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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Pt. 55 - Utter Fixation

Title: Irreverent Pt. 55 - Utter Fixation

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~14K

A/N: This one is a doozy lols. Solnyshko is Russian for sunshine.

Men of Irreverent: Casting

Irreverent Series Masterlist

"Nice shot." You hug Spencer, his bony frame shaking just slightly as he laughs at your comment. "Bet you don't make fun of my marksmanship again, huh?" he jostles you as the two of you stand off to the side while Derek and Aaron wrap up with the SWAT team leader and ensure that both Novak and Cavanaugh are set on their way to the hospital, with appropriate protection in place while they await their CIA handler. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen," you smirk, before looping your arm through Spencer's as he leads you out to the car. As you pass by Agent Novak in a gurney, he nods at you in thanks. You offer a smile back, trudging through the field surrounding the warehouse. Spencer doesn't say much else and you know he's trying his best not to overwhelm you. You'd seemed shell shocked when Derek had gotten to you and it was only now, when the adrenaline was seeping out of your system, that you felt more capable. You lean against the car with Spencer, your mind fogging up as you careen through everything that had happened. You hadn't seen Clyde yet, so you imagine he's at Quantico. You'll have to ask Aaron about that. It's a wonder they'd managed to actually find you, but you'd never really doubted the team, no matter how much the odds had been stacked against them. Aaron had been the one to take out Ramos. He hadn't trusted any of the SWAT guys to do it. Not when it came to you. He wouldn't trust anyone else with that. Not that he had told you, but you had known even before you got to him. You see Derek and Aaron walking towards you, Derek pulling you into a quick hug before getting into the front driver's side. You expect Aaron to go around to ride shotgun, but he follows you in as you enter the back of the car, leaving Spencer to go sit up front. When you're buckled in, you look over to him. His eyes can't seem to leave you and you're struck by the thought: he'd been genuinely scared. The car rumbles to life as Derek pulls off onto the road and with one quick glance forward to ensure that neither Derek nor Spencer are paying you much mind, you close the distance between you and Aaron in the back. You press up against him and claim his mouth, a silent reassurance that you are indeed alright. He knows what you're doing and he lets you kiss him, the silent ambient noises of the car drowning out the two of you in the back. If Morgan or Reid noticed, they wisely kept their mouths shut and their eyes trained on the road in front. He can taste you – taste your apology, your regret. He feels your shoulders relax under his touch as his hand comes around to hold you to him. As you withdraw for a breath, he can't help the curve of his mouth from slipping into a small smile. "Does this mean we're back together?" he murmurs against your lips. He's not expecting a response beyond a laugh or agreement, but instead he sees confusion flicker onto your face as you move back to look at him properly. "What are you talking about?" He explains then. How Strauss had come to his office with the paperwork. How he'd seen your signature on the first page and she had expected he would sign the second. How he had indeed signed it, trusting that you had your reasons.

You feel your breath leave your lungs in utter disbelief. He'd thought…he'd thought you'd ended it. Just like that. He had signed it out of sheer faith and then gone home to Jack and pretended like nothing had happened. You can feel the pinprick tears in your eyes as you come to understand some of what he too must have gone through in the last couple weeks. You shake your head in disbelief, your mouth dry as you sniffle and clear your throat. "I – I didn't know," you tell him softly, your hand grasping his in the darkness. You'd never known he would have to sign something too. You'd only been shown that first page. You thought that would be it. That just you telling Strauss would be enough. Had you known – "Oh honey, I am so sorry." Your whispered apology is followed by your mouth on his once more, lips ghosting over his face, pressing to his skin. Physical atonement for the agitation and concern and worry you had no doubt caused him. Had you known that he too would have had to sign something, you would've spoken to him. Would've forced yourself to explain what was going on, as much as you could've. Perhaps you should've known better but back then, fresh after the day Clyde had taken you, your mind had been in disarray and you'd acted on instinct alone, doing your best to shield both him and Jack against any blowback from your assignment. You'd acted out of fear. Aaron only nods, drawing you in closer, tucked so close to him, you're practically in his lap. He's reacting to it a lot more calmly than you'd expected. No berating at you not thinking things through, because of course he would have to sign something too, and why wouldn't you just talk to him. Maybe, implicitly, he understood how much of a mess you'd been back then, trying to do whatever you could to remove the trail leading from you to him and Jack. Making sure that if anyone were to come after you, they would be safe.

You can feel his lips at your hairline as you push closer into him, running your fingers down his back, finding that pressure point that has him relaxing entirely under your touch as he holds you. The silent understanding that this – the two of you – was unshakeable. You'd left him and trusted him to find you. He'd let you go and trusted you to return. *------------* Clyde thought you were the mole. That you've been planted at the Bureau under your father's orders. Aaron and the others had filled you in on that as you'd neared Quantico, with Aaron still fretting that you needed sleep and rest before dealing with any of this. If it were up to him, he'd have you hooked up to an I.V. and put on bedrest. As it stood, it was not up to him, so now you're sat in a glass conference room, awaiting the rest of the team. The second you had arrived back at the Bureau, a couple agents had met you all in the parking garage and the four of you had been led past McKinney's office and to this room. You imagine the rest of the team will be joining you shortly, as you all had been the closest. It's really starting to sink in – Clyde thinks you're the mole, he'd talked to McKinney, you were escorted here by agents. You'd tried to protest when they'd met you in the garage, but one look from Aaron had you silent. He wants you to go along with this and not cause problems as long as possible. Buy time to figure out what was going on and what Clyde's angle was. It's only been a minute since you all were let into the room, Morgan and Reid were sat in chairs around the large table while Aaron stood leaned against it. He watches as you look out the glass walls, your eyes squinting, and he can tell you're thinking through what to do next. Aaron finds himself uncharacteristically calm regarding the situation – now that you're back, it shouldn't take much to convince McKinney just how ridiculous the entire notion of you being a mole really was. He isn't being naïve. He's aware that Easter potentially could have a case, given everything you've told him about your deal with your father. However, as it stands, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that it isn't the truth, and he can't imagine any proof that would show otherwise. "Can I borrow your phone?" Aaron starts at your sharp voice, your hand reaching out towards him almost impatiently. Brow furrowing in confusion, he's about to ask why, but the urgency on your face has him handing the device over before he can. He watches as you move away to the opposite side of the room, unable to step outside with two agents still standing guard. He shares a look with Morgan, who only shrugs as the two of them await the end of the call. With your head turned away to prevent Reid from watching, there isn't much more that they can do. You wrap up your call quickly, unsure how much time you have before Clyde and McKinney arrive, when you hear the door opening behind you. "Hey Cap." Your heart stops. No. It wasn't – You turn slowly, eyes widening as you see him standing in the doorway, a smile on his face, eyes crinkled at the corners. A soft gasp escapes you as you take him in. Then before you know it, you've barreled over to him, arms wrapped tight around his waist as his encircle your shoulders, tucking your head into his chest. Only one word comes to your mind, making its way down through you and settling against your ribs – Solnyshko. John presses a kiss to your hairline and you can feel the tears threatening to fall. Because if Aaron's arms were home, then John's were the lake house growing up. The one you think of fondly with the rose tinged glasses of nostalgia. Back to warm summers and too much sticky sweet ice cream dripping down your hands. To the thrill of jumping off the pier, scared and screaming and thrilled all at once. To the soft touches and gentle kisses shared on the patio with boys whom you would move on from but always remember. To the child you were, wide eyed and curious, wanting to have it all. He's a different kind of home. "We thought we could use an extra hand." You turn around at Aaron's deep voice coming from behind you, and there's a smile on his face that you're not sure how to interpret just yet. You can feel tears clouding your vision as you look at him, John's warmth still surrounding you, his arm still holding you near as he keeps you by his side. He'd called him. He'd called John. For you. Of course he had. Thank you, you mouth at him, catching just the hint of a second smile on his face before you're tackled by Penelope, who shoves John to the side. Behind her, you can make out Emily, JJ, and Rossi entering the room as well. "Oh my goodness, sugar! You're alright! I mean of course you are. We knew you'd be alright. We never doubted it, did we?" she asks Derek frenetically, whom you assume is behind you, but doesn't wait for a response before continuing her frenzied inspection, her hands running over your arms and hair, making sure nothing was out of place. "But you're alright, right? I mean when we saw what Easter did to you on that video – so, so awful. Who would waterboard someone? I mean, sure, you can learn anything on the internet, but that is still abhorrent. But don't you worry because I'm hunting down the other guys that were there with him, so we'll take care of them and of course the Director already knows, because Hotch showed him, and – " You break away from Penelope, trying to keep pace with her mile a minute voice, trying to understand everything she'd just said, trying to figure out what video… There's a sharp inhale that you hadn't realized was your own. Your lip quivers, eyes wide as the sinking, dreadful realization reaches you. In the background you can just barely make out John's voice asking what video she's talking about. You can't do anything but shake your head in horror. No. No. That's not. No. Aaron. No no no no no. He's looking at you and you know. He knows. No. You can't breathe. You can feel the air leaving your lungs but none seems to be making its way back in. Through the din you can make out Penelope and Derek moving towards you to make sure you're alright. John is still standing right where he'd landed when Penelope had pushed past him. Aaron. He'd seen. He knows. Oh God. Behind you, the door opens once more. You don't turn around to see who it is. Not yet. Aaron watches silently as you freeze, your shoulders tensing. He'd stopped himself from grabbing you right as the door opened, not wanting to give any visual to McKinney and Easter alluding to yours and his personal relationship. He knows better and he allows the part of him that knows the political play here, to overrule the part begging him to go to you. To seize you into his arms and draw you away from this room, this building. Take you home where none of this could touch you. No one could hurt you. Instinctively, your hands graze over your stomach, stopping momentarily before continuing up to your face and wiping away at the tears that had fallen. He sees you take a deep breath. Then another. Lips pressed tightly. Hands made into fists. It's like watching a metamorphosis in reverse – the unbridled, frantic panic and fury slip away, replaced by a cocooned version of you, held tight and wound together, guarding your soft spots within. "If everyone could please take a seat." Director McKinney enters the room after Easter who had already made himself at home near the front, a stack of folders and a tablet in his hands, his eyes curiously looking over the lot of you inside. You, still turned around and facing the other way, and every other person in that room, holding their breath and waiting for you to turn back. At the sound of McKinney's voice, you push through, forcing your mind to shut out the pieces of information that were not helpful in the moment. Aaron had already talked to you on the way up about not doing anything to get on McKinney's bad side right then, and you know that refusing to acknowledge his presence while you had a breakdown in the corner wouldn't earn you any brownie points. So, simply put, you didn't have the luxury to absorb it all. You couldn't think about the fact that they knew – that Aaron knew – about what Clyde did, why you had gone to Strauss, the baby. Your baby. His baby. Your baby. You didn't have the time to let it sink in, to take him aside, to give you both the time to fall apart. You couldn't. Not now. Later. First this. Later. With that, the steel trap clamps down, caging it all away. Turning, you grab the first chair in front of you, while everyone else who had been crowded near the doorway shuffles in. Aaron quickly settles down to your left, a brush of his hand to your shoulder and a softly muttered Later that was meant for your ears alone, but was caught by John as he claims the chair to your right. As you look up, you see Gladys trotting in after McKinney, a righteous look on her face as she carries what looks like a bundle of cloth and a mug into the room right behind her boss, and walks over to set both items down in front of you. With a quick motherly brush of your hair, she leaves as quickly as she came in, defiantly avoiding McKinney's eyes. It's quiet as everyone settles in, the shuffling of clothing and people, accompanied by the groan of government budget issued chairs. You reach out for the bunched up fabric on the table in front of you and unravel it to reveal a regulation F.B.I. crewneck. You're quick to slip out of the stiff leather jacket you still had on from a day prior, revealing a strappy top beneath, which you cover up, basking in the warmth the sweater provided. Gladys had also brought you a mug of hot chocolate from the kitchens and you reach for it gratefully, taking a quick sip, the hot liquid burning a molten streak down your throat in the best of ways.

