Chapter Five: Friends
"No man is an island entire of itself." – John Dunne
~o~
Not long after the Barnes case, Hotch called Pippa into his office for the psychological evaluation they all had to undergo at some point.
"Before we start, I have some questions, actually," Hotch started when Pippa had sitten down.
"You have a degree in law and a degree and doctorate in forensic psychology. You worked as a court evaluator and then later trained as a profiler and became an FBI consultant. Is that correct?"
"Yes." Why was this important?
"You are 29 and have worked with the FBI for two years. Why have you not applied earlier?"
How could he not know? Had all her applications been refused by Strauss then, or some other executive who had little to do with the BAU?
"I have. I first applied three years ago, before I became a consulting forensic psychologist for the NYC court. I applied five times, actually, throughout the last three years. I was refused every time."
"Why?" Hotch asked, although he thought he probably knew why. Hadn't it ben the same with Emily years ago?
"Well, at first, I was a recent graduate without anything under my belt, so that was certainly why I was refused three years ago. But the other times...Do you know how the rest of the FBI, how the law department of the FBI, sees the BAU? It's the sick child. Most employees seek psychological advice sooner or later. There are record numbers of deaths and psychological trauma. This is not the place where any director would send the daughter of an influential politician. No, they paraded me around, awarded me with a special consultant position, high media coverage, little field work. That was never what I wanted."
He had the grace to look uncomfortable and changed the topic without comment.
"We have to discuss your position within the team. We all specialise in certain areas, so that the profiles we create as a team are as diverse and detailed as possible. I used to work as a prosecutor, as you might know. Rossi's specialty is hostage negotiation, although, as the most seasoned profiler, his expertise in other fields is noteworthy. Morgan specialises in obsessive behaviour, Prentiss specialises in foreign languages and terrorism, your predecessor, Greenaway, specialised in sexual crimes. Reid is well versed in science, culture— well, in everything, actually. What about you?"
She wasn't sure. She hadn't actually given it much thought before. She had always wanted to specialise in everything – which of course contradicted the definition of "specialise".
"Of course my most obvious strength is forensic psychology, but that is a rather broad field, certainly too broad for a specialty and not of that much use here because we all studied forensic psychology in our profiler training. I minored in linguistic psychology. I have experience with sexual crimes, child abuse, and religious extremism, though to be honest, nothing stands out."
"Do you have a preference?"
"A preference? No, I don't think so. I had to have a wide range as a consultant because I was a one person unit. With Agent Prentiss as terrorism expert and Agent Morgan as a specialist in compulsive and obsessive disorders, that would leave me with forensic and linguistic psychology."
Hotchner looked at her thoughtfully for a moment.
"You caught the Red Mile Strangler and the Danvers Skinner?"
Those had been the cases with the most media coverage, as evidenced by the rather sensational nicknames. And yes, she had found them, although she had been commanded to wait outside while others made the arrests. They had both been sexual sadists.
"I didn't arrest them. I only found them, sir."
Hotchner nodded.
"I have read some of your most prolific cases. As you said, you had to have a wide range as a single agent. Now, on a team, you can choose a direction for yourself. It is of course expected of you to conduct extensive research in your specialty."
"Of course, sir." She spent most of her free time reading on profiling and psychology. Her mother always feared it would mess with her head but so far, it had not. Or so she hoped.
"I will note you down as a specialist for sex crimes due to the nature of your most prolific cases, forensic and linguistic psychology. You will have to keep up to date on modern research in a cross-disciplinary approach. If you find that workload too intense, you can update me anytime."
"Yes, sir." She would certainly not ask for less work. Ever.
"There's no need to call me 'sir', agent," he said with a slight smile.
"I'm just trying to remain professional, Agent Hotchner."
The smile disappeared and he looked down at a sheet of paper in front of him. Great, Pippa, you are really letting your hair down. Surely, Hotchner didn't like being reminded of their unprofessional first meeting. Surely he didn't need Pippa to lecture him.
