Against Protocol (Aaron Hotchner X Reader)

chapter eighteen: hypothetically speaking

It didn't matter how mandatory FBI training programs the BAU had mandated before your acceptance, there was nothing in the guidelines to prepare you for what was going to happen tonight. How often was it you went on an undercover date, snipers steadily aimed at your table, with your boss opposite you while a maniacal unsub played a reckless game of fate with your life? Not often.

To say you were nervous was a wild understatement. Every minute that neared 8:00 seemed a step closer to an inevitable death trap, but you knew it was the right choice — even if Hotch didn't think so.

Even if the muted doubts in your head about the profile being inaccurate turned out to be some semblance of truth, it wouldn't change the outcome of the night: your life was on the line.

With a murderous narcissist and a death wish over your head, first date niceties with Hotch didn't apply. In fact, with your skewed romantic feelings for him, and the stubborn limitations set by the BAU, it wasn't a surprise Hotch failed to express any positive sentiment towards the mission.  You couldn't tell if it was due to fearful caution or lack of interest in you, but both seemed to be an equally awful reminder of the future that awaited you.

Every encounter with Hotch had been a roll of dice between interest and disinterest, between professionalism and pleasure. The two of you sauntered between the definitions, playing a delicate game of attraction.

Did he even want to continue this?

It didn't matter anyways, you reminded yourself; what mattered was catching the unsub.

Upon Hotch's adamant request, agents constantly supervised and detailed your house in shifts, with Anderson taking the most recent shift to take you to the restaurant.

Once you found out Anderson was assigned to you, Derek made a lighthearted joke about how he left one of the now retired agents, Elle, prematurely one day during a case, and how it came back to bite him the next morning.

Anderson shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the reminder while Hotch stared back in complete, regretful contemplation at the notion of sending Anderson to protect you.

In all honesty, it didn't matter who was supervising you; the profile made it clear the unsub wouldn't meet you in the privacy of your home. No, he was much more meticulous, much more concerned about Hotch's reaction than anything else. After all, his end goal was making Hotch miserable  — though you're not sure exactly how you played into that fantasy.

You got dressed, pulling over the dress Garcia helped pick out over your shoulders: an emerald slip dress falling delicately on every dip and curve of your body until the hem cut off below your knees. Dressing nicely was the last thing on your mind, but Rossi had mandated you dressed well as to not arouse suspicion among the other diners.

Hooking the clasp of your necklace behind your neck, you hear the sharp ping of a message notification radiate from your phone, and your eyes flutter to the lit up screen. Assuming it was Garcia or JJ sending you a text of good luck, you go to check it, but to your surprise it was from Hotch; an odd technological occurrence coming from the same man who was even reluctant to start a team group chat, claiming it would hinder productivity. In fact, you were sure he had muted the team chat.

You read his message, hearing it in his voice.

The team appreciates what you're doing, Y/N; this isn't an easy decision to make, and I want you to know your efforts haven't gone unnoticed. The team and I are proud of you. Remember that. See you soon. - Hotch

Always straight to the point.

You felt a strange flip in your stomach, an unfathomable wave of emotions washing over you like a flash flood. Whatever the feeling was, it welled up inside you like sticks of dynamic, fervently waiting for ignition, and he held the match.