From the corner of your eye you can see the regret in Aaron's posture as he sees you enjoy the most basic of comforts offered by someone else. Something he should've considered. You're able to offer him only the slightest of assurance with your eyes – he'd found you, that's what was truly important. *------------* "Who is this?" McKinney asks, gesturing towards John once everyone was seated and Clyde was preparing to speak at the front. You exchange a look with Aaron and John both, realizing that perhaps John's presence wasn't entirely Bureau approved. "I am exercising my right to retain private counsel," you speak up before either one of them could. "That –," McKinney begins, only to be interrupted by Spencer, " – is allowed per Section 56 Code 19 of the Employee Handbook. All agents retain the right to employ private counsel in the event of accusations levied against their person as a function of their role within the Bureau." Reid rattles it all off quickly and not for the first time, you find yourself jealous of his eidetic memory. Yours was good, but not nearly like his. You shoot Spencer a grateful smile, before meeting McKinney's eyes once more. "You're paying him?" The question comes from Clyde, eyebrow raised, in a tone so derisive that you have to wonder if he had ever liked you at all, or if the man had spent the past number of months that you two worked together, silently seething at your very existence. You don't have to look at Aaron to know that he's already pulled out his wallet, when he hands you a twenty dollar bill. You slide it across the table, over to John, never once turning away from Clyde's critical look, your own unwavering under his scrutiny. He had no idea who he was going to war with. McKinney looks between you and Clyde, before sighing and nodding his okay. "Very well." He turns towards Clyde to give him the floor. Your eyes narrow as you take a sip of the hot chocolate again, careful to not show any discomfort outwards. Beneath the table, you can feel Aaron's hand resting against your thigh, the heat of it reminding you that you aren't alone. McKinney had let you have them all here with you, likely in reaction to that video, if Aaron had indeed showed it to him. He had the kindness to not make you be alone with the man who had tortured you. If Clyde was going to be accusing you of anything, he'd have to do it front of everyone. On your other side, you feel John shift, his knee skimming against yours before settling down to be right against it, a silent pledge – he's there too, and he isn't leaving. *------------* "I believe we all know why we are here," McKinney starts, his hands interlaced together on the table, a serious set to his brow. He's doing his best to keep this entire procedure civil. You know he's doing you a favor by allowing you to be there when Clyde offers up his accusation formally. He's offering you the opportunity for rebuttal before any of it is written down and documented. Saving you, potentially, from an entire formal review. Part of you wonders who that is meant to protect however – you, Clyde, or McKinney himself? You nod to indicate that you understand, meeting McKinney's eyes. Walter McKinney – as you'd come to learn – was a fair man and his rise in the Bureau had been no fluke. He knows that the reason you'd brought in the BAU at all was because you hadn't trusted anyone – not even him. You have to believe that when the two of you do eventually speak alone, that he would understand why. Clyde clears his throat, turning everyone's attention to him and the screen. Him, you were extremely wary of. You had been immediately after he'd tortured you, of course. However, he'd managed to convince you, that for him, that had been standard operating procedure. He'd been able to use your own fear and insecurities to convince you to go along with it. Were he not sitting across a table, gearing up to accuse you of treason, you might have allowed that one act to pass – he had simply been trying to make sure you were prepared for the worst. Not anymore. "I would've preferred this meeting be held behind closed doors," he begins, tilting back in his chair and keeping one eye trained on you at all times as though he thought you'd try and pull a disappearing act, "However, no matter. I will be walking through the evidence gathered against Agent L/N, proving that she has been a plant working against the Bureau since the very beginning." His declaration is followed by silence from everyone else in the room, and were it not for the seriousness of the accusation, you might've laughed. The screen at the front of the room flickers on, and a black and white surveillance quality photo of an airstrip appears. You're disembarking with your father at your side. You're eighteen, your hair up in a ponytail, John's Columbia Law School hoodie, rumpled from far too many hours on an airplane. Beside you, you feel him tense as he too realizes exactly how old this photograph is. How young you were in that. It's from that summer, so very long ago. When he and Julian had gone on that trip, just the two of them. You'd gone with your father. There's a man standing by a car at the foot of the steps leading down from the plane. For the first time in over seven years, you set eyes on Volkov again. "For those of you who may not be aware, the man in the photo is Alexander Volkov. Volkov is wanted by many Eastern European governments, and is notoriously on the books for the Russian government, despite no official ties. If you recall the bombing in Sokovia, five years ago, you're looking at the man responsible." Easter had been part of Olympus. He hasn't confirmed it, but that was the only thing that made sense. You look around and know that at least both Aaron and Emily had reached a similar conclusion. Nothing else would explain him having surveillance photos of you from a decade ago. In the wake of Clyde's explanation, you can feel Aaron's eyes on you from your left, but you don't dare look at him. The rest of the team is taking his lead and not saying anything in response either, for fear they might say the wrong thing. Ultimately, it's John who speaks up. "She's eighteen there, practically a child. What exactly is the purpose of showing us this?" Clyde's eyes narrow as he realizes that this won't be quite as easy as anticipated. If he'd expected Aaron or the others to display any shock or revulsion at his revelation…well, he really didn't know your team that well, did he? "It sets the foundation," Clyde counters, his hand once more on the controller. "A pattern of behavior, indicative of less than honorable intentions, bad company, and plenty of opportunity." With that, he clicks a button on the remote, replacing the photo with another one. This one is of just you, exiting a building on Harvard's campus. You have to be in your second year – your hair is dyed because Matthew liked it better that way and you'd given in to his request. You're carrying books in your hand as you walk, hair whipping around in the wind. It's you, but it looks nothing like you. With a deep internal sigh, you sink in further into your chair. You had a better idea now of where this was going. "This was taken outside the Lowell Lecture Hall. You were seen entering and exiting the building the entirety of the Fall semester, right in time for the Math 55 lecture," Clyde announces, his eyes issuing a challenge at you to explain this away. Unfortunately for him, his jab doesn't quite land with the audience, as Rossi raises an eyebrow at him. "What does a Math class have anything to do with this?" However, instead of Clyde, it is Reid who answers him. "Harvard, oddly enough isn't known for its advanced math program but it is known for one particular class," Reid explains quickly, his eyes flitting over you with some curiosity. "When you're good at math - good enough to get into Harvard - you take a math class called "Math 15". When you're better than that you take "Math 25", but when you're the best, the absolute best, you take "Math 55": Honors Advanced Calculus and Linear Algebra. Graduates are immediately employed by the U.S. Government because they're too dangerous to work anywhere else. More specifically, they're employed at the NSA." Reid's spiel is met with mixed reactions. Rossi shifts back in his seat, hands crossed in front of him, an oddly smug look on his face. The rest of the team looks mildly surprised as they process what Reid had said. Aaron sits beside you, unshaken, and John of course had already known you had attended the class. Clyde clears his throat, shifting forward in his seat. "Thank you, Agent Reid," he says to Spencer in a clipped tone that has you bristling in reaction. "Doctor." He looks up at your interruption, brow quirked in question. "It's not Agent. It's Dr. Reid," you clarify, your lips pursed, jaw tight. "You took this class?" McKinney asks, finally breaking his silence since Clyde had begun. You swallow, meeting his eyes. He was still your mentor. What he thought about you, still mattered. You can feel the attitude you'd just given Clyde waning ever so slightly. "I audited it. For all anyone knows, I would've flunked out." "No, you wouldn't," McKinney replies quietly, his gaze appraising. His dark eyes holding all the knowledge on you that he'd amassed in the past year of being your closest supervisor within the Bureau. He has no doubts when it comes to your capabilities. "Why didn't you just enroll in it?" You shrug nonchalantly, the large crewneck shifting off your shoulders slightly as you do. "It's a large commitment. I didn't want to be beholden to every assignment. I already had a lot on my plate." It wasn't a lie. Not exactly anyways. McKinney looks like he doesn't quite believe you. You thrive with having too much to do. "Is that the only reason?" he digs, his eyes firmly on you, watching for anything, any sign. You let out a short breath of exasperation which you manage to disguise, deciding to just give them what they wanted. "I didn't exactly want to be on a list of people considered dangerous by the US government. I wouldn't have said yes to working for the NSA. I wanted to be a lawyer." Your eyes cut to John and he meets them, because you both know – you had wanted to be a lawyer because he was. It had been part of the plan. Your plan with him. Your justification is met with some more silence and you can tell, that for McKinney, the deck is slowly starting to stack against you. He now viewed you as intentionally deceptive regarding your abilities and usefulness to the government. As ex military, to him, that was on par with avoiding the draft. "Attending closed session classes that you weren't actually enrolled in wasn't the only thing you did in college. You also made quite a few friends, didn't you? You aren't exactly a stranger to relationships of convenience." As Clyde speaks, the screen changes once more behind him and a photo from the ill fated engagement shoot that Matthew's mother had insisted on pops up. Your hair is curled, you're wearing a long burgundy gown, standing beside Matthew in front of Lippman House, where the two of you had first met. You're smiling, both of you. On your hand sits an incredibly prominent ring, the stone shining brilliantly in the sunlight. This time, both John and Aaron tense, and your mind, unwanted, goes back to the video that he'd seen. There's a chance – if they'd caught what you said to Clyde's lackey towards the end. There's a chance that Aaron knows about Matthew. About what he'd done. You can't look at him. Instead, you look across to Derek, who's shifted forward in his chair, his fists tightly balled up on the table in front of him, his brow furrowed and body tense as he looks from the screen, to you, and then to Aaron beside you, before meeting your eyes again. He doesn't have to say it. The way his eyes go from Aaron and then you and back to Aaron, says it all. Fuck. "My personal relationships are not up for discussion," you assert slowly, the feeling of all eyes on you causing your skin to break out with goosebumps. "You don't get to decide what is and isn't relevant here," Clyde rebuts, venom in his voice. "Is this how things are done at Interpol? Because in polite society, we don't simply ambush people." John's tone might be light but his posture spoke to how much he was holding back in making just that small comment. You know, that if you gave the go ahead, he would obliterate Clyde. "Don't worry Mr. Hawthorne," Clyde smirks. "I'm certain over the course of this discussion, we will arrive at the matter of you as well. Pretty sure I saw some your face in the stack as well. Or, is your objection to the fact that you were never anything official – just used and tossed aside when it was convenient?" This bastard. The fury you feel at him talking to John in that way. For him to insinuate that he knew anything about you and John. For him to talk down to John like that. You open your mouth to tell him off, but before you can, you feel the dig of John's fingers at your thigh and you look up to see him shake his head. He knows that you wouldn't let something like that about him simply pass. He's telling you that he knows what you were, and that Clyde – well, Clyde could go fuck himself. John didn't want you tossing your cards down just for him. Hold on to them. You're going to need them. You press your lips together tight and bite your tongue, your hand reaching for his under the table, fingers intertwining with his. He squeezes your hand gently – once, twice, thrice – just how he used to, before letting go. Aaron watches the interaction between you and John, before turning his attention back to Easter, who waits for a beat more, trying to bait you into lashing out, before he moves on. The screen changes once more, to be replaced with a photograph of you with three boys. You're on what appears to be a yacht, the blue ocean spanning out endlessly behind you. You're seated on the shoulders of a tall man with short, dark hair and light brown skin, his hands wrapped around your thighs to hold you steady atop him. Your hair is back to its natural shade and it cascades past your shoulders, hitting the top of your bikini clad breasts, your white bathing suit stark against your sun-kissed skin. Beside the two of you, are two other men – one with darker hair, standing nearly as tall at the first while the other – a stocky blond – sits atop his shoulders. The four of you are grinning, smiles carefree and happy as can be. The kind of loose joy that is really only found amongst college students indulging in spring break a little too much. "You know, Clyde, just because you don't have friends of your own for show and tell, doesn't mean you can use mine." The smartass comment is out of your mouth before you could hold it back and you know you'll pay for it later as Clyde elects to ignore it in the moment. From your left you feel Aaron's eyes on you briefly before darting back to the front. Well, you were definitely going to pay for it in one way at least. "Patrick Kane," Easter's laser points to the stocky blond man, before the screen changes to reveal just a photo of him. "His father is part of the Irish mob and runs their international businesses out of Europe. He himself now owns leadership of the faction out of London." Kane was going to love that he had been part of your indictment with the Bureau. He was sure to get a particular kick out of it, considering the number of times he got in trouble because you and Ricky decided to burst into his classes and stage a kidnapping. But well, it was usually warranted. Impromptu trips to the Hamptons took precedence over Psych 101.

