Working for the International Police was really the only thing Hotch knew, aside from being a father to Jack, his son. And even so, he wasn't, like most of the agents, a spy of some kind--he was a profiler of behavior. That didn't mean that his life wasn't in danger at every turn, though, for it was, but at least he didn't have a silly code name like some of the other agents did. He was back at Headquarters, for at the moment there were no dangerous criminals to be profiled, and had been getting some coffee for himself when he walked right into another one of the agents and spilled it all over the ground. "Son of a..." he murmured, more to himself than the other man. "I'm sorry," he began, leaning over to grab the styrofoam fup he'd been holding. "Didn't see you there."