This is for gabem, who won a reviewer challenge for Departing Sun (this oneshot has nothing to do with that universe, as you'll see). The prompt was "blind date" with the characters Hotch and Rossi. Enjoy!

July 2013

"We never had our drink."

Hotch looked up from his desk to see Rossi at his office door, a bottle of Maker's Mark in one hand, two tumblers in the other. He shut the door behind him before Hotch could say anything. The only light left in the room now was the lamp on Hotch's desk.

"What drink?" Hotch asked once Rossi had seated himself in front of the desk.

"Get out from behind there. Come sit out here with me," Rossi said while he poured.

"Okay, what drink?" Hotch asked once he had obeyed Rossi's orders.

"That drink I said we'd have over a year ago." Rossi handed his best friend a glass and held up his own.

After they each took a sip, Hotch admitted, "Still stumped."

"After you and Beth…"

"Ah." Hotch sat back and raised his eyebrows.

"Sorry, I was hoping I wouldn't actually have to say it," Rossi said with an apologetic grin.

"It's okay. It was a long time ago. I'm fine," Hotch said.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Now?" Hotch asked in quiet disbelief. "After a year?"

"What? You seemed a little…extra down today, and we never did talk about this whole thing. You always pretended very poorly not to sulk, and rolled your eyes every time I brought it up, just like you're doing right now."

"I'm a grown man. I don't need to rehash every detail of a failed relationship. Besides, it wasn't all that complicated. One too many canceled dates. I understood completely why she ended it, and she did it nicely. No harm done."

"You liked her," Rossi remarked.

"Of course I did. But…in the end, I think it wasn't all that deep. I think it was nice to be back into a relationship, but we didn't have that much in common besides a hobby."

"She made you happy."

"Is there a point to this?" Hotch said with another drink.

"I liked seeing you happy. We all did."

"Sorry to disappoint," Hotch deadpanned.

"How was the sex?" Rossi asked offhandedly.

Hotch nearly swallowed his drink down the wrong pipe. His eyes shut firmly but not clenched, he took a deep breath.

"Come on, Aaron, it's me. I'm your best friend and I'm an old man who hasn't gotten any in a lot longer than I'd let any of you believe. Let me live vicariously. How was it?"

Hotch rolled his eyes behind their lids and said with barely parted lips, "It was good."

"Just good?"

Hotch's shoulders twitched upward. "Dave, I hadn't had sex in years. I didn't really have much to compare it to."

"Well if you're not even sure if the sex was good, maybe it's a good thing you guys didn't draw it out any further," Rossi said.

"Maybe," Hotch said, though he had a hard time believing that being alone was best. He was over being upset due to losing Beth—she was nice, and he'd liked her, but he'd never loved her. However, she had given him a taste of what it felt like to be back in the game, to get butterflies in his stomach, to be kissed when he least expected it, to laugh shamelessly. His heart had yearned for that feeling ever since it had been yanked away from him.

"Haven't been seeing anyone else since then that I don't know about, have you?" Rossi asked.

"Nope."

"Maybe it's time to…give it another shot. A year's plenty long enough to get over a relationship that only lasted a few months. You know you've still got it goin' on, at least."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't pretend you're not jealous of how hip I am, Aaron. And don't be a fuddy-duddy. You deserve to be happy. Happy with someone you love, not just like."

"Well, that's a nice sentiment. I'll just call up my matchmaker," Hotch said dryly.

"Ring ring. Hello?" Rossi said, holding his pinky and thumb to his ear. "Why yes, I do have an opening. Right now."

"I think I'm gonna need to cut you off," Hotch said, smiling darkly as he slid the bourbon bottle out of Rossi's reach.

"I was actually expecting your call and I already have one lovely lady in mind," Rossi continued. "Care to give it a shot?"

"Who is it?"

Rossi shook his head. "Blind date. I think you'll do better if you don't over-think it, if you have to say the first thing that comes out of your mouth."

"And what's that going to be?" Hotch asked.

"I was such an idiot."

Hotch's brow furrowed. "In what way?"

"Just trust me. You'll see."

"I have the feeling I might be calling myself an idiot for trusting you, but…fine. What've I got to lose?"

"That's the spirit."

One Week Later

Hotch's heart ticked away inside his chest, making him wish he hadn't worn a tie after all. Rossi had picked the venue, though, and they had a dress code. He settled for loosening his tie a little and resumed his lookout for his date.

So far, he at least had the butterflies back. He wasn't so sure about being swept off his feet, though. He would just have to wait and see.