"After observing your behaviour for over a month, I am ready for your psych evaluation and risk assessment."
Pippa wasn't sure whether she was but Hotchner of course didn't ask.
"You are evidently a seasoned profiler, your methods are perhaps not always conventional but backed up by thorough psychological research. I trust you will get accustomed to the way our team works soon enough. You are calm, efficient and determined. I haven't discovered anything that would impede you from fulfilling your duty as a federal agent and profiler." He put the sheet aside. "Now, for the risk assessment."
That sounded ominous.
"You are neither prone to outbursts of anger or violence nor are you easily frightened. You have displayed loyalty, consideration and the ability to work in a team."
She couldn't help but smile.
"You have a problem, though, agent." He cleared his throat. "You repress your emotions. Don't get me wrong, your level headed approach is usually fruitful. But you tend to show no emotions at all. You witnessed gruesome crime scenes with badly mutilated victims and you showed neither disgust nor anger."
"I don't understand how that would help me with profiling the victims and the killer. Emotional involvement would cloud my judgment, it would have a direct influence on my assessment."
Hotchner looked at her for a long while. Pippa found his gaze unsettling but forced herself to keep a straight face.
"Your affect control is commendable, agent," he said, softly now, " but no one will consider you unprofessional if you allow yourself to show your feelings now and then. Quite the opposite, actually. Especially the victims' families respond much better to more emotionally available agents and that of course yields better interrogation results. You come across as...cold."
He was right. Pippa knew he was. But Hotch had overlooked one of her more dramatic weaknesses: A dire need to justify herself and a problem with authority figures.
"Sir, with all due respect: I compartmentalise in a very specific way that allows me to keep an objective mind when at work. I have found that, when dealing with the most unnatural, most gruesome crimes, I can work much better when I do not allow myself any kind of sentiment regarding the victims or killer. That does not mean that I do not mourn for the victims, that I do not feel intense hate or anger or fear when I think of the killers, that does not mean at all that I do not condemn their deeds. But I find it difficult to create a profile for someone I have such fervent emotions for."
Hotchner nodded, again. "Strictly speaking, this is my risk assessment of your behaviour." He smiled. Or rather, the left corner of his mouth twitched, which was Hotchner's equivalent of a smile. "I know you are very reflective, agent. And you know that I do not criticise your behaviour in general. But there is something as too rational, too detached. I'm sure you already know that you could achieve better results by being more approachable which is probably why you feel attacked by this assessment."
Pippa swallowed. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to object. You are completely right and I will do my best to be more emotional. I only felt the need to justify my behaviour."
Hotchner nodded.
"There is absolutely no need for that."
Then he cleared his throat again. "It is not my intention to coerce you into something you feel uncomfortable with, Agent Hale, but I have noticed that you display the same kind of neutrality with your co-workers. You said you want to be a part of the team, that also means that the team is a part of you. If you are uncomfortable with sharing details about your personal life, you don't have to, of course. But there is no need to be afraid of rejection. You can open up here. You have come to stay, after all, haven't you?"
That was the thing about Agent Hotchner, Pippa thought as she felt the heat rush to her cheeks, he came across as unemotional and aloof but a person had to be very much in touch with his emotional side and his social environment to make such precise and meticulous observations.
"I have, sir," she agreed.
"You should talk to Agent Prentiss. She has a similar background and faced the same problems when she joined the team four years ago."
Emily Prentiss had had problems connecting with her fellow agents? The devastatingly sarcastic, approachable, level-headed Emily had once been as awkward as she was now?
"Thank you, sir. Agent. I will ask her. I thank you for your evaluation. I mean, am I dismissed?"
"You have to sign this," he pushed the clipboard over to her and lay a pen on top, "then you're done."
As she left his office, Pippa thought that this had been a good conversation. Very professional. She hadn't even thought about their one night stand once. Okay, but she hadn't thought about him naked more than twice. That was progress. There was one thing to do now, however.
