#unknowingly series

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It was late at night when you knocked at Aaron's office door. Most of the agents on the sixth floor of the building were already out. Aaron could hear your heels clicking against the floor, echoing in the space before you even entered the bullpen.

"Hey."

A frown was settled on his face as he sat in a large chair behind his desk, his red tie slightly askew on his white-collar shirt, his rolled-up sleeves revealing his bare forearm. You couldn't help but notice that his hair, too, was more disheveled than normal. You tilted your head. If you had the chance, you would stare at him like that for eternity.

When Hotch regarded you with a fleeting gaze and a quick 'come in' in response before resuming to his paperwork and forms, you entered his office with a gentle exhale.

There was no need for questions or instructions as you silently retrieved the documents from your side of the table once you had sat across him.

That was the schedule you used to follow regularly.

Every time a case ended, both of you had to come together and complete the paperwork. At times, you’d spend extra time working together into the late night until you both were barely able to keep your eyes open, whilst other times it didn't take as long. Even though some might argue that it was not the perfect scenario - staying up late with your boss - those times when you had to be silent and be in close proximity to him were calming and almost sufficient to fuel your bizarre attraction that began the moment you first laid eyes on him. It was constantly shifting, influenced by mood changes from both of you. You were never afraid to express your strong opinion even if it didn’t parallel his, never afraid to speak for yourself, but you were also the one that spent most time with him, knew him better than the rest of the team, even had the most in common. The team referred to you as Hotch’s soft spot (not to his knowing, of course). In spite of being one of the youngest members of the team, if another member messed something up, they’d hide behind you, ask you to talk some sense into Hotch. To him, you could never do wrong. He was always a little bit blind to your faults. And you, obviously, weren’t oblivious to that. Not that you took advantage of it, or to be quite frank never a serious one. You could notice how one look, one ‘Hotch?’, one ‘please?’ could make him easily change his mind no matter who stood on the other end of the topic. You still remember when Penelope first started working with the team, and the first time she saw you two together - you saw a ‘?!?’ above her head. She asked if you were the wife.

And then, on the other side, there was a wife. Hotch was married, and you knew his little family - Haley and their son, so you never thought about breaking that boundary. As such, you were very adept at playing the game of hot and cold when it came to Hotch. Even if he weren’t someone’s husband, there was still a bit of an age gap between the two of you, and let’s not forget Aaron Hotchner’s professionalism. He was your boss after all, and in all your mind, you just firmly believed Aaron would never allow himself such a thing.

While you filled out the forms, you noticed something quite different tonight. Hotch had complete trust in you, he was aware of where your loyalties laid. You'd been on the same team for a few years in a row now, during which he would occasionally sign certain documents prior to you completing them. However, tonight was different. Tonight, he appeared unenthusiastic about returning home early to maximize the limited time his job allowed him to spend with his family.

“What’s wrong?” You inquired, feigning ignorance of his eyebrows raising towards you.

He shook it off, replied with a stock ‘Nothing’.

Neither of you seemed to stop whatever you were writing down.

“We’ve spent way too much time together. If you think I wouldn’t notice,” you eyed him. “You are wrong, boss.”

Aaron’s eyes finally really met yours for the very first time tonight. He leaned back in his seat comfortably, arms resting on armrests. “Are you a profiler now?”

“I might be one,” you mused, leaning back in your seat, crossing your legs as you put your pen aside. “Perhaps I have picked up a few skills working with the best.”

He surveyed you, a smile playing in the corner of his lips.

Aaron Hotchner - the profiler - never misses anything.

“In any case, I believed we had agreed not to profile each other,” he spoke gently.

You expressed gratitude to God for that. Would he, then, realize the extent of a crush you had for him in those little moments and mood changes? Was he just as unaware of that as any other man even though Aaron Hotchner was not just any man? You, in rare cases of boredom, would wonder what he really thought of you. Did he think it was just your personality - being all flirty and smiley, with everyone?

“I’m not profiling you, Hotch.” You reassured him. “It’s just… Would you not ask me if I were fine if you’d noticed?”

“Yes, I would.”

“And you’d want me to tell the truth?”

He nodded slightly in response.

Your eyebrows snapped together. “Then?”

As soon as the thought of Haley came back into his mind, his expression fell serious, his smile faltered.

He couldn't believe that Haley could possibly be jealous of any of his colleagues. After being together for years, he believed she would have had more insight, would known him better than that. For months now, that had not been the case. They practically turned into strangers who occasionally had to share the same bed. Even though he didn't realize it then, after the final confrontation and some calm reflection, everything became clear. Although the very thought of losing Haley was unknown… painful.

That morning when y/n called him, the moment Haley was waking him up in bed with her kisses, he called out your name. They both got carried away in the heat of the moment, not realizing that the call was indeed coming at his work number.

He recalled the way she gazed at him then - disappointed more than anything else - she shook her head and pushed him aside, getting up from the bed and putting on her robe. After the call had ended, he wanted to explain to Haley but what she said to him petrified him.

“It's always work, and it's always her, and you always go running like a dog whenever she calls you!”

He was upset, offended. However, he was fully aware that Haley was determined to find a way to bring their relationship to an end, regardless of his actions, whether positive or negative.

Aaron remembered then the call to the home telephone which he had picked, but was welcomed with silence before that someone hang up on him. And then Haley's mobile rang. He knew. He knew then, in that shared gaze with Haley. But regardless of all that, Aaron wanted one more chance, at least for their son Jack, who needed a united family more than anything else.

“Haley and I are getting divorced.” He spoke, not realising you had been back to signing the documents whilst he was busy in his thoughts.

“What?”

That took you by a surprise. You would have never guessed it. Yes, you shared glances with the rest of the team while working on the last case, noticing how something bothered Hotch, how slightly distracted he was. You could have notice how quiet he was on your way back home in the jet, not engaging in a conversation with anyone, with you. Yes, you all have guessed he had an argument with Haley having to leave for work again when he’d finally had a day off, but divorce… No one believed the two of them would ever divorce.

“I’m so sorry, Hotch.”

“For a while it has been… different. I guess there’s nothing I could do about that now, nothing to change the situation we have gotten into.” He spoke as if though he hadn’t heard you, his dark eyes distant in a dim lighting. “I tried.”

You didn’t want to pry. You needed not to know what happened - their reason, whatever it might have been, was sufficient. You didn't believe it was Haley's fault, nor his fault. You could understand both of them. It was indeed a rather challenging one. Only a handful of individuals could understand the job you have chosen to do, sometimes it made you wonder if you’d ever find anyone that would.

Unless it was someone doing the same job, the chances were relatively small. Reid could give his statistics on this one, you’d remind yourself to ask.

“I know, Hotch.” You reached out instinctively, your hand over his, slightly squeezing. He did not move or flinch, his eyes shifting to where the contact was. The hand under your palm was warm, simultaneously rough and soft. His wedding ring was reverberating a tiny bit of coldness against your skin. “And I know you. I know you would never just quit. You don’t deserve this. And I’m really so so sorry.”

“I’m not ideal. Haley has every right. I’m more gone than present, more a boss than a husband.” He sighed, pondering. “My own marriage’s been in trouble and needed saving, but I wasn’t able to admit it and help myself, help us. I wonder how I still keep this job.”

“Don’t take it too hard on yourself, ok? It’s never just one side, but it does get better. I promise. At least that much I know of. If there’s anything I can do…”

“You are here. Listening.”

You once again felt noticed as his intense yet somehow gentlest of gaze met yours. You loved that about Aaron, the ways he could make you feel in just seconds - you could be all platonically giggly and flirty with him in one, but in the next moment when he would regard you with that look in his eyes, one word, one smile - the world would stop, you could only hear your heart beating, his presence only existing. And it scared you.