From the corner of your eye you can see Penelope appraising Kane with some interest and you have a feeling you're going to be talking to her about all the boys afterwards. The screen changes again to reveal Ambrose Hastings - Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome himself. However this time, the photo of him is shown only briefly before its replaced with another one that has your breath catching. Hastings is seated with you in his lap, your lips slotted against his, a large hand wrapped around your back, holding you close to him. "Ambrose Hastings and his father own the largest weapons contracts internationally, for those of you who many not know. Just friends, huh? " Clyde's taunt has your eyes flashing with rage. How on earth had he gotten this photograph?! You know for a fact that this wasn't posted anywhere. It's from the trip to Monte Carlo for your twenty first birthday. You're wearing the black dress with the deep slit up one side, a tiara sitting at the crown of your head. Ambrose's large hands splayed across your thigh and his lips keeping yours warm, as was your pattern anytime you and Matthew were on a break. John has come to the same realization as you. This is not a photograph that you or anyone in the group would've leaked. Which meant that Easter had acquired it himself. There's a grim set to his shoulders as the two of you exchange a look, before he speaks. "What did you do, pay off the waitstaff for that?" When Clyde doesn't say anything in response, you have your answer. He had. He had set up someone on the yacht to get anything they could on you. The feeling of revulsion that crawls through you at that realization – he had been watching you, even in spaces where you should have had the assumption of privacy. "This is a cheap ploy," John continues, now that he had the confirmation on exactly how far Easter had gone to gather his so-called evidence against you. "You think you can slander Agent L/N and make inappropriate digs to provoke Agent Hotchner. However all you've accomplished thus far is displaying your inappropriate invasion of privacy into the life of a young woman, which would normally be grounds for a harassment suit." The barely veiled threat is in John's words. If Clyde doesn't have anything real to share, and soon, he will bury him. Before Clyde has a chance to say anything more, there's a knock at the door, and Gladys peaks her head in to interrupt. "Excuse me," she starts, her hand against the door to hold it ajar ever so slightly, "There is a call from Director Richards." "See if I can return the call later today," McKinney tells her quickly, before turning back to the table to continue the discussion. "Actually sir, the call is for Agent L/N," she clarifies, her eyes meeting McKinney's firmly before shifting over to you. You can feel the sharpness of McKinney's gaze on you as he wonders why Richards is calling you directly. With a quick look around, you stand with a nod towards Gladys. "I'll take it outside, thank you." With that, you quickly walk around the table and out the door, following her to McKinney's office, where she's routed the call for you. In the wake of your departure, the room is quiet. John turns to Aaron, one eyebrow raised in question. "Director Richards, as in – ?" Aaron looks quickly towards McKinney, whose eyes are fixed on the door where you'd left, before he nods at John in confirmation. Director Richards, as in, the director of the CIA, had called and asked for you personally. *------------* You're gone for ten minutes which might as well have been an hour, for as long as it stretched out. Easter tried to engage McKinney into a side conversation twice, before giving up and sulking at the front. Prentiss and JJ's eyes flit from the door, to Easter, and then one another, the two of them engaged in a silent conversation he wasn't privy to. On his right, Aaron can see John and Garcia engaged in a hushed conversation as she types away at her laptop, seemingly looking up something for him. Aaron meets Rossi and Morgan's eyes, both of them carrying the same question that was in McKinney's stalwart gaze that had locked on the door you'd left through and not wavered in the ten minutes since. Why on earth was the director of the CIA calling you right now? How did he even know you? Despite your offer from the CIA, Aaron can hardly imagine that the Director himself would be involved, so even that kernel of knowledge that he has over the others doesn't offer any clarity in the moment. At just past ten minutes, you can be seen making your way back, quickly bypassing the two agents still standing guard, one of them opening the door to let you in. You're met with McKinney's pointed look as soon as you enter, demanding some sort of explanation. You clear your throat and offer a polite smile. "Both Agents Novak and Cavanaugh are recovering well," you reveal, standing demurely in front of Director McKinney, who eyes you with a guarded look, no doubt simmering at the notion of one of his peers deigning to circumvent him and go directly to one of his agents. "Director Richards asked that I pass on his gratitude for the Bureau's role in the rescue and recovery of his agents. He will be reaching out to you again, later, in order to thank you properly." McKinney nods slowly, giving you permission to return to your seat, despite knowing that that had hardly been everything Richards had spoken to you about. A thank you did not take ten minutes. A mere thank you, would not have gone to you directly. Not if you didn't have some sort of personal relationship with Richards that he wasn't privy to. There is a palpable shift in the room as you reclaim your seat, making a show of taking your time to settle back in properly, leaning forward to grab a bottle of water from the center of the table and then unhurriedly opening it, taking a delicate sip, closing it, and then setting it back on the table before shifting in your seat to where your elbow rests on the arm of the chair closest to Aaron. Your posture is slouched, where before you had been a stiff board. As you lean closer to him, deliberately tilting your head to appear that much more near him, Aaron gets a whiff of that smell that is undoubtedly you. You, without a proper shower, but still you. Yes, it is quite obvious that you and Director Richards had spoken far beyond a simple exchange of gratitude. The tides have changed. *------------* Easter attempts to continue as though nothing had transpired, resuming his position at the helm, the image of you and Hastings kissing – which Aaron had carefully avoided looking at for the past ten minutes, because far be it from to judge you on your past, no matter who it was with – replaced by one of the final boy. "Ricky Costello, part of the Costello family. Son of Frank Costello." Easter doesn't bother expanding further. There wasn't an agent on the eastern seaboard that wasn't familiar with the Costello family. So this was the kid who had punched van Doren in the face. Aaron liked this one. He liked him a fair amount more than Hastings, that was for sure. Across the way, he sees Rossi's eyebrows raise with some surprise, a glint of recognition in his eyes. He isn't entirely surprised by that. He'd always known that Rossi had ties with the Italian crime families. Easter clicks another button and a series of surveillance photos replaces Costello. They are all black and white, with the date on the corner indicating that they are all from last year. You're getting into your car, with Costello helping you in, the two of you smiling at one another. "Would you like to explain what you were doing, speaking with Ricky Costello last year? This was after you started working on Atlantis." You remain nonchalant, taking another sip of the hot chocolate that was bound to be cold by now, but you'd never deny yourself chocolate in any form. You casually smirk up at Easter's question, answering it only with a shrug. "Were you giving Costello information regarding Atlantis?" Easter probes, his frustration with your changed demeanor highly evident. He had preferred when you were at least somewhat taking this seriously. "Is a connection with the Costello family all it takes to accuse someone of treason nowadays?" you drawl, eyeing Easter from behind the rim of your mug, before leaning forward and setting it down on the table. "In that case, there might be some other people you want to have a talk with." Aaron is fully expecting you to be hinting at Rossi with that line, though why you'd throw him under the bus was a mystery. However, he watches as you stare resolutely ahead. Except, you aren't looking at Easter. You definitely aren't looking at Rossi. No, you're looking at McKinney. McKinney who, if Aaron isn't mistaken, looks just the slightest bit uncomfortable in the wake of your statement. McKinney who shifts in his chair ever so slightly, his eyes darting down and to the left imperceptibly quickly – something that might have gone unnoticed otherwise, but unfortunately for him, he happened to be seated in a room full of profilers. Huh. "Let's move on, shall we," McKinney instructs Easter, avoiding your eyes and everyone else's in the room. Easter's mouth falls open in disbelief at the turn of events. Your presence, which you'd kept buttoned up for the first half of this meeting, now permeated the room, and Aaron is reminded all over again of your interview. How he had initially sat back, waiting for you to stumble. How you'd gone one by one, getting to or through to each of them. How you'd called out even his bluff. You were commanding, charming, and serene all at once, and he'd marveled at how one person could possibly embody all those things at the same time. "You shot me!" Easter accuses, grasping for something, provoked by your calm attitude, and believing that to be his hole in one. The one thing that could not be denied. His one piece of evidence against you that couldn't be brushed aside, threatened away, or dismissed. "Yes, you got me there," you chuckle lightly, and Aaron almost feels bad for Easter. Almost. Across the way, Morgan has a smirk on his face that likely matches his own. You shift forward, placing your hands on the table in front of you, your eyes trained critically on Easter and Easter alone. "I shot you twice, actually. Once, two centimeters above the center of the heart and another to the left, one centimeter below the fifth rib. Both shots take advantage of the portions of the vest designed to be thickest and also are far enough away from any major arteries to avoid you bleeding out to death in the event that the vest isn't enough. Even if both shots had made it to their destination, you would have had at least thirty five to forty minutes, at minimum, before you were in any real danger of not recovering. If you don't believe me, I suggest you ask a doctor." With that, you lean back once more, giving both Easter and McKinney the opportunity to offer a response in opposition. After a few seconds, when neither one is forthcoming, you sit up straight once more. "Why were you dismissed from Project Olympus?" *------------* You watch, your eyes directly on Clyde as he falters under your gaze. You can tell that your question had caught McKinney by surprise as well. McKinney, who had looked at you differently ever since the call with Richards. You would have to thank the man later. His call could not have come at a more opportune time. With Clyde unable to answer the question, you decide to answer it for him. "Is it because you wasted resources and defied orders by continuing surveillance on me because you were convinced that I had something to do with my father's business?"

“How would you know that?” McKinney asks, though his eyes say that he already knows. He is merely confirming in order to have your answer on the record.

“Director Richards was on Olympus as well,” you answer. “He was highly surprised when he learned that Agent Easter was overseeing the investigation into the Atlantis disappearances.”

McKinney nods, having expected that, you’re sure. You already know he’s trying his best to piece together what little he could about your conversation with Richards. No doubt, it’s something he’ll question you about in more detail when it’s just the two of you later on.

You both turn back to Clyde expectantly, still waiting for him to chime in with an explanation. Director Richards’ word would be taken at face value and McKinney wouldn’t question it. Not for this. "Anyone who paid the slightest bit of attention – every single person on that assignment – they should've seen what I saw,” Clyde seethed, pushing up from the table and standing up, his body trembling with caged fury. “He took you along to meetings. He introduced you to his contacts. You were being initiated, tested. Of course I kept an eye on you! It would have been negligent not to." You shake your head in disbelief at exactly how unhinged he sounded. How incensed. This wasn’t a man who had proof. This was a man who had believed his theory for a long time, and was unwilling to part ways with it. "And what did you see?" you ask, crossing your arms across your chest. "I saw a girl who was making connections - with everyone. Sons of the mob, the mafia, and the cartels. Saudi princes and daughters of Russian tycoons. Up and coming Chinese heiresses. If there was a single person with even the slightest of pull on that campus, they knew your name. They considered you a friend. You're telling me that's the move of someone who wasn't establishing themselves to take over the reins?" "What can I say? I'm a friendly person."

It wasn’t clear to just you. It was clear to everyone that Clyde didn’t have proof. None to speak of. "If you'd spent even half as much time and effort into watching her father that you did into watching her, maybe you would have learned enough about him to know that he would have never made her his plant in the Bureau. A plant is someone dispensable. You don't put what is potentially your best asset in the hands of the enemy. Far too much danger of them turning," John declared, his face betraying how astonished he felt at Clyde’s obsession with you. Of all people, he’s had some experience in men who become unhealthily attached to you. It never ends well for them. "Not to mention the fact that you cannot possibly think very highly of me,” you continue from where John left off. “If you think my grand plan was to bide my time within a faction of the Bureau with minimal ties to core operations, wait four years to enter into a relationship with a Unit Chief, compared to whom, my clearance level is actually significantly higher,” you state, before turning to place a hand on Aaron’s arm. “No offense honey.”

Aaron barely conceals his amused snort at that, the smirk that had taken residence on his face ever since you flipped the tables on Easter, firmly in place. "That's true,” John agrees, and you can tell that he’s enjoying the return to your typical repartee that the two of you have always had. The one that most outsiders find intimidating to keep up with. “If you'd wanted to infiltrate the Bureau, that role in White Collar was much better suited.” "You’re right,” you nod. “And it would've taken me only a couple of months to get everything I need. Agent Barton would've been an easy mark. I'm just his type."

Aaron watches as Easter appears to regroup and the Director looks deep in thought as he works his way through the quick back and forth performance you and John had put forward. From the corner of his eye, he sees John lean in to you, hiding his mouth behind his hand as he whispers something into your ear. You lean back sharply, your face the picture of disbelief as you think through whatever it was that he’d said to you.

Clearing your throat, you nod towards Garcia. “Agent Garcia, could you please pull up the first case I ever logged? It would have been during the third month that I was a trainee.”

From the front of the room both McKinney and Easter’ brows furrow, along with the rest of theirs, wondering what you were getting at. It’s Morgan who voices what they were all thinking. “What does your first case logged have to do with this?”

Your eyes flit from Morgan to Easter, barely stopping at McKinney, before you wordlessly direct Garcia to proceed with pulling up the case. “My third month while I was a trainee, someone broke into my apartment. Nothing was taken, but I could tell that someone had been there, so I dusted for prints and logged it. I ran it against the system but it didn’t turn up with anything then. The thing is, trainees only have access to the domestic IAFIS database.”

