The jet was quiet, save for the low hum of the engine. The rest of the team had long since settled in for the flight—Hotch with his eyes closed, JJ curled up in a blanket, Morgan sprawled in his seat.

Reid mumbled something in his sleep, shifting slightly.

You covered your smile with your hand, glancing across the table. Gideon was watching you, a rare softness in his gaze.

"Something funny?" he murmured.

You shook your head. "Just Reid. I swear, he solves cases in his dreams."

Gideon hummed, closing his book. His fingers traced absentmindedly over the cover—an old habit you'd picked up on after all this time.

Your knee brushed against his beneath the table. A tiny slip. A reflex.

But it was enough.

His fingers stilled, his gaze darkened just slightly. He didn't move away.

Your pulse quickened. You should have leaned back, put space between you. But two months of stolen glances and secret touches had chipped away at your patience.

Then, a voice.

"I hope whatever you're both doing isn’t something I’ll have to write up."

You startled, whipping around to see Hotch standing near the coffee machine, a knowing look in his eyes.

Gideon, ever composed, simply leaned back in his seat. "Aaron," he greeted smoothly, as if nothing had happened.

You cleared your throat. "Just… talking."

Hotch exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "Right." He poured his coffee, taking a slow sip. "Make sure it stays that way."

And then he walked back to his seat.

You turned back to Gideon, heart still hammering. He was smirking, the corners of his mouth barely lifted.

"You are so lucky he likes you," you whispered.

Gideon merely leaned back, stretching out in his seat. "I always have been."