It should have been just a banal crush.

You withdrew your hand from his at the thought, clearing your throat to cover a moment that was… profound, finding sudden interest in the documents again. “I can complete this by the end of night, you can-“

“No.” He cut you off, sighing as the documents on his desk filled his sight again. “It’s fine. I don’t have anywhere to be in particular tonight. I have to finish this by morning…”

His brows raised once his eyes met yours again before he added, whispering. “And I could use some company.”

Or preferably, he could use your company.

“Ah, Strauss… The woman knows how to keep her employees in dislike of her.” You stated, averting your gaze from his eyes, taking another file from atop of others. “You should give her some tips.”

A soft chuckle escaped his throat, breaking the silent grimness that spread in the room.

“Since this is gonna be one hell of a night...” You put your hands on the armrests, ready to stand up. It was an attempt to run, reflect, calm down. “Anything you want me to get you?”

“Actually, I’m about to get some coffee. Would you like some?”

“Well, if we must finish all this work…” You nodded, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, we have to.”

“Ok.” He said in a soft-spoken manner, rising to his feet, and then pointed his finger at you in a manner similar to scolding a child. “But don’t doze off on me again. I’ll be right back.”

You put your hands up in defiance.

When he passed next to you, you followed him with your gaze out of the office. His perfume barely reached up your nostrils and you slumped in your seat, eyes closed, your breath shuddering.

That was close.

And about that… It wouldn’t be your first time. The team was amazed by your ability to fall asleep literally anywhere - desk, bench, floor, cinema, waiting rooms - you name it.

The first time Aaron found about this talent of yours was after the case. You went to check out of the hotel with the rest of the team, and while waiting for others in the lobby seated on a bar stool with your arms crossed, you fell asleep. He was quite taken aback, or rather impressed as well as everyone else, to see you dozing off while seated. On your way home, the team occasionally made jokes about it, but what stood out to you the most was that Hotch was also very engaged in them.

“Thank you.” He said once he returned to his office and put your cup of coffee before you.

You locked eyes with him, offering a small smile. “You are always very welcome.”

Taking a break from work, you took a sip. Just how you liked it. How attentive. Not that it was surprising. “And I suppose I should thank you.”

He lifted the cup in his hand to his lips but halted before taking a sip, his tongue gliding over his lips. You stared, hypnotized. “I’m sorry? Thank me for what exactly?”

“Yeah, you know…” Nervous, you offered him a report you’d just finished hoping he didn’t catch that. He reached forward to take it. “For indirectly acknowledging that seeing my name on your phone on a day off is not the most pleasant thing. I suppose I am bad news.”

“It’s a rather heavy subject, you know.” He replied in a professional tone, his eyes glued on the paper.

“Well, we’ve got all night.” You joked, throwing your hands in the air.

His eyes softened upon meeting yours once again. “I didn’t say that, and no, you aren’t.”

You lifted your brow at him. And then, there was that crooked grin on your face, teasing him to admit.

~

Not long after Derek stormed out of your office, repeating ‘No, no, no!’ more to himself than you — either because he just lost money or because of the thing you’d told him — Hotch appeared at your door. You didn’t notice him, slumped back in your chair, one leg across the other, your hands playing with a pen.

If it weren’t for the two knocks against the door frame you wouldn’t have even noticed him.

You straightened your back, sitting more appropriately.

“Are you ready?” He inquired, his eyebrows inched upward as he looked upon you.

“Yeah. I’ll be there in a minute.” Even through the smile that quirked on your lips at the sight of him, your eyes held the smallest hints of concern.

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"Is everything ok?" His voice, simultaneously stern and gentle, pierced through the hush that crept inside his office’s walls.

"Huh?" You hesitated, completely engrossed in the paperwork you were completing. It wouldn't be incorrect to say that you had no idea how you had managed to do it properly when your thoughts were occupied by something else. You were pleased when Hotch finally did speak and directed your attention towards him. Towards something that potentially could brighten your mood. “Yes?”

“Yes,” he replied, maintaining eye contact with you. “You've been unusually quiet."

You arched an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to be an insult?" Leaning back, you took a moment to escape all the work and overwhelming thoughts. "Are you suggesting I talk too much?"

Hotch recognised that small smile of yours, small but enough to encourage anyone — to rouse him.

Hotch knew you.

He responded in his very recognisable calm and professional voice. “That's what you said."

It felt like you two were having this conversation recently, but now the roles had been switched.

"Truth." You leaned in towards the table, reaching for the pen. "No, everything is fine."

But that itch in your head didn't give you peace, and you didn't have the will or enough concentration to continue working any longer with that on your mind, so you blurted out.

You sighed, running a hand over your face. “You remember Brad?”

You said it without even knowing why, perhaps because you needed someone to confide in without fear of judgment. Was Aaron Hotchner really that person? Anyway, there was no going back now.

“Brad?” Hotch furrowed, only a hint of a confusion gracing his features before realisation kicked in. “Brad.” He repeated his name blankly, then leaned back in his chair.

Perhaps not.

Of course Aaron knew your ex-boyfriend Brad. Everyone did. And no one liked him.

Well, they were kind of right.

The reason you'd been a bit absent — and why Derek stormed out of your office earlier — was because of your ex-boyfriend. A couple days ago, following your conversation with Hotch regarding his divorce, you got a message on your cell phone. Unknown number. Before even reading the whole message, you had quite a good laugh once you read Brad’s name signed at the end of it. Apparently, he wanted to see you. Of course, you would not consent in meeting him even in a state of madness.

But, having a mutual friend was never a good idea. Brad showed up at the bar last night while you were out with said friend. You were initially just being sarcastic, the irony was coming through. But as time went by, somehow Brad managed to soften you through conversation and touch.

The thought made your skin crawl.

“Yeah… That.very -same -Brad.” You spoke in a hushed tone, your voice quivering as you glanced sideways. Everywhere except Hotch. Suddenly, saying it out loud to Hotch wasn’t your best plan. You were almost too shy admitting it. Or rather, admitting it to him. Saying it out loud made Aaron's presence in your chaos feel intimate and somewhat intrusive.

And why?

It was not the first time you two talked about personal lives, dammit, it wasn’t even a hundredth time! You had spent countless days and nights working together, on cases and press conferences, bars and restaurants with the rest of the team, and talked everything out of your lives.

Yet somehow this felt different.

Was it because you were talking about potential someone in your life? Or were you ashamed of admitting to Hotch you were even considering going back to that fool? Were you actually confessing to Aaron Hotchner himself — your boss — it had been a while since you had someone, that you had been that lonely and… needy?

Ugh.

Nonetheless, Aaron could sense the irony and uncertainty as you replied. He toyed with the pen, shaking it slightly in between his index and middle finger as his other hand held his hip.

The things he unknowingly did to you…

“And what does that very same Brad want? To reconcile?”

You quickly looked up at him again.

“I…” you opened your mouth, but the words died on your tongue. His brows were drawn together in a sympathetic concern, his eyes glowed with an inexplicable intensity… Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Did he actually care? To think anything else might have been in question would be insane. But Hotch’d always been protective over everyone in his team, and you were one of them. And no one ever liked Brad, so the stare he had been giving you made perfect sense. “Well… yes. Apparently.”

“And you are distracted by that why exactly?” There was no change in his even voice as he observed you, shifting his head from one side to other. The dim lighting coming from his desk lamp cast dancing shadow across his face.

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking about reconciling with…” He halted in self-control, exhaling as his eyes slowly closed and opened. Fatigue washed over him, Aaron concluded. Regardless, he wouldn’t want his professional facade off, at least not when such a topic was in talk. “Very same Brad.”