"Prentiss?"
The dark-haired woman turned around.
"I wondered whether you would like to have a drink tonight? I don't really know anyone, so –"
Prentiss seemed surprised but not disinclined: "Oh, sure. I didn't know whether you were comfortable with going out with colleagues and I didn't want to pressure you. Absolutely. I know a great bar that's just around the corner."
Pippa knew that she really should open up more. It hadn't been difficult at all. She should have asked her earlier. Perhaps she would ask Reid whether she could join him for trivia night sometime. At the moment, she thought, he was a one-man-team and she really didn't have much to contribute, but it would be fun.
"Great. Well, uh –" Where would they go? And when? She didn't really know any bars around here, apart from one, of course.
"We can just go after work? Perhaps the others want to tag along, too?" Emily smiled.
"Sure. The more the merrier." But the thought alone made her uncomfortable. She had wanted to get to know the team slowly, one by one.
Thankfully, it turned out the rest of the team did not want to join. Pippa thought it was a lucky coincidence, everyone seemed occupied already, but in truth, Emily had reconsidered after Pippa's reaction, now acutely remembering the feeling of being overwhelmed. She did talk to JJ and Garcia, though, and told them they would take Pippa out on a ladies' night some time. Both of them were surprised but ready to give the new teammate a chance. She would become more relaxed around them sooner or later. And then, she would be more likable, too. What Emily had taken for aloofness, perhaps even arrogance, was quite probably only social awkwardness. She would see her true colours tonight. For there was nothing that loosened the tongue as well as...
"Bourbon," Emily ordered as she sat down next to Pippa approximately five hours later. Pippa ordered the same. Emily had taken off her suit jacket and looked stunning in a simple tee and her office pants and she felt a little overdress in her business dress. At least, she had taken down her bun after work, although her curls didn't look too springy after having been restrained for half a day. It didn't matter much anyway. After the Hotchner incident, she was really even less into one night stands than before. Who knew, with her luck, the guy would probably turn out to be either their next unsub or their next director.
When she took the first sip of her drink, Emily looked at her with a tentative smile.
"So, how's it going for you?"
"Um, well." That was too little. "I'm actually feeling more and more at home here."
"Did you find a nice place?"
"I still live in a hotel room, I fear," she laughed awkwardly. She really should have bothered with finding an apartment but living for rent had never appealed to her much. It was worse than the carefree lifestyle of staying at a hotel and also worse than having a place that truly belonged to you, where you could do whatever you wanted.
"Well, you can't stay at a hotel forever." That was undeniably true. It was also rather expensive. And driving down from Alexandria every morning was annoying, too, and the train was terribly slow. No, Emily was right, she had to find a place.
"I know. I just don't know whether I want to rent an apartment or buy a house."
"This is permanent for you, isn't it? Why not buy something? Market's never been better. And if you're sure you want to stay?"
"I guess you're right. Why not make a real job of it? Do you have a house?"
"Nope," Emily gave Pippa a guilty smile. "I'm a big hypocrite. I live for rent. At some point, I'll get a house round here. I just haven't decided quite yet."
"On what?" She had been living here for some years, after all.
"Whether this is the life for me. Permanently, I mean."
"Oh. Why not?"
"No reason, really. I have worked with Interpol for a while. Sometimes I miss it. Though usually, I don't. I'm also too lazy to move." Emily chuckled. "And my apartment isn't half bad."
"You live in DC?"
"Yep. It's much more lively than Quantico. Anyway," Emily looked around, scanned the bar. "Enough about serious stuff. We gotta make tonight count. Tell me, what's your type? Tall and dark? Surfer? Businesslike?"
"Erm, I don't…I don't think anyone in here, actually."
Em grinned. "I don't believe you. I kind of like her, over there. Tall, green dress, blonde hair?"
