Work Text:
The night feels endless, yet not long enough at the same time. You’re not sure how much sleep you’ve really gotten- it’s either been light sleep or no sleep at all. It’s three minutes until your alarm goes off and you pray that you could get a full night of sleep within those minutes. But instead of closing your eyes, you turn to mindlessly scroll through social media until the alarm rings.
To finish your law degree, you’re working as an intern in the Attorney’s office of DC working with local cases. For many, it would be a win in the lottery to be able to work in such a great place. And the place is great, but the prosecutor you’re shadowing- Joe Ryan, the head prosecutor- is a douchebag at best. You’ve come up with some creative nicknames to call him with your friend, but most of them are not suitable to say out loud.
He’s rude to you and doesn’t think you’re worth much. You’re not allowed to speak unless you’re spoken to. You’re not sure if it is because you are a woman or a student, but one absolutely does not help the other. You’re not allowed to touch anything that isn’t your own notepad and pen, or his coffee cup (that you’re meant to fill every hour).
Even with a mentor like him, you’ve absorbed a lot of information during your internship and you’re excited to get to use it in your future career as a prosecutor. Not to mention everyone else at the office has been super nice and welcoming, so it’s not all bad. You refuse to let your scum mentor ruin your day for you. Especially on a day like today when you’re headed to the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia.
You reach the third floor at work with three disposable coffee cups balancing in your hands. One for yourself, one for the douche, and one for your new office bestie who is working at the reception desk. “Good morning” you greet them as you enter the reception. “I come bearing gifts!” you announce, lifting up the cups in your hands.
“You’re an angel (Y/N). Please never leave me” your friend pleads with a sparkle in their eyes. You set the third cup on the counter to wait for your mentor. You take a sip of your own drink, and the rush of fresh coffee hitting your system feels heavenly.
“Are you excited for today?”
You could almost jump up and down from the excitement, but you stop yourself. Professionalism is very important to you and you don’t want to do anything that would make your mentor question it even more. “I am thrilled! I’m not sure how much I actually get to see, but I hope-” you go to explain but you’re quickly cut off.
“I’m not sure if you’re ready for this trip yet” you hear a familiar, scratchy voice from behind you. “There’s a lot of paperwork here for you to study. This might be too much for you,” the man ponders, grasping the coffee cup in his rough, thick hand. He’s wearing a suit that for sure has seen better days- it was starting to get a little small on him. The briefcase on his other hand was dark brown and worn, the leather starting to peel off from the edges. If the man was something, it’s frugal.
“Sir” you begin, trying to calm your racing heart. There was no way you’d miss this chance “I assure you, I am well prepared for this trip. We will have plenty of time to stay on top of the files afterwards, it won’t be a problem. Sir,” you state, articulating every word carefully. You’ve come to notice that when you call him ‘sir’, it boosts his ego and might agree with you.
He takes a thoughtful sip of his drink, before he tosses it to the trash. “Fine, let’s go then”. Your jaw drops from his action of tossing almost a full drink to the trash, but you stay quiet. You don’t want him to change his mind. You and your friend share the same exact look before you leap to follow the shorter man towards the elevators.
Climbing up into his car, excitement runs through your veins as you take your seat. He’s relaxed as he drives, speaking out loud about his plan for the day. You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or to himself, but you’re glad he doesn’t seem to wait for your response either way. The longer he’s quiet, the more you’re able to prepare yourself for the upcoming events. That is, until he sneaks his sweaty palm onto your thigh. It makes the hem of your skirt rise up slightly over your knee. You’re quick to slap it away and smooth your skirt back down. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you spit out. The man’s been unprofessional and rude in every way possible, but he hasn’t touched you- not before this.
“You’re overreacting. My hand just slipped,” Joe explains, irritation shining through his voice. This makes you even more upset as you start to feel the tears burning in your eyes. Trying to ignore him, you attempt to keep a straight face and not show him how upset he’s made you. “You think too highly of yourself if you think I’d touch you on purpose,” he scoffs.