You would have almost laughed at that, but only managed to smile and shake your head. Brad was not it, you knew that. And yet you were still thinking about it, and why, you wouldn’t know. You didn’t have the answer. Maybe you were bored, or perhaps tired of waiting for someone right to come your way.

It’d been a long time since you had a proper date, to be quite frank. One that didn’t end up in you yawning your boredom away, having Penelope fake call you to leave, having to really leave for work, and so on. It had been depressing to say the least.

You didn’t have anyone or anything planned in your love life for months. The only thing going on in that field (if one could even consider it that) was the crush you had had on Hotch that was somehow worse than pms’ mood swings. One day you liked him, the next day you wanted to rip his hair out. You also knew Hotch was within the reach, and considering and hoping something might have happen with the two of you was equal to hoping for snow in the middle of July somewhere in south Italy.

Your crush on him was there just to spice up your boring day.

Or so you thought most of the time.

“I knew you guys wouldn’t approve. You never liked him.” Is all you said, beaming widely at Aaron. He, of course, didn’t miss the hints of sadness either in your voice. It bothered you for whatever reason that much that you hadn’t been acting all giggly like your usual self.

Aaron’s eyes darkened as he leaned forward, his elbows on the edge of his table, his hands drawn together in front of him. “And you… like him?” The tone he spoke in was low and measured, almost intimate.

The tone that felt like a caress.

The gaze that made you feel like you were made of glass and he was too focused to let it drop.

You gulped.

“I- I don’t know.” You whispered through a nervous smile.

You lied. You knew that, Hotch knew that. And the thought of that pinched at your heart.

Some mistakes were just not worth making twice.

“If you are asking about my opinion… which I suppose you might not, but I can’t sit here and watch you make that mistake. But of course, this is about you and what you want.”

To Hotch, this was completely normal. It was almost like a friend helping a friend, or rather a boss advising his subordinate. After all, you were there for him when he needed company — when he parted his path with Haley. So, no, nothing unusual.

Everyone on the team disliked Brad. When she first got on the team, she was in relationship with Brad. They’d been together for three years, Aaron remembered. But not long after joining the team, they split up. Even back then everyone cheered her on and told her it was the right thing to do. Everyone except him, but the reason was that she was a newbie at the time, so of course he didn’t want to pry. Now, it was different… somehow.

“I know you don’t think he changed, you are not naive. But do you think it’s worth it?” His gaze assessed you for a moment before his dark eyebrows lifted, pausing briefly before he continued gingerly. “Does he notice the way you bite inside of your cheeks to stop yourself from saying something you might regret? Or the way you play with your earring when you’re not really paying attention, lost in your own schemes? That stress and all the pictures that come through your desk make you reach for favorite snack in comfort? Or that you smile the most when you have the most in your head?”

Silence.

Brad was suddenly long gone from your brain. The words Hotch spoke made a vertigo in your head, lying to you that there was more to it than it seemed. But at the moment nothing was more important than those little lies he you fed yourself with.

But then your gaze fell upon his hand.

The wedding ring still firmly and warmly hugged his finger making your heart drop.

Hope is the joy of a fool, so they say.

Not that you desired him to divorce Haley. Never. It just reminded you that Haley was and would still be a huge part in his life, and nothing, nothing could ever happen between the two of you. He would always love Haley. So it was indeed a good reminder to keep your head cool, your expectations zero.

His eyes averted for a second or two before he looked up at you again, adding softly — in his voice a mix of gentleness and playfulness. “Or the way your eyes get big and dark when you plead…”

A softness came over your features, a semblance of a smile gently flickered onto your lips. “You know about that?”

Hotch gave you a look that said “Of course I know about that”.

Busted, you nodded. “Of course you do.”

He sighed softly, his face showing exhaustion, a craving for care and an opportunity to relax.

“Now, I know it’s the whole point of our job. To profile people. To notice such things about others, but… Our other half should be just as considerate and aware of us. And I believe you deserve better.”

As he breathed the last words out, he leaned back, his head resting on the back of his chair, the almost see-through fabric of his shirt hugging his broad shoulders. Reaching up his collar, he unbuttoned the shirt — not very chastely as thought it were suffocating him, and loosened his tie.

It was suddenly getting warm with everything he had on his mind — work, fatigue and insomnia, Haley and Jack, divorce, you…

Yeah, you also.

As he closed his eyes, something between a sigh and a moan escaped his throat.

And while all this was happening in front of your eyes, you were practically melting in your seat at the sound he made, at the sight in front of you. You gaped at your boss unashamedly, as if you were hypnotised, your lips slightly parting and only then feeling the dryness of them. You swallowed, wishing you could drink in that sight of him. Oh, you so wanted to… many things. You envisioned getting up from your chair, leaving a trail on his table with your fingers as you made your way towards him before settling down onto his lap and leaving kisses up his jaw.

“Hotch…” you called out absent-mindedly, slowly, as though the words left you without your consent, still very lost in your imagination. “You are right. I deserve something far better than him.”

Not really hearing what you had said, he winced back, eyes and hands searching for a file on his desk. “We should get back to work. I need you to take a look at this report on the press conference you held in Kansas City.”

Trying to shake off that picture in your head, you reached for the document he held for you and put it down on the table. The letters were mix of some unknown words, your eyes only skimming over the files.

If concentrating was hard before, now it was completely impossible.

Sneaking a small look at him, you contemplated about the words he said just minutes ago.

You weren’t stupid — you were aware he’d have to pick up a few ticks and tells of yours and everyone’s on the team, but did he then also know about your silly little crush, and how attracted to him you were? Had he been profiling you all this time like he profiled the unsubs? Did he go in depths into his profiling of you? The thought made your heart squeeze in regret of some not-so-appropriate thoughts and actions you had done.

But then again, deep down you knew he didn’t. It didn’t make sense. Things would have been way different between the two of you had he known.

At last you concluded it was all right.

And that was when you realised he was right.

You had been fidgeting with your earring! Quickly stopping, cursing yourself inside, you took the paper in your hand, giving your best to concentrate and read.

You didn’t even notice you’d had that tick, Brad knew even less.

But Hotch knew. The thought made your heart waltz inside your chest, it was almost too hard not to smile.

But what you also missed was that Hotch had seen your actions causing a quick, but not small smile spread across his lips.

“So I thought we don’t profile each others,” you added, pretending to had been reading the report as silence had spread between you two. “And you say I’m not naive.”

Looking up at him under your brows, you didn’t expect he would have already welcomed you with a biggest grin you’d ever seen on him.

You both chuckled out loud, shaking your heads.

“I didn’t profile you…”

“Aha, aha.” You spoke over him, pretending you didn’t want to listen, like you didn’t believe him. “So you’ve said.”

“When you spend time with someone, you have to notice…”

Long into the night, soft chuckles and small voices could be heard outside of his dimly lit office.

A profiler never misses.

~

When Aaron glanced through the blinds of his office window, which framed the bullpen like a living portrait, his eyes instinctively landed on you. His gaze followed as you stepped into the bullpen, focused on navigating the familiar space, your heels echoing softly on the floor. The sleek ponytail of your hair was swaying rhythmically with each confident step as you made your way towards Emily’s table, a bouquet in your hands.

You wore a crisp white shirt tucked neatly into a black leather pencil skirt, Aaron noticed— a combination that was both professional and undeniably striking.

His gaze fell on the delicate collar framing your neck and a rush of admiration mixed with something more primal surged within him, fighting to keep his focus.

Unbeknownst to you, Aaron’s gaze lingered, and an involuntary gulp caught in his throat—unaware of the effect you had on him; a reaction to the undeniable presence you exuded.

