AN: Here is a post-ep from "Foundation" written for Felena Fanfiction... What I think happened after the credits rolled...

Ours by Kricket Williams

Derek couldn't wait to get home and take a shower. He could've showered when he'd arrived back at the BAU, hit the locker room after talking to JJ, and washed up. However, it was late, and his home was calling to him.

As he drove home, he started wishing he had bathed there. He still had dirt from the construction site under his nails and caked on knees. He hadn't even bothered changing clothes before boarding the jet—a usual must for the team. Everyone knew better to just leave him alone and let him be. Cases like that… It was common knowledge cases that involved kids and delving into the cache of memories from his past life always evoked strong feelings in him that he had a hard time shaking.

It took a lot more than a shower to wash away the filth he felt. He felt dirty...all the way into his soul.

He winced, releasing the steering wheel that he'd gripped far too hard. His hands were tender from pounding the snot out of the Unsub. That brought a low grumble of satisfaction; he'd enjoyed that part of this case. There had been an audible crunch on his second punch, which told him he'd broken the man's nose, and the third punch had displaced it—so much so, he'd never be able to look in the mirror again without remembering what Derek Morgan had done to him.

Seemed fitting... That bastard had irrevocably scarred so many lives tonight.

Pulling into his driveway, he shut off his car and reached for his go bag on the passenger seat. He could hear Clooney barking excitedly, welcoming him home. He smiled a little; at least he wasn't completely alone tonight.

He sighed at his maudlin thoughts, opened the door, and petted Clooney.

"How's my boy?" he asked, roughing the fur by his dog's neck and ears.

Clooney looked back at him with eyes filled with unconditional love, his mouth set in a decidedly canine smile. His tongue came out to lick Derek's hands.

"No, Clooney," he ordered, holding Clooney's muzzle, which earned him a confused tilt to the golden retriever's head.

Derek pulled a face; how could he explain to a dog that he felt too filthy for him to lick?

Ignoring his thoughts, Derek opened the door. "There you go; go get 'em."

With so much enthusiasm he nearly knocked Derek over, Clooney darted out the door.

Derek started stripping as he reached his master bedroom. He took off his long sleeved t-shirt and tossed it in the corner and doffed his shoes, pants, socks, and boxers in rapid succession. He stepped into his adjoining bathroom, turned on the water full blast, and didn't even wait for it to heat up before he climbed in.

Standing under the spray, he let the water pour over him. He braced his hands against the wall and let it sluice down over his head and neck, pouring in never-ending rivulets on his back. He let the water wash away years of pain he still dealt with day by day...over twenty years later. He let it clean him, body and soul, the water cleansing his spirit and helping him find absolution.

A long time later, he stepped out of the shower and began to dry off. He thought about the conversation he'd had with JJ before he'd walked out with her. He'd stopped her before she could have pity for him, for his younger self who had been all alone. He was strong; he didn't need pity. He appreciated JJ's friendship, but he was okay. He'd get over this—over the memories of inflicted pain—like he usually did...by himself.

As he scrubbed the towel over his bald head, he thought he heard the low whirring of something electronic. He frowned, not certain what he could've left running. Drying his chest, he heard the distinctive ding of his microwave.

He sighed and shook his head, the slight chuckle he had causing his chest to shake. There was no doubt in his mind who was in his kitchen, running his microwave…

For a second, he thought about tying his towel around his waist and wandering to greet her, like he had done a couple of months back. It might be worth it to see the blush on her pretty cheeks and to make her slightly uncomfortable for using her emergency key for non-emergency purposes. However, he decided to be a nice guy and pulled on a pair of his pajama pants instead.

Padding into his hallway down, he saw her standing there, holding two bottles of beer and a bottle opener. She looked tired. Her makeup was smudged around her eyes, giving her a raccoon appearance behind her glasses, and her colorful flower she had pinned in her hair was drooping. It had been a very long day for her, too. A long couple of weeks, really. He knew she had a lot on her plate personally, a lot at stake in her romantic life to be exact, so he was somewhat surprised she was there...

But only somewhat.

"I come in peace, mere mortal," she said, smiling at him.

He chuckled again, low and soft. "Baby, what are you doing here at close to midnight?"

"Well, I had a feeling that you didn't eat...and well, I didn't eat," she explained, and then added, "at least not that much. So...I figured we could have a snack."

He shook his head. "Crazy girl."

She walked over to the couch, and he saw that she had a bowl of popcorn waiting to go on his coffee table. He could smell the butter flavoring wafting in the air, tempting him. He noticed Clooney was in already, too, sleeping under the table, his chin on his paws.

As she popped the tops on the beer, he took a seat, extending his arm.

She handed him a beer and his remote and then sat next to him. She curled into her spot under his arm, resting her head on his shoulder, and sighed contentedly, like he was her favorite pillow. It made him feel good, connected, alive...clean again. More than a thousand showers and hundreds of bars of soap could ever do.

Soul deep clean.

He placed the remote by his side. Tucking her closer, he kissed the top of her head, taking a long, deep breath of the scent of her hair. He didn't know what it was about her that did it for him, that healed him and gave him solace, but whatever it was, it worked.

Their friendship...it was uniquely theirs...

And he was grateful for it.

He picked up the remote and clicked on the television.