You bite your tongue, trying your hardest not to give into his words. For the rest of the trip, you stare out of the window and try to think of your options. You don’t want to jeopardize your ‘great opportunity’ at this workplace, but harassment complaints are still rarely taken seriously- especially against a respected prosecutor like him. You try to remind yourself it’s only a couple of months, but a couple of months is a long time to work under a bastard like him.
Trying to rid yourself of these thoughts, you choose to focus on the huge building ahead of you- the FBI academy. It wasn’t exactly a pretty building, but it looked fascinating; being at least ten stories high, it had beige concrete walls that covered multiple sections. There is also a lot of greenery surrounding it with a training track at some distance. Joe drives his car to the parking garage and you make your way to the hall with a quick pace.
Joe is the first to enter the safety check and gets cleared quickly. Following behind him, you try your best to keep your distance. Joe has a visitor pass in his hands and hangs it from his suit. He reaches to do the same for your pass, but in a split second, he changes his mind and just hands it to you. You appreciate it. The last thing you’d want of him is to grope your chest while ‘hanging the pass on your pocket’.
“Smile sweetheart” Joe tells you as you’re in the elevator, “It’s a big day, huh?”- as if you couldn’t be even more disgusted with his behavior. The doors open at the sixth floor but as he is about to exit, you pull him back by his arm.
“Don’t you dare call me ‘sweetheart’. You do that again and I will file an official complaint on you,” you hiss through your teeth.
“I’d love to see you try. You know it won’t stick. You’ll only embarrass yourself with that, Sweetheart,” Joe responds with a tone similar to yours, but it hits like a punch to the gut. He walks to the bullpen past the big glass doors. The door almost hit you on your face, but you were able to take your hand out just in time. Your excitement for the day deflates fully and doesn’t allow you to breathe in the rush inside the office. You look around only slightly; just enough to know which way to follow the man you despise.
Walking up the stairs, you follow him to the first office. Of course he just enters instead of having some manners and knocking on a closed door. You hear a man’s voice, other than Joe’s echoing from the office. He sounds irritated and apparently interrupted. You feel a need to apologize to the man for Joe’s incompetence, but you stay silent and still outside the office.
Walking to the doorway you’re met with a pair of brown, stern eyes behind a big wooden desk. You’re not sure if you should turn your eyes away from his, but something keeps pulling you in. He keeps waiting for you to say something. He is no longer paying any attention to the man who barged into his office without invitation- but looking at you, and it makes your heart race.
The man is tall, broad, and the definition of authority. His dark hair is shiny and neatly brushed. His eyes are dark and his brows are furrowed into a stern expression. His suit fits him like a glove, making Joe’s look even more ill fitting. With a pearl white shirt and navy blue tie around his neck, it completed his look to a neat perfection.
“I’m.. sorry,” you clear your throat trying to get past your insecurity. “I’m (y/n), a law student working with Mr. Ryan. Do you mind if I join? Sir,” you add, just in case. You don’t mean to sound disrespectful to someone with so much power and authority.
“How about you let us men talk and go get us some coffee, sweetheart?” The shorter man speaks in a tone that makes you want to punch him right in his smug face. You’re not sure how to answer, so you keep your eyes on the other, searching for his input on the man’s order.
“I don’t mind. Please, stay,” the man says calmly. The look in his eyes softens as his gaze stays on you. His tone is strict, but not harsh. It’s deep and you feel butterflies in your stomach starting to take flight. It’s a voice that causes goosebumps to ripple onto your skin and your fingers to tingle. “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner. It’s nice to see students eager to learn. This is a great opportunity for you,” he says as reaches his hand out towards you. Instinctively, you go to shake it.