When Hotch had entered your office earlier that morning with the expectation of seeing you, he was met with an unexpected sight that sent his mind reeling. Lately, he had noticed the influx of flowers adorning your workspace—each bouquet seemingly more extravagant than the last.

The first bouquet, the third, the seventh… and yet he had remained silent, a spectator to your blossoming attention. However, upon entering your office and discovering that, he needed to take action.

Surprised, although not for the same reason Emily might have been, or you, or any other woman, but because those bouquets of flowers were scattered across every available surface—a riot of colors on your desk, the sofa, the cabinet, the floor. Even the damn floor.

It was a sight that would have delighted anyone else, but for him, it sparked something else entirely.

He stopped in his tracks, his gaze darting around the room, landing on the largest bouquet of roses. A surge of urgency propelled him forward, and he reached out, fingers brushing the delicate petals. But just as quickly, this moral compass deep within him compelled him to retract his hand, leaving the note unread among the blossoms. Why did he do that?

There was restlessness fluttering inside him — his heart quivered, his thoughts stirred, his hand clenched into a fist. All this unconsciously, without his knowledge and even less without his permission.

Frustrated, he exited the office, anger directed inwards rather than towards you. He was so consumed by his own turmoil that he failed to notice Derek humming a casual tune as he passed by. Those stolen glances, late-night conversations, and shared moments in silence—did they mean nothing to you? Why was he acting like a child whose favorite toy had been taken away?

Now, as he watched you out of his window, you just presented Emily with one of the many bouquets, placing it gently on her worktable. The moment was met with surprise; a rosy blush crept across Emily’s cheeks as she leaned down to inhale the fragrance of the blooms, the only touch of color on her otherwise sparse desk. It was a simple gesture, yet it ignited a warm laugh that bubbled from her lips, a testament to the joy that flowers could bring.

Women very simple creatures sometimes. You gave them flowers and their whole day was made. They were more than just a gift; they conveyed a sense of thoughtfulness from the sender — someone showing them they cared.

As Aaron contemplated this, a nagging feeling tightened in his chest, the thought of you receiving those haphazardly arranged bouquets gnawing at him. What did it feel like to be the recipient of such attention? He shut his eyes, frustration mingling with confusion. Without thinking any further, he left his office in a hurry, propelled by emotions he couldn’t quite grasp, desperate to confront the swirling thoughts that haunted him.

Firstly, he called out your name with a brusqueness that cut through the chatter, and then he commanded you into his office with a tone that brooked no argument. The collective shift of gazes from your colleagues was palpable, each person’s curiosity piqued by the sudden tension. Emily, noticing your bewilderment, shrugged her shoulders. Derek let out a playful whistle, adding to the atmosphere of uncertainty. You excused yourself, the weight of unspoken questions heavy in the air as you made your way towards Hotch’s office.

“Yes?” You closed the door behind you, stepping cautiously into the space that felt suddenly charged. He stood behind his chair— indirectly telling you there was no need for you to sit either.

Aaron scrutinized you, his gaze piercing, as if trying to unveil layers hidden beneath your calm facade. The intensity in his eyes sparked an unsettling fire within you. His stern expression left little doubt that you were about to receive a lecture.

When he finally spoke, his voice was unyielding. “This is a workplace.”

You glanced sideways, replying through a hesitant smile. “Yes.” You weren’t sure what this was about. Looking back at him, you confirmed. “I know that.”

You couldn’t remember if Hotch ever called you out on something. There was a reason everyone referred to you as his soft spot, and you were very well aware of that.

“I’ve started to doubt it.“ he replied, his gaze drifting momentarily to his desk, eyebrows knitting together in frustration before snapping back to you. It was clear that this situation was unfamiliar territory for him, too.

“Excuse me?” Your eyes narrowed, challenging his assertion.

“I’m talking about your office.”

“Why? It’s just some flowers, Hotch.” Your defensiveness edged your words, a forced casualness clashing with the discomfort bubbling beneath the surface.

“It’s not just some flowers. It’s a whole flower boutique.”

You huffed, exasperation creeping in. “Why are you acting like this?”

His brows furrowed even further, his head tilting slightly as if he were trying to comprehend your question. “Acting like what?”

“Frustrated. Over some damn flowers.”

“I’m your superior.” He snapped, imbuing the air with an undeniable authority, but even as the words left his mouth, he felt a stab of regret. It hurt you, he could see that, and the realization left him unsettled. Did he truly believe that hierarchy justified his reaction? Or was he simply hiding behind his title to mask his deeper feelings? The very idea made him feel foolish.

Aaron stood still behind his chair, but inside, a storm of conflicting emotions raged. He couldn’t comprehend why he was so worked up over something as trivial as flowers. It was an irrational reaction, and yet, every time he tried to dismiss it, another wave of frustration washed over him.

There was a flicker of something deeper in him—a protective instinct perhaps, or something more complex. He could feel it pulsing under the surface, but he didn’t have the clarity to name it.

You stood there, disappointment washing over your features, and he felt an unexpected pang of guilt. Why did he care so much? As your boss, he was supposed to keep the team aligned. He was supposed to be your boss, an ally, not the one causing this rift between you. Instead, he found himself obsessing over the sight of your office flooded with blooms, the vibrant colors contrasting starkly with the serious nature of their work. He was acutely aware of how the team was watching, how the tension between you both had become the elephant in the room. It was like a charged magnetism, drawing attention and whispers, and he hated that it felt like a distraction from their mission. But the emotion tangled within him, leaving him more confused than ever. It was new territory for him, and he was unsure how to navigate the storm brewing between professional duty and the undeniable connection he felt towards you.

The silence stretched between you, charged with unspoken words and unresolved feelings, the tension in the air thickening with every heartbeat.

A sudden rush of something unnameable surged through you at his dismissiveness. Adding a quick but firm “Sir,” you turned on your heel and left his office, a swirl of emotions churning within you.

Once you were gone, he maintained a calm facade until the door clicked shut behind you. With a heavy sigh, he released the tension that had coiled in his chest.

In the sleek, metal elevator of the FBI office building, you stood beside Nathaniel, a charming colleague, exchanging playful banter as the elevator smoothly ascended. His laughter filled the small space, and you found yourself leaning in closer, sharing a joke that had him chuckling, completely at ease. The way he smiled—that kind expression always so infectious that you felt your own lips curling.

Just as the banter reached a peak, the elevator doors dinged and slid open to reveal your boss— Aaron, standing there, hands in his pockets, he was all sharp suits and commanding presence, but now—now his expression a mix of surprise and something deeper.

He cleared his throat, his gaze switching between you and your companion.

“Morning, everyone,” he managed, his voice tight.

The men exchanged wary glances but the shifting emotions in Aaron’s eyes made it hard for you to decipher what he was feeling. You could sense a shift in the air as he stepped inside — it was thick, charged with an unspoken tension that hung between the two of you like a taut wire, ready to snap. You managed to greet him back, but his eyes remained fixed on you and Nathan, an unmistakable frown creeping onto his face. Aaron’s lips pressed together a little tighter.

The elevator continued its journey, but the mood had changed. Hotch stood close to the elevator doors, his back to you, shifting uncomfortably as he sensed the playful energy behind him. As he heard a soft and familiar chuckle escape you, his jaw tightened, and his knuckles whitened inside his pockets. It was apsurd, he knew he had no right to feel possessive over you. Unfortunately, you didn’t belong to him. Yet, he couldn’t shake the deep-rooted urge. He felt immobilised, tormented by the sight that you were looking at another man with such fondness, and not someone else… Not him.

Turning around, he glanced between you and the man, who remained blissfully unaware of the storm brewing within Aaron. “How are you feeling today?” he asked, his tone softer than usual, directed at you but layered with an undercurrent of curiosity.

