"Friends are as companions on a journey, who ought to aid each other to persevere in the road to a happier life."
Pythagoras
Aaron Hotchner sat at his desk, going through the many emails that had accumulated while he and David Rossi were in Boston. They'd intended to be there only enough to speak at the Terrorism Seminar then hop a commercial flight back to Washington. They ended up staying another two days, working the case that Eve Alexander brought to them.
He was grateful that they could help her, but now, he was behind on the work that had piled up while he was away. Or at least that was the excuse he would have given if someone at home had asked. Of course, there wasn't anyone at home to ask. This was the true reason he sat in his office. He'd checked his email while he was in Boston and had kept it pretty much up to date. The paperwork piled on his desk wasn't urgent. He could have gone home, but why bother?
Turning his attention back to his email, he found one from Lisa O'Reilly He smiled as he read, hearing her rich alto voice in the typed words.
"Hey there, Hotch,
I've got the files you asked for before you took off for Boston. They're sitting here on my desk, waiting for you to come pick them up.
Oh, and by the way, they were not easy to find, so besides the drink, you now owe me dinner. A very expensive dinner.
Call me when you get back into the office or give me a yell over the weekend. I'll be around.
Lisa"
He laughed, knowing damn well that she'd make him pay up on the very expensive dinner.
He supposed that she was one of his closest friends, if by no other reason than the fact that they'd known each other for the bulk of their FBI careers. Jason Gideon recruited Lisa out of the Hostage Negotiation Unit and into the BAU barely a year after bringing him in. Being the new kids on the block, they bonded during those crazy years and had managed to remain close as time went on. She'd left the BAU back in 1998, when the government mandated that the FBI formed the Child Abduction Serial Murder Investigative Resources Center (CASMIRC). She threw herself into the development of the new unit and was now the Senior Agent and definitely poised to take over the Unit Chief position.
She loved the work, loved the cause, and spent many extra hours working with the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (NCMEC), to solve as many missing child cases as they could. She told him once, after way too many glasses of single malt scotch, that her biggest mistake in life was not having children. It didn't take a profiler to see the motivation behind her devotion to the job.
They'd stayed close during the years, supporting each other through their way up the supervisory ladder and through their personal lives. Despite their very crazy schedules, they'd always made a point to have lunch or a drink when time allowed. Lisa had been invited to many parties and bar-be-ques back when he and Hayley were still together. She knew all about the break up of his marriage and sat back, offering an ear, but never an opinion.
With a smile, he typed a quick reply.
"Lisa, you vile woman,
What the hell are you still doing at your office on a Friday night?
So, you're holding my files hostage for food, are you? Fine. I will come get them on Monday morning.
How does dinner, tomorrow night, at Tim's Rivershore in Dumfries say 7?
Aaron"
After everything that he'd been through lately, he could use a night out and a night out with Lisa usually turned into some sort of adventure. Laughing, he looked up on his wall to where a framed picture sat in the midst of framed awards. Besides the framed pre-school picture of Jack on his desk, it was the only other picture in the room. It was a picture of him, standing with Lisa, Dave Rossi and Jason Gideon, taken at a Christmas party back in the early 90's. Lisa, despite going on about how bad her mile high hair looked in the shot, had the same picture in her office.
Hotch firmly believed that Lisa's affair with Dave started that night, but they both denied it, swearing it didn't start until after the holidays. Looking at that picture, it didn't take a profiler to see the attraction between them.
No matter when it started, he remembered clearly when it ended. Just as he remembered the way he'd helped her regroup and get back on her feet. Hell, even Hayley was involved in that rescue mission. The first night that a drunken Lisa called him from a bar, obviously in tears, Hayley demanded that he get dressed, pick her up, and bring her back to the house. She'd spent the whole weekend with them, escaping with Hayley for a little retail therapy, and then coming home to cry on his shoulder.
The sound of her voice pulled him from his thoughts. "So, how pathetic are we? Sitting in our offices on a Friday night, emailing each other?"
He turned to the doorway to find her leaning against the door frame, holding a stack of folders. The sleeves of her pale blue button front blouse were rolled up and her dark red hair was pulled up in a loose bun, two sure signs that she'd been working hard for hours.
"Pretty damn pathetic, if you ask me," he returned with a laugh.
"What do you say we do that dinner tonight? We could be out to Tim's in twenty minutes," she coaxed, looking at her watch, "We'll still make the last hour of two for one drink night."
