Please read author's note!

A/N I do not own Criminal Minds. Hello again, this is a belated birthday request for the lovely AbbyGibbs (thank you for your help)! I had this idea in mind for a few months, and wasn't going to post it, but I decided to go for it with this opportunity. It's a little darker for a holiday AU story, but there is light at the end of the tunnel, just stick with me. This will be a two shot and the second part will be out very shortly.

Warnings: Deals with Serious Issues and Strong Sexual Situations

Please, enjoy!

Peppermint and Vodka

Prologue:

Playing with the stem of the wine glass; admiring the maroon print of her lips as she blatantly avoided her husband's stern gaze from across the table. Her actions all night screamed passive aggressive; a foreign tactic, but not entirely rare for the normally bubbly blonde.

Though the concept of normal; something now tainted and long forgotten – having years to tarnish under the strain of long work hours dealing with gut-wrenching cases, and the cruel ticking of time; a taunting reminder that chemistry and flirty banter wasn't always the key to salvaging heart ache and loss – that occasionally time forgets to stitch up the seeping pain of an open wound.

The teasing wrinkles upon her face; creased with irritation, pulling her lips into a frown, as she reached for the new bottle of wine – ignoring the quick flash of worry that shifted to the ever-present disdain on Derek's face. Filling the glass to the rim, mesmerized with the dark liquid of Zinfandel; wishing the robust fruity flavors had the spicy acerbic kick of something a lot stronger – selfishly wanting the remaining guests to leave, so she could break into their personal liquor cabinet.

The jarring twist of guilt; subtle but poignant – taunting her with the residual of last nights' fight, with the man who was starting to look his age; stress and shattered hope, leaving a lasting impression on his beautiful toffee skin. Regretting the hurtful words spoken out of anger; over Derek's valiant effort to keep alcohol out of the house, but she wanted it, needed it – craving the dull ache of its depressant quality and the control it allowed her to believe she had – having fought tooth and nail, making him sleep on the couch for those two restless nights, until he had finally caved in and restocked the cabinet.

It was wrong and she knew it, everyone at their holiday party knew in – having spent most of the night avoiding their concerned gazes and laughing off their tepid remarks with a flippant response. Yes, it was a slippery slope, one she was drowning in – but she no longer cared, as the isolating loneliness crept into her soul and left her bitterly exposed.

"Garcia," Aaron's tone kept its professional lilt, even as he stood there; having ditched the suit and tie, donning fitted jeans and a crisp white button up shirt instead.

"Y-Yes Sir," she slurred; plastering a wide grin across her face – enjoying the lax weight of her body, a temporary bliss that made the twinkling lights of the tree and sugary aroma of peppermint a little easier to handle.

"It's getting late," narrowed gaze drifting to Morgan, before softening and assessing her slumped position, near the end of the table. "I'm going to take Prentiss home."

Penelope snorted; an inelegant sound – an unfiltered reaction; one that normally would have made her blush with embarrassment, but tonight – glazed hazel eyes watching her boss and friend, huddle close together – as if she didn't know what they were up to; she didn't really care to spare anyone's feelings.

Emily was finally back on the team, and after a year of readjustment and reluctant forgiveness – the two Agents had given love a shot. Penelope was happy, well if it was under better circumstances, she would have been planning their wedding by now; bordering annoying exuberance with joy for her two dear friends, but as she caught her own husband's tense shoulders and ticking jaw – understanding the burden of commitment, she couldn't seem to muster up a 'congratulations' for the secretive pair.

"Hmm," taking a large sip, sloshing the dark liquid on her chin; staining the front of her Santa cardigan – the festive cashmere doing little to brighten her mood. "Oh frack!" she mumbled, dabbing the soft fabric with a used napkin.

Emily walked over, embracing her into a tight bear hug; face full of unmasked sympathy "The party was…lovely Penelope, thanks for inviting us."