His grip is firm, and the size of his hand makes yours look tiny. You squeeze it gently and you let your hand linger just a little bit longer than normal. Your eyes are focused on his and it feels like the time stops around you. Every word gets stuck in your throat. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
The agent opens his mouth to say something, but decides to close it instead and keep it to himself. He reluctantly lets his hand fall down from your grasp and turns back towards Prosecutor Ryan. The two men have worked together before, but it’s clear that there’s tension in the room. You’re quick to pick up on it and it doesn’t surprise you. There seems to be tension in every room Joe finds himself in.
Joe is quick to sit down on the leather couch as Hotchner gestures for the two of you to take a seat. You follow his lead and lower yourself onto the couch as far from the man as you’re able to. Agent Hotchner has pulled one of the chairs by his desk closer to the couch but has waited for you to take a seat before sitting down himself. Something about a simple gesture like that warmed your heart, and you find yourself thinking about the way his hand gently holds his tie to his chest as he sits down. Why is that so fascinating to you?
“First things first,” Agent Hotchner’s voice is a bit deeper as he talks to the man next to you, “I don’t appreciate being interrupted. I expect some manners from a man in your position.” You start to feel your heart racing as he speaks to Joe in a disciplinary tone. “And second, yet most importantly, I do not appreciate you calling your student a ‘sweetheart’ when it’s obvious that it is making her uncomfortable,” he adds.
Feeling yourself getting a little flustered, you turn your eyes down to your notepad and fidget with the paper between your fingers to distract yourself.
Agent Hotchner quickly turns to you. “I’m sorry, are she/her pronouns alright? Please correct me if I’m wrong. I’m still trying to learn and make sure I address everyone properly.” You’re blown away by his question. No one has ever asked you that before, especially in a scenario like this. His expression is clearly genuine.
“Y-yeah. I actually go by she/they, but she/her is absolutely fine. Thank you so much for asking,” you state, and the smile on his face tells you that your comment has been noted and he will try his best to take that into account.
“Do I make myself clear?” he turns back to the man next to you and Joe simply nods. “Good, let’s get to work”.
The three of you go over the case at hand with precision. You notice that you apparently have a confused look on your face at times because Agent Hotchner goes to explain things to you before you even manage to word out a question. He’s not in any way belittling you or thinking any less of you as you’re trying to learn things, because all of the pieces do not click in your head right away. He’s calm and clear as he explains things to you. You feel Joe rolling his eyes next to you, but you don’t mind. You finally feel included and want to make sure to absorb as much information as you’re able to.
An hour goes by before Mr. Douche’s phone rings. “Let’s take a quick break. I have to take this.” Landing his hand on your thigh, he slightly rubs his thumb on it before answering the phone. You jump up from the couch, steam coming out of your ears and panic racing in your heart.
“I will go get us some coffee, please excuse me,” you quickly state, wanting to clear your head and exit the office. You had spotted a little kitchen area on your way in and strut firmly towards it. There’s no one else there, and for that you are grateful. You need to calm yourself down and the last thing you want is for anyone to see your struggle. Someone’s already made coffee, so there was almost a full pot of it on the counter. You pour it evenly into three blue mugs and realize you didn’t even ask what kind of coffee Agent Hotchner would prefer. Staring into them as if waiting for them to speak to you, a voice comes from behind you that makes you jump.
“Are you alright?”
You didn’t think you heard anyone come up from behind you.
“Oh. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Agent Hotchner is quick to take a step backwards as he apologizes.
“No, it’s okay. I just didn’t hear you.” You brush it off as you hold your hand on your chest. “How do you like your coffee?” Turning to look at him, you try to offer him the best smile you’re able to at the moment.
“I like it black, thank you.”
You mix your own coffee and add a splash of creamer and two sugars into Joe’s cup. Leaning back to the counter, you grab your mug with both hands. The warmth of it is very grounding and although you’re used to better coffee, it’s not too bad.
