Are You Profiling Me?

-29-

The last of the team had trickled out of your apartment, their laughter still echoing in the air long after the door clicked shut behind them. Derek, Emily, Reid, Garcia, Rossi, and JJ had all said their goodbyes, the night filled with teasing, laughter, and a little bit of chaos—just what you all needed after a long week. Now, with the last of the goodbyes behind you, the apartment felt quieter. The energy shifted from the rowdy warmth of the group to something more intimate, softer.

You sit on the couch, your feet tucked underneath you, staring absently at the scattered remains of the evening—empty plates, half-drunk glasses of wine, a few crumpled napkins. You feel a comfortable exhaustion settle over you after the laughter and teasing, but also, in the stillness, a peaceful kind of contentment.

Across the room, Hotch stands by the window, his back to you, hands in his pockets, as if he's waiting for the world outside to make some sort of decision. The city lights filter through the glass, casting shadows across his profile. He looks... distant, but in a way that makes you feel like he's just allowing himself a moment to be still. It isn't often you see him like this—outside of the controlled environment of the BAU, where everything has to be so carefully measured and restrained.

You can't quite put your finger on it, but there's something different about the way he stands there, something that makes you feel like he's waiting to say something. Or perhaps has been waiting to say something.

You stretch your legs out, your fingers brushing the edge of your notebook where you'd jotted down the profiles from earlier. "You don't have to stick around, you know," you say, breaking the silence. "I'm sure you've had enough of the chaos for one night."

Hotch turns, his eyes finding yours, and he gives a small smile—a small, but genuine smile that you've grown to recognize. "I'm not in a hurry to leave," he says, crossing the room toward you. "Besides, it's not often I get to see you all so... carefree."

You raise an eyebrow, offering him a teasing smile. "Carefree? Or slightly out of control?"

He chuckles softly, the sound warm and familiar, and sits down beside you on the couch. The space between you feels comfortable, familiar, like the world has somehow shrunk down to just the two of you in that moment. You've gotten to this point, after all—where the spaces between the conversations have become just as significant as the words you share.

You lean back, your head resting against the couch cushions, and shift slightly to face him. "So," you say, your tone playful but curious, "I guess you want to talk about the profile I made of you earlier, huh?"

He laughed. "I didn't know you wrote about us but I knew of your trust issues."

"I mean I felt like everyone was profiling me the second I walked in the door. I remember you told me in my interview that it wasn't something you could just turn off. You were right." You breathed out.

"I wish I knew you then how I know you now." Hotch said. You couldn't help but look at him intently. You detected no deception, not that you had to even look. You felt the same.

"What was your original profile of me?" You asked softly. You knew it was crossing a line of sorts but you've crossed so many lines the playing field was blank.

"Do you really want to know?" He asked. The question was serious but you wanted to answer nonetheless. You nodded. ""When you first joined us," he starts, and you feel something shift in the air, "I profiled you, like I do with everyone. It's part of the job. We all do it, even if it's unspoken."

You swallow the lump in your throat, because even though you knew it was coming—knew he was bound to give you a glimpse into how he saw you back then—it still feels like a punch to the gut. He knows you, maybe better than anyone else here. But this? Hearing what he thought when he barely knew you? That's a different kind of vulnerable.