Aaron "Hotch" Hotchner
"The team is going to Boston," Gideon says as soon as the three of them are seated. Although annoyed at Strauss' choice, Hotch says nothing, because he's already voiced all his doubts, and he's not one for repeating himself. Furthermore, he knows for a fact that Jason agrees with him, so venting now would be preaching to the choir.
"And?" Morgan asks. He's probably wondering about his presence at Gideon's office, Hotch supposes, which shouldn't be a surprise as Hotch is wondering himself. He likes the Agent, he even trusts him with his life; but right now Morgan is the youngest BAU member, and not exactly the person expected to confer with the team leader and his second in command.
Gideon's raised eyebrow as they briefly link eyes tells him the man knows exactly what Hotch is thinking.
"And, you're staying at Quantico."
"What?" The look in Morgan's face is at the same time enraged, incredulous and a bit hurt. "We are talking about a bomber here," he says, turning to look Hotch for a moment as if trying to make him understand. Hotch simply looks at him, not changing his expression. He has no idea as to what Gideon is doing, but he's learned that a united front from the leadership is a must.
Gideon is, as expected, equally close-faced.
"Our technical analyst quit," he says, and Hotch almost hears the 'again' that doesn't follow. "None of the available technical analysts knows the FBI bombers' database the way you do."
Plus, none of the available technical analysts is willing to work with the BAU, Hotch knows for a fact. They've been bringing in and sending away analysts at a pace that'd be ridiculous, if Hotch hadn't seen Gideon expecting them to be miracle workers while at the same time ignoring their contributions.
Morgan's thoughts, of course, follow a different path.
"I'm a field agent," he says, insulted. "That means I go to the field, and I see things firsthand - bombs, particularly, as I happen to be your resident bomb expert!"
"The Boston's bomb squad will be your eyes and hands," Gideon's answer sounds dismissive to Morgan, Hotch knows. Having known the older man for a few years now, Hotch knows that's not the case.
There's something else worrying Gideon's mind.
"What aren't you telling?" he ventures, both to prevent Morgan's further ranting and because there's this nagging feeling telling him he's not going to like what Gideon has to say.
Gideon nods, his smile making Hotch feel, as always, like he can't hide anything from the man. "I have news for you," he starts, pausing long enough to make Morgan twitch on his seat, even if Hotch, the one under the stare, doesn't move. "Strauss has reconsidered. Congratulations, you are the B Team's leader."
Hotch keeps himself in check. Morgan, on the other hand, is looking at the two of them in undisguised surprise, which is to be expected, as Gideon has only discussed his idea, and his failure to convince Strauss, with Hotch.
"Why now?"
As response, a file lands in front of Hotch. He knows it well enough to notice the main difference from when he checked it last, less than two hours ago. He takes out the before picture of a pretty blonde young woman. Morgan looks at it with curiosity, his eyes lighting up with recognition almost immediately.
"Isn't that-?"
"The younger daughter of an influential Senator," he interrupts before Morgan says the name. Hotch grew up in a political world. He knows how to navigate it, how to survive in it - but as of late, as he's been covering more and more of the administrative part of the work for Gideon, the frequent clashes with The Powers have been making him hate politics.
"The B Team will cover the Los Angeles case," Gideon explains, his face contrite when he adds, "Unfortunately, at the moment you are the B Team."
"Do they really expect him to solve a case on his own?"
Hotch frowns, because Morgan might be new, but surely he has to know the story of the BAU. "That won't be a problem," he says, further explaining after noticing how arrogant he sounds, "As much as we work as a team now, most of us started working at the Unit on a solo basis."
"And he'll have you for remote technical support," Gideon says, effectively preventing Morgan from being embarrassed, and making him angry instead.
It is going to be a really long week.
"Dr. Reid is based in Los Angeles," he says once Morgan has stormed out, fortunately unaware of the fact that his boss has been goading him on purpose.
He is pleased with himself when Gideon startles at his words. It only lasts a second, of course, but to Hotch trained eye it helps him add another piece of information to the relationship between the older man and enigmatic Dr. Reid.
"And?" Gideon says, looking him over the rim of his reading glasses. His face is calm and bland again, giving away nothing.
