Cure
As old as he was, and as many things as he'd seen, if you'd asked him right now, he would tell you that this is the single most unexplainable and hilarious sight he'd ever laid eyes on. Dave knew, though, that the fun would come to an end sometime, and so while they waited for the confirmation that the jet was ready to take them to Cincinnati, he quietly slipped out.
He had an errand that couldn't wait.
And forty-five minutes later, as they entered their thirteenth minute of listening to Reid and Morgan argue back and forth in a fight that not even Hotch, with his many glares, could put a stop to, he thought that this might've been the most important errand that he'd ever run, above even that time that he'd forgotten his second wife's birthday until he'd overheard her phone conversation with her mother and run out to grab a bottle of wine and four dozen roses.
Rolling his eyes as the barbs continued to be thrown across from him, he stood from his seat and made his way to the kitchenette at the end of the plane. Reaching into the cupboard where he'd stashed his purchases, he quickly set about chopping and blending, and a moment later he emerged with two plastic cups full of the nastiest smelling liquid ever allowed passage on this fine aircraft.
Returning to his seat, he pushed the cups across to the scowling younger men, the two of them looking every part the middle school rivals they were acting like.
He shot them a look that left no room for interpretation and barked,
"Shut the hell up and drink this, the both of you."
Their grumbles morphed into gags as they forced the concoction down their throats, a disgusted "What the hell is in this" following a moment later.
"Tomato juice, diced onions, some pickles, a banana, white vinegar, and just a touch of garlic. Best hangover cure this side of the Potomac. It's been passed down in my family for generations. Tastes like death. Works like a charm."
There was a chorus of snickers from the unaffected members of the team, and he turned his head to glare at the normally stoic profiler who now wore the faintest traces of a smirk on his lips.
"And this, Aaron, is why the next time you feel the need to interrupt my Friday night with a call to arms, I'll be taking a sick day."