Airing Aaron (HotchxOC)

Haughty Hotel.

A million possibilities ran through both Hotch's mind and Alessandra's. Some were good, some were unethical, and a few were even erotic. But it seemed that neither could quite predict how it would truly unravel. When they first climbed into the car, neither of them spoke, but Hotch was acutely aware of her determination to be the one to drive them to the hotel while he gave directions. And from the moment they climbed in, the radio was turned on, and a talk show was discovered where the topic of global warming was being discussed. The hosts didn't seem sold on the idea, and it sounded like Bill Nye was about to enter his UnSub era.

Eventually, the radio was turned down, and Hotch glanced across to Alessandra, who was carefully navigating her way down an alley that was only just larger than the car. 'I was listening to that. The Carl guy had some good points,' she complained once she was out of the alley.

'He said global warming can't be real because the planet is flat and it gets cooled from both sides,' Hotch remarked lazily.

'Do you have scientific proof that states otherwise? I will only accept primary sources of information for this one,' she quipped.

'We can still talk,' Hotch quietly mumbled.

'I know. But you're not as interesting as Lance, the accountant who happens to specialise in numbers, so he knows the maths isn't mathing with this whole world thing,' she joked as they finally pulled up to the hotel.

They were quiet as they climbed out of the car, and they slowly grabbed their bags before walking into the hotel. At the desk, Alessandra approached first with a smile. 'Sorry, we're fully booked,' the woman told her as they approached. The woman was smiling, but her eyes screamed judgement as she looked Alessandra up and down, taking in the black dress she wore.

'Oh, no. This isn't a date. I mean,' she fumbled. 'I was on a date but not with him,' she squeezed out before throwing her head into her hands and laughing at herself. 'We're here to work. The FBI. It should be under Strauss, or Garcia, or Jareau, or Noble if it isn't FBI,' she spoke, and immediately the woman stood, eagerly gathering all the keys they had booked.

'Of course, sorry. Would you like all the keys now, or should I wait for the rest of the party?' She asked quickly.

'We can take them all now. Agent Hotchner, you should tell them to come to us when they're done,' she informed him while taking the large stack of keys from the receptionist's hands. Hotch was busy typing a message as he quietly followed the sound of her heels.

Tiredly, the two agents approached the lift and checked the room numbers before heading to the floor they would be sleeping on. 'I think I'm more interesting than Carl and Lance,' Hotch muttered once the doors closed and they were alone.

'Ding dong, your opinion is wrong,' she retorted playfully.

In that one moment, Hotch knew it was a lost cause. After she asked him to leave, he had managed to push everything he thought and felt into a box. When she wasn't around, he could lie to himself and say that she didn't mean much or it was just a quick fix for his physical desires. Hotch told himself that he only ever assumed they were seeing one another because he was grieving the loss of his wife. But at that moment, as she joked so casually while feeling so conflicted, he knew that beyond a shadow of doubt, he loved her too, and he needed her back. He wanted everyone to know that they loved each other. 'You used to call me smart,' Hotch mumbled.

'MUMBLER!' she yelled with a laugh before the doors slid open, and they were greeted with an empty hallway.

The number on each door was checked until she found a door that corresponded with one in her hand, and immediately, she handed the key to Hotch, who then watched her check the numbers on the doors before settling for a room on the other side of the hall. It was as far from him as she could get. 'Do you want to catch up?' Hotch asked suddenly as he watched her figure almost disappear into her room.