Aaron isn’t sure what’s led him up to this point.

The memory is lost in a haze of documents, Strauss’ tempered orders, and Garcia’s insistent bickering. Something regarding an event, one involving different departments, some even joining from different states. A good idea, he remembers Morgan nodding, mind surely elsewhere. Some of us need a break more than others, Rossi adds in his mind, shooting him a pointed look that he deliberately ignores. A break, what a joke.

Regardless, as much as he wants to admits that he runs a tight ship, his team has persuaded him to attend, convincing him that Jack can manage with a sitter for just one more evening.

Now at the party, Hotch watches as Reid engages with another unit’s chief, the man in question looking a little more perplexed rather than actually immersed, the conversation clearly having taken a detour—as all conversations with Reid do. JJ and Emily are chatting in the corner, their closeness enough to make him raise a brow, but he decides to blame it on the alcohol. Garcia and Morgan are M.I.A., maybe outside on the balcony or fooling around in some room off limits. Rossi he spots, deliberately trying to avoid one of his infamous ex-wives. How she even found herself here, Hotch doesn’t think he wants to know.

And then, you.

Fraternisation isn’t allowed, yet you have him second guessing that rule occasionally. You look beautiful. Clearly, he isn’t the only one who thinks that either. You’ve turned quite the few heads, enough to get him feeling a little uneasy. He, too, blames such a reaction on the alcohol (Although, it’s a lie. He hasn’t had a single drink. Someone needed to remain sober, especially with a team like that.)

Even as you approach him, he can notice several gazes lingering on you. His face maintains its casual mask of stoicism, nodding as you stand by his side. The older man shifts, just the slightest bit of movement, as though attempting to shield you from any wandering eyes. He offers you the flute of champagne originally in his grasp, eyes softening ever so slightly. The rest of the room fades into the background, barely registering the laughter coming from nearby guests, the clicking of heels, or the ticking of wristwatches.

“Enjoying your evening?” He asks, averting his gaze to the rest of the gathering, even if every fibre of his being is fixated on you. “You know, if you ever want to leave, I can drive you home.”