Work Text:
Derek Morgan had just left the office for what he hoped was the last time this week. He found himself at a crowded bar not far from his house sitting in front of a whiskey sour, trying to catch the vibe of the night.
He wasn’t the type to go to the bar to wallow in his sorrows and drink alone. While he didn’t always leave with a pretty someone on his arm, he certainly wasn’t going to hold back on socializing. Especially since he never really went up to anyone, women and men came up to him. They’d ask him to dance, or boldly ask for his number. He almost always accepted offers to dance, but every now and again he’d have to let someone down gently.
So, when he felt you slide into the spot next to him and tug on his jacket sleeve, he was ready to charm his way into or out of anything. He turned towards your presence but wasn’t prepared for the annoyance bordering on fear-stricken expression clouding your features.
“Can I help you with something?” He asked you, noting your body language and instantly shifting into protector mode.
You uncharacteristically hushed him, too nervous to be polite, “He’s coming, can you just pretend to be my boyfriend so he’ll leave me alone?”
Before Derek could respond, he clocked a man stumbling up to the two of you.
White male, 25 to 35 years old, slim athletic build, short-cropped brown hair, and blue eyes, Derek’s subconscious voiced in his mind. He only did that when someone was giving off unsub energy. The man was clearly angry and quite drunk. His cherry-red face was sporting a scowl and his fists were clenched at his sides.
He immediately stood up and acted as a barrier between you and the drunk.
“Move out my way,” the man tried to push Derek aside but didn’t count on him being built like a racehorse. He didn’t even budge, barring his forearm against the guy’s chest as a warning to stop while he’s ahead.
“I don’t think so, buddy. I’m pretty sure they don’t want anything to do with you.”
“Y-yeah? And who the fuck are you to know what this bitch wants?” the drunk spat out.
“I’m their boyfriend, that’s who the fuck I am. Now get outta here before you do something you really regret,” Derek iterated in a low voice. Anyone in their right mind would’ve sensed the growing irritation rolling off of his body and backed off. This guy wasn’t anywhere near his right mind though, if he even possessed one.
The guy backed off for a moment, and then suddenly shoved Derek into the bar behind him, effectively catching him off guard. Derek glanced back for a moment at his glass of whiskey that was now rolling back and forth with its contents spilled out over the bar.
It proved to be not much more than a brief lapse of focus, though, as Derek caught himself using the ledge of the counter and charged at the drunk man who clearly had no idea who he was dealing with. Derek swung his fist into the man’s face, and that was it. He was slumped on the sticky floor like clothes discarded after a long night such as this one.
“You okay?” Derek glanced back at you, and you’d never been so glad that you decided to ask him for help.
He was the only person that looked trustworthy and friendly in the place, and you’d seen him dancing with men and women all night. Something about him gave off an aura of protectiveness that made you feel like he’d be safe to approach for help.
You were standing stock still, your body being supported by the bar and eyes glued to the drunken man on the floor.
“Y-yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry… I-I didn’t think he would try to assault you because you’re bigger than him, I didn’t mean to get anyone hurt―”
“Hey, hey,” Derek spoke gently, taking your hand in his, “I deal with far worse than him every day. It was nothing. I’m glad you asked me for help.”
Finally, Derek stopped to really look at you, and you initially started to fret, you weren’t necessarily feeling or looking your best right now. You knew you were attractive, sure, but you hadn’t meant to end up in a bar tonight. You were still dressed from work a few hours earlier and your work attire was by no means a preview for what you’re really like off the clock. If anything, you looked like you’d been having a pretty rough day and this situation was just the cherry on top.
You stared as his gaze darted across your face, being unable to decipher the look he was giving you but not feeling threatened by him. It felt like he was looking into your soul, not just at your person; like the best version of you was the only version he saw when he looked at you. It melted away your anxieties and sparked your curiosity even more. He noted the way your features relaxed, taking particular interest in the way your eyes sparkled and dimples deepened as your smile widened.
“What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?” He was still holding on to your hand, not that you minded. You turn to lean an elbow against the bar and he mirrors your movements.
“Y/N. What’s yours, Clark Kent?”
He laughed, revealing his sparkling white teeth.
“Derek, and I’m no one’s superhero, gorgeous.”
“Well, Derek, you definitely just became mine tonight.”
Before Derek could respond, a bouncer came up to them. He’d momentarily forgotten he just laid a man out on the floor, and he was still out cold.
“Look, we can’t have all this shit popping off. You two need to leave.”
You went to explain what happened and that neither of you was really at fault until you noticed Derek was pulling out some sort of credentials that caused the bouncer’s eyes to widen.
“Actually, this man was harassing them and is clearly far past his limit. So I’m sure that if you don’t want any more trouble you’d get him out of here and have a chit-chat with your bartenders about over-serving.”
The bouncer didn’t even respond, simply nodding as he turned to call on one of his associates to help him haul the drunken man out of the bar. As they pulled him away, he muttered an apology to you both and disappeared towards the exit.
“What on earth did you show him? He just freaked like you were an FBI agent or something,” you laughed out, expecting him to join in with you. Until he flashed you the same credentials.
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan
Behavioral Analysis Unit
Your jaw fully dropped. Derek simply chuckled as he slid the badge back in his pocket.
“That was quite the guess, sweetheart.”
“You know, I was kind of nervous about coming to ask you for help… I wasn’t sure if you’d react better or worse than the guy I was trying to get away from. But damn, that was probably the best decision I’ve made all day.”
“Rough day?” He asked, sliding into the stool behind him and turning to order another drink from the bar, “and whatever they’d like to drink, just add it to my tab.”
You could feel your cheeks get hot as he gestured to the seat next to him. You ordered another fruity cocktail as you slid into the open spot. It was enough that he got into a physical altercation on your behalf (even though he came out without a scratch and ended it before it really even started) but this ridiculously handsome man was actually interested in talking to you.
“I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be buying you a drink. You were minding your business and I got you into a fight and nearly got you kicked out of the bar. You saved my ass… twice.”
“I told you (Y/N), I do this for a living. I spend my time taking down serial killers, a drunk in a bar doesn’t scare me in the slightest.” A smirk grew on his face as the bartender slid you your drink, “besides, the drink has nothing to do with that, I’m just flirting now.”