“How long do you have left with him?” Agent Hotchner changes his question after not getting an answer on his previous one. He takes a sip of his drink but doesn’t take his eyes off of yours for a moment. He looks relaxed as he drinks his coffee, yet his suit makes him authoritative and dominant at the same time. Being closer to him, you recognize his tie from Tom Ford’s collection. Only thinking of putting 200 dollars for a tie makes your head spin. Pondering about your own closet, you’re not sure if you’ve ever spent over 50 dollars even for a bra.
“Three months” you sigh, looking down in your cup. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the opportunity to work in such a great office and see the difference it makes,” you’re quick to add. You don’t mean to come off as ungrateful. “-and I’ve for sure learned a lot.” You try to offer him a smile, but it feels forced.
“I hate to see him still getting students to mentor. And I have a hard time understanding why he continues to be in his position when it’s clear to everyone what kind of a man he really is,” Agent Hotchner speaks quietly. No one else is within hearing distance but you appreciate the tone. “I’ve seen many students quit or apply for transfer within the first weeks. And he only sees it as a sign of ‘weak character.’” The man has clearly spent time thinking about this as now he’s holding his cup with tension that wasn’t there before.
You’re not sure how to answer him. A big part of you wants to agree with him and let out the anger inside of you towards Joe, but you remain calm and just nod slightly. What if he sees it as unprofessional to talk about your mentor negatively, even if the agent himself brought the subject up?
You study the man in front of you as he seems to be in deep thought. He’s definitely very handsome, even if he was already out of high school by the time you were born. He seems intimidating, but something tells you otherwise- you’re not intimidated by him, you’re drawn to him. His every move fascinates you. You’re not sure if it’s because of your clear attraction to him or your admiration for his authority.
“If you had the option of transferring to someone else within the same office, would you be interested?” Hotchner then asks. A glimmer in his eyes shines bright as if he just had a great idea. Without thinking you nod. Of course you would! Who wouldn’t? “I actually talked to a friend of mine this weekend. He works in federal prosecution. He's Looking for someone to mentor and - best to my knowledge - hasn’t found anyone yet. I’d be happy to recommend a great student like yourself to him.”
Joy bubbles in your chest and your jaw drops by his offer. However, it is quick to die down as you try to think what the man would want in return. Why would he offer something as perfect as this without having some kind of other reason behind it?
He clearly picks up on your thought process.
”But only if you want me to, of course. It’s your choice.”
“Why would you do that? I mean, you don’t know me. What makes you say that I’m a ‘great student’?”
A small smile twitches on his lips. “Would you believe it if I called it an educated guess?” Agent Hotchner asks as you stare at him for more answers. “You made great points in my office just moments ago; it’s clear that you’re eager to learn, based on the amount of notes you’ve taken in your book. With just a quick glance on your page I can tell they’re organized, clean, and you’re not afraid to ask questions- or stand up for yourself,” he says. You’re not sure how to take his compliment. A man in his position thinks you’re doing a good job, likes your ideas, and wants to hear your thoughts about them?
“What’s in it for you?” you ask, once your flustered heart allows you to speak.
The agent chuckles at your question, even though he understands where it’s coming from. Favors by themselves are extremely rare these days; someone’s always having an agenda behind their actions. “I just don’t wish anyone to work under him, and I can’t wait to see his frustration. I also don’t want great potential to go to waste.”
“Agent,” Joe’s voice cuts in, “shall we?” He gestures towards the office, all of the sudden eager to continue and get this case over with.
“Absolutely,” Agent Hotchner nods and shares a look with you.
You’re quick to pick up the third cup from the counter and hand it to your mentor. “Here you go, sir. Creamer and two sugars,” you speak, offering him a smile you haven’t had since the first week. The Prosecutor takes the mug and is first to step towards the office.
“What were you two talking about?” Joe’s curious and something in you notices a hint of jealousy in his tone. You try to brush it off, but it amuses you too much to forget about.