Emily glanced over to a woman sitting at a corner table with a few others. Perhaps an after-work-gathering.
"Yeah, she's pretty." Undeniably so, with her high cheekbones, straightened blonde bob haircut and expressive blue eyes.
"I'm not good at hitting on people, to be honest. I'm a nerd. I don't know what to say."
"She always looks your way. If you wait long enough, she'll hit on you."
"Nah. She wants me to go over to her. But I'm here with a friend. So unless we can schedule a double date..." Emily grinned.
"I don't think –"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to steamroller you." She gave Pippa a rueful smile. "Let's enjoy ourselves. Tell me something about you. Something I didn't know about you."
"Um. I once signed up for a talent show to spite my mum, but I didn't go through with it. I'm a huge nerd. My childhood crush was Prince Charles and I deeply regret it. I used to work in New York and actually had a decent nightlife."
"What happened?" Emily asked.
"I got old?"
"No excuses. You will learn how to have fun again."
"You know what. Yes. Tonight I'll do my best to be super fun."
"That does sound a bit sad," Emily teased.
"Watch it, Prentiss, or I'll ruin your evening."
"Easy there, Hale. I'm on your side. So, what has the fun you planned for tonight?"
"We'll start with joining their table." Pippa motioned towards the blonde.
"An excellent idea, my young padawan."
"You're a geek."
"Guilty as charged. Come on, Anakin."
"I don't want to turn out as Darth Vader," Pippa objected as she slid off her stool.
"Then protect your Padmé." She grinned as she walked over to the group table at the far end of the bar.
"Hi. I'm Em, this is still got room for two overworked ladies at your table?"
"Sit down, sweethearts," the blonde said and patted the seat next to her.
The night passed quickly and when Pippa finally got into her cab, Emily was still sipping on a whiskey, flirting with Jemima.
"So, I heard you had a great night, huh?"
"Oh, gosh. Yes. So good I can't get it out of my head."
"Need an aspirin?" JJ offered sympathetically.
"No, thanks." Pippa shook her head, prompting another stab of pain. "I just need a coffee."
"Amen," Emily came in, wearing black sunglasses on this cloudy day, and clothes that were not hers.
"Jemima has at least four inches on you," Pippa noted as she took in the too-long sleeves and ill fit.
"Still," JJ grinned, "It's pretty cool she let you borrow her clothes."
"Everything about her is pretty cool so far, actually."
"What about you, Pippa? Met someone interesting?"
"Yeah, didn't this Jared ask you for your number?"
"He did. I don't know."
"He was really into her. It was so cute and Pippa was about as charming as cauliflower."
"There's nothing wrong with cauliflower," she defended herself. "I don't know. I'm just not good at that dating stuff. I don't really do one night stands."
Whoever is in charge of fate, she has a queer sense of humour. For, obviously, it was just this moment that SSA Hotchner chose to get his own caffeine fix. And there was no doubt about it that he caught her last words, going by the pinkish hue of his ears and the evident avoidance of eye contact while he was working on the coffeemaker frantically.
"Uh, Hotch? There's still some coffee in the pot. No need to mistreat the poor machine." JJ looked at him with mildly concerned surprise.
"Ah. Yeah. Thanks."
He was not out of the door yet when Emily said: "There's no need to go red as a beetroot, Pippa, Hotch knows we have private lives. Well, some of us try, at least."
"Speaking of," Pippa started, eager to change the topic and normalise her skin colour, "I have a viewing appointment for a house. Near the Quantico Creek. Four bedrooms. Quite affordable, actually."
"Yeah, this isn't the most popular neighborhood," JJ agreed, "too close to the FBI building for comfort for most normal people. Even most of the employees here prefer the suburbs of DC, even if the drive is longer. Just a little more entertainment."
"We'll definitely go out again next weekend," Emily decreed. "And you'll come along, JJ, and Pen, too. Will can take care of the boys for once."