“I’m good…” you replied, darting your gaze between the two men, unsure of where this was heading. “Why d—”

“I saw you throw all the flowers from your office in the trash yesterday.” His tone was deliberately casual, but you sensed the underlying challenge. He feigned ignorance, yet he knew very well that Nathan was the one who had sent you those flowers. How he found out didn’t matter; what mattered was that he knew you were oblivious to the fact.

Your heart raced, warmth flooding your cheeks as you shifted your gaze between Aaron and Nathan, acutely aware of the latter’s confused expression. This was not the best moment for your boss to bring it up, especially not in front of the sender. “Hotch, you said—” you began, desperate to defend yourself.

“I didn’t say you should throw them away.” He stared into your eyes, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m surprised you wouldn’t want something so nice.” The way he phrased it felt like a direct jab, and you couldn’t shake the feeling he was relishing the moment.

Nathan glanced between you and Aaron, his brows furrowing. “Wait, you didn’t like them?” he asked, genuine concern creeping into his voice.

Aaron’s eyebrows raised expectantly as he studied you, waiting for you to answer. Caught between the two men, you felt the heat of embarrassment rise in your cheeks. Aaron turned to the elevator’s display as the digits changed, muttering, “Alas.” He glanced down at his watch just as the elevator dinged. “Just in time.”

You turned to Nathan, wanting to explain, but Hotch stepped outside, turning around to address you. “I need you.”

You raised your brows, waiting. He added, “In the conference room.”

When you stood frozen in place, his expression hardened, voice leaving no room for argument. “Now.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, murmuring an apology to the other man as you stepped forward. Hotch strode towards the bullpen, a faint smile playing on his lips, and you followed, your thoughts swirling with the unsettling desire to wrap your hands around his neck. To say you wanted to choke him would be an understatement.

After a long day spent wrapping up a challenging case, you returned to the office, welcomed by the familiar hum of the building. The lighting in your workspace was soft and muted, casting gentle shadows that danced along the walls, creating a cozy yet intimate atmosphere. As you stepped inside, the air felt still, almost charged with anticipation.

Your gaze landed on your desk, where a stunning potted plant awaited you. Its lush green leaves unfurled like delicate hands reaching for the light, creating a vibrant contrast against the muted backdrop of your office. A smile crept onto your face, and you assumed it was the same sender again, delighting in the thought of his thoughtfulness. The sweet, earthy aroma enveloped you as you leaned closer, savoring the moment.

Nestled beside the pot was a card. You picked it up, turning it over to find a message penned in a well-known handwriting.

I’m sorry.

Your heart raced, and a smile instantly spread across your face.

Just as you admired the plant, a sharp rap echoed through the room. Two knocks. You turned to find Hotch standing at the doorway. The low light accentuated the sharp lines of his jaw and the slight furrow in his brow.

“Hey,” he said, stepping inside. He scanned the room, as if searching for the right words that wouldn’t come off wrong or selfish. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior the other day.” His gaze dropped to his hands, fiddling with his phone as shadows flickered across his face. “I was out of line. I may have not handled myself like a Unit Chief should.”

When he met your eyes, the corner of his lips turned down, revealing a hint of vulnerability. The soft glow illuminated the intensity in his dark eyes.

You tilted your head, intrigued by your boss’ almost shy demeanor. Your eyes softened as you offered him a warm smile, genuinely appreciative of his sincerity. “Thank you, Hotch. I really appreciate it.”

He nodded, shifting his gaze to the plant behind your back. “And the gift…it’s from me.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, your playful smile unwavering. “Don’t say?” You turned around to take the pot in your hands.

“I thought you deserved something better. And I promise, it’s just this one plant. I know how you feel about your office turning into a flower shop.” He replied, a hint of humour laced in his tone.

You knew he was talking about the way you had discarded of the flowers — how you put them in a big black trash bag and threw them in the containers behind the building. Just the thought that he might have spied on you, seeing you do it, danced on top of your heart.

Leaning down, you inhaled the fresh scent of the leaves, their vibrant green appearing even more vivid in the dim light. “Well, let’s hope it is just this one plant.” You said, trying to sound serious before looking at Hotch over the top of your plant, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “As much as I might not like it, my boss despise it.”

There was a glint of mirth dancing inside your eyes. “This is not a botanical garden after all, is it?”

Aaron watched you for a moment before his stoic facade cracked. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he glanced down at his hands before meeting your gaze again, trying to return some seriousness to his expression. “Exactly. I can only handle so much floral decor.”

“I mean, yellow hyacinths would definitely clash with your suit, don’t you think?”

Yellow hyacinths— the flowers of jealousy.

Aaron raised an eyebrow, clearly not picking up on your implication. “I suppose so,” he replied, but there was a fleeting shadow across his expression that hinted at something deeper.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The world outside your office faded away, leaving just the two of you locked in this shared moment. You could see the warmth in his expression, the way his eyes held a depth of feeling that hinted at unspoken emotions illuminated by the dim glow of the lamp beside you. Your heart raced, an undeniable connection sparking between you.

You glanced at the plant again, blushing, feeling a warmth spread through you. “Thank you, Hotch. It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” He gave a nod as he met your gaze, a small smile appearing at his lips. He never knew how you managed to make him smile with just a comment, just one look. “I’m glad you like them.”

There was softness in his gaze, a flicker of vulnerability that caught you off guard.

“Good night,” he finally said, breaking the silence that crackled with electricity between you. He turned to leave before you could respond.

“Good night,” you whispered, stepping into the hallway after him, leaning against the doorframe as you watched him go. You relished his figure, the way he moved, the confidence in his stride.

When he disappeared behind the glass doors, you sighed, your gaze falling down to the plant in your hands.

The flowers, though beautiful, were ephemeral; a fleeting moment of beauty that left only memories in their wake. This plant—it felt like a promise, a symbol of something lasting in a world filled with fleeting moments. You would care for it, would cherish it, regardless of what anyone said. You would treasure it.

The corner of your lips turned upwards.

It only confirmed what you already knew.

Chilly droplets of dew trickled from the glass surface, down into his pocket where he tightly grasped the bottle, giving him the sensation that it was his own cold sweat running down his temples.

He might not have even noticed it was getting overly hot until the moment you sat down beside him. About to ask you for a drink, his what was supposed to be a flitting gaze paused on you and in that agonizing moment he watched as you took off your jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, leaving you in a red t-shirt and jeans that hugged you around your waist and hips.

The taste of his cold beverage was not enough to quench the fire in his throat.

What on earth was the matter with him!

He swallowed, his eyebrow twitched in annoyance. Irritated by the mere idea, with a frown on his face as dark as the weather outside, he looked back at the bottle he was holding. Why was he staring? Why was he even thinking about it? He needed to focus. You were embarking on a mission that held importance for the whole team. The case was put on hold due to a lack of information and leads for days, weeks. Until two days ago when you showed up in his office, with newspaper in your hands and sugary crystals glued to your lips — why did he remember that? — and finally provided him with the first solid lead in a long time. Concluding this case meant a sense of relief and a good night's rest for the team.

God, he didn't even notice or hear when the bartender approached. Or when in the midst the cacophony of noise you ordered your drink, then how could he carry out this task?

He stole a side-glance at you, only then wishing he didn’t.

There was something almost hypnotic about the way your fingers tenderly curled around the glass and brought it up, pressing to your lips. Despite the surrounding and background noise that busted around the bar — clink of bottles, soft music playing, the hum of conversation, the men cheering for their football team playing on the TV — Hotch found himself able to discern the sound of that shot sliding down your throat in a slow motion, just momentarily tingling beneath the sensitive skin on your neck.

