Chapter Text
It’s Garcia’s idea for the team to go to Virginia Beach for the weekend, everyone stressed out from the work week and in desperate need of some fun. Hotch and Gideon initially decline—it sounds like a bit too much fun, a young person’s trip—but Sophie announces “if everyone doesn’t go, no one goes,” and that kind of makes the decision for them.
They pile into two cars—Hotch, Gideon, Reid, and Sophie in one and Morgan, Garcia, Prentiss, and JJ in the other—to make the three hour drive on a Friday afternoon, and Gideon calls in a favor from a friend and gets them a beautiful house on the beach for the weekend.
“So after we get settled in, what’s next?” Prentiss asks as they unload the cars, their usual go-bags abandoned in favor of normal luggage.
“Dinner! Please say dinner,” Sophie pleads, and Emily pats her on the head affectionately.
“Okay, little one, dinner it is.”
“I know a great place down the boardwalk with plenty of options for vegetarians,” Garcia states, heels clicking on the tile of the kitchen, and the plans kind of evolve from there. Everyone heads to their rooms to change from work clothes to more appropriate attire, and soon they’re mostly gathered in the kitchen, just waiting for the stragglers.
Sophie, he notices (can’t help but notice anymore, and he’s come to terms with that,) looks incredibly beautiful in a silky, tropical print sundress and nude heels; she belongs in this kind of environment, salt air blowing her hair, slight flush on her cheeks. She looks like a goddamn supermodel, and it only serves to make his heart ache that much more when he looks at her.
“We should go dancing after dinner,” JJ, the last to join the group, mentions, and almost everyone agrees. Gideon grumbles something like, ‘damn kids’ as they file out of the house, and Hotch can’t help but laugh.
They find an Italian restaurant everyone can agree on that can accommodate them on short notice, and they’re seated quickly; Sophie is swiftly pacified by a basket of bread and a glass of wine, and everyone is happy, laughing, just as intended.
“What is calamari, again? I know it’s some type of disgusting seafood,” Garcia says, looking over the menu with a grimace, and Sophie returns the expression.
“Calamari, my dear, is Italian for squid.” She makes a fake retching noise, then turns to her partner. “Dr. Reid, give us a fun fact about squid.”
“While often confused with the octopus, squid have eight legs plus two tentacles, which actually makes them Decapods. The tentacles are used to grab prey and the legs are used to control it.” He smiles, looking pleased that he was asked to give a piece of trivia about something unrelated to a case, and Sophie grins back.
“Thank you. I didn’t know about the tentacles.” She tilts her head to look back to her menu, but catches Hotch’s eye and smiles.
He’s a little proud that he managed to pick the perfect partner for Reid, even if it meant the position was vacant for longer than he would have liked; he truly can’t imagine the BAU without Sophie, even if he is a bit biased now.
After dinner, Gideon retires back to the house, and the rest of them make their way to a beachside bar JJ finds with good reviews. Everyone is about two drinks in, and everyone but Hotch is dancing: Morgan and Garcia are dancing together, JJ and Prentiss are dancing together, and Sophie is doing her best to teach Reid how to dance.
“Put your right hand here,” she guides, placing his hand on her slim waist, “none of the hand-on-butt most guys prefer.”
“There’s something to be said for hand-on-butt,” Morgan shouts over the noise, and the girls laugh.
“Yes, there is, but time and place. I’m teaching him how to dance; someone else is going to have to teach him that.” She smiles up at him and takes his other hand, clasps their fingers together, and holds their arms out a bit. “Arms like this for now, or a little closer when you get closer to your partner.” She demonstrates by hovering her hand over his chest. “If she does this, she’s getting comfortable, you can lean a little closer. Might even be a good time for a kiss, if you think it’s heading that way.”
“How do I know if it’s heading that way?”
“Well, social cues and body language are important. If I were you, I’d observe the other people in this room. Personally, if I want to kiss someone, I can’t take my eyes off of them leading up to it. Either their eyes, or, you know. Their lips.” Her own turn up in a smile. “If she’s looking at your lips, you should probably kiss her.”
She rests her hand lightly on his arm, just above his elbow, and they take a few steps, a smile and kind words of encouragement passing her lips. “That’s good. I know you’re nervous now, but when you’re dancing with someone you really like, it will feel more natural. Like you’re the only two people in the whole world.” They take a few turns around the floor, and then switch partners, Garcia with JJ, Morgan with Sophie, Prentiss with Reid.
A bit of time passes—team members have come to the table to rest, hydrate, drink, in shifts—and then Sophie heads toward him, shaking her head with a soft laugh.
“That kid is so smart about most things, and then just hopeless about others,” she tells him as she stands at his side, taking a sip of water. “Don’t you like to dance?”
“I do, but you guys are having your fun. I don’t mind keeping an eye on things.” She raises an eyebrow, takes the beer out of his grasp and then takes his hand, pulling him to the dance floor. She catches Reid’s attention and then points to the table they abandoned.