A tall woman with long, auburn hair walked his way, shooting him a dazzling smile. He cleared his throat and sat up straight, smiling in return. He was just about to get up and bid her a good evening when she walked right past him toward another man a whom she must have been looking.

Feeling a bit deflated and even more foolish, Hotch rubbed his sweaty palms on his knees. And then suddenly, there she was. Flaming red hair, exotic green eyes he could see from all the way across the room. He had never been one for redheads before, but now he was certain that he could be. To his dismay, though, she wasn't his tonight. The maitre d' escorted her to another table.

Hotch checked his watch. Eight o'clock exactly. The fear that he'd been stood up began to kick in full force. It was bad enough feeling jealous every time he saw another happy couple, feeling unworthy of love every time he took sexual matters literally into his own hands in the shower, feeling a pang every time Jack asked him if he was going to keep trying to find him a new mom. The anxiety that came with a date that was late was far worse, at least from where he sat right now, in that exact predicament.

He wished Rossi had given him some sort of physical description so that he would at least be able to eliminate women as they walked through the door. However, Rossi had insisted that Hotch be taken by surprise. Rossi had even gone so far as to tell Hotch (and his date) to go by pseudonyms with the maitre d' so that they could, upon meeting, introduce themselves on their own. Though Hotch had profiled his hardest and tried to get into Rossi's head to figure out what elaborate stunt he was trying to pull, Hotch was at a complete loss. He had had to trust Rossi completely.

He didn't see her when she walked in, the soft summer breeze blowing her curly brown hair over her shoulders that were left bare by a strapless silver number. If he had been looking up instead of at the detail of the glowing candlestick at their table, he would have known without a single clue from Rossi that she was the one.

"Mr. Gibson, Miss Brewster has arrived," the maitre d' informed Hotch when he arrived to the table.

Hotch looked up abruptly to see her standing there like a deer in headlights. "Thank you," he miraculously managed to say once the maitre d' left the two of them alone.

"You've got to be kidding me," Emily said, though she didn't want to make a scene, so she sat down.

"Leave it to Dave…" Hotch muttered, though he couldn't ignore the butterflies intensifying and his pulse quickening at the sight of a woman he'd seen almost every day for almost seven years.

"I don't think I've ever been so embarrassed," Emily said miserably.

"Embarrassed? Why?" Hotch asked.

"I got duped. Into going on a date with my boss. By one of my best friends who's probably sitting at home laughing his face off."

Hotch couldn't swallow down his smile. Something about seeing Emily annoyed—over things that weren't too serious, anyway—always had a way of tickling him. She was usually so cool and composed that seeing her a little off balance in a relatively lighthearted moment was refreshing.

"I can't believe I fell for that. I was such an idiot," Emily muttered.

"You know, when Dave proposed this to me, he said that'd be the first thing I'd say," Hotch said, confused, "but I don't think he meant it in that context."

"How do you think he meant it?" Emily wondered. "Like in a…you've been right here in front of my nose for years and I never realized it kind of way?" As soon as the words escaped Emily's velvety red lips, both of them locked into a stare that had set off the alarm bells.

Hotch didn't know what exactly was going on inside Emily's head right now. The context was too new, and he didn't know how she normally acted on a date that was going poorly or well, so he couldn't read her. But he knew that Rossi's words had finally taken on their intended meaning. Maybe it was the silver dress or the dark-rimmed eyes talking for him, but he couldn't help but think that of course Emily was a good match. They'd been through hell together. They'd been there for each other. He knew her probably better than he'd known his own wife—that was, until the team had learned of Emily's history. It had taken a while after that ordeal, but he felt like he and Emily had finally reached the point where no words needed to be said between them. Simple looks and gestures, along with the occasional, good old fashioned intuition, went a very long way. They worked seamlessly.

How could he have gone so long without letting the occasional fantasy evolve in his head and in his heart? Maybe he had in the past, before he had had to fake her death for seven months, before she had come back traumatized and feeling like she'd never be the same person again, before Hotch had discovered that she was quite right. And maybe he hadn't let himself feel anything more for her since then because he knew she had been in the wrong headspace for anything romantic. But it had been almost two years now since she had returned from Paris with a life and friendships to put back together.

Hotch had a lot more to worry about than whether he wanted Emily and whether it was the right timing, though. Could she possibly want him? And if she did, how would they act upon it? Being out on a date right now was even breaking the rules. But that taste that Hotch had been given—that taste of being alive again, of having a companion, a lover—left him thinking that if the woman in front of him was indeed the woman he would love instead of merely like, he could work elsewhere. His job had already ruined two relationships. Why let the pattern continue?

