Work Text:
Penelope was just prying the lid off a can of paint when the knock came at the door. Huffing in irritation, she abandoned the paint and made her way through the mess of her apartment to the front door. She looked through the peephole, surprised to see Aaron Hotchner on the other side, hand raised to knock again. She quickly unlocked the door and yanked it open dramatically. He stared at her in shock and let his hand drop to his side.
“Boss man, you better not be here to drag me back into the office, because I will not be held responsible for my actions if you are!”
“What? No, I—”
“And do not even think about telling me that there’s another threat on my life because I’m just about to start painting my bedroom and I really don’t have time—”
“Garcia, stop,” Hotch said, holding his hands up with a smile. “There aren’t any new threats that I’m aware of and you’re not getting called back into work.”
“Oh,” she said, deflating abruptly, and letting out a long breath. “Then what exactly are you doing here? Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, of course! You know I’m always happy to have any of my beloved family in my home.”
Hotch smiled briefly and said, “I’m here to offer my help.”
“Help?” she echoed, bewildered. “With what?”
“Painting.”
“But how did you even know—”
“You mentioned it yesterday in the elevator.” He shrugged, looking strangely self-conscious. “I know it can be a big job when you do it alone.”
Penelope gaped at him for a moment and then stepped back from the door without a word, gesturing for him to enter.
“This is super-duper kind of you, but you really don’t need to do this, Hotch,” she said, trailing her eyes appreciatively over the old shirt and jeans he was wearing. “You must have better things to do with your weekend.”
“Actually, Jack is at a friend’s place for the night, and I really can’t think of anything better to do with my time than to help a friend.”
Penelope blushed with pleasure and looked down at her bare toes, noticing that the polish on her nails was in need of a fresh coat.
“Are you sure about this, sir?”
“You don’t need to call me sir,” he insisted. “And yes, I’m sure. I’m not going anywhere. So, where should we start?”
“I was just about to open up the pain when you arrived,” she said, wandering back into her bedroom. “It’s been a while since I’ve painted in here, but I don’t think it’ll take too long.”
Four hours later, they were perched side by side on her bed, trying not to let any of the still-wet paint on their hands stain anything other than the walls. Penelope let her breath out in a whoosh and turned to look at him with an apologetic smile.
“Okay, so that took a whole lot longer than I thought it would.”
“It looks good, though,” he countered, looking at the freshly painted walls with some satisfaction. “What brought it on?”
“After everything that happened, I thought that a new colour was just the thing to get this feeling like home again. New start, new me, that whole thing.”
“Are you going to do the rest of the place?”
Penelope let out a loud bark of laughter and shook her head.
“I don’t know when I’ll have time to do the rest, considering how long this one room took! Even with your stellar and much appreciated help, boss man, I am exhausted.”
“I think that moving the furniture was our downfall,” Hotch replied, absently rubbing at a paint smear on his forearm. “It was surprisingly fun, though.”
“Fun? Seriously?”
“Well, I don’t remember ever laughing as much while trying to move a bed, for example.”
Penelope bit her lip, determined not to ruin the moment with one of the many innuendoes that rushed to her mind.
“I’m surprised you could laugh at all, Hotch,” she said once she had herself under control. “I thought for sure that you’d give up in disgust after the first paint spill.”
Penelope gestured vaguely at the bright turquoise splodge in the middle of the sheet she had luckily placed on the floor for just such an eventuality.
“I don’t give up that easily, Penelope,” he said sincerely.
“You don’t?” she squeaked and then rolled her eyes.
Get it together, Garcie, she scolded herself internally. This is Hotch.
“And miss out on all this?” he asked, gesturing at the mess in the room with a chuckle. “You should know me better than that.”
“Whatever your reasons, I’m glad you stayed.” She gently bumped his shoulder with hers. “You were right, it was much better with someone here.”
“I’m just glad you let me through the door.”
“It was touch and go there for a minute,” she agreed, grinning at him, “especially if you were trying to bring work with you. But you are on the extremely short list of people always welcome, and you’ve certainly made this a painting experience I’m not likely to forget!”
“In a good way, I hope.”
“In the best way.”
A strangely tense silence descended on the room as they stared at each other. Penelope couldn’t explain what had changed but there was something in the air. She was suddenly aware of just how closely they were sitting on the bed and quite a bit of her bare thigh was brushing up against his jeans. She was just considering whether she could readjust her position subtly enough that he wouldn’t notice her doing it, when he shifted even closer to her. She caught her breath and looked at him in shock, unable to believe the evidence of her own eyes.
“Sir?” she whispered, seeking refuge in the return to their normal formality.
She noticed an expression cross his face too quickly for her to identify before he spoke quietly.
“Please don’t call me sir, Penelope.”
“W-what should I call you?”
“How about Aaron?” he suggested.
“You want me to call you Aaron?” she said breathlessly.
“For starters,” he murmured, leaning even closer. “I’ve been trying to think of ways to spend more time with you, ever since you’ve been able to come home. I’ve missed you.”
“You see me every day.”
“I miss being able to spend time with you outside of the work we do,” he clarified. “And when you mentioned spending today painting, I thought it might be a good opportunity to spend some more time with you.”
“This was a plot?” she asked incredulously. “You gave up your Saturday just to spend time with me?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it a plot, exactly. But I have spent the last week trying to work up the courage to ask you to dinner.”
“Dinner? You mean, like a date?”
“No, not like a date. An actual date.” His eyes searched her face, and she had no idea what he found there but it seemed enough for him to continue. “Will you have dinner with me, Penelope?”
“Right now?” She looked down at her paint-spattered overalls. “I’m not exactly looking my best.”
“You’re beautiful,” he said, grasping one of her hands in his and bringing it slowly to his lips.
“We could order something,” he suggested, still holding her hand gently in his. “If you don’t want to go out.”
“How about an omelette?” she said after a moment’s consideration.
He grinned and she almost gasped at the sight of it. A full-blown Aaron Hotchner grin was dangerous to her delicate sensibilities at the best of times, right then it was downright devastating.
“Do you have jalapenos?” he asked playfully.
Penelope grinned.
“You have to ask?” She shook her head with mock-sadness. “Aaron, you should know better.”
“Yes, I should,” he agreed solemnly. “You called me Aaron.”
“It seemed appropriate.”
“Would it be appropriate for me to kiss you?”
“Probably not,” she said, placing a hand on his cheek and drawing him closer. “But when has that ever stopped me?”