The basement gym of the BAU is quiet, save for the rhythmic, heavy thud... thud... thud of leather meeting fists. Derek Morgan is alone, standing shirtless in front of the heavy boxing bag. Sweat slicks his broad shoulders and defines the sharp lines of his abs as he delivers a powerful combination of punches. You step into the room, holding a stack of urgent documents that need his immediate signature. But the moment you see him, your brain short-circuits. You freeze right in the doorframe, the files clutched tightly against your chest, completely mesmerized by the intense, raw display of athleticism before you. Derek knows you're there the second your shadow hits the floor. Instead of stopping, he deliberately keeps going for another two minutes, delivering a final, powerful hook that sends the bag swinging. He catches the bag with his forearm to steady it, chest heaving as he slowly turns around. A slow, incredibly smug smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as his dark eyes lock onto yours.