When Hotch woke up, he was aware it was early. He felt oddly satisfied; and as the memories of last night slowly flooded back, he could almost convince himself it was a dream.
He felt the bed shift beside him, and his whole body tensed.
His eyes flew open, and he saw the woman in bed beside him, still fast asleep. He swallowed. Liz, she'd said her name was.
He knew it wasn't her real name, and he steeled himself; he really couldn't afford to learn her real name.
But he wanted to. He'd seen the telltale lanyard with her things last night; he just hadn't commented.
He slowly slid from the bed, untangling himself from the sheets, grabbing his clothes as he walked to the bathroom.
He saw her things, now set on the bedside table. He could reach over...find out who she was…
But he wasn't going to do that.
He walked to the bathroom; normally, he would take a shower, but it was early enough that he could take one when he got home. He patted himself down; keys and wallet were where they were supposed to be. Phone was too. He checked it, expecting multiple messages from worried teammates, but there was only one.
Rossi: I'll make sure no one suspects a thing. Glad you're finally getting some. D.
Hotch flushed. Of course Rossi had noticed him leave, and that he wasn't alone. He replied, wondering if Rossi would even answer.
Hotch: Do you think anyone else noticed?
To his surprise, a reply filtered in almost instantly.
Rossi: I made a spectacle of myself to ensure they didn't
Hotch: Thank you, my friend. I owe you.
Rossi: Don't worry about it.
Hotch knew this conversation wasn't over, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth right now. He swished mouthwash, pulling his clothes on quickly, cursing as he realized he'd left the suit jacket in the closet.
God. He hadn't even been that drunk last night, and it wasn't that he was ashamed of his actions, but he just felt like it would be easier if he left before...she…awoke. Besides, she'd asked him to never reference this again, or seek her out.
So he'd respect that, and make this as seamless as possible.
He looked at himself in the mirror, silently rolling his eyes at himself. He felt like a high school student again, trying to get home before curfew.
He adjusted his watch, splashed water on his hair, and realized this was as good as it was going to get. He opened the door, grabbed his jacket from the closet, and then realized that she wasn't in bed.
He stilled, a pang of disappointment hitting his chest. He knew it was irrational to feel that way; she'd probably heard him wake up, and had taken her chance to leave before they had to bump into each other.
He startled as the door behind him clicked open, and she stood there. "Sorry," she said, and he bit back the words he wanted to say. She looked thoroughly tousled, and he could tell from a mile away she'd been fucked the night before. By him.
Seeing her like that, bedhead and flushed face, he just wanted to pull her back against him.
"I needed ice," she said, holding up the bucket. "I thought you'd be gone."
"Of course," he said, moving aside to let her in. Now that he was more cognizant, he realized her shoes were still in the room; she'd gone to the ice machine barefoot.
Her skirt was rumpled, and her shirt was buttoned wrong. Hotch's fingers itched to correct it; or, better yet, undo them again.
He realized he was staring, and jerked away, heading for the door. Her hands were raised over her head; he watched, hand on the doorknob, totally transfixed as she slid her hair into a ponytail.
She turned, and saw him watching.
He knew he should leave.
He did.
But he stayed there, just staring at her.
He really didn't believe that this was real. This woman...Liz...whatever her name was...was fucking gorgeous. Downright beautiful. The morning light was just accentuating her soft curves, and pleasing smile. She looked at him, seemingly just as transfixed, and then his hand fell from the doorknob; he started towards her.
She met him halfway; he kissed her like he was saying goodbye forever.
Because he was.
His hand cupped the back of her head, and he tasted the mint of her breath. She was probably tasting his mouthwash as well.
He sucked at her lower lip; the last thing he wanted, the very last thing, was to leave her right now.
He pulled away, unable to help caressing her face. This still didn't feel real, so he was going to treat it like a dream and pretend that reality didn't exist.
She stared up at him, eyes luminous.
"I have to go," he said.
"I know," she replied, and her entire face seemed to shutter as she turned away.
That was his cue.
So Aaron Hotchner, ever one to follow orders, turned and left.
Kate watched Aaron leave, wondering if that was his real name. Doubtful, though.
She ignored the pang in her chest as she finished dressing; sliding her shoes back on, and thanking god for the fresh pair of panties she always kept in her purse. That was another carryover from working undercover so much.
She checked herself in the mirror. She looked like she'd been fucked. She picked up her phone to call an Uber, laughing at herself as she left the room, the hotel keys inside.
She looked like she'd been fucked, but for that moment, she didn't care.
She had been fucked, after all. She'd had the best sex of her entire life and for once, Kate didn't feel like hiding away, skulking in shadows.
She walked outside the hotel into the bright daylight, climbed into her Uber, and when she got home, she showered, dressed, and put on makeup to prepare for a new day.
Life would go on. Pity that she'd never see him again...but at least she'd had the experience.