Giving up on fixing her sweater; tears stinging her eyes – seeking comfort in the warmth of Emily's firm grasp.

"Talk to him," a whispered demand; freezing Penelope to the spot.

Before she could even respond a shrill ring shattered her raging emotions, barely registering the goodbye hug from Hotch, as he and Emily quickly left – forgetting their leftovers, leaving the sullen pair to their own devices.

"Hi Ma," Derek stood up, pacing by the couch – rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to assuage his mother's worry.

Penelope rolled her eyes; biting back the guilt of not being in Chicago for Christmas. Feeling the suffocating memory seize her chest, nearly fumbling the glass, barely catching it before it fell to the floor – clattering the dishes as she tried to put it back down.

Derek glared; annoyance plastered across his face – throwing heated daggers of accusation.

Nausea swept through Penelope; pulsing regret – reminding her that a year had passed since, since…

Noticing Derek had stepped into his office – hearing snippets of his conversation; her name coming up more than she would have liked. Feeling her high slowly start to wane, needing to remedy the losing battle of her emotions; she headed towards the coveted cabinet – grinning at the beverage she had wanted all evening.

Taking the half empty bottle outside to the patio; relishing in the cool night air as it shivered over her heated skin – taking a swig; immune to the acidic burn that churned her gut, piercing fire through her veins.

"Vodka?" that gruff voice; calm but concerned, drifted over her.

Plopping down on a lawn chair, waving the bottle above her head, like a prize possession – feeling a bit stupid for having forgotten that Rossi was still here.

"That's r-right my S-Super Agent," her giggle being swallowed by a hiccup.

Rossi lifted his leg; snuffing out his cigar on the bottom of his shoe – pulling up a chair next to her. Dark whiskey eyes; intense but soothing – searching; seeking the Penelope buried beneath a year of miserable sorrow which no sparkling barrette or flashy heels could hide.

"The porcini and nepitella were delicious," a neutral topic; safe and inviting.

"Thanks," she smiled; a glimpse of genuine pride lighting those dour eyes.

"Penelope," using her first name; needing to grab her attention, as he watched her swig more Vodka – starring at the sky; glazed eyes trying to find constellations she had no understanding of.

Taking a breath; being a man who hated wasting time beating around the bush – wanting to help guide her on a path of healing, before what little was left of the two prominent members of the BAU were destroyed for good.

"When are you going to stop blaming him?" a statement; cruelly lingering in the silence, forcing Garcia's head to snap in his direction – eyes blazing with fury.

"What?" sitting up, blinking back the tears. "I-I…don't blame…him," unable to meet his gaze; the heavy weight of guilt nearly crushing.

"Does he know that?" reaching forward, taking the bottle away – encasing her delicate hand with his strong one; squeezing it with comfort. "It was no one's fault, Kitten."

"S-Stop it," she blanched; pulling against him – refusing to cry; a challenge for her innate sensitive soul.

"You shouldn't blame yourself either…"

"Shouldn't I…I'm the one responsible…he was too tiny…I didn't…" standing up; unable to face the tragic moment, so vitally important to reeling her life off the tracks.

"I'm fine," crossing her arms, tapping her black stiletto against the old wooden porch. "It's getting late."

Rossi stood, nodding his head; realizing his mistake – though as passion burned in her normally dull eyes; back rigid with anger – he smirked to himself, knowing his job was done.

"Okay, Dolcezza," kissing her forehead, a last attempt to ease her worries – catching Derek's narrowed gaze inside the house, as he stood in front of the fireplace talking to his mother. "I'll see myself out," making sure to bring the bottle with him; leaving the sliding door open as he nodded his goodbye to Derek and escaped from the argument that was destined to happen.

Penelope gripped the railing; basking in the calm before the storm – lifting her chin, daring to match her husband's searing gaze with a furious one of her own.

"I know…I am…everything…yeah, no everything is…fine," his voice, a deep timbre that still lured her body; even as her heart and mind battled against each other. "Okay, I love you too...goodbye," hanging up; tossing the cellphone on the littered coffee table – eyes never leaving her as they continued their standoff.