"I'll tell him," JJ smiled. "I really need to go back to work now though. You should reconsider the shades, Em. You look like the guy from 'Matrix'."
"Little does she know that's the look I'm going for," Em said when JJ was gone. "Ah, I had fun last night. She's awesome, really. I've been on so many lousy dates lately."
"So, you're gonna call her?"
"I can't call her today. I'm not desperate – Well, perhaps a little, but I don't want her to know that."
Emily's smartphone chimed and a smile ghosted over her lips when she read the notification.
"I assume Jemima has no such qualms?"
"What did I tell you about profiling your colleagues?" But she was still smiling.
"Merely an observation."
"I'll just quickly dash to the, um, bathroom."
"You can just text her back here, I want to know what she said that made you so happy., anyway"
"There's absolutely no privacy on this team," Emily complained but she showed Pippa the text without further complaint. "Oh, what to text back? I hate this part. I love it, too. Ugh, the pressure."
"You got this," Pippa said and smiled. "I gotta get back to my desk."
"Yeah, leave me when I need you the most," Emily said but then she started typing.
In her lunch break, Pippa went to take a look at the house. Emily had offered to accompany her but Pippa knew that she was going to be occupied with her buzzing phone, so she went on her own. It was a nice house with lots of windows and wood, cathedral height ceilings, and, thankfully, already furnished rather tastefully. It was a one family home and much more modest than any place Pippa had grown up at. But it reminded her of the mountain house in the Alps where she had been skiing with her family as a child. So, when she came back to work, she was the proud owner of a house. It felt strange to have possessions that didn't fit in a suitcase but it wasn't a bad feeling, either. This was her home, now. She belonged here, with the BAU.
"How did it go?" JJ asked when Pippa came back.
"It was really nice. I bought it."
Emily almost dropped her phone. "You did what?"
"I bought the house."
"And you made that decision in 30 minutes?"
"It was a two-minute-decision, really. Although, I already knew I wanted to stay. My grandmother left me some money. It's almost used up now, but the house is a perfect fit, I think. I'll feel at home there."
"You ever heard about making calculated investment decisions?" JJ said but Emily had apparently decided to move on to more important questions:
"You need to throw a party, you know that, right? For the entire squad. Rossi hasn't invited us in forever."
"Yeah, I wonder why," JJ mused, biting her lip. "Last time was fun."
Then she looked at Em. "Ah, that's why. Anyway, we'll behave much better at your house, I swear," she grinned.
"Once I've moved in, I'll invite you all. Maybe the Saturday after the next?"
"You can move into the house in a week and a half?"
"Sure. It's furnished and all my belongings fit in one suitcase. I have some books in a storage unit but that's it."
"Very, um, effective," JJ said but Pippa caught the glance she threw Emily.
"Well, now that I have a place to keep my things, I plan on becoming a maximalist," she joked, a little uncomfortable.
And Pippa kept her word. The next week, she invited the squad over for a barbecue.
It spoke volumes that none of them were occupied on a Saturday night, none but one: Hotch declined the invitation, saying that he had Jack that Saturday and had planned to watch a movie with him. It was a feeble excuse to not get too close for comfort, but Pippa had only nodded and smiled and said "Next time, then." He wondered whether she had really not seen through him. Everyone else on the suad knew that Jessica was almost always up for sitting Jack, especially because he got along so well with Jessica's twins. But no one raised the matter again until, one late Thursday evening, after an exhausting case, Rossi joined him in his office and looked out of the window into the bullpen where Hale was still working, probably on her interrogation profile. Reid was still at his desk, too, but apart from them, the bullpen was empty.
"She's a good kid," Dave said, nodding towards Hale.
Everything in him recoiled from the word.
"She's not a kid, she's almost thirty," he replied, evenly. Reid was still half a kid, perhaps, but he was some five years younger than her. And she wasn't that much younger than he himself, after all. Ten years. Not an age difference that would raise eyebrows. Hypothetically speaking.