At that, your eyes flash dangerously towards Easter and the implication of what you’re saying has Aaron’s hackles raised. Easter sits straighter, just the slightest bit tense as Garcia pulls up the case and then runs them against Easter’s fingerprints.

The blaring negative result for a match has your jaw tightening and Easter sporting a smug smile that Aaron truly can’t wait to have wiped off of his face forever.

You take a breath, knowing that running it against the entire system would take far too long. Eyes narrowed, you look towards Easter once more. “You don’t really like getting your hands dirty yourself, do you?” you muse, your voice low and contemplative as you appraise Easter’s reaction to your conjecture.

“Garcia, compare the prints against Eli Black, Harold Woodshire, and Stefan Dupont.”

Garcia starts to pull up the prints of the Interpol agents you’d provided, when McKinney jumps in. “Agent L/N, don’t you think you are perhaps being just a little paranoid?”

Garcia looks between you and McKinney, the two of you engaged in a standoff that he was unlikely to win.

“Run it,” you instruct, knowing that Garcia’s loyalty to you far outweighed anything that McKinney could say to her in that moment.

The entire room waits with bated breath as Garcia runs the prints against the names provided. It’s tense as Easter’s eyes flit nervously between the screen that Garcia had commandeered away from him, and both you and McKinney, still looking at one another, your gaze staunchly defiant.

The system blares, stopping at Eli Black – a 100% match. They all look to the screen and Aaron’s stomach clenches as they look at the face of the man who had beaten you and strapped you down in the video, his eyes just as pale and emotionless in his Interpol I.D. photograph as they’d been when he’d put his hands on you.

There’s a tight smile on your face, your eyes shifting away from McKinney’s without comment, fixed on Easter once more. “I didn’t actually go to law school, but we happen to have two lawyers in the room right now. Remind me,” you say, a quirk of your eyebrow in John’s direction, “what’s the fourth amendment, again?”

John has a dark smirk on his face as he realizes you’re finally giving him full permission to do whatever he wants to, and in that moment, Aaron can quite easily see how he had the highest conviction rate in the entire New York state D.A.’s office. “The Fourth Amendment strictly prohibits unreasonable searches and seizures,” he states, the forced calm of his voice just barely masking the thundering rage that was coming off of him in waves, his chest expanding as he sits at his full height, towering over the table.

“How much you want to bet, that wasn’t a sanctioned search?” you quip, mirroring his expression, your tone hinting that this wasn’t the first time the two of you had paired up to dress someone down in prime fashion.

“Easy enough to find out. All we’d have to do is pull up the logs on warrants,” John replies, his eyes locked on Easter, daring him to say or do anything to further paint himself into a corner.

There’s a beat while Clyde seems to process everything that had just happened. Absorb how the script had been flipped around on him. McKinney was looking at him with a great deal of concern and you know that Clyde can see it on the Director’s face as well – any credibility that Clyde might have had with him was quickly dissipating. The combination of that video and everything that had come forward, along with the lack of concrete proof and now this, had McKinney finally arriving at a decision regarding the validity of Clyde’s accusation. "Then why?” Clyde asks, sounding as though he couldn’t quite believe anything that had transpired. “Why would someone of your pedigree and connections ever deign to be a federal agent?”

You close your eyes for a moment, having put together the final piece that had always plagued you. You don’t have to guess at whether or not you’re right. You know you are.

“Because you knew. People like you, knew. You knew that he murdered Julian and you chose to look the other way. Pinning him for killing some kid didn’t matter to you. Not when you could potentially be the people to bring down him and his empire. Why settle? Because you knew, and the second he decided to turn on me, you’d let him get away with that too. Because I refused to be yet another casualty of my father’s greed.”

You can feel the tears glistening in your eyes and you’re quick to blink them away while Aaron finds your hand on the table and grasps it firmly in his, his thumb caressing your palm comfortingly. He hadn't known that you'd truly feared this level of retaliation from your father, and your desperation to get onto the team takes on a new layer of meaning for him.

You clear your throat before continuing, taking stock of every single person seated around that table that was here because of you. JJ, smiling at you kindly while throwing her dirtiest looks at Clyde. Spencer, who had chimed in repeatedly and who you knew was about to pester you about Math 55’s coursework endlessly afterwards – after all, there had been a reason you’d never told him about it. Rossi, smugly claiming you as his own, his gaze proud as can be. Penelope, who was still wordlessly apologizing for bringing up that video earlier, and who you knew was going to ruin those guys’ lives because of what they had done to you. Emily, who was glaring daggers at Clyde and likely planning out the various ways she could torture him right back. Derek, who would have your back in any situation, any circumstance, no matter what. Aaron, whose hand was warm against yours and who had let you handle this yourself because that was your guys’ agreement. At work, you were your own person and he would allow you to navigate and deal with everything by yourself, until you asked for his help. Aaron, who would go out of his way to do anything for you at home, who would go to the ends of the earth to make sure you were alright.

“Because, you’ve seen what this team does in order to protect our own. Joining them ensured that I couldn’t just disappear.”

*------------* There’s a long silence, during which all you’re really aware of is the seconds hand on the clock ticking away. Clyde isn’t looking at anyone. McKinney is switching between looking at you and Clyde both and you can feel him assessing everything said and shown. Weighing the proof or lack thereof. Thinking through the implications of Richards offering up the information on Clyde’s dismissal to you personally.

Beside you, Aaron has shifted and dragged your hand back with his, placing both in his lap so he can hold onto yours tighter. You can’t help but feel your heart tremble ever so much as his thumb drags itself back and forth over your palm, paying extra special attention to the deep indentations that have been left over the past couple of days, and especially the past half hour.

When you’d said that this team protects its own, what you’d really meant was Aaron. Of course the rest of them would protect you too, in a heartbeat. But Aaron protects differently. He does what needs to be done. Not what you ask him to do. Maybe at the time, you’d resented him for lying about Emily’s death. Over time, you’ve come to realize that he had done whatever needed to be done to make sure that she would be safe. He’d known the team would hate him for it and he’d done it anyways, because who cared if you were upset with him or not talking to him as long as it also meant that Emily was safe and alive.

To your other side, John has shifted so he’s leaning closer to you, his elbow on the arm of your chair, and you know that he – out of them all – had known how truly afraid you’d been in New York. How you’d lived in constant fear of your father finding out what you and him were doing and turning the full brunt of his fury towards you. You wouldn’t have survived that. Not then.

After a few more minutes, McKinney stands, and you know he’s arrived at a decision. “There remains the matter of the actual mole,” he states, bypassing any discussion on anything you or Clyde had said. With that one statement, he was declaring your innocence while electing to ignore everything else. You shouldn’t have expected any different from him. For him, all that mattered was ensuring the sanctity of the Bureau.

You squeeze Aaron’s hand before your hand away, back to the table, and with a nod at McKinney, turn to Clyde. “Where’s my locket?”

However, instead of Clyde, it’s Aaron who answers you. “I have it.”

You turn back towards him and watch as he shifts to bring out the chain and pendant from the inside pocket of his jacket and set it on the table in front of you gently.

Why Aaron had the locket instead of Clyde, was something you’d have to ask him later. For the time being, you focused on answering the Director’s question.

“When I was with Jansen, he revealed some details regarding the mole which were enough for me to create a preliminary profile,” you divulge, reaching and picking up the locket. “Rossi, can I see your wallet?”

Rossi gives you an odd look, but leans into his pants pocket and retrieves the wallet, tossing it to you from across the table.

You flip it open and search though, looking for the thick metal card, while everyone’s eyes are on you. When you find what you’re looking for, you fish it out.

“I just need to double check a couple of details, but if I’m not mistaken, I think I know who in the Bureau is the mole,” you say, as you latch the metal card into the bottom two prongs of the pendant, and with some leverage from the table, manage to flip them open.

Aaron looks at you and you mutter a quick Sorry, honey to him, before sliding the stone out of the setting to reveal a black memory card behind it.

Everyone watches as the memory card is taken out of the base of the pendant, having sat there behind the deep emerald stone, unbeknownst to them all. You slide it over to Garcia, who eagerly takes it off your hand.

“When we started looking at everyone on the project team for Atlantis,” you start again while Garcia is working on getting the information in the chip loaded to her computer, “we tracked financial statements primarily, to see who was receiving or had funds available to them which they shouldn’t. Additionally, I did an assessment of assets – mostly real estate and artwork – as that is often used to hide illegal assets. Most people checked out, others had some assets that were questionable but nothing that rose to the threshold that we were using for our assessment. However, during my conversation with Jansen, he told me that the mole in the Bureau was effective because he didn’t take monetary payment.”

“What kind of payment does he take?” McKinney asks curiously, now leaning in across the table. He’d seemed mildly taken aback when you’d broken the pendant to take out the microchip you’d hidden, and now that you were being forthcoming about your suspicions, seemed more than willing to listen to what you had to say.

Clyde sat sulking at the front.

You clear your throat, a grimace taking form as you recall your conversation with Jansen. “Apparently, little girls make for compelling payment.”

JJ has a sharp inhale and Garcia momentarily stops typing as your words sink in.

“Once Agent Garcia is able to fully read in the data, we can reassess the real estate holdings. We’ll be looking for property which could be used to easily conceal the presence of children.”

When Jansen had told you how his plant was paid, you’d had the bone chilling realization that your late night excursions over a month and a half ago had not been a mere coincidence. What you’d feared had come to fruition. The smell of smoke still lingers in your brain.

“Who do you think it is?” Rossi asks as you toss his wallet back to him.

“Alexander Pierce. He’s the only one that fits the profile of a child molester.”

McKinney appears beyond shocked. Pierce was at the level directly below him. He’s the favorite to take the reins of the entire Bureau in the upcoming decade. They’ve worked together for years and are at least friendly. Yet, he doesn’t question you. He doesn’t tell you that you might be wrong. Instead, he turns resolutely towards Rossi.

“Dave, due to the changed circumstances, I ask that you oversee the investigation and if warranted, subsequent arrest of Agent Pierce.”

Rossi nods, so McKinney continues as he sweeps up his files from the table and stands, buttoning his jacket as he does, effectively drawing your indictment to a close.

“Agent Easter, I will be speaking with the Interpol Director regarding your actions and composure on this assignment. I believe the three of us will have much to discuss together. Agent L/N, you have the entirety of the BAU, with Agent Rossi, to assist you in closing this out. Ideally, the two of us will sit down on Monday and discuss your role in all of this as well, beginning with the disclosure of classified information to outside parties without requisite clearance.”

You sigh internally, squeezing Aaron’s hand once more as he opens his mouth to likely speak up against McKinney still trying to read you the riot act. You’d expected as much. He wasn’t the type to let that slide – especially not with you rubbing his nose in Richards calling you directly.

"Yes sir," you nod.

Having said all he had to say, all of you watch as McKinney takes his leave with a sweep of the room, the door shutting behind him.

*------------*

In McKinney’s wake, everyone looks at Easter, who appears incredibly uncomfortable and looked to be assessing whether or not he was meant to stay. He seemed to have reached a conclusion, as he stands and makes his way towards the door.

“You know,” you speak up as Easter approaches the door, and Aaron watches as you break the man down with your gaze alone. “For someone who thinks I’m capable of any number of atrocious things, you sure didn’t seem to have a problem with pissing me off.”

Your words are said with a casual overtone as you remain seated, the perfect air of ease about you, designed to draw a rise out of Easter, who had one hand on the doorknob, having turned around at the sound of your voice.

At your words, he scoffs. “What is that supposed to be? A threat?” He raises an eyebrow at you and tilts back into his quietly assured self.

Your lips purse ever so slightly and your eyes flash, before your mouth widens into a smile. The kind of smile that would have grown men running for the hills. “No. That wasn’t a threat,” you clarify, shifting to sit up straight once again. “This is. You come near me or mine again, and you will find out exactly how much I learned from my father.”

Easter looks like he’s ready to dismiss your threats, rolling his eyes and turning around.

“Передай от меня привет Даниэлю.”

He turns sharply, his face paling at whatever you’d said to him. His eyes search yours for any doubt, any hesitation. He appears to have seen the staunch truth in them, as he only swallows, his Adam’s apple protruding, and if Aaron wasn’t mistaken there was a slight tremor in his hand as he once again opens the door, and this time, manages to exit the room.

You close your eyes, your shoulder slumping, a deep sigh workings its way through your body. When you open them, all eyes are on you.

“Pen, once the files are available, you’ll want to start with Pierce’s properties in the countryside,” you instruct softly. “Anderson is already watching him,” your eyes cut to Aaron and he realizes who that phone call you’d made earlier had been to. You had asked Anderson to go and watch Pierce while you dealt with Easter and McKinney, knowing you needed to reestablish your credibility with the Director before you could make any accusations of your own.