“Will you keep an eye on the drinks, please? Hotch is off duty.” He nods seriously, hops off the stool he’s perched on and heads for the table; Hotch makes a noise of protest.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“He’s observing, he can do that from over there. You aren’t our supervisor right now, you’re a man on vacation, and if you like dancing, you should dance.” She stops, stands in front of him, looking a little deflated. “I’m sorry. Do you want to dance with me? I’m being overbearing.”
“It would be my pleasure,” he says honestly, with a smile, and she returns the gesture. He places his hand carefully on her waist, takes her hand just like she’d shown Reid earlier; she lays her left arm along his, hand at his shoulder, and they move easily, smoothly across the floor. “Where did you learn how to dance? You seem like a good teacher,” he says softly after a moment, fearful that he’ll break the bubble they’re in if he speaks any louder.
“My aunt owned a dance studio, and my cousin Damian and I were always getting thrown in to demonstrate when she was short handed. I taught a couple classes there while I was putting myself through school.” A couple passes by them, closer than it seems either of them are comfortable with, and they squeeze a little closer together, his hand wrapping across her back, their arms tucking in.
“What kind of dancing do you do?”
“Mostly waltz, rumba, salsa. You?” He’s heard of waltz, salsa, doesn’t know much about rumba, but can imagine she looks graceful, gorgeous, when she dances it.
“Mostly just this. Do you ever go dancing back at home?”
“Sometimes. It’s hard without a partner, because guys can be creeps. They think that dancing means you have to go home with them.” He’s sure his eyes harden, thinking about what men must put her through when she’s just trying to enjoy herself, other women as well. It’s one of many things that makes him irritated by his gender. “I know dancing with a partner is sexy, but I can separate the dancing from the sexy. When I want to.” She glances up at him, and he’s probably imagining it, but it seems like she might be looking at his lips.
The song ends, transitions into one that’s slower, and they get a little closer, so that her hand presses against his chest, her head almost resting against his shoulder. She feels so good in his arms, smells like heaven, and he would love nothing more than to stay like that all night, but by the end of the song most of the others are back at the table, looking a little faded, and he supposes this good thing must come to an end. As if she senses the shift in his mood, she steps back with a smile.
“Thank you for dancing with me. You’re a great partner.”
“Better than Reid?” he asks with a smile, though it’s all in fun; he’s happy he got to see the youngest agent let loose for once.
“Yes. No offense to him,” she tacks on, and they both laugh softly, “but I like a man who can lead.” He wants to keep her hand in his, to lead her back to the table with their friends, to the house, to her room, but he knows it’s not wise, or even possible, so he lets her walk ahead and tries not to get too caught up in his own mind.
They walk back to the house as a group, laughing and bantering as usual, and mostly everyone heads straight to bed—with the exception of Derek and Sophie, who are chatting in the kitchen and making a late-night PB&J.
“I can’t believe you got the boss man dancing,” Derek says, pouring a glass of milk to go with his sandwich, and Sophie laughs softly.
“I practically forced him to, I wouldn’t read that much into it.” He cocks a brow.
“I don’t know, you two looked pretty cozy. Dancing around like you didn’t have a care in the world.” He mimics a waltzing hold, spinning around the kitchen with his eyes closed; she laughs, a little shy, then tries to make a joke of it to hide her emotion.
“What can I say, I’ve got chemistry with everyone; it's a blessing and a curse.” He gestures between them with the hand not holding his glass.
“You and I don’t have that kind of chemistry.”
“That’s because you’re sharing all yours with Penelope,” she teases, taking a bite of her sandwich, and he chuckles.
“That’s just me and my girl. You know how we are.”
“Yes, I do: deeply in denial.” He looks at her with serious eyes, pointing at her, then himself, when he speaks again.
“Pot, kettle.”
“I’m not in denial about anything, trust me,” she replies, looking down at her plate. “I am very aware of my feelings at all times.”
“Okay, so there are feelings.” She rolls her eyes lightly.
“I’m not a robot, I have feelings.”
“For Hotch?” he asks, and the question is far too direct for her liking. She sighs.
“Even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. He’s still my boss. So don’t go trying to play Cupid or something.”
“Me? Interfere with your social life?” She scoffs, and he grins. “I’m just saying. There are ways around the boss thing, if you do have feelings for him.”
“And I’m just saying, it’s totally fine for a special agent to date a technical analyst. You don’t even need a way around it.” She shoots him a toothy, bratty smile, and he messes up her hair, earning a groan.
“Alright, enough of this talk, you’re making me tired.” He rinses his dishes, loads them into the dishwasher. “You wanna get into your feelings later, you let me know.”
“Same goes for you,” she calls as he heads down the hall. She cleans up her dishes too, walks to her room, sighing when she passes Hotch’s door.