up...bad bad..."

"Woah," he said, scrunching up his nose at the smell of the booze on her breath. "Slow your roll. We didn't know that guy was the unsub, you know that, I was talking to you...wait, what's going on here?"

"Well," she started, still hanging around his neck. "Okay. I don't know, really, it's a liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiittle bit fuzzy. See, it started with omelets. Or, back up...I was hungry, it was late but I didn't get a chance to have dinner and then Hotch came to talk to me and I was, I just...didn't want to be alone, and he had such a hard day here on his own and I thought...maybe he'd want to eat with me? So I asked him to eat with me and he said Jack was already in bed so why not and then I remembered the tequila in your office..." She was rambling, he was trying to keep up but his exhaustion was catching up to him faster than she could talk, a rough combination. "Now we're listening to David Bowie and talking...well I'm talking, he might be sleeping I don't know but did you know he's really really smart? He cheats at Scrabble though, I'm pretty sure..."

“Hotch...” Derek groaned and peeked around the fluff of her hair, shifted her to the side to get a better look at the man half alive on the couch. His lip twitched, a tiny smirk appearing right at the corner, just enough to be noticeable. Awake, but just barely. “You good?”

“Never better,” he lied as the smile spread to his entire face. His eyes remained closed, but he looked to be in very good spirits. “Sprite and tequila...not as bad as you would think...”

“Yeah. Right. Mama,” Derek warned, still holding her shoulders while he glared at her. She swayed like a leaf on a gentle breeze in his grasp, not enough to worry him but he struggled to keep her focus. He couldn't take another long story. Every few moments she opened her mouth like she wanted to say something and he furrowed his brow, quieting her instantly. “Here's what's happening. I'm gonna drive this man home and then I'm coming back...we need to have a talk.” Without giving her the chance for rebuttal, he helped the nearly sleeping man to his feet, steadied him there for a moment while Aaron forced his eyes open and tried to get his bearings. The floor rolled beneath him, he felt it up into his knees and he leaned hard against Derek, throwing one arm around his waist like it belonged there, quickly followed by the other. He held on like a baby koala, pressed his cheek against Derek's shoulder and finally he realized that this was how he forgot that awful feeling, the fear. This was his answer. Not scotch or tequila, he knew better, those only made things worse in the end. It had been Derek there before, with him in the street and at the hospital and driving him home, and it was Derek there now. It didn't fix the problem, but it did remind him that he was okay.

She had questions. Derek shushed her each time she opened her mouth to ask.

“My stomach is upset...” Aaron whispered, lost in his drunk fog that tasted an awful lot like regret but hoping Penelope wouldn't hear and feel guilty. Derek just nodded, he knew, and kissed him on the temple, walked him out the door without another word. He didn't fuss or argue, was pliant in Derek's arms.

Home was simple, Aaron slept the entire way, not a word shared between them. A pitcher of water and a glass, a bottle of ibuprofen, a handful of extra strength Tums and a trash can tucked right up beside the bed. Just in case. Jessica got a good laugh out of it when Derek told her, because even if she'd said she wouldn't wait up she always did, it was a force of habit far too old to break. She promised she'd listen for trouble while Derek was out, said it was her fault, she'd told him to have a good time.

"Never again," Derek said with a wink. "Not with that woman. Penelope can't be trusted."

It didn't take long for him to get back, the roads were empty enough that he could go a little too fast. It had just been enough time that she could clean up the mess, chug about a gallon of water and prepare her bed that now smelled just like whatever product Aaron used in his hair.

“I don't know what you were thinkin...” he announced, leaning in the doorway with his arms folded over his chest. It was a little accusatory but mostly good-natured.

“I just...we just...”

“Oh, you just you just...” he was mocking her now, shaking his head. She didn't mind it, at least it told her he wasn't really mad. She hadn't done any real damage. The entire time they'd been gone she was worried she'd done something horribly wrong, maybe Aaron wasn't supposed to drink, maybe that tequila was special, a lot of maybes flew through her head as she forced herself to sober up and apologize.

“Is he okay?"

"He's sleepin' it off. Jessica's staying the night, he'll be okay. Might wanna take it easy around here tomorrow, huh? Seriously, Penelope, what were you thinking? He doesn't drink like that..."

"Hey. Okay, I made a mistake, it was a really hard day and I just thought...he looked like he needed...hey. Wait. Yeah I messed up but...but...you. You. YOU. What was...THAT?” And then there was this, it rose in her belly, beat at her chest, the indignity of feeling betrayed, lied to. Yeah, maybe she didn't need to get her boss drunk, that was stupid, and it would probably have consequences felt for days. She had a bed to crash on mere feet away but she hadn't considered where he'd be sleeping, how he would be getting home. Would he have been sleeping at his desk? And Derek was right, he didn't drink like that, he was doing it for her, to make her feel better and she felt awful, but then there was the arm and the kiss and she had QUESTIONS.

“No idea what you're talkin' about...” he feigned innocence, loved watching the way it got her all riled up. She was vibrating with anticipation and he ate it up. Pointedly, she played with the tea bag in her mug and stared at him, waiting for him to open up. A silent challenge. When it was clear to her that he had no intention of doing so, she set the mug down on the table and smacked him on the arm. “Keep your hands off of me, crazy lady.”

She eyed him warily while he gathered the dishes to wash, the last of the remnants from their wild two person party. “How long have you been lying to me?”

“Hey now,” he said softly, more than a little offended. He may not have told her everything, but he hadn't ever lied. "I don't like your tone."

“Don't you even, Derek Morgan...all those stories of girls you've been seeing...the...the...the roses and the weekend trip in New York and the...omigod...” Clarity was setting in but her mouth couldn't seem to keep up with the realizations.

“Okay wait a minute, I never said girls, first of all, you just assumed I meant girls...”

“So those were all...about...” Her breath hitched in her throat, she let out a soft little cough.

He grinned, waited for her to run through all of the stories she could remember, stories shared over late night glasses of wine ending in near misses, slips, an endless parade of nameless faceless girls replaced with her scowling but very handsome, well tailored boss. Moments he'd almost said too much, barely caught himself before saying a name, mentioning Jack but managed to keep it under wraps. She blushed, fell into the chair beside her with a dramatic thud.

“You are a monster. You...you two...for...how long?”

“Nevermind that, you little busybody. Now that you know what you know, your big, sexy mouth has to stay shut you understand me?”

She smirked and he shook his head, this was going to prove to be a challenge. Penelope, henceforth, was going to be insufferable. He wasn't looking forward to letting Aaron know that they'd been discovered, let the cat out of the bag with their affectionate shenanigans - Aaron had no idea what he'd done and Derek simply couldn't help it, it was already hard enough to keep his hands to himself on a normal day, this was too much. No more tequila for him.