"I could use a hand with the geographic profile." It is true and they both know it, the case involves at least another twelve bodies, all of them homeless, whores or drug addicts, or all of the above. Despite the sparseness of the files, there's enough information for a geographic profile to be of help. And, as much as Hotch and the rest of the BAU are familiar with the process of constructing one, they usually consult with Dr. Reid when expediency is needed - and in this case it is.
But of course, that's not exactly what Hotch is asking for.
"I'm not sure he'll agree to meet with you." Hotch nods at the words. He has worked alongside Gideon's expert for a year and a half, and not once has he seen or heard the man directly. "But if he does, I expect you to look beyond appearances."
And that is all Hotch needs to confirm his theory. And whatever the reasons for the man to hide behind emails and voice synthesizers, whether Dr. Reid is disfigured or disabled, or maybe a well known academic unwilling to publicly link himself to the FBI, Hotch knows he can look past the body and work with the mind.
He's been doing it for eighteen months, after all.
"Yes?" he asks, opening the hotel's room only a crack. There's a young man, the same he saw from the peephole, smiling at him with familiarity despite being a complete stranger.
"Aaron, hey, you made it," the man says, using surprise to get into the room.
And by surprise Hotch means a kiss.
To his defense, Hotch isn't used to being kissed by complete strangers, men specially, and the step back that he takes is immediately followed by him raising his right hand, the one with the gun.
The man ignores it and moves past him, and taking a file from the bed he starts to flick through the pages too fast to really be reading it. "I'm sorry I didn't come earlier, but Jason told me you'd be at the station most of the day," he says.
Hotch brains kicks back into life, finally.
"Dr. Reid?" he asks, and although his voice sounds calm he feels nothing but. The man in front of him is much younger than he expected, and there's not a single blemish in his appearance. He is, in fact, oddly attractive, a concept Hotch finds hard to acknowledge with his lips still tingling after the unexpected contact.
"Right now I'm going under the name Matt Gray, so if you don't mind …" the man says, and trails off as he looks up from the file. "I, ah, promise not to attack you again."
Hotch frowns at the last words, until he realizes that he's still holding his weapon.
"I…" he starts, but doesn't know how to continue, so instead he walks to the bedside and puts the gun down. This puts him close to the other man in the room (and he can't think of him as Dr. Reid, he really can't), close enough to realize that although he seems nonchalant the top of his ears are rosy.
"I'm sorry," the man says, looking everywhere but at him, and as Hotch looks the blush spreads furiously. "But I need a cover for my presence in a federal agent's room, especially this late at night, and that seemed the best."
The silence that follows is awkward, but gives Hotch time to think. He picks up the files and drops them at the table, closing the laptop to have more space. The map is an exact copy to the one that hangs on the police station, and thus he knows it is too big to pin on any of the walls. The bed is their best choice, as the carpet is too fluffy to provide any support. He's not surprised when, after using his gun and phone to keep two corners from rolling back, they are followed by another phone and gun on the opposite side.
"I've been thinking of getting an ankle holster myself," he admits, latching onto a safe topic.
"I actually kind of hate it. My primary gun is a revolver."
It makes sense, Hotch realizes, looking at the second weapon, slightly smaller than his own, and then at the long, thin finger trailing down what has to be the third or fourth file.
Silent again, he moves to retrieve the markers from his bag, just to be rewarded by a small and distracted smile as he puts them on the bed.
And then it clicks.
"I'm going to get some coffee. Do you want something?" He's already jumping into his shoes, pulling his jacket on, looking for other suitable paperweights to substitute his gun and phone.
"Yes, thank you. Coffee with five sugars, and a coke and any sweet you can find."
He's still blinking when he passes the vending machines in the lobby. He can get what he needs from them, but there's another reason why he's going to the 7-11 around the corner. Once there he doesn't linger, but even the passing glance to the billboard on the other side of the street confirms his suspicious, and the short time he spends waiting for the cashier dispels any doubt. The young lithe form is using eyeliner, and his hair and clothes are in artistic disarray, but there's no mistaking him.
Fuck you, Gideon, he thinks, and snorts.