A/N: Hi all! I do, actually, still exist. Sorry about the extended hiatus. Since I last appeared I have graduated college and started grad school. And apparently now I'm starting a new story. Let me know what you all think! Hopefully my writing has improved, or at least not deteriorated too much . . .
Disclaimer: Obviously Criminal Minds was not created by me and I have no claim to it. But yay satire clause of the first amendment. Makes everything on this site possible (and legal).
The light had begun to fade and cast a golden glow within the dark walls of Ground Zero. Only open a week, the café still smelled more like new paint than the dark roast it served, but it was calm and comfortable and had nothing to hide. There were a few paintings hung on the long, exposed brick wall – a partnership with a local arts academy high school that would give the walls a new touch every week and offered exposure to talented young artists. But there were some things that stayed the same. The dark wood chairs, though mismatched, had comfortable cushions and smooth armrests, and the chess-topped table always had a new game set to play. There were books shelves built into the counter, some shining with new life and some worn pale through years of love.
Anne stood behind the counter, a tri-colored fluffy mass lay at her feet. There was still another hour before she would close for the night, but with both the hour and the newness of the café, she was quite alone with her dog. But she didn't mind – there was a quiet, refined comfort in the shop and she enjoyed the feeling immensely. She quietly sang along with the sound system, Sinatra's smiling voice floated around her and she stepped lightly as she continued to tidy the counter.
She saw the dog's head raise in curiosity before she heard the front door open. Turning toward the person, she smiled and welcomed them. It was a new face, but at that time most were. He had an air of heaviness about him and his face was passively stern. She smiled and welcomed him, asking what he would like to drink.
"Large black coffee, please," he stated. There was no rush or hesitation, and Anne thought it odd for a man like him to have caffeine at such a late hour in the day. She went to the carafe and poured black liquid into a large blue mug. When she went to hand him the cup, however, she paused. There was a darkness in his presence, a sadness not belied by his face.
"How are you today?" she asked, passing the mug over the counter more slowly than she should have. He mechanically reached for the cup and seemed startled to find hard ceramic instead of paper.
"Fine," was his quick reply, his head turning and surveying the room for a place to sit; an unintended consequence of his distraction. Anne placed her elbows on the counter and folded her hands under her chin.
"I'm not sure I quite believe you on that one," she replied. He began to reach into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, but she shook her head. "None of that. The drink is yours if you sit and talk with me."
He looked at her quizzically, one eyebrow raised. "That doesn't seem to be the best way to run a new business."
"Or is it?" She retaliated, turning her back to the man to make herself a hot chocolate. "If I sit and talk with one out of every ten new customers I get, those people have a much higher probability of returning or even becoming regulars," She whisked chocolate around in her mug and poured milk into a metal cup to be steamed, "The free drink," she turned her head away from the machine and toward him, flashing a kind smile, "is because you seem like you need it."
Anna finished making her drink, lifted the hinged door on the counter and went over to sit on a dark red antique couch. The dog, no longer content without his mistress, trotted under the hinged counter and jumped onto the couch, laying his long snout on her leg. Her right hand stroked his head as her left hand held her steaming drink. The man was still standing at the counter.
"Well," she said, "are you going to stand there or make me enjoy my drink alone?" He hesitated for a moment but then walked over to a chair adjacent from the couch and sat down.
"What's his name?" he asked, nodding to the dog.
"Jaime," she replied, "And yours?"
"Aaron Hotchner." She leaned over the empty space between them, extending her hand,
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hotchner. I'm Anne." They shook hands. The dog had lifted his head at the movement of his headrest and looked quizzically at the man until apparently being satisfied and replacing his head back on Anne's lap.
"I haven't seen a rough collie in years," Hotchner said, the side of his mouth turning up slightly in the beginnings of a smile. Anne ruffled the dog's ears and pet his thick fur in long strokes.
"He's a great dog. Somebody decided they didn't want him anymore, though I can't imagine a reason why not. I guess some people just don't have their priorities straight." Slightly more of a smile from the man. Anne guessed that he would have lovely dimples if he ever did fully smile.
She sat back against the chair and sipped her drink.
"So what happened today that would make a man drink black coffee after six pm?" The smile vanished and the solemn face returned.
"Just a long day at the office" he returned. Anne cocked her head slightly to the right.
"I doubt it's just that. But that's all right. What kind of work do you do?"
She could see him pause and analyze her, almost every inch. It felt to her like an inspection. He exhaled and his shoulders slightly relaxed. Apparently she had passed.
"I'm a profiler for the FBI."
Anne nodded. No wonder he was tense, he must analyze everyone around him at all hours of the day.
"What kinds of things outside of work do you like?" Jamie had closed his eyes, but Anne could tell he was still listening to their voices.
"One of my colleagues and I used to watch old films together. Chaplin and such."
"Have you seen 12 Angry Men?" she asked. His smile was back.
"Of course. I started out as a lawyer. That's one of the best legal films. Especially for one without an actual lawyer in it." Anne smiled. He relaxed a little more.
The door opened and another customer came in. Anne stood and walked behind the counter, Jamie trotting at her heels. Hotchner watched her from where he sat. She was cheery in her job, and he could see that very little of it was a façade. Her curly hair swayed as she shifted weight, and her long arms carefully accepted charge and relinquished change. It was a dance to her, these light movements, and she held a rare elegance. He didn't know that he had started to smile.