While you were not paying attention, he allowed his gaze to move from your face, down the skin of your neck and arm, to the glass held in your fingers, then finally settling on your lips.

“Just one." You made two promises there.

You promised the first time, setting your glass down on the bar counter once you felt his glance on you, disapproving your way of handling. However, much to your shock, he remained silent.

Just one. You promised the second time — but this time to yourself — once you caught a glimpse from the corner of your eye that he was giving you one of those looks that initially shook the earth beneath your feet and then stabilised you.

Just one because one was needed to put you in a right mood — the ideal ambiance in a corner of your mind, not as distant as one might assume. Just one because you were scared to risk how’d you behave yourself in his presence in this atmosphere.

And he let you take just one because he knew the two drinks did the charm for you.

One was absolutely harmless.

Two… made you into a fiddler.

2 days ago

"Advertisement?" He paused in the middle of flipping a page in his file, glancing at you skeptically from beneath his dark eyebrows, weighing the possible veracity behind your words. Then, you watched as his gaze dropped to your lips only then being hyper-aware of how you’d left your office.

You found yourself muttering an apology, glancing sideways, your fingertips ever-so-slightly brushing the sticky sugar away. And offered, "Take a look."

Minutes ago, inside the privacy of your office, surrounded by 4 walls, you were enjoying your lunch break.

To be quite frank, it was not how you typically chose to spend your time off. You would be out or in the cafeteria with the rest of your team, but the situation in the last few days was a little different. Venturing outside — past your office — provided a great opportunity to run into your boss, which you’d been attempting to steer clear of recently. And so you were sitting in the comfort of your chair, your legs crossed on the table, a doughnut in one and the newspaper in the other hand.

Rising fuel prices.

California wildfires.

British police find car bombs in London.

You found it impossible to continue reading. The purpose of a lunch break was a time-out from work. So you flipped through a couple of pages to reach the back section of the newspaper where the advertisements were located. You’d been wanting for quite some time now to find yourself another car. And so, you skimmed through some advertisements, while others you carefully read, until one finally caught your attention.

It was one of the less prominent ads, and the yellow letters and caption were the one that allured you every time. Every 4th of a month.

Find love! Find gay friends! Find you! FIND OUT! If you are looking to find more about sex, love, or relationship with other guys — congratulations! You've just found it!

You sat upright in the chair, the heels of your boots echoing off the tile floor. With the doughnut firmly gripped between your teeth, you held the newspaper with both hands now and brought it closer to your eyes.

An ultimate guide on how gay men get guys.

"Oh, God!" You exclaimed, hastily taking the doughnut out of your mouth and putting it back in the box on the desk, grabbing the newspaper and making your way to Hotch’s office.

“That has to be it.” Leaning back deep in his chair, Derek played with the pencil in his hands. "We have already analyzed and investigated into all the rational methods that the unsub could’ve used to reach the victims.”

"Absolutely." Garcia added and hurriedly continued speaking in a barely understandable manner, as if reluctant she might acknowledge her mistake. "I checked everything: their online activities, credit cards, surveillance footage... Nothing."

"We know that none of these victims used online-blind-dating sites, or whatever. We know they've never set foot in a gay bar before. So how did the killer get to them? Their family and friends never suspected, let alone knew, that they were gay." Rossi explained. "The victims themselves weren't aware of their homosexuality.”

“And this ad right here…” You unfolded your arms and leaned forward on the desk, glancing at Hotch briefly before focusing down where your finger tapped the new, textured paper. "It provides exactly that. To find themselves from within. This has to be it.”

“We also know the profile." Hotch finally replied, not taking his eyes off you. "I want you to find all the previous newspapers in which these ads can be found. The meetings’ location, time and place, must be announced somewhere in there. There’s a possibility the messages will be encrypted, so take Reid with you. And Garcia…” You nodded in agreement, and he stared at you for a minute longer before shifting his focus to Garcia, who stood behind you, picking at her nails. “Find everything you can about this ad and how the victims were able to contact the advertiser."

The murder seemed linked to the ad, and Hotch’s instincts were usually accurate because they were not mere guesses, but predictions based on numerous factors, all considered in light of his experience.

Gathering all the needed information, the team agreed on the strategy.

“We need someone inside. Someone who will play a confused young man, curious, eager..." Rossi didn't even get a word out, and everyone's gaze — some sneakily, some more openly — were fixed on Reid who was ready to protest but decided otherwise. Arguing with all of you was pointless. Besides, he was the only young man around — he’d remember this and gladly rub it on Derek’s nose.

On the other side of the table, Derek and Emily quickly agreed on teaming up.

"I agree. But if possible, I would like to avoid this long-awaited undercover mission, and be the one to stay behind with Garcia. My stomach still hurts." Waving his hand at his stomach, Rossi grimaced.

“Do you realize we are discussing a man who managed to overpower four men, rape them, and then kill them?" Reid objected.

"Y/L/N and I will join." Hotch said expressionlessly, interlocking his gaze with you just for a second.

Join how? You wondered, your elbow on the armrest, your chin resting on your fist. Garcia stood up, placing documents atop each other, muttering under her breath. "Nothing easier… just be the two of you, but together."

Hotch's eyebrows snapped together, meeting your eyes briefly once again before he looked to the side at Garcia with barely tamed fire in his eyes. "I'm sorry?"

“I- um- sir…” Garcia stuttered and you seized the opportunity to leave the office before Hotch unleashed that smoldering fire on all of you.

Glancing behind your shoulder, Garcia ran after you with a swift pace you'd never seen her take before. Together you both hurried down the stairs and rushed through the glass door, cursing each other before parting ways in the hallway — each heading to your own den.

And that was how you got here.

“So… A gay man in a straight people’s bars.” You finally spoke, trying to sound casual even though this meeting wasn’t. “Finds his victims who are also gay and kills them the same night. At first glance it doesn’t make much sense.”

“Without knowing what we know — it doesn’t.” Hotch replied, then took a sip from his bottle. The victims had never before crossed the threshold of the bars in which they met with the unsub. The unsub found them the same night, and then killed them. “But it was a smart move to throw the cops off to a wrong path.”

“Definitely.” You agreed. “In this modern digitalized world who’d even bother to check the newspapers.”

When he didn’t say anything in return, you sighed, leaning towards the bar, pushing the empty glass away.

"You two look like a date gone wrong." Even with the music playing, Derek's amused voice could be heard loud and clear through the small earbud piece. You leaned back slightly to catch sight of Derek and Emily dancing lavishly together.

“Like every date Y/N goes to.” Emily added, smirking at you.

That earned them a reproachful look from their boss.

Nice, now your boss knew how lame your dating life was.

But nonetheless, you laughed, and the warmth of your laughter enveloped Hotch's heart. Looking back at you, he softened and watched as you swirled the ice cubes in your fresh Coke with a small red straw. Then bringing the straw up to your lips, you took a sip. Now it was his jaw that clenched.

“Incorrect…” you playfully remarked, your eyes sparkled as you held his gaze determinedly over the rim of your glass, and that victorious grin on your face transitioned into something affectionate, something intimate. “This one takes the cake."

“Sir! I told you gotta act!”

"Garcia." Aaron warned.

“I can multitask, sir.” She quickly added, with a hint of reverence. “I have a reputation I intend to keep. So no, no developments as of now."

"Could he possibly know we've found out?" You asked.

"I doubt it."

While talking, Aaron usually had the tendency to look around the room, examine the faces and look for any signs of trouble. The bar had an overall sense of amusement, with sporadic bursts of loud chatter and individuals savoring drinks such as beer, neat whiskey, or some mixed drinks and sodas with straws. Couples, friends, loners — everyone was busy either drinking, dancing, or... kissing.