"They're all kids to me," Dave smiled. "I know you are suspicious of her and I was, too. But I don't think she's been sent by Strauss or the headquarters. And even if they hope she'll inform on us, they are in for a dire disappointment."
"Is that your assessment?" Of course, Hotch already knew that he was right, he had looked into it right away, but Dave had sensed that something was wrong and Hotch couldn't tell him about that night in the bar. So he had to play along.
"She's loyal. Upright. And she'd rather say the harsh truth to your face than tell a lie. Who knows, with a mother like hers, we might be spared the power struggle for now. Senator Montmorency loves her daughter. She'll protect her."
Rossi wasn't wrong, although Hotch had a long list of topics he'd rather discuss than Hale. They had managed to remain a professional relationship ever since their first meeting in his office, but he couldn't deny that his thoughts were still a little too preoccupied with her, especially at night, when he usually lay awake and felt guilty about Haley's death, about neglecting Jack, about burdening Jessica...He wasn't feeling guilty about Hale, exactly. He hadn't known who she was back then, after all. But somehow, he couldn't stop thinking about her altogether. It would pass, no doubt. It had gotten much better already. But he had to limit exposure. Professional contact was alright, when the case took up most of his mind. But everything that went beyond that was a potential risk to his professionalism.
"I think you're right," Hotch said, hoping that this would end their conversation.
"Then I'll see you Saturday?" Damn you, Dave.
"I don't know –" he started, not really knowing where he wanted to take the sentence, but Rossi already interrupted him anyway.
"She only wants to connect. You know that. She bought a house here. She means to stay. Do her the kindness and help her out a little."
He wasn't wrong. And Hotch really didn't want to give her a hard time because he was afraid of his own reaction. That was, after all, spot-on unprofessional. So, he was left no choice.
"I guess I'll see you on Saturday then." Hotch conceded. And he couldn't deny that he was interested to see how she lived.
On his way to the elevator, he walked past her desk, where she now sat with Reid, the two insomniacs assembled in front of her computer screen, taking what seemed to be some sort of trivia quiz.
"I say...Anne Brontӫ," Pippa said but Reid shook his head.
"Elizabeth Gaskell. Cranford." He clicked a button and Pippa threw her head back.
"I yield. You are absolutely unbeatable."
"Agent Hale?" he asked, glad that he didn't have to be alone with her.
"Yes, sir?" She looked like a child that had been caught. "We have already finished our protocols, I –"
"It's fine. I'll read them tomorrow. Keep going. It's just that my sister-in-law agreed to take Jack for the weekend. So if the invitation is still on..."
"Of course it is, sir," she smiled. "It's Hemlock Drive 101."
"See you on Saturday, then." He looked at the screen. "And enjoy your game."
"Only a masochist would enjoy this," Pippa said, a little sulky. Hotch smiled and then made for the elevator, though he still heard their laughter in the hall. It was good that she got on with the team so well. That she felt so comfortable around them. There was only this nagging part of him that wondered whether perhaps they would get on just as well if he allowed it. That perhaps she would laugh with him like she had back at the bar.
~o~
"Hotch is kind of weird lately," Reid noticed, his eyes still on the door their boss had just left through.
"Weird?" Pippa asked, heart beating faster. Spencer was far too perceptive for their good.
"Yeah. I don't know. Flustered, I'd say."
"Well, he has a lot to juggle," she argued but Reid shook his head.
"No. There must have been something else. It kind of started the week before you came."
It was a Wednesday night in Alexandria, to be precise, Pippa thought.
"Well, it's probably about my transfer. Strauss didn't really give Hotch the option to choose his own agent. Probably upsets him."
"Maybe," Reid allowed. "But you're here now. I don't think he'd have chosen someone else."
"Sometimes, Spencer, when you're not absolutely trouncing me, you are very sweet."
He rewarded her with an awkward smile and clicked the 'next' button.
