They'd been dating for six months before he sees her drunk.
He knew she drank, of course, a little more often than he'd like, but it was never a problem.
As Derek entered the area that housed the hotel casino's bar, he flagged down the bartender. "Where is she?" he asked, flashing his badge.
The bartender lead him over to the corner where she was guzzling a pot of coffee and swaying drunkenly in her seat, smile floating an inch off her face. "That's her second cup," he offered.
Thanking him, Derek approached Emily, taking the seat across from her. When she didn't seem to notice him, he snapped his fingers. "Emily!" he said, then again, louder, "Emily!"
"Hey!" she trilled, "Derek! Whatchadoinhere?" she asked, slurring her words together.
He raised a brow. "I'm here to stop you from making a drunken fool of yourself," he said under his breath, "And stop you from ruining the Bureau's reputation..."
"Psh," she said, waving away his concern. "Less have a drunk!" She attempted to flag down the bartender, but he grabbed her hand to stop the gesture.
"No, I think you've had more than enough," he insisted, frown furrowing his brow. "Come on – I'm taking you back to your room."
She pouted dramatically. "I don't wanna go back!" she whined. "I want to have fun!"
He stood, took her by the elbow, guiding her to stand. "No more fun, Emily, you're fucking wasted. You need to sleep it off before anyone else sees you like this."
She wrested her elbow from his grasp, then turned to face him, fingers tracing nonsensical patterns on his chest. "I meant you and I fun..." she husked, looking up at him through her lashes.
He sighed. It was obvious he wasn't about to win this battle, so he took her hand and lead her to the elevator.
As soon as he keyed the door open, Emily burst into his room and headed right for the minibar and grabbed a handful of the little bottles. She tossed them on the bed, uncapping one and pouring it down her throat before he could stop her.
She reached for a second, but he managed to wrest it from her hands before she could open it. "Hey!" she whined. "That was for you!"
"Emily, what is going on? This isn't like you..."
"No, it's not like you," she retorted, then immediately pulled off her shirt, throwing it aside carelessly.
It took him a few moments to notice that she was stripping. "Em, what... What are you doing?"
She struggled with the button on her jeans for a few moments, then met his eyes, smirking mischievously. "I want to have sex," she declared.
"I'm not having sex with you," he said plainly.
"Why not?" she whined. "I'm horny..."
"Because you're drunk!"
She flung herself down on the bed. "Why are you being such a tool?"
He raised a brow, his expression decidedly unamused. "Emily, you're drunk off your ass – I'm not being a tool, I'm saving you from yourself."
Her gaze turned hostile then as she propped herself up on her elbows from where she'd splayed out across the bed in a drunken attempt at seduction. "Well, maybe I didn't want to be saved!" she snapped, "Maybe I just wanted to enjoy myself for once, I didn't realize that was such a crime!"
He opened his mouth as if to retort, but instead, shook his head and swallowed the barbs. "I'm not going to fight with you," he said instead. "Just...go to sleep, Emily. I'll take Reid's bed – you're lucky he's staying with his mom tonight."
With that, he shut himself in the bathroom to brush his teeth before she could say anything to further invoke his ire.
Emily sat up in bed, groaned audibly as her vision swam and her stomach turned. She dropped back down before she could throw up what was surely nothing more than stomach acid and stale beer. She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to stop the room for spinning, then cautiously chanced opening one again to find herself in a room that, while similar, was clearly not her own.
"Jayje?" she asked the room at large. "Are you there?"
From just outside of her field of vision, someone – who was decidedly not JJ – cleared their throat.
"Derek?" she guessed – hoping with every fibre of her being that it was him and not Rossi or, God forbid, Hotch...
"So, you're finally awake," he said, his voice already dripping with admonition.
She wasn't sure why exactly he sounded so irritated, but had no doubt that he was going to tell her. "Can you save the lecture?" she asked weakly, attempting once again to sit up. "I feel like absolute shit..."
He laughed once, the sound devoid of any amusement. "I should think so after you drank everything in sight last night..."
She succeeded in sitting up without vomiting and saw Derek standing at the foot of the bed, holding a cup of coffee and a to-go bag from the cafe in the hotel's lobby. His gaze, if she wasn't mistaken was almost sad...
"I'm not going to yell at you," he said, apparently mistaking her silence for something else. "Though I probably should. But we do need to talk about what happened."
She opened her mouth to say something, but he didn't give her the chance.
"Later," he said, as if reading her mind. He passed her the coffee and the breakfast. "I grabbed your go bag from your room – you should clean up," he added. "I'll meet you down in the lobby."
He had his hand on the doorknob before she managed to choke out, "Thank you, Derek..."
He paused, but didn't turn to look at her. "Always, Princess," he replied, voice so soft she barely heard it. It had become something of a mantra between them over the course of the last six months. She was suddenly no long sure she deserved such devotion...