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Sophie is at the bureau gym, beating the everloving fuck out of a hanging bag, when she realizes she’s not alone. It only takes a moment, and a faint whiff of cologne, light and crisp and clean, to realize who’s joined her, and though she’d usually smile, all she does is sigh.
“Who told you I was down here? Morgan, probably, he’s always in my business,” she mutters. Hotch steps past her, still wearing his suit, sans jacket, and holds the bag steady while she punches, knees, and kicks it.
“It was Reid, actually. He was concerned that you were being hard on yourself after what happened earlier.”
“And if I am? Why should any of you care?” she asks, gritting her teeth, even though she knows exactly what he’ll say—and that he’s right.
“Because we’re a team. A family. We care about you.”
“I care about you guys, too, and today…” She stops, takes a deep breath, brushes a stray hair out of her face. “I hesitated, and it could have gotten someone hurt.”
“It happens to everyone at least once; honestly, you’re overdue.”
“I am not the type of person to hesitate, Hotch. I know what that can do in our line of work, I know what that can mean.” She’s been sick to her stomach with guilt since she got on the jet, her adrenaline leaving her as fast as it came; she couldn’t even close her eyes without seeing Reid hurt, or Hotch, or the kid.
“Good. Then you need to accept that it happened and be more aware of your emotional state in this situation next time. There’s no need to be so hard on yourself.” She shakes her head, goes back to work on the bag though her hands are throbbing.
“Being hard on yourself is how you get tough, how you keep from making the same mistakes again.” She knees the bag a few times, somehow angrier than before. “So I should be hard on myself. And you should be punishing me.” She stops, feels herself deflating emotionally and physically. She wipes at her eyes with her wrist, and she knows tears are welling up, but she can’t stop them. “Punish me, Hotch.”
“No,” he tells her, voice soft, steady. His hands come up, wrap around her wrists, and she sobs, a sad and broken thing; he pulls her to his chest, then, strong arms holding her, letting her cry, and she breaks down in a way she hasn’t in almost a decade.
“He could have been my brother,” she says through sniffles, and he strokes her hair, keeping her close. “He looked just like my little brother, and I didn’t want to see another brown kid die at the hands of police when I thought I could talk him down.”
“I know, I know.” It’s all he says, all he needs to say, and she stays there in that safe space for a few minutes before pulling away.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dumped all that on you.” His eyes are soft, sincere, and he takes her face in his hands.
“I want to be here for you.” He swipes his thumbs under her eyes, tenderly brushing away her tears, and her heart skips a beat.
A moment later, his phone rings, and though he’s looking like he’s willing to ignore it, she knows how against the grain it goes. “You can take that. I won’t run off.” He looks into her eyes for a long moment before pulling it from his pocket and answering with his name.
“Yes, I’m with her now. She’s doing alright. Nothing I think a few slices of pizza won’t fix; do you want to come with us? We’ll pick you up. Okay, see you in five.” He ends the call and she is smiling when he turns back to face her, despite how dry and red her eyes feel.
“Pizza with my two favorites? Shh, don’t tell the others,” she teases, grabbing her duffle, and he puts an arm around her shoulders as they walk out.
“If you think the others don’t know we’re your favorites, you seriously underestimate them.”
She grabs a quick shower, and they pick up Spencer and head to the by-the-slice pizza shop near the office; her partner bumps companionably against her shoulder in the booth beside her, and she smiles at him, feeling better than she has all day.
Though she still feels she messed up in the field, she also feels compassion for herself after what Hotch said at the gym. She knows she holds herself to a high standard, that she always will, but now that she has the kindness and support that Hotch, Reid, and the rest of the team have shown her… some things might never be easy, but they will be easier.
“It’s been a while since we ordered, I’ll go check on our food,” she offers, and she’s been standing at the counter for less than a minute when a man sidles up to her, closer than normal but overall nothing too threatening.
“I’ve noticed you in here once or twice—are you a fed?”
“Yes, I work for the FBI.”
“Hmm. That’s sexy. Do you carry a gun?” She looks over at him, runs her eyes over his facial features. He’s just a curious, gross guy, harmless, she decides, and she shrugs her shoulders.
“Sometimes. It’s not glamorous, believe me. Mostly paperwork.”
“Have you ever killed someone?”
“Is the food almost ready?” she hears Hotch ask, and even though she can handle a guy like this, she does feel more at ease knowing she has backup... or maybe it’s just because it’s Hotch behind her that she feels suddenly far less tense.
He puts a hand around her back, fingers on her hip pulling her closer, and apparently he’s pretending to be her boyfriend, now, which is… fine. So fine. Nothing to see here.
“Any minute,” she answers, leaning against the solid line of his body, seeing no harm in playing along. It feels a little better than it should, and she’ll probably try to analyze that at another time, but for now, after such a tumultuous day, she just lets herself be happy. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“You know I’d wait forever for you,” he says softly, pressing his nose against the top of her head, and she forgets herself, swoons a little.
The guy loses interest really damn quick, slinks back to his seat, and Sophie pulls away from Hotch, though she really doesn’t want to. His hand slides slowly off her hip. “Thanks for the save,” she murmurs, turning to look at him, and he looks like he wants to say something, but then their food is ready, and they carry it back to the table.
They eat, laugh, and when they’re done, he drops them off at the office; Sophie offers to drive Spencer home, and he thanks Hotch for the meal and runs in to grab his things. Sophie takes Hotch’s hand.
“Thank you, for… what you said at the gym, and for dinner, and everything.”
“I meant it,” he replies, squeezing her hand. “I’m here for you no matter what. Always.”
She knows that, which is one of many reasons she knows she has to tamp down on her little crush. If he found out, he would distance himself from her, and she would lose the careful, hesitant friendship that’s developed over the past year, and that would be worse than anything.
Spencer jogs out of the building, bags and coat in hand, and she pulls away, smiling at him. “Ready to go?” He nods, and she looks back up at Hotch. “Thanks again. See you tomorrow.”
“See you then.”