Garcia nods and the rest of them remain silent as you turn to Rossi. “Can I have twenty minutes?” you ask, the fullness of your voice hinting at just how exhausted you must be.

At Rossi’s nod, you push up from the table, and with a squeeze to John’s shoulder, make your way out of the room with Aaron at your heels. He knew to go with you. You didn’t have to ask. Not with him.

*------------*

As the team watches you and Hotch leave, Morgan turns to Emily, eyebrow raised. “That was Russian, wasn’t it?”

She nods, however Hawthorne also agrees with a quiet Yes.

At that, her eyebrows raised at him in some surprise. He was a New York State District Attorney. Language skills weren’t exactly a part of the job description. “You know Russian,” she asks, the lilt in her voice hinting at her surprise.

He chuckles, a smirk on his face as he looks up at her with those ocean blue eyes, amusement dancing in them. “Who do you think taught her?” All at once, Emily can entirely see how you and him had once worked so very well together. It had been clear since the moment they'd entered the room, Hawthorne wrapping you up in his arms. There was a quiet electricity to your interactions with him – a palpable connection which easily transcended everything else. There was a casual ease to your demeanor with Hawthorne that you and Hotch rarely allowed yourselves while at work, and Emily has to once again admire how well Hotch had maintained himself throughout the entirety of the meeting. He'd allowed you and Hawthorne the lead in retaliation against Clyde, knowing that drawing any additional attention to you and him wouldn't help your case. He'd bided his time, biting back any number of choice words he must've had for Clyde, letting you take the reins on it all, because it was your meeting, your case, your indictment. Anything she might have believed about Hotch when it came to him being controlling and overbearing had fallen apart, having witnessed exactly how well he took a backseat when it was important for you that he do so.

“So what did she say to Easter,” Rossi asks, drawing both of their attention away from one another.

Emily takes it upon herself, even though she had no idea what your words had actually meant. “Say hello to Daniel for me.”

“Who’s Daniel?” Morgan asks, his brow crinkling, gaze fixed on where you’d sat next to Hawthorne.

They both shrug.

“So um,” Garcia starts, shifting everyone’s attention to her as she looks hesitantly between Rossi and Morgan, who raises his appraising look at her next, compelling her to just spit it out.

“When John and I were looking into that other location – the one that burned down with the triple homicide – I saw that the same night, three kids were left outside the Philadelphia precinct. All three were young girls around eight to ten years old and they said they were being held somewhere by bad men.”

At Emily’s prompting, she continues, “The thing is, when asked how they got away, the kids said that they heard some fighting and then some lady came and got them and dropped them off near the police station. All of their descriptions of the person who saved them...they match Y/N.”

There’s a stunned silence before Morgan decides to speak up. “Baby girl, are you saying she took down three guys all by herself, snuck those kids out, and then burned the entire place down without leaving a single strand of DNA or anything else behind?”

Garcia shrugs, an uncertain expression on her face. However, they can all tell that that is exactly what she believes happened. “If anyone could…,” she trails off as they all look at one another before turning to face Rossi.

Rossi sighs, his face torn for a momentarily, before arriving at a decision. “Well, like you said, the Philadelphia police already called it a case of gang violence and shut it down. I don't suppose it is our place to go and create problems where none exist."

At his words, Emily meets Morgan and Hawthorne’s eyes, realizing that perhaps out of everyone in the world outside of herself, Hotch, and Morgan, Hawthorne was the one most likely to understand that you could and would do exactly that, and get away with it.

*------------*

You make your way down the stairs with Aaron at your side. You just needed twenty minutes. Twenty minutes. That was it. Aaron knows not to say anything. You don’t want to talk. Not then.

You make your way down to the locker rooms before you turn and speak. “You mentioned you’d brought my other bag.”

“Yeah, it’s in my locker,” he confirms, watching you with apprehensive, yet loving eyes.

There was no one else in the locker rooms owing to the lateness of the hour. With a quick look around, you begin to take off your shoes, undoing the buckles on the boots and toeing them off, before sliding the pants off of your hips and then quickly removing the sweatshirt along with the rest of your clothing.

Aaron is quick to shuck off his own clothes as you walk into the shower and turn it all the way to the left. He can already see the steam rising off of your skin when he slips in behind you, picking up the shampoo bottle from the ledge in the corner and dumping some out into his hands.

The hot water felt like baptism by fire, but it was the only thing helping you feel clean, as two days worth of dirt and grime slid off of you and swirled its way down the drain. You can feel Aaron behind you as his bare chest rubs against your back when he leans for the shampoo and then works it into suds in your hair, allowing you to simply be.

The slip and slide of his hands, as he takes soap and scrubs against your skin. His large hands gliding against your shoulders and back, down your legs, making sure to get every inch of you clean. You let him. You can feel the exhaustion seeping through you as your mind slips into a fog, leaving you aware only of the heat of the steam, the water, and him.

Once Aaron has ensured that you’re as clean as can be, he shifts so you’re fully under the stream, the last of the shampoo leaving your hair. That’s when you finally feel the weight in the pit of your stomach turn to lead.

You allow that steel trap to open ever so slightly as you lean back against him. The fact that he'd had to see you go through that, had to find out from a video of you being tortured, that you'd been pregnant and lost the baby. It was far too much for him to have gone through on his own. Your heart breaks at the thought of him sitting with the rest of them and watching that. Having them all find out at the same time as him, when he should've been the first and only one to know.

Your tears mingle with the water from the shower, your shoulders shake and your body quakes and slumps, held up by his arms alone, holding you tight across your chest and waist, tight to him as the sobs wrack your body. You can feel his lips against your shoulder as he dips his head down to slot his face against yours. He’s hard and warm and all around you, the only thing standing between you and total collapse.

*------------*

The two of you had gotten dressed slowly, taking far longer than the twenty minutes you’d asked Rossi for. Your eyes are red rimmed and glassy still, your hair falling to your shoulders in damp tendrils as you grasp his hand and the two of you make your way back upstairs using the elevators.

“There’s a chance McKinney still fires me,” you mumble, leaned against him and the back of the Elevator wall both to hold yourself up.

Aaron shakes his head, looking down at you with his warm brown eyes. “He isn’t going to fire you,” he insists, despite not fully believing it himself. He too had caught what McKinney had said to you prior to his departure.

You aren’t appeased by his words, but he hadn’t expected you to be. The elevator continues to climb back up the floors slowly. Right before it reaches its destination, you worm your way away from him and hit the emergency stop button, halting the elevator and plunging it into darkness.

“What’re you doing?” he asks, feeling his way around the elevator until he finds you again.

“If I’m getting fired on Monday,” you whisper, leaning up so your mouth is right against his ear, drawing a shiver through his entire body, “then there’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

With that, your lips find his, insistent and soft, begging his open with your tongue running along the seam of his mouth. With a moan, he gives in, hands finding your waist and pulling you up further against him. He can feel the smile in your mouth, mixed with everything else – the fear and fury, the regret and pain undercutting everything else.

If this is what you wanted before you were potentially fired – then well, of course he’d give it to you.

*------------*

By the time the two of you make it back to the conference room, the team is well situated, with Rossi and Morgan engaged in conversation while the rest of them crowd around Garcia. John was in the corner, just getting off of a phone call and Reid had managed to find some pretzels it seemed like – or he merely always had them on him – because he was munching away, leading to Aaron becoming incredibly aware that none of them had eaten since that sandwich the day prior. Hell, he wasn’t sure when the last time you’d eaten at all. His eyes must’ve lingered on the pretzels for a while too long, because JJ had leaned into her bag and lobbed a package of chips towards him.

Aware of your return now, the team turns to you and Aaron, with John being the one to break the silence with a soft smile. “Mom says hi” he says quietly, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Aaron can see the flash of guilt in your eyes. "I'll call her," you promise. When you'd left John, he hadn't been the only one you'd left.

He smiles and nods. "She'd like that."

With a glance around, and with no one else saying anything else, he continues, his smile morphing into a wicked grin. "So, you and Hastings, huh?" His voice teasing in that manner that only truly good old friends can get away with.

"Matthew and I were on a break," you clarify primly, shoving at his arm. His grin remains unchanged, causing your eyes to narrow, before a realization seems to hit you as you groan and slump back into your chair. “Don’t tell me you and Julian had a bet on that too,” you grumble, though Aaron can tell you aren’t really annoyed. You’re merely playing along.

“I won, if you must know,” John grins wider. “Seeing as you’re his next of kin, you owe me twenty.”

You scoff. “This better be written down somewhere. I’m not signing off twenty thousand to you just because you said so.”

Behind John, Aaron can see Morgan and Garcia’s jaws drop as they realize that twenty dollar bets were not the norm in your circles. You played for much higher stakes. Always had.

“Oh you’ll get your proof,” John winks at Prentiss, hinting at some sort of inside joke between the two of them while you and him both settle in, you stealing some chips from the bag in his hands, before swiping the bag entirely with a sweet smile that he was in no condition to refuse, ever.

“Hey,” Prentiss asks, drawing your attention away from John, “who’s Daniel?”

Aaron watches as your face turns dark ever so slightly, your eyes hardening as you meet Prentiss’s gaze, and Aaron realizes that the quietly enunciated Danielyu that he’d caught when you’d spoken to Easter in Russian had meant something more.

“Mr. Have-No-Attachments has a son,” you tell her, your jaw tight.

They’re all quiet as your revelation sinks in. You’d brought up Easter’s son while –

“You threatened his kid?” JJ asks, slight surprise on her face as she looks at you, her eyes flashing with the concern that they all always had. Their children being dragged into danger because of their line of work.

“He threatened mine.” Your retort is quick and to the point and if Aaron was being honest, he really really didn’t care that you’d threatened a child at this moment, because you were right. He had threatened yours.

When no one says anything further, you nod at Rossi and then turn to Garcia. “Let’s get to work.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotch x reader #Criminal Minds #spencer reid #irreverentseries #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n

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dweemeister · 4 years

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Pinky (1949)

Hollywood’s plodding shift to featuring films starring and/or made by non-white people has produced stories and perspectives that have never graced cinemas before. Some of the American films that have stirred me are rooted in racial identity. The 1934 and 1959 adaptations of Imitation of Life are two such examples, and both tackle a subject that has not been addressed in Hollywood for decades – a black person passing as white and the conflicts of identity that inspires. Both versions of Imitation of Life are blessed with heartbreaking acting and ideas rarely uttered or depicted in film history. But I can imagine some viewers dismissing both films without attempting to engage them – the two adaptations have a black female lead that assumes certain “mammy” stereotypes and the 1959 version’s passing daughter character is mixed-race but is not black.

Released by 20th Century Fox, Elia Kazan’s Pinky (based on the novel Quality by Cid Ricketts Sumner) casts Jeanne Crain, a white actress, as the titular character: a fair-skinned black granddaughter who passes as white. It is without question that Crain’s casting undermines Pinky’s wonderful and nuanced message. Fox’s chief executive, Darryl F. Zanuck, and the Breen Office (which enforced the Hays Code) noted that because the title character loves a white man, the film – if it chose a black actress to play Pinky – could face an intense public backlash from "a number of sections of [the United States].” All but twelve states had anti-miscegenation laws in their books in 1949. Compromises were struck between Zanuck and the Production Office. Fox could make the film and keep the interracial romance (the screenplay was written in consultation with NAACP Executive Secretary Walter White) only if a white actress played Pinky. With Crain’s casting, the production moved forward, despite director Elia Kazan’s opposition to Crain’s selection.

On a sweltering day in the Deep South, Pinky Johnson (Crain) has returned to her impoverished rural hometown, hoping to see her grandmother Dicey (Ethel Waters) one final time before returning to the North. Dicey raised Pinky through her childhood and teenage years, with no mentions of allusions to biological or foster parents. Dicey is heartbroken to hear her granddaughter has downplayed her blackness during her time at nursing school, but is happy to learn that Pinky has graduated. To complicate matters, Pinky also tells of her love of a white doctor, Thomas Adams (William Lundigan), to whom she has revealed nothing of her black ancestry to. In addition, while attempting to collect her grandmother’s debts while in town, Pinky is involved in an incident with a Dr. Canady (Kenny Washington) and his significant other, Roselia (Nina Mae McKinney). The police arrive at the scene and apprehend all three. After being fortunately released from custody with just a warning – black people have been killed for far less by American police – Dicey learns that her elderly white neighbor, Miss Em (Ethel Barrymore), is dying and needs a nurse. Pinky, remembering how Miss Em was cruel and disparaging to her during her childhood, decides to extend her stay.