~o~
Saturday
~o~
Hotch was late because he had tucked Jack into bed, talked to the babysitter and given her his phone number as well as Jessica's, in case anything happened. Then he had turned on the alarm system. Now he stood in front of a traditional two-story brick house with wooden window frames and a double garage. There was music coming from inside the house but he heard little else. If he was right, behind the house, the narrow band of the Quantico Creek wound its way up to Eagle Pointe. He heard water, at least, and the rustling of leaves. Apart from that, it was perfectly quiet. Hotch had sent the cab away already. They had passed a few other houses on Hemlock Road, all set back from the road and hidden by dense woodland. It was a peaceful neighbourhood, quiet, undisturbed. Not entirely secluded. Idyllic. Hotch had expected a grander house, something like Rossi's mansion, but this was a three-bedroom property, perhaps four. A nice house. Down to earth. A little rustic.
Hotch rang the doorbell and only moments later, Hale opened, the ghost of a laugh on her lips. Her hair was loose, a mass of slightly tousled copper curls, and she wasn't wearing her usual conservative dress. Her black jeans were tight and high rising and the cropped green top she wore allowed a glimpse at her pale skin. She looked relaxed, which had something to do with the half empty glass of whiskey in her hand, he thought.
"Ah, sir." She stepped aside. "Welcome."
"Thanks for the invite." He handed her a bottle of wine. He had considered buying whiskey but it had reminded him of their first encounter, so he had opted for the safe choice instead.
"Oh, thank you. Come on in." She led him through a short hall, past a flight of stairs, into a large open-plan-living room with dark wooden flooring and huge windows that went out on the creek.
"Can I get you anything? A whiskey?"
She still knew what he liked to drink. Derek held a beer, Dave a gin tonic, he saw.
"Yes, thank you."
"I have a very nice 20 year old Glenlivet for special occasions. Or a Prichard's? My favourite is the Eagle Rare 12 year bourbon but that's not –"
"That's my favourite, too." He gave her a neutral smile.
"Oh. Great. Well, then I best get you one quickly."
After she had delivered the bourbon, she left him to Prentiss and he saw her walking from one small group to the next, like a bee. Hotch took in the room: The fitted kitchen, the open dining room, fully equipped with a wooden table and leather chairs, the long box sofa with two comfy looking armchairs facing the TV, a cast iron wood stove in the corner, a recamiére in front of it, draped with a fuzzy blanket. It was a comfy room, no doubt, but the furniture bore no signs of wear. They were all perfectly new. The only things that looked used were the books on the full wall shelf.
"Lots of poetry," Rossi remarked.
"Uh, yeah." Rossi knew that Hotch read poetry in his little free time. With his work life balance, he had little time for bulky books.
"Shakespeare, too. What was your favourite sonnet again?"
"Sonnet 23," he replied tentatively and Rossi took the anthology from the shelf and flipped through the pages:
"When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Wow." Rossi smiled. "He was quite depressed, huh?"
"Actually, Shakespeare was facing unemployment, defamation, financial ruin and the bubonic plague when he wrote this sonnet." Hale smiled. "It's one of my favourites."
She was sipping on a glass of wine, although he had seen her with a bourbon earlier.
"I'll quickly get a refill," Rossi said and left them alone in a rather uncomfortable silence.
Why did you change your mind, sir?" she asked. That question seemed to have bothered her for a while and the whiskey had loosened her tongue.
"About what?" he asked, although he knew.
"Well, about tonight."
"I was reminded that everyone deserves a chance. And the two of us perhaps deserve a second."
"Certainly, sir."
"Call me Hotch."
She nodded. She did not say "Call me Pippa, as the others do." She looked at Rossi, only for a split second. Dave didn't see her, his back was turned on them and he was talking to Garcia. Hotch wondered why he stayed so long. Dave usually didn't like social gatherings.
"How much does he know?"
