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Chapter 4
"Stupid-ass umbrella," Derek grumbled under his breath as he stood at the bar, waiting for his beer. What was the big deal about a cheap paper umbrella? He'd gotten her drinks with special souvenir glasses, drinks with a smorgasbord of fruit attached to it, even drinks with a lit sparkler shining from it like it was the Fourth of fucking July, and she'd never made that big of a stink over it.
He glanced over his shoulder at the table where his friends were still sitting and saw Hotch lean closer and tell Penelope something. She tossed her head back as she laughed out loud, her colorful earrings shaking with her mirth. A second later, she slapped at Hotch playfully.
Hotch, for Pete's sake!
He was on his third drink at the bar already, and he still couldn't wander over to the table. He just couldn't get over that it was his boss sitting in his damned spot, flirting with his Baby Girl. When the hell had that happened? There hadn't been any changes as far as he knew. Hotch seemed his usual awesome, organized, stoic self, and his baby was...well, his baby. She wasn't any different. In fact, it had been him sitting there, enjoying her smiles and her flirts no so long ago.
He needed to suck it up. He didn't have any claims on Garcia. Not really. It wasn't that he didn't want to have claims on her. It killed him to see her with other men. He'd been tortured for years, watching her parade around with that unworthy, bacon doughnut-eating geek.
He sighed. He was the last person on earth that should call anyone else unworthy. He had his own ghosts he was fighting with. Lately, he felt like he was winning...and then he'd wake up with nightmares and cold sweats, thinking about Buford. Thoughts, anger, hurt, even guilt over his death, nearly choked him and made it hard to breathe.
No. He wasn't ready to be anyone's lover, much less someone who deserved a whole man, like Penelope.
A whole man.
He watched Hotch chuckle at something Penelope said, and he turned back to the bar and slammed his third drink.
"Hey, handsome, would you like another drink?" the pretty bartender asked, more than a little interest in her expression, but Derek wasn't biting. He was far too interested in another woman tonight. One that was giving those sherry brown, perfect puppy dog eyes he couldn't resist to his boss. In a few seconds, he'd bet Hotch would be up, getting another drink with another fucking umbrella perched on it for Penelope.
"Yeah," he said. "One more shot."
He eyed a bowl of peanuts sitting on the bar, thought about popping one in his mouth, and then some statistic Reid had spouted out about people not washing their hands before reaching into those snack bowls changed his mind. He'd said urine was the most common-
Derek's pocket began to buzz, and he dragged his phone out. Hell. It was Claudette, asking if she should still come. He never should've invited her tonight. He wasn't interested in her, but he didn't want to go stag. It was a matter of pride to him, but to hell with pride. No one should be subjected to his miserable butt tonight. He began to fire back a text, when a hand clasped his shoulder.
"Hey, kid. Are you ever going to come and join our table...or are you going to sulk here all night?"
Great. Rossi.
"I'm not sulking," he said, putting his phone away. "I'm here, scoping things out...smiling at the pretty bartender."
Dave scoffed. "The hell you are. You're sulking."
Derek arched a brow sarcastically. "Why would I be doing that?"
"Because it appears you may not be the only drone in the queen bee's hive anymore," Rossi replied.
Derek turned back to his drink. "Kiss my ass, Rossi."
"That's not how I roll, but thanks for the offer," Rossi quipped so nonchalantly, it made Derek laugh. "A word of advice?"
Derek took a swig of his drink. "Sure."
"She's still your queen, no matter what happens." Those dark, omnipresent Rossi eyes stared him down. "She'll always need you, and she loves you, too. You don't want to mess that up by being a jackass."
Derek sighed internally, knowing Rossi was right. He hated how many times that man had been right in the years he'd known him and how well he could read people. It was a gift. "I won't."
Rossi smiled. "Good. Now get over there and behave."
He smirked back. "You mean bee-hive, right?" he teased with a wink.
Rossi chuckled and clapped Derek on the shoulder. "Yeah, kid, I do."
They turned, getting ready to walk away from the bar, when they walked right into Hotch.
"I'm getting us a couple of drinks," Hotch asked and then arched a brow. "Do you two want anything?"
"Nothing with a fucking umbrella," Derek grumbled.
Hotch's lips quirked. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Two beers," Rossi supplied.
Hotch nodded his agreement as Derek and Dave wandered back to the table. Out of pure habit, Derek wandered to his usual spot near Penelope.
"Wow, super lightening speedy Aaron to the resc—" she began, and then turned in her spot. "Oh, Derek!"
"Sorry to disappoint, sweetheart."
"Oh, Hot Stuff, you never disappoint," she said quickly. "I just wasn't expecting you."
The devil in him wanted to ask when she'd started expecting Hotch, of all damned people, but he didn't. He just returned her smile and asked, "Is it okay if I sit by you for a while?"
"Of course!" she said, her eyes shining brightly and happily, and then she reached for his hand resting on the table. "I missed you."
He brought her hand to his mouth, kissed it, and then squeezed it in return. "I missed you, too, Baby Girl."
"Where've you been all night?" she asked. "Last thing I know, you were getting a beer." Her lips twisted in a thoughtful look. "Wait a second."
She turned in her seat, glanced at the pretty redheaded bartender, and then sat back down. "Oh. Now I know."
Derek knew what she'd presumed, and a part of him wanted to tell her she was wrong, that he'd been thinking of her, not flirting with that girl.
And then as he watched Hotch return, carrying three beer bottles and one drink with an umbrella, another part of him wanted to keep what was barely left of his pride.
"Hey, Aaron," Rossi called out. "You want to play a round of darts?"
Hotch handed Penelope her drink as Derek reluctantly rose from the spot nearest his Baby Girl. "I don't know."
"Oh, go on," Penelope teased. "Go show them what my Hotch Rocket can do."
At those words, beer nearly came spurting out of Derek's nose. Hotch Rocket? Her Hotch Rocket?! He choked and reached for a napkin, bitter beer and bile rising in his gullet.
"Oh, man," JJ said, rolling her eyes and laughing. "And I thought the Morgan nicknames were bad!"
Rossi and Reid snickered, and Blake said, "That really was terrible."
Hotch laughed and then stood. "I guess that means I'm in."
"I'm in, too," Derek snapped. He'd had enough of feeling bested tonight, and damn it, if he had to get back some of his own playing darts, he would!
"Reid, you in?"
"No. Have fun with your show of sportsmanship," Reid said, stretching his arms along the back of the booth behind JJ and Blake. "I'll keep the ladies company."
Rossi shook his head and winked. "I knew there was a reason we called you genius!"
Reid beamed back at him, just before the rest of group started toward the dartboards.
"Have fun, Hot Stuff," Penelope called out. "And Hot Stuff number two!"
Derek nearly tripped over his own feet in astonished disbelief. She couldn't have said what she'd just said. No fucking way.
And then Hotch turned and waved back.
Smoke rose over Derek's head as three words came to his mind...
This. Means. War.