His hand trembled, holding onto the beer tightly as he brought it to his mouth and chugged, grimacing. "What happened with Brad?" He finally asked, taking you aback just a little.

It’d been a few days since that conversation with him about Brad, and it had quite bothered you that he hadn’t asked you anything about your final decision.

"Who is Brad?" You chuckled, your head dropping slightly before looking up at him again, a warm smile forming on your lips that... It stole something from him, something he couldn’t express crisply enough. In this very casual manner, you appeared …beautiful while brushing back the hair that skimmed your cheeks.

He frowned, glancing down, collecting his thoughts. At some point along the way you had become a distraction. Pushing that realization aside with a blink, he couldn’t afford to be distracted now. He looked at the beer he was holding like it was an escape — a safe haven from your gaze. He had nearly consumed all of his drink. Hotch had been refraining from alcohol for some time, now it was starting to affect him. He did drink stronger drinks alone in his apartment or at Rossi’s after his divorce, and even then he noticed he couldn’t keep up with it the way his younger self used to. Yeah. It had to be it.

“Well, I suppose it was the right thing to do.”

“Well, in fact it was you who helped me realize. Some mistakes aren’t worth repeating twice. So cheers to that, sir.” You swivelled sideways and towards him, holding your glass up before taking a sip.

Sir. There that came again. It was not that he hated being called ‘sir’, damn, Garcia called him that too many times and the thought never appalled him. He was just not used to hear you call him ‘sir’. It was mainly ‘Hotch’, sometimes even ‘Hotchner’, or if you were being a little tease then you referred to him as ‘boss’.

“Sir!” Garcia’s voice came through, cutting his thoughts in half. “He’s here!”

You shared a knowing glance.

And then suddenly, some guy sauntered in, physically placing himself between you and Hotch. The action was unexpected, quite bold. However, you then realized that to most outsiders, the two of you probably didn't appear to be a couple. In this very bar, couples around you were doing…things, and the two of you hardly spoke at all.

“Hey there sunshine.” He drawled, leaning against the bar, looking down at you. The tall man didn’t mind or acknowledge Hotch at all. He had black lush hair, probably devastatingly blue eyes, in his late 20s – early 30s. Closer to your age than Hotch was anyway, he thought to himself. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Finding yourself in this awkward position, before you could even answer, Hotch cleared his throat. The latter turned around peevishly just enough to give Hotch gray glares, and arching an eyebrow, replied disgusted. "I didn't ask you... pal." And he turned to you again, a jolly smirk on his face.

So Hotch was right. The man had devastatingly blue eyes.

Aaron glanced annoyedly at his beer. If he could have, he'd have smashed that bottle on his head. But decided to go with a more rational option and patted the man’s shoulder.

"It's showtime." Derek's voice sang in the bug.

"She's busy... pal." Your boss countered, his voice low and tinged with warning.

"Doesn't seem so..." He now addressed Hotch over his shoulder, choosing not to let your companion bother him or to take his eyes off of you. “…pal.”

The man’s finger made way under your chin and he tilted your head backwards, hovering over you.

“Oh ‘xcuse me…” You scoffed disapprovingly at the boldness of his action, moving your head away from his touch. Bristled.

The crease between Aaron’s eyebrows deepened further, keenly resolute. He felt the bubbles of anger simmer inside him, waiting for the right sign to explode. He smothered a sigh, steeling himself. If he had been on assignment somewhere on the field — any other, or on a real date with you — he'd have handled the situation in a much different way. Instead, he put his hand on the man's shoulder again, but this time firmly, and pushed him away from you.

"I said..." The baleful timbre of Aaron’s voice carried the same threat evident on his face. He reached out and grabbed the stem of your chair. The tiles beneath creaked as he dragged the chair towards himself, closing the gap between the two of you. Your knees accidentally brushed against his leg and the familiar warm sensation returned to your stomach, causing your pulse to quicken. "She's with me." Something ickered in Aaron’s eyes. You were unsure how to interpret it.

"And what could a woman like her want with a grump like you?" You heard the guy say, stepping towards Hotch, his chest puffed out.

You had to stop it before it escalated.

Deliberately, you inched closer, your gaze meeting Aaron’s. Behind your flashing eyes, he could see both — a permission and an apology for what you were bracing yourself to do.

“It’s okay…” You began gently, swallowing as you placed your hands on Aaron’s knees, stroking his legs. You couldn't look away from your boss's eyes, and as you smiled, subtly wrinkling your nose at him, you could have sworn that the muscles under the denim fabric hardened even more than they had just a moment before. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Being in such proximity, it was impossible to ignore all the things Aaron noticed about you — the depth of your bottomless eyes, shiny lips, the peachy scent of your hair was the only scent worthy in this noisome crowd. He was definitely drunk, a bit tempted. Never had he ever been intoxicated solely by the subtle scent of a shampoo.

"Well, if you wanna have real fun, I'll be sitting over there." He winked at you, pointing somewhere behind you.

You both watched as the man walked away, only then ending the charade. An awkward tension set between you two that made you feel every beat of your wilding heart. In a profound quietness, you both swivelled around and towards the bar. In a deafening silence, both of you, reflected on it without acknowledging that you longed for that intimacy.

“I-…”

“Do you see him?” Hotch spoke over you, back to business. You quickly glanced over your shoulder and back to Aaron, nodding.

“Ok. Good.” He pressed the earpiece with his finger. “Morgan?”

“He’s talking to Reid.” Garcia spoke instead.

“It’s definitely him, Aaron.” Rossi confirmed.

“We have a bit of a situation here.” Both of you looked at where you last saw Emily and Derek. You couldn't get the proper view at the two of them sitting in the booth now, but it looked like a group of women stood beside their desk.

Morgan, you rolled your eyes playfully. And then…

"Wait..." You frowned, and Hotch watched as the gears in your head turned before recognition dawned on your face. You looked up at him. “Isn't that Joseph Moetski?"

Hotch glowered, thinking. The newsdealer. He still hadn’t had a chance to look back and see for himself, but it would make perfect sense. After all, Joseph was a newsagent and the team had known about him —you had worked with him in an occasion or two when you first started working for Hotch. He had the access to all the media: magazines, newspapers, television, and so on.

Aaron drew closer towards you, not wanting to blow your cover away, now his whole body facing you. You felt a dangerous flutter in your heart as you looked at him squarely into eyes, never anticipating what he was about to do. He reached forward to move the hair from your face back over your shoulder and then tucked some behind your ear. His gaze was dark and intent — you could see the concentration in there, maybe even slight tenderness, and it sent your mind in wild directions.

Your hair was very silky and soft under his palm, the focus of his vision shifted from the man who was seated beside Reid a few meters behind, to you.

“Garcia?” His spoke coolly, professionally. But there was nothing professional about the way he was watching you. You ducked your head and gently stroked the skin on your neck, a lively red blossom of color rose up your cheeks, a hesitant smile stretched across your face. It was such a small gesture. And then his big hand rested on the side of your neck, using the opportunity to feel your skin — something he’d never admit to himself. Hoping he couldn’t feel your telltale pulse, you had to remind yourself that he was your very professional never-crossing-a-line boss.

It was a dangerous game to even think about something like this, but you couldn’t help yourself. For years you’d been harbouring feelings for him — platonic or not, and this was not going to help.

“Bingo! It’s him!”

“Sorry to interrupt you, birdies.” A bartender interrupted and you both turned around, almost jumping from your seats. “The politics around here are: you have to order another drink… or get the hell out of here. And as I can see, you drank all of yours.” Crossing her arms on her chest, she asked. “So, what’s it gonna be?”

As Hotch took the chance to order new drinks, anxiety creeped up your back, and you looked back over your shoulder just in time to see Spence holding the back of his head as well as the unsub running toward and past the two of you.

