Hotchniss One-Shots

a day for us

The morning sunlight slanted lazily through the blinds, painting stripes across the kitchen floor. Emily Prentiss stood at the stove, whisking eggs with a concentration usually reserved for high-stakes cases, while the faint scent of fresh coffee curled around her like a soft invitation. She was wearing one of Hotch's oversized sweatshirts and a pair of worn joggers, the kind that had seen better days but felt like home.

"Aaron," she called without looking up, "did you remember to take the bread out of the freezer this time, or are we having 'charred toast surprise' again?"

Hotch, perched on the edge of the counter with a mug in hand, gave a small, patient smile. "I think you'll find I've improved dramatically since last time. Though, full disclosure, I may have... forgotten."

Emily glanced over, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. "Forgotten? That is dangerously close to your natural habitat. I'm taking notes." She shook her head, smiling despite herself, and returned to her eggs.

The apartment was unusually quiet. No ringing phones, no pager alerts, no team messages flashing across screens—just the occasional hiss of the coffee machine and the rhythmic clink of utensils. It was rare, almost unheard of, to have a day where the two of them were not only off-duty but truly free from the weight of the world. They both knew the chaos would resume soon enough, the cases never far from the doorstep, but for this morning, they could steal a few hours of normalcy.

Hotch watched her with that quiet intensity he reserved for Emily alone. There was something about the way she moved around the kitchen—effortless, focused, yet completely herself—that always drew him in. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "You know," he murmured, "I could watch you make breakfast all day."

Emily's whisk paused mid-motion. She turned, a teasing glint in her eye. "You could, huh?" She set the bowl down and placed a hand on her hip. "Careful, Aaron. I might start charging admission."

He laughed softly, the sound low and warm, and shook his head. "No ticket necessary. I have the best seat in the house."

She rolled her eyes, but her smile softened into something quieter, warmer. "Well, I guess I'll let you off the hook this time," she said, returning to her eggs. "But only because I'm in a generous mood."

The rest of breakfast passed in a series of gentle bickers and laughter. Hotch tried to flip the toast, only to watch as it landed with an unfortunate splat on the counter, and Emily couldn't resist a small, victorious smirk. They traded playful jabs over who made the better coffee, who was better at cooking, and who could navigate the chaos of the kitchen without setting something on fire. It was mundane, but in its mundane-ness, it was perfect.

After breakfast, they moved to the living room. Emily curled up on the couch with a blanket over her legs, and Hotch sank into the armchair beside her. He pulled his laptop onto his knees briefly, but Emily noticed immediately. "No work," she said firmly, resting her hand on his arm. "Not today. We're off-duty, remember?"

He looked at her over the rim of his glasses, a soft exhale escaping him. "You're right," he admitted. "No work. Today is... today."

Emily leaned back, closing her eyes for a moment and savoring the quiet. "Today is us," she said, her voice a whisper. "No cases, no chaos, no deadlines. Just us."

Hotch nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at her. He reached out to brush her hair behind her ear, tucking the strands gently. "Us," he repeated, as if saying it out loud made it more real.

For the next few hours, they did nothing in particular. Emily curled up against Hotch on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder as they sipped coffee and watched an old movie she had picked out. Occasionally, they would exchange quiet comments, teasing observations, or soft touches. The kind of touches that spoke volumes without a word.

At one point, Emily shifted, moving so that she was facing him, her legs draped over his lap. She reached up, brushing his cheek lightly with her fingers. "You know," she said, her voice low, "days like this make me think we should have more of them. Not just in the rare stretches when the team isn't in crisis, but... more often."

Hotch's hand covered hers, fingers intertwining. "I would like that," he said simply. "More days like this. With you."

There was a pause, a quiet that was both comfortable and charged, before Emily leaned in and pressed her forehead to his. "Good," she whispered. "Because I plan to hold you to it."

The afternoon slipped by lazily. Emily dozed for a while, her breath warm against Hotch's chest. He watched her, careful not to disturb her, tracing a finger along her arm as she slept. In moments like this, he realized how much of himself he had learned to share with her, how much trust and love they had built over years of cases, danger, and small, stolen moments.

When she stirred awake, she laughed softly, nuzzling into his shoulder. "You're so warm," she murmured. "Like... like a human heater."

He chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair. "I aim to please," he said dryly, though his eyes were soft with affection.

They spent the rest of the day entwined on the couch, talking about nothing in particular, recalling old memories, teasing each other, and occasionally drifting into comfortable silences that spoke more than words ever could. The outside world—the cases, the danger, the demands—felt far away, like a distant hum. For these hours, the apartment was their sanctuary.

As evening approached, the sun dipping low and painting the room in warm golden hues, Emily stirred from her position on Hotch's chest. "I'm... not ready to get up yet," she admitted, her voice lazy and content.

"Then don't," he said, pulling the blanket tighter around both of them. "Stay here. Let's just... be."

She smiled, resting her head back against him, and he wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. "I love days like this," she whispered.

"Me too," he said, his voice quiet but steady. "Me too."

Outside, the city moved on, oblivious to the small universe they had carved out for themselves. Inside, there was warmth, laughter, soft teasing, and the quiet, unspoken knowledge that whatever the world threw at them, they had each other.