"Two for one drink night," he nodded, wondering if he'd be able to handle a wild night after the past couple of days.
"Come on, Hotch," she grinned, her green eyes twinkling, "You're not going to let me go alone, are you? You know what happens when I go drinking on my own."
"Yes, you end up drunk dialing me at two am to talk you out of going home with some sort of Congressman or something," he laughed.
"Right, so you see? You need to come with me," she continued.
Shaking his head, he laughed. "Okay, I'll come. I'm assuming those are my folders?"
"Yeah," she said, walking in and laying them on his desk. "I delivered my part of the bargain."
He pulled on his suit jacket, "Guess I'll deliver on mine. Come on."
If merely ''feeling good'' could decide, drunkenness would be the supremely valid human experience.William James
1842-1910, American Psychologist, Professor, Author
Lisa O'Reilly wasn't sure which drink drove her into the category she would call "severely buzzed". She knew that she had to be severely buzzed because as the night went on, she found herself wanting very much to lay a killer lip lock on the man who'd been her best male friend for nearly 20 years.
In her defense, many women thought him attractive, in a preppy, clean cut kind of way. But she'd always known that, just as she'd always known what a decent, honest man he was and what a great friend he'd been to her through the years.
Now, as he leaned across the pool table to take his shot, she also decided that he had one hell of an ass and his lightweight wool trousers definitely helped to accentuate it.
Shaking her head, she watched as he sunk the 10 ball in the far corner. He stood, turned to look at her and winked. Turning back to the table, he looked at the two guys in their early twenties who thought it would be funny to challenge the "old couple" to a game of pool, and said, "12 ball in the side pocket."
With a subtle slide of the cue, he sunk that one as well. He missed his next attempt, then turned back with a shrug and walked over to her.
"Did you actually play any decent songs on the juke box?" he asked, as Britney Spears' "Ooops I Did It Again" faded out.
"I didn't play that!" she laughed, "I'm insulted!"
As the cockier one of the young guys missed his shot, the beginning strains of AC/DC's "Highway to Hell" began to play. With a smart smile, Lisa grabbed her stick and said, "That, I played."
XXXXX
Aaron Hotchner knew he should stop drinking. He wasn't trashed, although if he blew a breathalyzer, he would definitely lose his license. That didn't concern him though. There was a perfectly good Ramada Inn across the parking lot and if need be, he'd just book a room.
What did concern him was the way he was noticing details about Lisa that he'd never really cared about before. Sure, she was attractive, as she described herself, she was a "redhead with big boobs", but there was much more to her than that. On a physical note, he almost favored her long legs to the boobs, and he'd found her deep green eyes much more fascinating than her dark red hair. And although, she'd jokingly told him many times over the years that she was a "true redhead", he found himself wondering if she really was.
As he mentally reprimanded himself for thinking of his best friend like that, she leaned over to take her shot and the heel of her black pumps grazed his calf. His eyes travelled from the thin, black leather heel up to where her slender ankle disappeared beneath a pair of navy blue dress pants.
"Stop staring at my ass," she laughed, and then sank the 13 ball.
"And just how do you know I'm staring at your ass?"
"I can tell," she shot back, then to the young guys, "14 ball in the far left pocket." She sunk that one, and then surveyed the table.
Hotch stood and walked up behind her, looking over her shoulder. He stood close enough to smell the faint reminders of her perfume. He knew she wore L'air Du Temps, although how he knew, he couldn't remember. Pulling his attention from her perfume, he surveyed the table, then quietly, his lips near her ear, he spoke, "Slide around to the left of the table, lean over and bank it off the far side."
XXXXX
"You think?" she asked, trying to ignore the fact that his chest was pressing against her arm and that she wanted more of his body pressed against hers.
He nodded, stepping back, pulling away the delicious warmth of his body.
As AC/DC faded off and Guns and Roses faded in, she tried the shot he suggested and missed it. "Shit!" she spat.
"It's okay," he dismissed, picking up his beer and taking a drink. "We're still way ahead."
"Keep talking, Old Man," laughed the cocky young guy again, sinking the 3 ball.
Something about his tone grated on Lisa's nerves and as she opened her mouth to tell him so, she felt Hotch's hand on her shoulder.
"No bar room brawls tonight, Reds," he reminded.
"Damn, now I know you're as buzzed as I am," she laughed. "You haven't called me Reds in years!"
