DISCLAIMER: I don't own Criminal Minds. DUH.
*LL*
A light knock sounded at the door of her changing room backstage. Penelope froze. Only one person knocked that softly, and he didn't work with the Tollgate Theatre cast and crew.
"Come in," she called, glad she'd already changed back into her street clothes.
Aaron Hotchner's tall, handsome form slipped inside and shut the door behind him. "Congratulations. You did an amazing job out there," he praised quietly. "Did you get the flowers?"
"I did. Thank you," Penelope beamed, nodding at a vase of coral roses. "They're beautiful. Even better than the ones you sent after Gideon trashed my office."
That procured a rare, open-mouthed laugh from her stoic boss. "Well, at least they were appreciated."
"I love the color," Garcia noted. "Don't certain colors of roses mean different things?"
"Mm-hmm," Hotch affirmed, stepping closer. "Red typically means passion and romance. Pink, admiration and affection. Yellow, friendship. White, truest love."
She cocked her head to one side. "What do these mean?"
The lighting in the dressing room was low, but she thought she detected a flush on his ears. In any case, he hesitated before answering, and that wasn't something he usually had to do. "Different things. They can mean 'I'm proud of you,' or represent desire or fascination. And, sometimes, they're used to express that someone wants to be more than just friends."
She blushed, coyly tucking her chin. "So… what did you want them to mean?"
"I chose them because they were bold, vibrant and unique," he replied evenly, "like you."
"Thank you!" Garcia said, touched by the compliment. "But you didn't answer the question."
Hotch paused, as if he hadn't expected her to call him out on that. "I told you what they meant," he reiterated, giving her a meaningful look.
"Well, you said several different things…" she recalled aloud. "Wait. Does that mean you meant all of them? Because that last one was… " She gulped, her jaw dropping. When she spoke again, her voice was quivering like a mouse. "Y-you want to be more than just friends?"
"Are you really that surprised?" he asked softly.
"Well, the last few days, I've noticed…" Her voice trailed off as she started to remember other things, long before this last case, when he'd stumbled upon her face on a flier. Lengthy glances. Softly spoken words. Tender praise from a man who seldom gave it. Times when he walked away abruptly, as though he'd been trying to stop himself from saying something by leaving the room. "Oh, God. I – I didn't know!" she burst without thinking. "I never would have dreamed you would think of me like that, so I never… oh, Hotch! Why didn't you say something sooner?"
"I'm saying it now," he reminded her. Another step brought him close enough to touch, and she was suddenly very conscious of his proximity. "If you want me to go –"
"No!" Garcia cried suddenly, surprising herself when her hands reached for his shirt. "Stay." For the first time, she noticed that beneath the dark sport coat, his white Oxford was undone at the top, exposing his throat. "You're not wearing a tie. I like it."
"You want me to stay because I'm not wearing a tie?" he teased, donning a crooked smile as one hand cupped her face, and another dropped to her waist.
"You knew what I meant," she jabbed back, moving her hands up to his shoulders.
His reply was a throaty chuckle, followed by the sudden descent of his lips onto hers.