Also appearing in this film are the town’s doctor Joe McGill (Griff Barnett) and the gossiping Melba Wooley (Evelyn Varden, whose character is lacking a moral compass). Juanita Moore has a cameo as a nurse.

From the opening shots of Pinky, it almost feels as if it was shot on location somewhere in the Southern United States. Early in the film, there is an uncut tracking shot clocking in at almost ninety seconds as Pinky walks from the front of Dicey’s shack to the low cast iron gates of Miss Em’s slave-built estate. The sets, almost entirely constructed on a soundstage, are deep enough so that the audience cannot pinpoint the soundstage’s back wall. The foliage looms over dirt roads and buildings – the canopies, blowing in the wind, are never seen. Kazan, in retrospect, criticized his own film for not including the dirt and grime that need not be manufactured with location shooting. But these fabrications – thanks to cinematographer Joseph MacDonald (1958’s The Young Lions, 1966’s The Sand Pebbles) and art directors J. Russell Spencer (1936’s Modern Times, 1946’s Dragonwyck) and Lyle R. Wheeler (1939’s Gone with the Wind, 1956’s The King and I) – still evoke the small-town South. One can feel the humid heat permeating through the night, amid Spanish moss and the racial inequality built into public spaces and homes*. For those who do not live in such places, small dots on a regional map, the scenery envelops the viewer, allowing them to further understand the cultural disorientation of any visitor to Pinky’s hometown.

Though the film is a drama, Kazan borrows horror elements to frame the setting and highlight the racial tension that pervades this Southern town. Expressionist lighting overhangs shots of foggy forests, a graveyard, tight roads, and derelict/near-derelict buildings. During the night, these surrounding appear as if taken from a disturbing lucid dream. The lurking dangers are embodied through the racist and sexist characters that Pinky encounters. With this marriage of setting and supporting cast of flawed characters, Pinky could be classified as a Southern Gothic tale – a subgenre that uses the grotesque to comment on the American South’s culture. Kazan’s filmmaking here awakens the audience to Pinky’s inner turmoil over her racial identity and belonging. Freed from worrying about racial prejudice in the North due to her passing, she is terrified about what it means to be a black woman in the place of her childhood. Miss Em’s cousin, Melba, perhaps exemplifies the white residents’ racial animosity when she meets Pinky for the first time. What she says is a statement of curiosity, an expression of Southern gentility, and a veiled threat all at once: “I heard you were light, but I had no idea. Why, you’re practically white.”

Does Pinky still feel like she belongs to this poor village? That question, among others, has an answer. She must first navigate this racism, for the first time, as an adult. By film’s end and despite all outward appearances of success, it is unclear if Pinky is satisfied with the answer she has uncovered.

The interrogation of Pinky’s blackness truly begins when Miss Em quickly realizes the identity of the young woman tending to her bedside as a hospice nurse. Miss Em, though bedridden, attempts to reinforce her authority over Pinky – a relationship assuming Pinky’s immaturity and based on tacit racial subservience (for the latter, refer to both Imitation of Life films even as the white mother characters fully realize Louise Beavers/Juanita Moore’s humanity). No longer a child, Pinky will not tolerate Miss Em’s racial condescension. It matters not that the patient is drifting in and out of consciousness during her final hours. Miss Em will be more respectful towards Pinky in the face of this bedside manner. Perhaps she is chastened by Dicey’s friendship and the favor that Pinky need not return; perhaps she is admiring of the newfound strength in the young girl she used to berate; perhaps it is due to the drugs coursing through her body. That all or some of these factors can be interpreted as true empowers the film’s final act, as screenwriters Philip Dunne (1941’s How Green Was My Valley), Dudley Nichols (1938’s Bringing Up Baby), Jane White (no other film credits), and Kazan obfuscate any simple resolutions to the film’s sense of racial justice. Pinky validates anyone who might see the film as confirming that the harshest of souls can cool their racist predispositions, or that it is impossible to reform such persons.

Though Jeanne Crain’s casting captured the headlines, the best performances in the film are from the two Ethels. As Miss Em, Ethel Barrymore has little physical acting, so she must rely almost entirely in her verbal deliveries. Alternating between exhausted observation, acidic riposte, and resignation, Barrymore navigates these final hours of her character’s life with the requisite modulations in tone. Despite being on screen for less time than Crain and Waters, Barrymore – as Miss Em – inhabits a character with the most dynamic development, routinely stealing scenes even while confined to bed. Six years after starring and “taking a chance on love” in Cabin in the Sky (1943), the deeply religious Ethel Waters commands yet another accomplished performance in Pinky. As Dicey, she plays probably the least dynamic of the three principal characters, but Waters’ anguish and understated sense of egalitarianism is a fascinating contrast to Pinky’s drifting stoicism upon her arrival at Dicey’s shack. For the Ethels, they are playing roles analogous to those they had previously assumed. But Barrymore’s elderly curmudgeons rarely commented so directly on race; Waters’ hardened maternal figures seldom interacted with white people. Together, they form an imperfect, uneasy coexistence – a postbellum relationship grounded in necessity and deferred acceptance of the other.

Prior to Kazan’s arrival on set, John Ford (1939’s Stagecoach, 1946’s My Darling Clementine) had already directed a significant bulk of Pinky. Viewing the rushes, Darryl F. Zanuck was embarrassed by the footage Ford had shot, stating that, “Ford’s Negroes were like Aunt Jemima caricatures. I thought we [were] going to get into trouble.” Indeed, Ford was a dreadful fit, given the source material and the director’s reputation (Ford’s reputation on making introspective films about racial relations was dire, and he would not possess the basic skillset to make such a film until 1960’s Sergeant Rutledge). The cast, upon learning they were going to work with the best director in Hollywood at the time, were ecstatic the decision until it became clear his abrasive demeanor intimidated Crain and especially Waters. Zanuck quietly dismissed Ford in favor of Kazan (coming off 1947’s Gentlemen’s Agreement, which decried anti-Semitism), stating in public that Ford came down with a case of the shingles. Ford, as you have correctly guessed, never had the shingles. None of Ford’s work survives in the final print of Pinky.

Pinky was justifiably attacked by black critics for Crain’s casting over Lena Horne (who had lobbied for the role). The film, a compromise between 20th Century Fox and the Breen Office, contains mixed messages about racial integration and the nature of interracial friendship and love. The thematic confusion interferes with the film’s obvious, well-meaning intentions and the stellar performances from Ethel Barrymore and Ethel Waters. In its final form, one can only imagine how damaging Pinky may have been if John Ford remained with the production rather than Kazan. Within the artistic constraints of Hollywood studio filmmaking and the regressive perspectives of too many Americans, Pinky inspires a torrent of conflicting emotions as it struggles to form a coherent thesis. In a peculiar way, the muddled messaging is also a reflection of Pinky and mixed-race persons themselves, as they strive to understand what to make of themselves.

My rating: 6.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

* In the scene where Pinky goes to a general store late in the film, notice the racial composition of the customers and how they react to Pinky. Also, Dicey’s shack is aesthetically reminiscent to sharecropper hovels or slave living quarters.

#Pinky #Elia Kazan #Jeanne Crain #Ethel Waters #Ethel Barrymore #William Lundigan #Basil Ruysdael #Kenny Washington #Nina Mae McKinney #Evelyn Varden #Darryl F. Zanuck #Philip Dunne #Dudley Nichols #Jane White #Joseph MacDonald #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Pt. 40 - New York

Title: Irreverent Pt. 40 - New York Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: 7070

Irreverent Series Masterlist

You'd spent four weeks on and off in a cramped apartment in Paris with only Clyde for company when you swapped shifts. The two of you were becoming very comfortable with one another, and to his credit he had yet to try and make any sort of move.

The surveillance you were running was a long term operation, so you found yourself with an excess of time with nothing to do. You had mounted a punching bag to the ceiling so you could stay in shape. Derek would kill you if you spent four weeks eating nothing but croissants and undid all of your (his) hardwork.

In your time off, you lived out of a hotel room. You'd debated simply buying a property in Paris to replace the one you'd handed off to your mother, and had even spent two long afternoons with a realtor. However, you found yourself really wishing Aaron was around to help you pick the one - any place you got now would really be meant for the two of you. Maybe Christmas in Paris with Jack so that the three of us can find a place we all like. Something away from the tourist traps - in the Trocadéro perhaps, something with a balcony.

You video called Aaron and Jack any spare moment you had, in between your visits back home every ten days or so. You swore Jack looked bigger between each visit. If Aaron was anything to go by, you were convinced Jack would be taller than you any day now. Aaron had pointed out that you were just exceptionally short, before lifting you with ease and throwing you onto the bed.

Clyde was prepping another round of surveillance but could tell you were as close to burnt out as possible, so had recruited another agent at Interpol under him, to take the next couple of weeks. He'd seen you off to the airport with strict instructions to recuperate and come back with your head in the game.

You arrived back home to an empty house. Jess and Andrew had taken the kids to the lake house to catch the last bit of summer, which you'd only remembered once you were already halfway across the Atlantic. Had you remembered earlier you would've swapped with Clyde and taken off a week when Jack would be home as well. As it was, you spent your first couple of hours doing laundry and repacking a new go bag. Aaron was flying back from a case in North Carolina and would be arriving later that night.

After showering and changing into loungewear, you slipped on Aaron's old law school hoodie (which pretty permanently lived in your side of the closet) before going back downstairs to put something together for dinner. With all three of you gone for the past few days, the groceries were meager. You debated running out to the store but if Jack was gone and you and Aaron got called in on a case the next day, that would be a waste. Settling for defrosting one of the lasagnas you'd made the last time you'd been back, you ended up snacking on Jack's fruit gummies in the meantime.

When Aaron got home, you were asleep on the couch with a blanket covering you. He carefully walked past the foyer and went upstairs to shower and change. You'd finished the laundry it would appear so at least he had fresh clothes to choose from and pack his own go bag. When he got back downstairs, you stirred slightly, catching sight of him dressed in pajamas with his hair still wet from the shower.

"Hey." Your voice was soft and sleepy and you made no effort to get up from the couch. Instead, you opened your arms, raising the blanket with you. Aaron smiles just slightly, before quickly joining you on the couch, his head on your chest, arms wrapped around your waist. He mumbles a hello against your breasts, gently nuzzling while your legs entangle with his and you bring the blanket around to cover him as well.

"Are you hungry?" you ask. You'd been waiting on him to come home before you would actually put the food in the oven. You'd eaten two packs of the fruit gummies and a handful of almonds before exhaustion from the time difference had caught up with you and you hadn't been able to resist laying down on the couch with the late afternoon sun warming you up.

He shakes his head at your question. The team had grabbed food before boarding the plane and eating felt like too much effort. You're soft and warm against him and he finds himself drifting away to the feel of your fingers running through his damp hair, your other arm wrapped around the top of his shoulders.

"Was it a bad case?" Your question is hesitant, as if you're not certain if he'd want to talk about it yet if it was.

He tilts his head up to look at you, meeting your warm regard. "Aren't they all?" he manages with a grimace. He hadn't wanted to complain to you right then, but you also knew. If the team was there at all, nothing good was happening. No case was ever really good.

"I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

He shakes his head. Talking wouldn't do much.

You lean down, your lips just barely reaching his forehead before grazing against him.

He takes in a small breath before turning back. You feel the press of his lips against your chest and his hands drawing circles along your waist and stomach. He takes a deeper breath, letting himself be held by you.

*------------*

You had a morning meeting with McKinney to update him on the progress being made on the case with Interpol. He'd been please with everything you reported and brought up a few things he wanted you to consider.

"Agent Hotchner has been many things in your life - a boss, a mentor, and now the two of you are in a relationship. There will come a time where you have to make some concrete choices about the future and choose which roles you'd like for him to keep."

"Are you and your ex-wife still friends?" you ask.

McKinney seems surprised by your question, but he nods nonetheless. "We are, yes. For our daughter's sake."

"Same for me and Aaron. He doesn't need to be my boss or my boyfriend. But he'll always have to be my friend because of Jack." Not that you could even fathom a future without Aaron in it, but were it to ever happen you knew that you and Aaron would forever be in each other's lives. For Jack.

He nods understandingly. The two of you had formed enough of a relationship for him to understand that you were as ready as you ever would be to make the move more permanent.

"I'll sign off on some paperwork and have you designated as a temporary consult for the BAU then. I'm assuming you'll still want to participate in cases when you can."

"Yes, thank you sir."

When you got to the bullpen, it was to find it nearly empty with only Spencer, and even he appeared to be leaving.

