━━━ ❝ ❨ 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒇 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒋𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒚𝒂𝒓𝒅. ❩ ❞
Their story was never meant to be a happy one. In fact, the...
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CHAPTER 7: I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A DISNEY PRINCESS (5x12: the uncanny valley)
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HE WORE HIS USUAL OUTFIT. A stylish tailored black wool suit jacket, a crisp white shirt without a single wrinkle on it, a subtly patterned dark brown tie neatly knotted around his neck, black wool dress pants matching his suit jacket, and, last but not least, a pair of his indispensable, sleek black leather Oxford shoes. In his right hand, he held onto his suitcase, his other repeatedly adjusted his tie. Saying that he wasn't nervous would have been a lie.
The tingling sensation in his stomach was unnecessary, of course. This place had been his home for a long time now. Going up in the elevator gave him the feeling of déjà vu, as if the last time he stood there hadn't been two months ago, but only yesterday. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that they all would look differently at him now. He felt like a newbie on his first day, all over again.
The friendly sound of the elevator bell pulled him from his thoughts. Subconsciously, he moved forward, walking into the hallway. Then, instead of going straight to his office, he turned left and headed down the long corridor hiding several others. In front of hers, he stopped, swallowed his nervousness, and knocked two times.
"Come in," Bess's muffled voice said from the other side of the dark brown door, and Hotch pushed down its handle. Her surprise was genuine as she looked up from her paperwork. "Hotchner! I wasn't expecting you today."
He remained silent as he walked in, taking a look around. He realized that he had never been to her office before. Much like her home, it spoke of great style and wealth. The beige walls were now white, the old oak bookshelf and cabinets were replaced with sleek walnut, the hunting photos were swapped for expensive paintings, and the trophies on the shelves were traded for plants and flowers. A comfortable couch sat beside the door, a glass coffee table in front of it with a neat stack of magazines on top. And then there was her, occupying the black leather office chair behind the brand-new walnut desk.
Hotch reached into his pocket and walked up to the desk. He placed a cigarette pack in front of Bess, his gaze flickering to meet hers, already scanning his face. "Only one is missing—the one you lit," he muttered in his deep voice, straightening up as she reached for the pack to see what he was talking about with her own eyes.
Bess flashed her eyebrows for a second. She closed the lid of the pack containing exactly nineteen joints. "I'm impressed, Hotchner. You haven't smoked even one. How did you do it?" she asked honestly, glancing up at him.
He merely shrugged. "I picked up running." His eyes locked with hers again before his gaze fell onto her lips. She was smiling. He looked back up, not wanting her to think he was staring. "I want to come back," he added, and his expression told her it wasn't a request. He was dead serious.
