Chapter Text
SSA Aaron Hotchner was the paragon of professionalism. He always was the first at the office and the last to leave it; talked quietly, clearly and respectfully, he also perpetually kept an eye on his team - both to be sure the work was done and everybody has everything they needed - care for them but never forgot to put the distance needed between agents and their superior. To tell a long story short: Aaron Hotchner was the best Unit Chief ever. But no one was perfect.
Hotch - as he told almost everyone to call him - had known - deep in his guts - that you would be troubles the very first time he laid his eyes on you. You did nothing wrong, mind you! Quite the contrary. Though he had approved your affectation to his unit, he still had to meet you in person. When you had nervously crossed the threshold of his office after being invited to, blushing and stuttering, but shaking his hand with a firm grasp; he had known he would be especially protective of you. To be honest, he was a little annoyed: as capable as your files said you were; he had enough on his plate already for him to have to baby you. SSA Hotchner had no time for newbie puking at the sight of tortured bodies or too afraid to face an UnSub. He was already almost regretting to have hired you; almost: he had, indeed, read your files and found them impressive. So you deserved a chance. You didn’t disappoint.
You were still troubles. You still had done nothing wrong and Hotch hasn’t to baby you; but he couldn’t stop fussing over you. Quietly. In his head. Discretely. But, still, he was monstrously distracted and he couldn’t afford to be. When the BAU was called on a case, all Hotch should think about is said case; not if JJ’s call had interrupted anything of importance for you and if it would upset you. When he took you with him to the precinct, all Hotch should think about is to gather the most possible informations from the local law enforcement; not getting sure no one is making you uncomfortable; same when you join him on a crime scene, he should concentrate on the body before him, not checking on how you feel every few minutes. And, oh, don’t even think about being sent somewhere without him; Agent Hotchner is doing his damnest to stay cold and professional, but he’s still human. Letting you out of his sight during a case is beyond his strength, you stay with him, period.
This is a bad idea. If you notice he’s coddling you, you will think he doesn’t trust you, or doesn’t see you as an equal, or worse, and it’s NOT the case. Hotch trusts you with his life; he saw what you were capable of, what a heart of gold you have. He really does trust you, he’s just being overprotective. But you’re so young, sue him for wanting - no - needing to protect you! Yeah, that’s it, you’re young, and bright, and funny, and sweet and if something should happen to you… Hell, no, Hotch doesn’t want to think about it. Hotch shouldn’t think about it, he should focus on the case which just landed on his desk, the team will arrive any second now, he needs to be ready for a first debriefing. Focus, Hotchner.
“Hotch?,” JJ’s standing in the doorway of his office, a pile of files under the arm, “They’re all there, we’re ready when you are.”
So much for focusing on the case, good job supervisory special agent… “Alright, let’s go to the conference room.” Hotch took his own file and went to the bullpen. JJ was already setting the conference room up, Morgan, Reid and Prentiss were taking their coats off, while Rossi was just emerging from the little kitchen next to the bullpen, a cup of coffee in hand. Two are missing. “JJ, you said everyone was here, where are Garcia and Y/L/N?”
“Garcia sent me a text a few minutes ago, they were in the parking lot, they should arrive- Well, here they are”.
Good Lord…
On a Friday night without a case, it wasn’t unexpected from Hotch’s agents to be out and about; there was no problem about it. What his subordinates do in their free time is not Agent Hotchner’s business, he knows they will drop everything they’re doing the second their work phone goes off. Indeed, Garcia and yourself didn’t make any pit stop at home to get changed, you went straight to the office. But you were out, obviously.
Well, there’s nothing choking about Garcia’s outfit; everyone is used to her rainbow theme, but you… You, as always, are something else. Your team is used to see you in professional outfit: black, grey or maroon colors, shirts with suit pants or pencil skirts. Functional, simple, comfy and elegant. So, imagine Hotch’s state when he saw you bursting out of the elevator in colorful heels, a skirt which went above your knees, tiny stars of all colors covering your eyelids and a t-shirt proudly stating “Daddy’s good little girl”.
Good Lord, indeed.
For Hotch, all thoughts about professionalism, ranks, and appropriate behavior simply went out of the window. Three minutes before, he was still trying to convince himself his overprotectiveness was just about you being the youngest and the newbie of the team. Hell, he was chastising himself about it. Now, everything he wants is pushing you up onto the nearest surface and kissing you breathless. To begin with. No. Nope. Bad, Aaron! Get a grip! You’ve got a case, for God’s sake!
Agent Hotchner is trying to get a grip on himself, he really is, but he can see the way you’re blushing under the gentle teases of your friends and it’s just making you look more irresistible. Would you blush harder if your boss went to devour you before whispering in your ear what a good little girl you are, Daddy’s good little girl?
Rossi’s cough brings Hotch back on track, and his mindful little smirk pushes Aaron to cover his tracks by calling everyone in the conference room. He knows it’s too late: nothing escapes to David Rossi, but he really can’t deal with it right now. Not when you magically end up in the seat next to him during the briefing, not when your skirt rides up your legs a little when you sit down and he has to look at pictures of three unexploded bombs instead of you.
Later, in the jet, you’re changed in your usual outfit, fished out of your go-bag, and your fancy makeup is all gone. Or almost, a tiny little star has escaped the makeup remover. And Hotch stays frozen, hesitating between telling you about it for the pleasure to be the one to make you blush and just stare at it.
He knew you would be troubles.