Disclaimer: Still don't own a thing. (Also I'm from England, so some of the words may be spelt different than they are in America, some of the colloquialisms might be wrong too and I'm sorry about that in advance.)
The jet landed, and the team linked arms—Rossi, JJ and Hotch, Reid, Prentiss and Morgan. They stumbled, like they were already drunk, to the bar they frequented on nights like this. They all wondered whether or not there had ever been any nights like this. Seeming to finally break out of reverie, Morgan looked up at where they were and noticed that it wasn't where he was meant to be; until he saw Penelope waiting for them outside and he unlinked his arms from the others, and fell into her waiting embrace. Her beautiful eyes were bright with tears, her hair was flat against her face for once. She lacked her usual bounce, her happiness and her glow.
Prentiss suddenly knew that if Garcia looked as shitty as that, tonight she was hideous. Looking around at the rest of the team, she confirmed that they all looked as shitty as felt.
They got some stares, walking into the bar. They didn't usually, but seven FBI agents walking in near closing and looking that crap? That was odd. The bartender, glancing up, nodded at them and prepared for a long Friday night. You didn't have a close vicinity to Quantico if you couldn't put up with weird shit.
It took Penelope a long time to realise that Derek still hadn't let go of her, ending the embrace so they could manoeuvre around the bar, but still keeping his hands on her. When they sat, he leaned into her again, resting his head on her shoulder, needing bodily comfort to feel some kind of peace. She wasn't going to stop him, or tell him to back off. They were such close friends, had been for so long. And this case had been so tough, and it was children. Abused children. That hit all of them a bit too close to home, in one way or another. They'd had children, or had been abused as children—or in Reid's case, almost been abused.
Of course, Prentiss hadn't (as far as anyone knew) been part of either, but she seemed just as affected as the others.
Talk was elusive. They drank, for the most part in silence, with very few comments being made by any of them. It was enough to be together as a family.
The bar emptied quickly, but they carried on drinking at a slow, sombre pace. The bartender had made it very clear that she may put up with the FBI's crap, but that she wasn't taking anyone else's. She kept a close eye on the group, bringing them what they asked for time and time again. Having a business to run didn't stop her from wanting to tell them that they wouldn't find the comfort they wanted down the end of the bottles. Just as Chrissy was about to strike up the nerve to tell them all that they needed to leave, the group disbanded, paying the tab and tipping very generously. Rossi had realised through the fog of hurt and liquor that it was long past closing.
They filed out, Morgan now putting his arms around Penelope again. JJ and Prentiss piled into a cab together, going back to JJ's. It was closer, and Emily had a change of clothes there. Sadly, this was becoming somewhat of a routine. Rossi pulled Reid into the next cab.
"No, really it's fine, I can wait for another cab—" Rossi scowled, pulling harder.
"None of us should be alone right now." Spencer scowled, tugging his hand away. He didn't want to be babied. Realising why Reid was protesting, he changed tactics. "You'd be doing me a favour," he told the kid—even though Reid was surely over thirty by now, he would always be the kid—gruffly. Reid stopped struggling, and got in with him. Penelope and Derek smiled, listening to the two bicker as the cab pulled away.
"Let me walk you home," Derek offered with that same small smile. His mouth hurt; it didn't know what kind of contortion he was making it perform, but it wanted him to stop and never try again. Penelope nodded, taking his hand in hers and starting to walk, slightly unsteadily, in the direction of her apartment.