You were quite the ~pain in the ass~ nuisance for the FBI, more specifically the BAU. You were an investigative journalist, a good one at that. Too good.

It was almost like you were purposely making Aaron’s life difficult. You always knew what case the BAU was working on, sometimes seemingly knowing even before the BAU knew. You always knew information you weren’t supposed to know about cases. Sometimes you were even faster than the BAU.

It was so irritating, finally figuring things out about a case just to find you had already posted about it hours prior. This was sensitive information, and you were just giving it out to the public. The nerve.

Hotch thought for sure you had an insider. You had to. A recorder in the bull pen, maybe? Sleeping with the Section Chief?

But no matter how many warrants to search your house, no matter how many interrogations they put you through, you always came up squeaky clean.

It was killing him.

…

You were sound asleep in your home when your awoken from a knock on your door. You huff and ignore it. It’s not like you’re expecting anyone.

A few seconds later, you hear another knock, louder this time. You roll your eyes and turn over.

Then you hear another, then another, then another, until the knocking is too loud for you to ignore. You huff and stomp to your door.

“For goodness sakes, what-“ You open the door to find Aaron Hotchner, that notorious stern look on his face, a search warrant raised by his head like a trophy, and about seven SWAT men behind him looking like they’re about to take down a terrorist.

This is definitely about your new piece on the case they’re working on.

Ugh.