Hotchniss One-Shots

linger

The office was quiet—eerily so. The hum of the overhead fluorescent lights and the occasional creak of the building settling were the only sounds accompanying the soft tap of Emily Prentiss's fingers against her laptop. She glanced up and found Hotch still at his desk, reviewing a case file with meticulous care. The rest of the team had long since gone home, leaving the two of them alone amidst stacks of papers, evidence boards, and the faint scent of coffee that lingered from earlier in the evening.

"You're still here?" Emily asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Hotch looked up, adjusting his glasses, his expression calm but tired. "The case isn't done until all loose ends are tied," he replied evenly, though there was a softness in his eyes reserved for her. "And someone has to make sure the strategy is solid before tomorrow."

Emily leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Is that your polite way of saying I should've gone home hours ago?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm simply noting the facts. But yes, technically, you could leave and still be fully justified."

She smirked, closing her laptop with a soft click. "Technically," she said, standing, "I'm staying. And it's not just because I enjoy your company, though I admit it's a perk."

Hotch's lips twitched in the faintest smile. "I'll take that under advisement."

They fell into a rhythm, reviewing files, mapping connections, and debating strategy. Occasionally, Emily would make a joke or a dry comment, and Hotch, despite himself, would laugh quietly. The office felt different at this hour—less like a workplace and more like a sanctuary. The world outside was gone, and all that mattered was the two of them, surrounded by the hum of the air conditioning and the faint glow of the computer screens.

At one point, Emily leaned over the evidence board, pointing at a cluster of connections. "If we approach it from this angle, we might corner them faster," she said, her voice focused.

Hotch joined her, peering at the board. Their shoulders brushed, sending a small, electric thrill through Emily that she quickly tried to ignore. "I see what you're saying," he said, tracing a line with his finger. "It could work—but we'll need to anticipate the variables here."

Their hands lingered near each other for a moment longer than necessary, neither daring to pull away first. Emily's heart beat faster than usual, but she forced herself to focus on the case, reminding herself that this was just strategy, just work.

Hours passed, and slowly, the conversation drifted away from the case. A shared laugh over a particularly ridiculous lead sparked a warmth between them, a gentle easing of the tension that had built over the day.

"You know," Emily said quietly, leaning back in her chair and stretching, "I didn't realize how much I missed nights like this. Just... working with you, uninterrupted, no distractions."

Hotch looked at her, eyes softening. "I know what you mean," he admitted. "It's... rare, isn't it? To have the world fade away for a while."

Emily nodded, her gaze dropping to her hands. "Rare and... good. I like it."

A silence settled, comfortable but charged, as if the universe had pressed pause and left them in this small bubble of quiet intimacy. Hotch leaned back, studying her carefully. "Emily..." he began, his voice low, "I... appreciate these moments. Even more than I can say."

She looked up, meeting his gaze. There was honesty there, raw and unguarded, and her chest tightened. "Me too," she said softly. "I... I think I take them for granted sometimes. The quiet ones. The ones where it's just us."

Hotch's hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture so simple yet intimate it made Emily's pulse quicken. "We shouldn't," he murmured. "We shouldn't take them for granted. Not when they feel... like this."

The air shifted between them, heavy with unspoken words. Emily swallowed, leaning slightly closer, until the distance that had existed all day was gone. Their shoulders touched, then their arms, and Hotch's hand lingered near hers.

She laughed softly, a sound filled with warmth and relief. "We're getting close to having an emotional conversation in the office," she teased, though her voice lacked its usual deflection.

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked, his tone almost playful, but his eyes serious.

"Not... exactly," she admitted. "Just... unexpected."

He chuckled softly, then leaned back, stretching his legs under the desk. "Unexpected can be good," he said. "Sometimes."

Emily's hand found his under the table, brushing against his fingers. He didn't pull away. Instead, he intertwined his fingers with hers, a silent acknowledgment of the bond they shared, of the trust and affection that had grown over years of shared danger, laughter, and late nights just like this.

"I don't say this enough," Emily confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, "but... I trust you. I've trusted you for years. And I... care about you. More than I probably should in a professional setting, but... I do."

Hotch's grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly. "Emily... I feel the same," he said, his voice steady but full of emotion. "More than I let myself say out loud."

They stayed like that for a while, fingers entwined under the table, letting the weight of their words settle. There was laughter too—soft, occasional, breaking the intensity of the moment, reminding them that they were still themselves, still Emily and Aaron, not just colleagues or partners.

At some point, the conversation drifted again, this time to lighter topics: favorite books, childhood memories, ridiculous moments from past cases. But every so often, their hands would brush, their shoulders would touch, and the quiet electricity would return.

Hours slipped by unnoticed. The office clock ticked toward midnight, but neither of them moved. It was as if time had forgotten them, as if the world outside had dissolved, leaving only the two of them and the warmth that had grown between them over the course of the evening.

Eventually, Emily rested her head on Hotch's shoulder, and he leaned his head against hers. The remaining work could wait; nothing was as important as this moment of connection, this shared silence filled with trust, comfort, and a subtle, unspoken affection.

"I could get used to this," Emily murmured, her voice barely audible.

"Me too," Hotch replied, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. "Me too."

The office felt like a small sanctuary, a place where they could be honest without pretense, where laughter and touches and words mingled freely. The world outside might still demand their attention, might still threaten to pull them apart, but for these hours, they were simply Emily and Aaron. And that, they both knew, was enough.

When the final files were finally tucked away and the last lights dimmed, they left the office together, hands still entwined, hearts a little lighter, and a bond strengthened by honesty, laughter, and the quiet intimacy of a night that was theirs alone.