“Just casual chatting, sir. I asked how he likes his coffee and such.”
You’re not exactly lying, but the excitement in your chest wants to burst through. A small ‘I see’ quickly passes through the man’s lips before the three of you continue the case work.
It’s clear it pisses Joe off whenever you ask questions and Agent Hotchner takes his time to explain things to you. He explains his field, how behavioral analysis works, and how it can also be used as evidence in court. You hang on to his every word, the formality of his exterior and the calmness of his tone are fascinating and it gets your blood coursing through your veins.
Another hour goes by once you’ve covered the whole case. It’s been intense and your brain feels heavy with all of the new information you’ve learned. You’re thoroughly exhausted by this rollercoaster of a day and it’s barely even noon. Prosecutor Ryan is the first to stand up. “I think this is all. We’ll take it from here,” he says dryly and expects you to be standing up next to him already. “Let’s go,” he snaps at you and storms out of the office.
You rise up from the couch and start to walk after him. “Please wait one moment,” Hotchner stops you and goes to grab a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his suit. He writes something on it and you smile at your realization of him being left handed. You’re not sure why it was humorous to you. Maybe it’s got something to do with the fact of how completely different he is from the man you’re about to share a car ride with in a moment. So different that he even writes with the other hand. Or the fact that you just thought of that, as if those things have anything to do with each other.
You hear your name being yelled from the bullpen by one pissed off Prosecutor, but your feet feel like glued to the floor. “I’ll call Kim in a moment and tell him to expect you,” he offers you the piece of paper and you take a look at it. He’s written the name of Kim Lawrence and a phone number on it. “Call them if you want to. Tell them I recommended you. I’m sure he’ll invite you over for an interview,” there’s a little smile on the agent’s lips. “You deserve better, and I’m sure you’ll be a great fit at their office.”
You thank him profoundly and hurry towards Joe as he yells for your name once again. “I’m so sorry, sir. I wanted to thank him for the session,” you try to explain but Joe is quick to cut you off.
“What did he give you?”
“Excuse me?” you’re flustered by his question. How would you tell him that you’ve gotten the Federal Prosecutor’s phone number handed to you and you’re going to apply for a transfer? Annoyed, the man repeats his question, lightning striking behind his eyes. You flip the paper over and your anxiety eases. “His card. He um- he asked me to call him sometime,” you say before you realize the words escape your mouth. Somehow, you'd rather talk to Joe about possibly going out with Agent Hotchner than an interview with another prosecutor.
Joe rolls his eyes as he enters the elevator. “Didn’t think he’d be your type,” he scoffs. You remain quiet, and think of what a drastic turn this day has taken. “You know, posh and full of themselves,” he specifies as you don’t answer him.
The rest of the day goes by in a flash and around 8pm, you find yourself sitting outside of your apartment building. You’ve finished with the interview and Kim was eager to get you under their wing. He’d been sold since the moment SSA Hotchner had called them earlier today. And once you showed up to the interview and the two of you had hit it off immediately, Kim had no doubts in his mind.
The stairs are cold beneath you but you don’t care. Who knew a day like today would change the rest of your studies to a lot better. You’re holding your phone in your hands, trying to decide what to do. You could scream in excitement, yet you were paralyzed by the pace of things.
In your clouded phase, you dial up a number without thinking more about it and hoist up the phone to your ear.
It rings a few times before a deep voice answers.
“Hotchner.”
“Hey. It’s (Y/N), the student from today. I was with Prosecutor Ryan?” the man clearly remembers you and it makes you facepalm internally. “I’m sorry I’m calling. Especially this late. But I wanted to call and thank you. And if it doesn’t come off as unprofessional, I’d love to thank you face to face. Are you busy this Saturday?”
You’re not sure where on earth your confidence comes from and it’s clear the man’s blown away by it as well. But before you’ve realized it, you’ve set up a date with a man almost twice your age for Saturday night. And you’re more than excited for it.