"Hey, where is everyone?"

"Got a case. Need to ask Garcia to run something. Emily, JJ, and Morgan left already because she forgot her go bag," Spencer explained as he hurriedly grabbed his own stuff and made his way to the elevators. "Hotch should be in his office, still," he throws over his shoulder as he walks off.

"Thanks Spence."

You quickly make your way upstairs and knock on Aaron's office door before entering. He's seated in his chair, making a phone call, but gestures you in as you close the door behind you. You walk to his side of the desk and make yourself at home on his lap, your arm wrapped around his shoulders. He's obviously not very happy with whoever is on the other end but still smiles at you, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you steady.

If everyone was going on a case, you didn't want to sit at home and do nothing. Surveillance in Paris had been boring and you needed something mentally stimulating. "Can I come on the case?" you whisper, your other hand resting on his chest.

He quirks an eyebrow at you. He had thought you'd use the week off to properly rest. However he ends up simply nodding. He knew you wouldn't do well at home with neither him nor Jack around. You'd probably end up finding some sort of project that would exhaust you. He'd just have you take it easy during the case.

Aaron hangs up with a frustrated sigh. He puts his phone down on his desk, bringing both arms to wrap around you.

"What's wrong?" you ask, shifting to face him better

"There is not a single hotel in the city with more than two rooms available," he explains. He'd been on the phone since the briefing ended and he'd had absolutely no luck.

You realized you had no actual information on the case at all. "Where are you looking?"

"New York."

"Like, New York, New York? We finally have a case in Manhattan?" Your face lights up. In all your time with the team, you'd never had a case in the city. Since your life had pretty much revolved around work for the past few years, you hadn't been back since your first holidays at the Bureau.

"Yes," Aaron smiles at your obvious excitement. He knew you had a special connection to New York. "And absolutely nowhere to stay, so we'll all really get to enjoy the Big Apple at night from the streets."

You laugh at his dramatics. "We can just stay at my place."

"Your place? You still have it?" he questions, his head tilting in confusion. You hadn't lived there in years, he couldn't imagine why you'd maintained a residence there.

"Yeah, I never bothered selling, and its big enough," you reply, shrugging your shoulders.

Of course you had a place big enough in Manhattan to comfortably host seven people. Aaron had to resist an eyeroll. He was really starting to do that a lot more and Prentiss had called him out on it, saying it looked unnatural on his face.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, of course. I'll make some calls," you reply, placing a quick kiss to his cheek before standing to head to the airport. "You can brief me on the case on the way. I have no idea what I'm walking into."

The two of you grab Rossi and Reid (with a quick hello for Penelope along with a delivery of croissants) and make your way to the airport. The three of them together fill you in on the details of the case. New York had had a rash of arson cases across the city and each time they'd uncovered bodies - male and female - tied up ang gagged. By the time firefighters arrived and put out the fires, the bodies were half burnt, however the Medical Examiner's report revealed that the victims had been alive at the time of the fire. Most of them had died from asphyxiation and smoke in their lungs before the fire ever got to them.

Apparently Emily had been a total disaster magnet, as her go bag hadn't been at her house either. She'd had to pack an entirely new bag while Derek and JJ waited for her, so the rest of you had managed to make it onto the plane before them. When they finally arrive - with Emily throwing apologies all around and grabbing a croissant from the box you'd left in the middle for everyone - the plane finally takes off.

"How many pastries did you eat every day?" Derek asks disapprovingly, poking at your stomach as he settles in across from you.

Damn it. You'd hope he wouldn't notice. "I told you," you muttered to Aaron, who only shakes his head. You'd lamented the fact that your six pack was turning into a four pack that morning while the two of you had gotten ready for work. He'd tried reassuring you that you were still in good shape and a few pastries weren't going to kill you. But what did he know? He managed to go on a run once in a blue moon and still look great.

For his part, Aaron had noticed of course that you were the teensiest bit softer from a whole month in Paris, but he didn't mind at all. A little more to hold and most of the weight had gone right to your ass so he really wasn't complaining at all. Plus, Aaron Hotchner was a smart man. He wasn't about to be the one to tell his girlfriend that she'd gained maybe five pounds from a month in Paris, surrounded by her favorite food and stuck in an apartment with very little to do.

"Probably a few too many," you admit guiltily. "Wanna work out again once we're back?" You figured you might as well put that out there so he'll be nicer to you.

"Yeah, but we aren't waiting till we get back. You and I are going on a run. Early tomorrow morning." His voice is full of threat of bad things to come if you complain, so you nod meekly, knowing you're in for a heck of a workout if he has anything to say about it.

"I can't believe you let him say that to you," Emily remarks, stuffing a second croissant into her mouth, looking every bit the picture of perfection.

You laugh. Derek wasn't being intentionally mean. "I told him he has to be mean to me," you explain. "Otherwise I'll just let it slide and do the bare minimum to pass the physical exam. Honestly I didn't even eat that many pastries and if I had been doing cases like normal here I would've been fine. Sitting in an apartment all day long is killer."

They all agree with you - no one enjoyed surveillance cases. The team chats a bit more about Paris, the case, and what everyone had been up to while you were away.

"Wait, Derek, I almost forgot, when're you going to ask Savannah?" You turn to Derek, eager to know what he'd decided for his proposal to Savannah. Him and Penelope had gone to pick out the ring a few weeks back, video calling you during, and he'd managed to pick out a gorgeous ring for her.

"Our anniversary is coming up, so probably the day right before if we're free. That way we can celebrate the actual anniversary properly," he says, waggling his eyebrows.

You laugh. "Well, just make sure it's the kind of proposal she'll like. Nothing big and public."

"Yeah, probably just the two of us actually. I'm planning on picking her up from work and taking her to that new property I've been working on to show her properly," he says. Derek had shown you all photos of the place that he was remodeling and you knew it was his vision of his forever home. The fact that he was choosing to propose to Savannah there spoke volumes.

"That's actually cute," Emily remarks, impressed that he'd managed to put together something that wasn't entirely cringe inducing.

"Hey don't sound too surprised." The two of them rib at each for a bit as you watch fondly. You'd missed this.

"What was your first proposal like?" Emily asks, turning away from Derek and glancing quickly at Hotch beside you, bent over a stack of paperwork as usual. However by now, you all know that that means nothing - he hears everything.

Aaron listens in as you tell Emily about how Matthew had proposed at Thanksgiving your last year of college, in front of everyone. He cringes internally, knowing that definitely was not your style. You'd want it to be private - something special that only you could have. He has a hard time not looking up at the baggage stowaway where a small box has sat, hidden in a pair of socks he never wears, just waiting for the right moment.

"You should've dumped him in public - revenge for the public proposal," Emily says, a dark smile marring her face.

"I pretty much had to," you reply. "I broke up with him earlier in private, returned the ring and everything. But he found me, out at a bar later and went totally ballistic, accusing me of all sorts of things. My friend Ricky ended up punching him in the face."

Aaron chuckles, looking up finally and revealing that he had, of course, been listening the whole time. "I think I'd like this Ricky kid." Anyone punching Matthew in the face was good in his book.

You share a look with Derek and there's a smirk dancing at his lips. He knew exactly who Ricky was.

Smiling, you lean into Aaron ever so slightly. "I think you would too."

You'd felt him tense earlier as you told Emily about Matthew's proposal - you weren't sure if it was because of Matthew or the proposal. You'd had to resist peaking over at him while you spoke with Emily, knowing he'd notice that for sure. You didn't want to send the wrong impression. Not that you were expecting a proposal anytime soon. It hadn't even been a whole year since the two of you were together, and with Aaron, you weren't sure if a proposal was coming at all.

You knew if you voiced this to Emily or anyone, they'd tell you were crazy. That of course Hotch wanted to marry you - how could you think he wouldn't. But Aaron had already done the marriage thing and it hadn't gone so well. After Haley, you were surprised he wanted to risk his heart again at all. Your relationship was already more than you could have ever imagined or hoped for. You didn't need to be married to him if that wasn't something he could give to you. He'd already given enough.

You looked across the aisle and saw that JJ looked a little pale. She hadn't grabbed a croissant like everyone else, which was fine of course. However she also had an unopened bag of Cheetos in front of her and that was definitely not normal. The plane gets some turbulence and her hands fly to her mouth. The next second she's up and rushing to the bathroom.

You share a look with Emily. That definitely wasn't normal. The two of you get up and walk towards the back of the plane to wait for her.

As JJ exits, you hand her a bottle of water which she accepts gratefully.

"Are you okay?" Emily asks, reaching out to smooth her hair in place.

JJ looks apprehensively between the two of you before nodding. "Yeah," her voice is soft as if she's trying not to be overheard. However something passes over her face and you can see her steel herself. Raising her voice, she draws the attention of everyone on the plane. "Actually I have some news to share. I'm pregnant," she announces, smiling slightly.

"Oh my goodness, congratulations." Emily quickly wraps her into a hug.

You hug her next as the three of you walk back to your seats and everyone else also congratulates her. Rossi kisses both her cheeks and tells her he's excited for a new bambino in the family.

You settle back down into your seat next to Aaron as everyone pulls JJ into baby talk. Aaron's hand finds its way to yours, intertwining your fingers together and giving you a light squeeze.

You look over at him and he's giving you a look. The look that asks, Are you alright?

You glance towards JJ and smile, before looking back at him. I'm not going to fall apart because JJ is pregnant and I'm not. I'm alright. He can read your looks well enough by now.

He nods hesitantly but doesn't push the matter. The two of you weren't even trying for a baby but Aaron felt a dull ache in his chest at the subject on your behalf. He worried that it affected you more than you let on, despite how you engaged with JJ and asked her when she was due and started discussing throwing her a baby shower with Emily.

He keeps his hand intertwined with yours the rest of the plane ride.

*------------*

Hotch assigns out roles to everyone - sending Prentiss and Morgan to the latest crime site and Reid starts working on a geographic profile while Rossi and JJ go to speak with the victims' families. He keeps you with him at the precinct to go meet with the lead detective on the case.

You'd made a phone call on the car ride over, speaking in accented Russian with a woman named Tatiana, and he realized he hadn't actually known you spoke Russian. French, Spanish, and Urdu he'd known about. He briefly wonders what else he doesn't know about you.

When he was still moving into the house, he'd come across some photos of you in a sleek white dress looking ethereally beautiful, dancing with a boy who looked barely old enough to drive. The white gloves and other kids dancing in the background suggested it was your cotillion. There were a few more photos - photos of you dancing with your father and brothers and then another of you dancing with a blonde man who towered over you. Finally there were the polaroids of what was obviously an after party to the same event. Your dress was the slightest bit wrinkled in those and you were mostly photographed with Julian and the blonde man, your young, age-appropriate date nowhere to be seen. The photo that had really caught his eye was one of you draped across both men, leaning against Julian with your legs on the blonde man's lap, your white dress splayed around you. You'd seen what Aaron was looking at and told him how you'd exchanged your original white dress for one that was more adult and had an open back and how you'd been the scandal of the season. He'd laughed, looking back at the photo in his hand. Julian was looking at the camera while you drank straight from a bottle of champagne. That blonde man however, his eyes were trained on you and you alone.

The two of you arrive at the precinct and are directed to the conference room where, through the windows, he could see a black man in a suit speaking with a uniformed officer. Aaron walks to the conference room with you at his heels and knocks on the open door to announce your arrival.

The black man looks up at the knock. "Agent Hotchner," he greets, walking over to the two of you, his eyes trained on Hotch before he catches sight of you and his eyes get wide. "Y/N! What're you doing here?" he exclaims, leaning down to give you a slight hug.

You smile wide, returning the gesture. "I'm with the BAU," you explain.

"You're a Fed?" He seems very surprised at that and Aaron watches as you chuckle.

"Hey, you aren't Officer Lewis anymore, you're a detective. So looks like we both moved on up in life," you tease, giving him a friendly shove.

Detective Lewis laughs at that though he still appears surprised.

Hotch looks between the two of you, eyebrow quirked up in question. "You two know one another, I presume."

You nod. "Yeah, back when I lived in New York, the then Officer Lewis helped me out with a little stalker issue I was having. He was the only one that believed me," you explain with a slight smile on your face.

You had had a stalker? Aaron starts to ask for more information on the matter, however he's interrupted by the uniformed officer telling you that the evidence you'd asked to see on your way in was available. You quickly excuse yourself with another smile at Detective Lewis and himself.