"Maybe I should do it more often," he smartly said, watching as Cocky Young Guy missed his shot. He smiled at her. "Now, watch this…" Bobbing his head in time to the music, he surveyed the table, then leaned over and effortlessly sunk the eight ball. Standing back up, he sang along with Axl Rose, "Whoa, oh, oh, oh, sweet child of mine…whoa, oh, oh, oh, sweet love of mine…"
Then, as she lifted her beer glass to her lips, he took it one step further and proceeded to play his pool cue as a guitar. Lisa dissolved into laughter, nearly spitting her beer out.
"Damn, you old folks are crazy," the quiet young guy said, slapping money into Hotch's outstretched hand.
"And don't you forget it," Hotch said, as the two young guys walked away. Counting the cash in his hand, he turned back to Lisa. "Why are you laughing?"
"Oh, I don't know, Axl," she said, laughing harder.
"Hey, I do a perfect Axl Rose…" he defended, holding out half the cash to her, "In my car, alone."
"I bet I do a better Axl Rose in the shower than you do in your car," she challenged, snatching the money from his hand, folding it, and tucking it in her bra. "Come on, next round is on me."
XXXXX
He followed her to the bar and was surprised to find two empty stools. As she sat down and threw a twenty on the bar, he sat next to her. The bartender approached.
"What can I get you folks?"
"Sam Adams draft and a Stella Artois draft," Hotch replied.
The bartender nodded, "You've still got five minutes on the midnight shot special."
"What's the shot?" Lisa asked, eyes twinkling as she leaned forward.
"Screaming orgasms," the bartender said, with a grin, his eyes taking in the healthy view of cleavage Lisa's position afforded him. "What do you say, Gorgeous? Can I give you a screaming orgasm?"
Lisa laughed a deep, throaty laugh. "Oh, I bet you could," she laughed, casting a glance over at Hotch, "But I'm not in any mood to dump my friend here."
The bartender cast him a glance, and then returned his eyes to Lisa. Something about the guy was seriously rubbing Hotch the wrong way.
The bartender continued, "I'm sure I could give you a better screaming orgasm than he could…"
Lisa turned to him and fixed him with a smile, "Oh, I don't know about that. Well, Hotch? What do you think?"
He looked at her, his mind scrambling for a quick come back, but finding none. Damn alcohol!
"Cat got your tongue?" she playfully asked. Her eyes were sparkling, her lips curled into a grin, her head was tilted and he realized that she was flirting with him. "The man seems to think he could provide me with a better screaming orgasm. What do you say to that?"
He laughed, tickled by her flirting and wondering if it was serious or if she was doing it to put off the bartender. His mind suddenly focused, he gave her a sly smile and said, "I say, bring it on."
XXXXX
Lisa laughed loudly. Was he serious or was this all for the bartender's behalf? "Gee, should I hop up on the bar?"
"As much as I'd like that, Gorgeous, "the bartender laughed, "We'd all get tossed in jail. I'll abdicate to your friend here…and give you guys a couple of shots on the house."
"Thank you," she smiled, watching as he poured a dark creamy liquid into two shot glasses. "Why does this scare me?"
"What the hell's in this?" Hotch asked, as they picked up the shots.
"Creamy stuff?" she shrugged. "And brown stuff? Just drink it."
"Yes, ma'am," he returned, as they both downed their shots and set them on the bar. "That wasn't bad. I definitely tasted Kahlua."
"And amaretto," she agreed.
"Want another round?" the bartender asked.
Before Lisa could open her mouth, Hotch replied in the affirmative.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she laughed, watching as the bartender poured two more shots.
"Hell no," he dismissed, "I already did that. I'm trying to get you drunker."
She fixed him with a dubious look. "Drunker? Is that even a real word?"
"It is now," he decided, his face grave. "I have decreed it so."
Lisa rolled her eyes, "Oh, excuse me, Mr. Unit Chief. Is that part of your authority now?"
He grinned, "It's one of those duties to be assigned as necessary."
"I have a duty for you," she smartly returned, "Figuring out how we're getting home."
"We're not driving," he firmly said.
"I'm not taking a cab back to Woodbridge from here."
"No, we're walking across the parking lot and staying at the Ramada."
She raised a brow and held back a smile at the thought of what trouble they could get into over at the Ramada.
"Don't look at me like that," he dismissed with a laugh. "We're both to drunk to drive. I made up my mind while we were playing pool."
"Don't you just plan ahead," she laughed. "Well, then, what do you say we do another shot? The night is still young and we don't have far to go at closing time."
For the second time that night, he smiled and said, "Bring it on."