Gripping your gun close under your clothes, you reached out and tugged on Hotch's shirt. “Hotch!” You promptly got to your feet and chased after the suspect.

You heard a chair fall onto the dark tiles of the floor somewhere behind you, disgruntled and angry shouts and remarks from people who were bumbed or knocked down by the man you were running after.

Fortunately, the unsub cleared a way for you, allowing you to quickly catch up with him, grab him and push him. His face met the ground, and hastily you sat on top of him, pushing his hands and securing them on his upper back. But to say you were struggling would be an understatement. The unsub was a strong man, twice your size, so when he managed to free one hand from your grasp it was a no surprise. He attempted to pull you upwards and you sat unsteadily on his back, swaying like you were at a rodeo, a quick "whoa" slipping out of your mouth. Hotch rushed to help you, kicking the unsub’s feet, and without a second thought, his chest pressed against your back as he leaned closely from behind you, his arms wrapped around you as he assisted in restraining the suspect before Emily approached and put the handcuffs on.

The third party — Reid, watching it all unfold in front of his eyes, couldn’t help but smile at you both even through the throbbing pain in his head. You were just like Mulder and Scully. Tangled and messy, unable to see it, yet still fantastic as a team.

Now the only thing left was, he concluded, for you two to realize it finally.

In all that rush and adrenaline kicking in, neither of you did have time to process or relish the way your bodies melded together.

Aaron Hotchner sat alone in his dimly lit office, the clock ticking softly in the background, marking the late hours of the night. The weight of paperwork loomed over him like an unwelcome cloud, his loose white shirt hanging comfortably around his neck, the collar slightly askew. His tie lay abandoned on the desk, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that hinted at both strength and exhaustion. The flickering light from the desk lamp cast soft shadows across his focused expression as he scribbled notes on a report.

You peered through the slightly ajar door, a smile breaking across your face at the sight of him buried in work. It was a familiar scene—one you had come to appreciate. There was something about seeing him so immersed in his tasks, yet so human in his dishevelled attire, that made your heart flutter. The way he concentrated, the faint lines of stress etched on his brow, made you want to lighten his burden.

You pushed the door open wider, stepping inside with a piece of cake held delicately in your hands, a single candle flickering atop it like a beacon of cheer. Taking a deep breath, you began to sing, “Happy birthday to you…” Your voice echoed softly against the walls, a playful melody breaking the stillness.

Aaron’s head snapped up, confusion flashing across his face for a split second before it transformed into a genuine but tired smile, softening the stern lines of his jaw. He looked at the unexpected sight before him, momentarily caught off guard by your vibrant presence. Weaving your way around the desk and towards him, Aaron turned his chair to face you fully, his brow furrowing in surprise before softening with gratitude. “How did you know?” he asked, the weight of his day momentarily lifting.

“Do you really think you can keep secrets from me?” You set the cake down with a flourish, leaning against the desk, your playful demeanor a breath of fresh air in the still office. “I have my sources,” you replied, your voice teasing and light. “Every birthday deserves a little celebration, don’t you think?” You winked at him, your smile infectious.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head, clearly both flattered and amused. “I usually keep my birthday under wraps to avoid… this,” he said, gesturing towards the cake, a hint of bemusement lacing his tone. “I prefer to keep it low-key. Too many people would make a big deal out of it.”

“Good thing I’m not ‘too many people’,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow as you grinned down at him. “Just the right amount of fun for the birthday boss.”

As your gaze locked, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you. The flickering candlelight danced between you, casting a warm glow that highlighted the softness in his eyes. “You’re full of surprises,” he said, his voice low and almost reverent, as if acknowledging something sacred.

“Aren’t birthdays meant for surprises?” you replied, your brows lifting in playful challenge. The candlelight danced in your cheerful eyes, enhancing the intimacy of the moment. “Now, close your eyes, make a wish, and blow out the candle,” you urged, clasping your hands beneath your chin, your heart racing in anticipation.

Aaron sighed, knowing you wouldn’t let go until he did it, knowing too well he couldn’t resist your charm. So he closed his eyes, focusing on the flame that flickered before him. In that stillness, his thoughts turned inwards, settling on a wish that felt profound—a desire that had stirred in his heart for longer than he dared to acknowledge. The truth settled in his heart: you were the source of his joy, the light that pierced the shadows of his long hours.

When he opened his eyes again, he found you watching him intently, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “Well? What did you wish for?” you teased, leaning closer, your curiosity brightening the room.

He smirked, the playful banter returning, but he felt the weight of his unshared truth. “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “After all, you have your sources.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, pulling plastic forks from your suit’s pocket and offering one to him. As you both shared a slice of cake, Aaron looked up at you, his expression softening. You were perched on the edge of his desk, a playful sparkle dancing in your eyes as you dove into the cake, savoring each bite. But as he glanced back at the clock, a question nagged at him. Why were you really here, choosing him over the festivities? He couldn’t shake the thought. While others were out enjoying the night, you had willingly stepped into the dim light of his office, sharing a slice of cake and laughter instead.

“Shouldn’t you be out with the team, enjoying your night off?” he asked, a hint of curiosity threading through his tone. His gaze flicked to the clock on the wall, the seconds ticking away, a reminder of the lively night happening elsewhere.

“Because,” you replied, leaning in closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’d much rather celebrate with you than be in a crowded bar where no one knows how to appreciate a good cake.”

A teasing smile crept across your lips, surveying the neatly organized office as if contemplating a grand scheme. “I could say I was worried about you, but honestly?” You paused for effect, cocking your head to the side with a playful smirk. “I couldn’t resist the chance to bring a little chaos and cake to your perfectly organized life.”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, a satisfied grin creeping across his face as he watched you. It was rare for him to let his guard down in the office, but here you were, radiating a lightness that cut through the heaviness of his responsibilities like a beam of sunshine. You were animated, lost in the joy of the moment, and it reminded him of how much he valued your presence—your ability to infuse laughter and warmth into the often-grim world of the Bureau.

You didn’t just bring chaos; you brought something deeper—a sense of connection, a reminder that even in the seriousness of his job, he wasn’t alone. He appreciated how you lightened his burdens, even if just for a brief reprieve. The laughter and shared cake were small acts, but they brought a brightness that pierced through the usual shadows of his responsibilities.

In that fleeting moment, he felt a swell of gratitude that you had chosen to stay, even if it was just to share a slice of cake. He felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this wasn’t just about the cake; maybe it was about you choosing him.

“Did you wish for another piece of cake?” you teased, breaking the comfortable silence, a mischievous sparkle in your eyes revealing your hidden intentions as you enjoyed your bite.

“No, but I should have,” he replied, a hint of playfulness in his tone as the corners of his lips lifted slightly. “What I wished for might be a little more… complicated.”

“Oh? Now you have to tell me, or I can’t help,” you insisted, leaning closer, your voice dropping conspiratorially. “I have my sources. Was it something about the case? A promotion? Or maybe that I’d bring you cake every year?”

He raised an eyebrow, maintaining a teasingly serious expression. “Let’s just say it was a wish for happiness.” His gaze lingered on yours, and in that moment, a soft connection sparked between you—an unspoken understanding that hung in the air, almost tangible.

You felt warmth blossom within you, the moment stretching as you shared that knowing smile, nodding. “Well, then, I think we have to make that wish come true. Starting with more cake,” you declared, laughter bubbling up as you reached for a fork, your enthusiasm infectious.

The night was far from over, and in that small office, surrounded by scattered papers and the gentle ticking of seconds on the clock, something unspoken began to bloom—a shared wish, yet unvoiced, hanging delicately between you.