He was now barefoot, wearing those black jeans and soft knitted sweater; a forest green that brought out the golden flecks of his eyes, a gift she had bought him for their first Christmas together, which he had traditionally worn for the last three years – wearing it like a badge of honor, in the brutal war they were inflicting upon each other.

Taking a deep, calming breath; settling her nerves before heading back inside – avoiding the tension that seemed to bleed through the air like a poisonous serpent; coiling around every thought and action – waiting to strike.

"Mom says hi," picking up his forgotten beer; distracting himself by fiddling with the neck of the bottle as he tore at the sticker.

"Hmm, I'll call her back later," collecting the dishes from the table with no rhyme or reason, just needing to keep busy, allowing herself some more…time.

Running the hot water, harshly scraping food into the trash, clattering the dishes back into the sink – each jarring sound; a disjointed cadence tethering her to reality.

"Penelope," that clipped tone – serious and unyielding.

"Not now, Derek," grabbing the large porcelain bowl; a gift from JJ and Will on their wedding – something she rarely got to use.

"When?" hearing his footsteps get closer; feeling the ire rise beneath his breath. "Next year!"

"Don't you start with me," whirling around; tears glistening – blurring her vision; fueling her own agitation.

An unstable stillness surrounded them; callous and brittle – a delicate balance, stumbling to its breaking point.

"You haven't even said his name," he spat; nostrils flaring as he edged just a little closer – trapping her inside the kitchen.

"S-Stop it," a choked sob; a betrayal of her disguised strength.

"Say his name, god damn it!" his jaw ticked; one who rarely raised his voice – never at a woman, never at his wife; hating the brief terror and anguish that flashed upon her face.

"I-I…can't,"

"Please, Pen…for me, can you just…"

She shook her head, slowly stepping backwards.

"Why can't you fucking say his name!" brows furrowed, lips snarled in disgust – barely a few feet away. "Didn't he mean anything to you? Did our son mean anything to you!"

"Fuck you, Morgan!" body shaking with fury, slamming into the counter behind her – dropping the delicate dish on the floor, shattering into jagged splinters at her feet.

Silence. Beating hearts and panting breaths. Until…

"I'm not going to let you forget him, Pen," anguish creased every fine line of his face – making him appear vulnerably terrifying.

Her breath hitched at the horrible accusation – one that twisted her gut and riveted her to the spot. And she couldn't deny it.

"Aiden," she whispered, staring at the tiled floor – feeling her heart burst at the seams; flooding her body, mind and soul with every knotted emotion she had tried to keep locked away – hidden beneath the suffocating guilt of losing a child too soon.

"Aiden…Aiden…Aiden!" she screamed; pushing at his chest with such force he stumbled into the center island. "Are you fucking happy, you prick!" he caught himself, quickly brushing himself off and heading towards her – only for her to hold up her hand, finger pointing in petulant indignation. "Don't you ever, ever accuse me of not loving my son!"

"That's not what I-…"

"Yes," jabbing her finger into the hard, rippled muscle of his chest. "It is."

Surging forward, wrapping his arms around her waist; yanking Penelope away from the mess and slamming her into the fridge behind him – ignoring her sharp nails as they dug through the soft fabric of his sweater in protest. "Talk to me, Penelope…you need to talk about it."

"Get...off!" she gritted out; a claustrophobic entity – forcing her to remember.

"No!" squeezing her; clutching the supple body he had missed for almost a year – scared she would disappear the moment he let her go. "I can't lose you, Baby Girl."

That nickname – their nicknames; unused, gathering cobwebs all these months - neither of them finding the joy in being playful since burying their son.

And it was that simple, endearing name that opened the doors to the past; destroying her last weakening defense – crumbling her heart; clinging to Derek, as her mind flashed with an onslaught of memories.

To be continued…