The words of a conspirator. He almost smiled.
"Nothing. At least I think he doesn't."
"He thinks you dislike me because of my background. Because the headquarters sent me."
"Along those lines."
"If they did have ulterior motives, they'll be sorry."
"I know."
"Good." she smiled, though it was strained, then she emptied her glass. "Well, then, Hotch, enjoy yourself. I better go and check whether Garcia left me some of the good wine."
They would get along. They were too similar not to, he thought. And that was exactly what scared him.
He spent a lot of the evening with Dave, commenting on the books in her shelves, then talk about some book either of them had written, then about some case they associated with it. Soon enough, they were both ready to go home. Pippa stood outside on the deck, quite drunk now, like all the others, with Derek. He had his arm around her shoulders, Hotch noticed. He also noticed that it bothered him.
"You know, I was really surprised to find out you can smile," Derek told her, still unaware of his superior agents behind him.
"Really? Did you think I was born with a physical inability or were you just not aware that your jokes are lame?" she smiled.
Derek laughed. "You're a nasty one, Phipps."
A terrible nickname but her eyes shone. She was distant and guarded but she did like company. She did like the team. As every other human, she liked recognition and approval.
"Pippa," Rossi said with a smile.
"Ah, sirs." She smiled. "You want to leave so soon?"
Somehow, it didn't sit right with Hotch that he and Dave were peas in a pot. Dave was much older, after all. A father figure to the squad, himself included. He didn't want to be one of the old men who left the party early. But he saw no sense in staying, not with how the evening was developing. And he had to get back to Jack. So he just nodded.
"Thank you again for the invitation."
"Anytime." She awkwardly untangled herself from Derek's embrace. Hotch knew that Morgan tended to get touchy. It was nothing. They were a family. No attractions, no romantic feelings.
"Wait, I'll show you out." It was a formality, what a host was expected to do.
"I'm really happy you came," she said to both of them when they reached the door. "You'll take a cab?"
Even now, she was cautious, lawful. She would never drink and drive.
"Yes," Hotch said. "Enjoy the rest of the night. And thank you again."
"Thank you for coming." She was much more relaxed now. This was the woman he had met in the bar, still correct, still a little uptight, a tiny bit awkward, but with a cheeky smile and a very subtle, sometimes dirty sense of humour. And she was happy. It was something that radiated from her and it made her infinitely more beautiful. It was foolish that, for a moment, Hotch thought how it would feel to be the one that made her smile like this. Because he could never be the one.
"Good night, Pippa," Rossi said and Hotch nodded.
Although, when he and Rossi walked to the main road, he felt the older man's eyes on him.
"Something the matter, Dave?"
"No. It's just a beautiful night, isn't it?"
It was. Clear, star-speckled sky and a warm breeze from the east. The gravel path finally lead onto the main road.
"She's a funny one," Dave remarked. "Deals with murderers and rapists every day but chooses a house so remote and isolated."
"It's peaceful," Hotch said. It really was. Calm. Quiet. A nice house, not as oversized as Rossi's, with direct water access and beautiful views. A house for garden parties and for lonely evenings by the fireplace.
"That's exactly what she said," Dave replied. He didn't say anything else but Hotch wasn't at all comfortable with what he felt Dave was implying. He doesn't know anything. He couldn't know. Perhaps he suspected something but that was intangible, the idea of a man who saw romance everywhere. There was a reason he was on wife number 4.
The cabs were already waiting down the road. Hotch wasn't looking forward to home. Jack would already be asleep. No one was waiting for him but a room temperature bourbon and perhaps some lasagna from the freezer. And he wasn't particularly interested in either.
I know that canonically, Emily isn't gay, but Paget Brewster said in a interview that she was supposed to be either gay or bisexual but CBS didn't give the green light, so the scene in which Emily wakes up next to a woman was scratched. I used this scene and made it the morning after her night out with Pippa.
Next chapter is going to be NSFW!