Chapter Three: In Which Our Team are Hung-over and Hung Up On

JJ, a light sleeper, was woken by the furious vibration of her Blackberry. Reaching into her pocket to turn off the obnoxious piece of technology, she stopped. Where was she? London. Right. In the hotel. On the floor? Weird.

Sitting up a little, she stared groggily around the plush hotel room. Her arm was imprinted with the pattern of the carpet... how long had she been here? More importantly, and still unanswered, why was she here? Unsteadily, the dishevelled blonde climbed to her feet, gaining a real view of the room.

Huh. So that was why.

Garcia was lying, star-shaped, in the middle of Derek's bed. The man himself had been relegated to the corner of it. Emily was curled in a messy heap in the corner of Reid's bed, and Spence was slumped against a wall. All of them were fast asleep, as the cacophony of snoring proved. Empty bottles littered the room, and the remains of the M&M fight coated the place. As if to correlate with her thoughts, one slipped absently from JJ's hair, bouncing on the thick carpet.

The blackberry buzzed once more. Answering it in one smooth motion, she spoke in hushed tones,

"Agent Jareau."

"It's Hotch, where are you? Strauss is livid, she's tried to call you several times apparently."

Shit. JJ checked the screen, seven missed calls. 10 am? Shit.

"I apologise sir, I'll get straight on it."

"Don't panic, it won't kill her. Do me a favour though?"

"Of course."

"Go gently with the others when you wake them up. I get the feeling that there will be severe headaches all round. You guys had quite the party last night..."

Great. Now she'd missed calls, woken up late, and the boss had sprung them all acting like college kids.

"Again, I apologise-"

"JJ. I'm glad you all let off some steam, you needed it. Just don't ever let Garcia and Emily sing again. Ever."

"Won't happen again sir."

"See you shortly."

*

Morgan had been hit over the head with a crowbar. That was obviously the only explanation for the amount of pain he found himself in currently. He'd sit up, and find himself in hospital. It was the only rational explanation.

He moved an inch, and let out a groan. Okay. No sitting up. That worked. Cracking an eyelid, he gasped at the sudden impact of the bright light. As the world slowly came into focus once more, he made out that there was a person, probably JJ, standing over him.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead."

"Who did it?"

"Did... what?"

"Hit me."/

"...I'm sorry?"

"Don't play with me JJ. Who hit me with the crowbar?"

"Morgan, there is a distinct possibility of you having alcohol poisoning, but no crowbar was involved."

Ergh. This was a hangover? Goddamn... How much had he DRUNK? Memories of last night came rushing back. The game of I Never, the piggy back race (him and Reid versus Emily and JJ), JJ telling every bad joke in the book and...

Nope. He wouldn't relive Emily and Garcia's rundown of various show tunes for all of the aspirin in all of the world.

"Fun night, hey?" he croaked to JJ, before stumbling to the bathroom.

*

Hotch was sitting in the dining room with Rossi, when suddenly the doors crashed open. In direct contrast to their usual sleek, coordinated glide, the team trudged in in a sort of clump formation, yawning and looking generally untidy. He turned to Rossi, and the two shared a quick snigger before standing to greet their (worse for the wear) colleagues.

As the team slumped down around the table, JJ's blackberry began to vibrate viciously once more. Hotch saw that as she answered it, she paled several shades. Probably has something to do with the high pitch yelling emanating from the other end. She began to speak, but obviously in vain as she never managed to get further than 'Ma'am' . Hotch wondered what the cause of all the fuss was, when the media liaison slammed the phone down onto the table.

Four pairs of eyes winced at the loud noise.

"Strauss just hung up on me. We're breaking protocol apparently, but she didn't feel the need to inform me of it, apparently, until NOW. So she rants and raves like a maniac, and then CUTS ME OFF." JJ was pink in the cheeks by now. "I take a fair share of crap from her. I take MORE than my fair share of crap from her. She does not get to CUT ME OFF."

Four faces were scrunched in pain from the yelling.

"Who does she think she is? I do her bidding. I get my work done, I do the best I can. And still, this, this, this WOMAN thinks that she can walk all over me. Well NOT anymore!" With that, she stalked off to get some breakfast, banging her chair back into place.

Four groans at the continued yelling and banging.

Hotch turned to Rossi.

"Off to a good start, hey Dave?"