Aaron Hotchner One Shots

Protective Detail

Warnings: pregnancy, unwanted advances, protective Hotch, angry Hotch, flirty reader. (:

--

Ever since Penelope had found that positive pregnancy test in your bathroom, she had all but demanded to throw you a baby shower, much to your protest. Now, seven months later, that's how you find yourself here at the roundtable surrounded by your BAU family and your husband, celebrating the little bundle of joy that will soon make her arrival in a couple of months.

When you open the gift basket from Penelope, the tears start falling. Sitting in light pink tissue paper, was a gray stuffed bear with your baby's name on the front of it. Beside the bear, lies a rolled up baby blanket that Pen had handmade herself along with an assortment of bottles and pacifiers. What catches your eye though, is a picture that sits just to the front of the basket in a pink picture frame; a photo of the team, taken at Rossi's the day you found out you were pregnant. At the bottom of the frame in gray sparkly handwriting (probably Penelope's), it says, "We love you, Baby Hotchner."

"Why are you crying, momma? Is sissy okay?," Jack asks, tugging on your dress and crawling into your lap, softly putting his head on your stomach.

Running your fingers through his blonde locks, you move his head to face you. He's frowning, serious even, as his brown eyes stare up at you – all but the blonde hair, he's a spitting image of Aaron. Letting out a teary laugh, you sigh, "Oh baby, she's okay. She's perfect. I'm just extremely happy..." you pause, wiping the unshed tears from your eyes, and hold him tight. "I love you, this little girl, your aunts and uncles, and your daddy so much... so so much. Your little sister is loved already, and so are you."

Jack lays his head back down and giggles, "I love you too, momma. But can I tell you a secret?" Lowering your ear down to his level, he sits up and whispers, "You're squishing me." Laughing, Jack wiggles out of your grasp and runs out of the room, with Uncle Dave trailing not too far behind.

–

As the shower is winding down, Derek, Spencer, and Dave start helping Aaron carry the gifts out to the SUV while the girls clean up. Jack takes his Captain America action figure and some crayons upstairs into Aaron's office and once you make sure he's situated and occupied, you walk back to help clean up. Taking the rest of the cake to the kitchenette, you're abruptly pulled out of your thoughts by the overwhelming smell of Axe body spray filling your senses – it's a smell you know well, and can only mean one thing – Brad, your ex, is for whatever reason, on the sixth floor.

Turning around, you hold onto the cake a little tighter than normal and muster up all the courage you have to talk to him. Not that you want to; the last thing you want is to see your ex at the BAU and not where he belongs — in counterterrorism, four floors down – but you know if you don't say something, he won't stop until you do.

He looks worse since the last time you saw him. His hair is grown out and touching his ears, slick with grease against his scalp. He looks like he hasn't shaved in months (not that he ever took care of his facial hair when you were with him, but that's beside the point), and the suit he's wearing looks like it's two sizes too big.

"What are you doing here, Brad?," you ask, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at him.

He steps closer, and when he speaks, you can smell the stale coffee on his breath. "I heard a rumor that you were pregnant and wanted to come see how you were doing. Can't believe you didn't invite me to the shower. So who's the lucky guy?"

Scoffing, you shake your head and take a few steps away from him. "I'm married now, and that's none of your business."

"Oh sweetheart," he says, smirking and walking around you like a shark, "that's never stopped me before."

"Is there a problem?," you hear him before you see him, and you've never been happier for your husband's impeccable timing.

Turning around, you give Aaron a small smile that doesn't quite meet your eyes and he takes the cake from you, setting it down, and settling his hand comfortably on your lower back. "Everything's fine, Aaron," you explain, crossing your arms, and sending a glare in Brad's direction, "He was just leaving."

Brad stares at Aaron as if he's sizing him up, and smirks. "Aaron huh?," he shakes his head, and laughs wryly. "You're on a first-name basis with your Unit Chief? Hmmm.. I should have known you'd sleep your way to the top." Aaron's stern gaze is fixed on Brad, and when you glance back at him, he realizes he said the wrong thing.

Aaron towers over him as he takes a step closer, their noses almost touching. "Out." His voice is low, dangerous and for the first time in your life, you hope to see a fight break out in the middle of the bullpen. The man that once prided himself in being a "real man" swallows thickly, takes a step back and, for a quick second, you see fear flash in Brad's eyes. Aaron grabs Brad by the collar of his shirt and pulls him forward. "I said, get out. You won't like it if I have to repeat myself... and if I see you around this bullpen or anywhere near my agents, I will see that you're fired and arrested on federal charges. Do I make myself clear?"

Suddenly let go from Aaron's death grip, Brad falls back and stumbles. "Crystal, Sir. I'm so-"

"Leave!," Aaron cuts him off, voice booming throughout the entire bullpen, and you watch Brad run for the stairs. Letting out a breath, you shake your head and smirk.

Aaron brings his hand behind you, rubbing circles on your back and cupps your face with his other hand. "Sweetheart, Are you alright?" He searches your face for worry, for stress, anything he can find to give him an excuse to run down the stairs and beat the shit out of the man that thought he could talk to you like that, but finds nothing... nothing but, arousal? Your eyes are dark, hungry as you look up and grab him by the tie, bringing him into a heated kiss. With burning lungs, you let go and come up for air, still staring at him like he's your prey.

He chuckles and wipes the corner of his mouth where your lipstick stained his face. "What was that for? Not that I'm complaining, but you never kiss me at work."

"Because, SSA Hotchner," you put emphasis on his title, play with the lower part of his tie, and look up at him through your eyelashes. "... you have no idea how hot you are when you're angry."