This is ridiculous, Hotch told himself. He knew Emily was still mortified, as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat while she perused the menu. She had every right to be embarrassed, but for whatever reason, she clearly insisted on staying for dinner. Maybe that was something.

Hotch cleared his throat, preparing to doom his career either way. Emily's head popped up, her eyes curious. "My name isn't Thomas, it's Aaron. Aaron Hotchner," Hotch said with a grin. "It's nice to meet you…" He left his sentence hanging to see if Emily would play along.

"Don't," she said with a pathetic smile, shaking her head.

"Come on, just tell me your real name," Hotch teased.

She sighed. "Fine. I'm Emily. Emily Prentiss," she said, her eyes rolling in a small circle.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Emily. You look lovely."

"Oh my gosh," Emily muttered. "Are we really gonna do this?" She licked her lips and closed her menu.

"Well…why not?"

"Why not?" Emily echoed. "I can think of plenty of reasons why not."

"That was a rhetorical question," Hotch told her needlessly. "I can think of one good reason why, though. A reason that might trump all the reasons why not."

Emily didn't ask him what that reason was. Instead, she looked furtively around the dim restaurant as if someone they knew were watching them. "Me, too," she confessed.

"Then let's give it a shot. We can still kill Dave and make it look like an accident either way."

"Deal," Emily said eagerly.

"Good. So…Emily, read any good books lately?"

—

"You really don't have to," Emily said when Hotch bypassed his own car to accompany her to her own down the street.

"I insist," Hotch said, going to put his hands in his pants pockets. He threw caution to the wind instead at the last second and reached between them for Emily's dangling hand. Dinner had been awkward at first, both of them needing a little time to get over the shock. But it had evolved into something natural and comfortable but at the same time utterly elating. Hotch felt a little bounce in his step that had been absent for far too long.

"Okay," Emily whispered, interlacing fingers with Hotch as they continued their stroll.

"Hmm?"

"Sorry, nothing, just…thinking out loud."

"Is this okay?" Hotch asked, all of a sudden feeling like he'd crossed some line they hadn't already crossed by agreeing to continue their evening as it had intended to be spent.

"What? Oh yeah, yeah, this is fine. This is great. I had a really nice time. I still wanna strangle Rossi, but…I had nice time," she repeated dreamily, nervously.

"I'm glad," Hotch said, "but I think we just walked past your car."

Emily snapped her head around and saw that Hotch was right. "Wow. I'm so out of it right now."

"I think we both are, still," Hotch said as they turned and retraced their steps. The end-of-date jitters were getting to them both. "But…in a good way, I think. At least for me."

"Yeah?" Emily asked a little too hopefully.

"Yeah. What about you?" Hotch asked once they stopped beside Emily's car.

"Well, I did let you pay for dinner, didn't I?" Emily said.

"Well, then, That settles it. We should do this again sometime."

"What about work?" Emily had to ask, a troubled look crossing over her face.

"We'll figure it out," Hotch said, not casually at all. "If this turns into something we want to continue, then we'll make it work. If it isn't, then I think we're both mature enough to handle that, right?"

Emily thought, then nodded. "Yeah. I guess that's it for tonight, though," she said, trying to take her hand away from Hotch to reach into her handbag for her keys.

"Not so fast," Hotch said before he could think any better of it. For the longest time, he hadn't thought a kiss on the first date to be appropriate. But someone else had been kind enough to change his outlook on things a bit. He went with his heart, which told him that he had a best friend he needed to thank and a girl he needed to kiss. That kiss was over before it started, short and sweet, but it left every part of him on fire, alive again. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Emily was stunned, but pleasantly so. Sounded like someone he knew very well.

"Wow," she said with a choppy laugh.

"Yeah," Hotch concurred. "Do you think we could…do that again, maybe? Just so I can remember it a little better," he said playfully.

Emily nodded fervently, and it was she who kissed him this time, touching her hand lightly to his face.

July 2014

"Has it only been a year?" Rossi asked, parking himself next to Hotch at the head table.

Hotch finally untied his bowtie and let it dangle around his neck. "Almost to the day," Hotch said.

"You must have one hell of a friend to set you up with such a lovely lady," Rossi said cockily, sipping on a whisky sour.

"I've already thanked you about a hundred times in the past year," Hotch said with a smile as he looked over the small ballroom to see Emily crouched over, dancing spiritedly with Jack to "Brown Eyed Girl."

"And turned my desk and everything else in my office backwards."

Hotch chuckled. "That was completely called for."

A/N: Reviews are love!