As if sensing his need to know more, Detective Lewis turns to Hotch, to explain how you'd had a stalker who had been following you around for the better part of two months and when you'd reported it, no one had taken it too seriously until the guy had cornered you with a knife one day and cut some of your hair to take with him. "Nasty piece of work. Her lawyer got the judge to issue a warrant and they ended up finding child porn on his computer so they got him for that. The whole place was like a shrine to her though. There were photos of her everywhere, even inside her apartment. Completely nuts dude who was probably on the path to do something much worse than cutting some hair."

Aaron nods grimly as he watches you speaking with the officer across the room. Even in heels you stood a head shorter than most people. Sure, you were strong and could fight now, but he knew that hadn't always been the case. He could just imagine some terrifyingly large man cornering you at night and shoving you against a wall before knifing hair off of your head. The thought alone made bile rise in his throat.

"Anyways," Detective Lewis continued, "there was a prison riot a month after his arrest and he died during that. Good riddance I say."

So much for the small blessings.

*------------*

Later that evening once the team had made some headway in the case but it was far too late to do much more, everyone headed out to drive to your place. Aaron pulled up to the address on the GPS - an older building just across from Central Park and close to the Midtown precinct the team was based out of.

Everyone exits the vehicle, Morgan and the rest in the car that had pulled up right behind him. An older man dressed in a plain yet well-fitted suit had exited to meet you.

"Petyr!," you greeted, meeting him halfway and kissing both cheeks.

The man - who appeared to be Eastern European - respectfully returned a smile. "Hello Miss. It is lovely to see you again."

You hand over both of the car keys to Petyr and ask that they be fueled and ready by eight in the morning, before leading everyone inside. Aaron can sense the collective mixed energy of the team - excitement and apprehension and exhaustion from the day they'd all had. It was rare for the Bureau to put them up in a nice hotel and as they entered the lobby of the building, it was clear that this was nicer than any place they'd ever stayed in prior.

They all follow you, past a desk of similarly suited men - all of whom are carrying firearms, Aaron notes - seated in front of screens monitoring the location. You wave at them and Aaron sees one of the screens populate with the entire team's names and faces as the security personnel glance over the group.

He expects you to lead them to the elevators behind the desk, however you open a door to the right just past the security desk, revealing a second set of lifts. You enter last, pressing the only button available and the elevator begins to rise. And rise. And rise.

The team spills out of the elevator, directly into a large living room with floor to ceiling windows, of what is quite obviously the penthouse. The gasps from Prentiss and JJ as they walk towards the windows to get a view of the city and park below are telling. Even Dave seems impressed.

Aaron looks around and he can tell it is your place - the deep navy blues and forest greens of the throw pillows on the large couch, the grand piano sitting in a corner (You'd recently began teaching Jack on the smaller one that sat in the living room at home.), the large marble kitchen island with a bowl of lemons sitting at the center. It was the wall art which truly stood out however - a lot more Warhol and Basquiat rather than the watercolors he was used to with you. It was a dialed up version of your home now. Your place in Georgetown was a muted version of this - a more grown up and less ostentatious version which spoke to how you'd tried to fit in early on with the team and underplay exactly how wealthy you were.

The team mills about remarking at the place as you point them all to rooms down the hallway to the left. From down the hallway he hears Morgan's voice. "There's a mint on my pillow!"

JJ walks to the kitchen and opens the fridge to reveal that it is fully stocked - drinks of every sort. The cabinets were stocked with snacks and Aaron notices that there were Cheetos for JJ and the pretzel sticks that Reid munches on mindlessly when he's deep in thought. The wet bar to the side of the kitchen has Rossi's brand of scotch. You point to an intercom machine and tell them they can order food using it.

"We can't have restaurants deliver here directly," you explain. "There's some people in the building who are sensitive about revealing their address, so the guys downstairs will handle it. Just ask for whatever you want from any restaurant in a reasonable distance. They'll take care of the check and everything."

"At some point, we're going to have to have a talk about how much money you have exactly," he mutters to you as you come to stand by his side at the edge of the kitchen.

You laugh, that laugh that causes his heart to skip ever so slightly every time. "Oh honey, we're gonna need lawyers for that conversation," you respond, your eyes twinkling with amusement.

He had a feeling you weren't joking.

He moves to head down the hallway towards the bedrooms but you stop him, indicating a different hallway to the side of the kitchen instead. The two of you say good night to the rest of the team, leaving Prentiss and Rossi sitting on the couch with identical glasses of scotch poured, JJ munching on whatever snacks she could carry with her, and Reid browsing through the bookshelves lining the corner behind the piano. Morgan had already retired for the night.

*------------*

You led Aaron down the hallway and to your old room. It was weird having everyone here, especially since you hadn't been back here yourself since you'd started with the BAU. The one time you'd come back to New York after joining the Bureau officially had been that first holiday season, and you hadn't stayed here then.

You couldn't deny that you were a little apprehensive about Aaron's reaction to the place. It was definitely a more vibrant and rebellious version of you - the version that had just found out about Julian and just broken it off with Matthew and had sought only to escape. Your entire apartment was a testament to that idea - a stark contrast to the Connecticut old money roots that you'd grown up in.

You watched as he looked around the bedroom. This was perhaps the room which would feel the most familiar to him. Your shared room back home was a near mirror copy, down to the mirror in the corner. You'd never really compromised on how you wanted your bedroom to be, though you couldn't deny that it fit in a lot better with the Georgetown house. Here it felt washed out compared to the rest of the apartment.

You see a smile appear on his face as he sees the mirror in the corner. "Never took you to be such a creature of habit," he remarks, undoing his tie.

"Only when it comes to the bedroom. I don't play around with where I sleep."

You find yourself watching as he removes the tie with a soft pull and the jacket comes off right after, followed by the belt.

"I'm going to take a bath," you tell him, heading towards the door to the bathroom. You hope he'll decide to join you but don't bother asking.

After turning the water on and finding the bath bomb you like, stocked to the side, you drop it into the large tub. Quickly taking your clothes off, you climb into the tub and let the hot water envelop you. It had been a long time since you'd really enjoyed a bath, and the warmth from the water seeped into your bones as you relaxed against the back of the tub, the smell of gardenias wafting around you. Tatiana was about to get a wonderful tip for her work today. The bath bomb had been an unasked for extra.

You're so far blissed out that you barely hear the sound of the bathroom door opening as Aaron enters. He sees you with your head leaned back and eyes closed, the bubbles in the tub grazing the top of your chest and hiding the rest of you beneath.

"Hey." His voice is soft so as to not startle you.

You open your eyes to see him taking off the rest of his clothes, before he dims the bathroom light so that the two of you are bathed in a warm yellow glow. You shift forward and give him a hand to help him climb into the tub and slot himself behind you. His long legs nearly touch the other end as they stretch out on either side of you. Aaron pulls you back to lean against his chest. The water is too warm for his taste but he knows you run colder than he does. There's a view from the tub of the entire city and he can see the Empire State Building entirely lit up.

"Are there any other homes I should know about? You're not hiding a chalet in the Swiss Alps, are you?"

You chuckle, tilting your head back to look at his face. "There's a few more properties that I kept. I handed off most everything in Europe to my mother, besides my first place in Florence."

"Your first place?"

"I helped my father with a business deal when I was fifteen," you answer, tilting your head up to look straight out into the city. "He told me to pick a city and he'd buy me a place there if the deal went well. I always loved Florence."

Aaron takes note of the slight conflict in your tone. Your father is very much a touchy subject and he knows you find it difficult to enjoy the things in your past that are still linked to him. He doubted you'd been back there since.

"We should go to Florence then," he whispers, placing a kiss to the side of your neck and resting his head on your shoulder.

You smile, bringing your hand up to touch his cheek. He kisses the edge of your palm, the only part his lips could reach. "Maybe you can grow out the beard again then," you joke. There was a small part of you that was curious and regretted having been on the outs with him for those two weeks when he'd been back and had a full beard. It had never happened again. Jack hadn't been a fan apparently.

Aaron breathes out a laugh, the sensation causing goosebumps on your skin. "You liked the beard?" He sounds amused and a little bit…cautiously curious.

"Mm I think I just regret having missed out on that experience. We should've just had hate sex or something when you got back from Pakistan."

This time his laugh is deeper and he pulls you back against him tighter, drawing a squeal from your mouth. He cups your face towards him, capturing your lips in a sweetly insistent kiss, causing a moan to escape from you. His touch is gentle. It always is with you. A reminder that hate sex isn't really a concept between you. Even in the moments when you're rougher with one another, a touch more aggressive, pushing boundaries and testing limits, it's never hate. Frustration, sure. Anger, maybe. But hate? No. Never.

You lean back against him, allowing his body to hold you up entirely. His hands roam. Past your arms, brushing the underside of your breasts, moving lower. He peppers the top of you shoulders with soft kisses and you allow your eyes to flutter shut and simply enjoy his touch.

You dance your fingers against his thighs, feeling the thick muscles there flex and unflex as your touch moves back and forth.

His hand cups you under the water, one finger grazing against your opening, then two. With his other hand he cups your breast, his thumb brushing back and forth over the nipple, each graze sending the barest of sensation rushing through you, as he gently coaxes it into a peak. You know you're growing wetter and its not just the bathwater.

His light touch is dizzying in its barely thereness. He enters you with two fingers, softly exploring. He crooks his fingers just barely, finding the rough patch inside and grazing over it as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing it in languid circles. He continues the light touches until he's drawn far too many soft and wanton moans from you. The water is warm and your head is heady from the perfume that sits over the entire room and Aaron is solid behind you, taking his time working you up to the edge. When he finally lets you come, it is almost as an afterthought. His lips have never once left you in their devotion.

Hate never really was an option.

*------------*

Derek had been an absolute drill sergeant, knocking on your door at five thirty in the morning. You'd forced yourself to get up so he wouldn't wake Aaron, grabbing the workout clothes from your bag and taking them outside with you. Derek had turned around as you quickly got dressed and the two of you had run five miles, after which he made you do burpees and push ups in the park. You had gotten back to your room completely exhausted, promising yourself you wouldn't even look at a croissant again. Yeah, right.

Aaron was already up by the time you had returned. He'd managed to figure out the coffee machine in the kitchen after realizing it was a slightly older version of the one you had at home and had made you a latte just how you liked it. He handed it to you as you exited the bedroom dressed in a suit he hadn't seen before. It looked like you'd gone shopping in Paris, the dark green suit fitting you like a glove. You'd paired it with black stilettos as you were going to be spending most of the day at the precinct anyways.

"Good morning," he says, smiling appreciatively at the new outfit.

You hopped up onto the kitchen island as you usually did on mornings when it was just the two of you. He leaned against the counter across from you, drinking what was sure to be his second cup. You took a sip of the latte he'd made and it was perfect. Sometimes you wondered how Haley had dealt with him, because while Aaron was certainly capable there was a lot of stuff which he did automatically now that you'd had to teach him - making the perfect cup of coffee being the most important one. Though it hadn't all happened over the course of just your relationship. The coffee thing, he'd learned for you much earlier.

It appeared you two were the first ones ready, though you could hear sounds coming from down the hallway, indicating that the rest of the team was at least awake. The early morning sunlight was streaming in through the large windows, reminding you why you'd chosen this place. It hit Aaron just perfectly, creating a halo around him.

You reach out drawing him closer to you by his tie, intent on saying good morning properly. He looks back towards the hallway, before allowing you to pull him down to meet your lips. He's slow and methodical, kissing you just so, before his tongue darts out to lick your lips, prompting you to open your mouth to him. Your hands are still clutched onto his tie and his hands run up your legs, your thighs, and your waist. He can feel your legs instinctively start to wrap around him, the heel of your stiletto digging into the back of his thighs. You let go of his tie to wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him in even closer as he releases you with a gasp. You barely have a second to draw a breath before he returns, the two of you lost in your own world.

Only the insistent clearing of a throat accompanied by Emily's claps are enough to break you apart. You turn to see Rossi, Derek, and Emily standing at the edge of the kitchen. Rossi appears unbothered, Derek seems embarrassed, and Emily is exuberantly thrilled as she congratulates you for getting a morning makeout session in, before stealing your coffee. You and Aaron quickly adjust yourselves, however you're glad to note that he appears mostly unaffected as well. Life was far too short to be embarrassed by having your coworkers (who were staying in your home) catch you kissing your boyfriend.

To be honest, it was probably good for Emily to see this on occasion. She'd been convinced that Aaron was, in her words, the human equivalent of vanilla pudding. She figured that between both of your lack of a wide range of sexual partners, that the two of you only fucked in missionary. She couldn't be further from the truth, however you didn't really care to clear up her misconceptions. Not everyone needed to be bound up and choked to the brink of death in order to feel something.

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