A/N: So, this chapter is almost entirely unlike the rest of the story, just to mix it up. Bonus points to anyone who catches the reference to a romantic pair from another series.

I do not own Criminal Minds

"You're awfully quiet." They had been driving for what she assumed was about a half hour judging by how many songs had passed on the stereo. Hotch hadn't engaged her in much conversation yet, other than to say he was glad he didn't have to hire a babysitter since one wouldn't keep Jack out all night and that he was thankful they made up in time for this. She asked why today seemed so important but he narrated that he was zipping his lips. Yes, she was still blindfolded.

"I am going to kill Emily." He grunted out, but of course she couldn't see the desperate smile on his face.

Emily had done so much today! "Why?"

Hotch patted her arm to calm her worry. "Because I am two seconds away from ripping that dress off you and doing you in the back seat all night."

Even in her blindfold she knew the corners of her mouth were rising in mischief. "I'd be ok with that."

Aaron chuckled, running his hand down her arm to retake her hand. She was really driving him wild and she had no idea why. "Me too, but I have had this in mind for a long time."

They drove for another fifteen minutes or so and here or there she could feel Hotch raise her hand to kiss it. Every time he did it sent shots of energy directly to her heart, almost constricting her breathing. She loved how he could be tender and gentle, caring and protective yet still set her on fire. "Aaron, please don't ever stop holding my hand like this."

He chuckled and promised as much as they pulled up to their destination. He went around to her door, still not letting her pull off the blindfold. She was so nervous and excited to see what he had planned. Hotch knew her better than she realized, he had even put on one of her favorite mixed soundtracks from various Disney movies.

He led her down a small path and watched her as she could barely contain her excitement, her exposed chest heaving in anticipation. "God, you are just so sexy." He said it like he was worshipping her, but he had to command his body to behave. "Anyhow, it's your fake birthday, so surprise!"

He untied her blindfold to reveal a large home in front of them. It had to be twice the size of Rossi's and had this older charm to it, something Victorian, perhaps even older? She wasn't quite making sense of all the men clad oddly that were walking into the purely gas and candle lit house.

She turned to Hotch, curiously. "What is this?" That was when she got her first good look at him in an odd get up. She was still so set in her wonder and anticipation she couldn't quite put her finger on the familiar costume.

Aaron chuckled in satisfaction that for once Penelope Garcia couldn't work her mind at lightning speed like she types on her various computers. "It's a steam punk murder mystery. We have assigned roles. You are a gentlewoman coming to me, the best detective around, because you want to find who killed your brother Carlisle who you were helping build a steam powered time machine. I promise, solving fake murders is much more fun than in real life."

It took her a whole thirty seconds to get over her stunned expression before she burst out laughing. This sounded like tons of fun. "How on earth did you figure out I would like steam punk?"

He shrugged, proud that he got this one right. "Profiler?"

She chuckled, pulling him into a hug and kissing his cheek. She took in his top hat and wool overcoat and laughed aloud. "You would be the damn Sherlock Holmes equivalent. And damn," That was when she looked down at herself and realized what she was wearing. Her dress was a deep ruby satin with thick black lace trim. It was bustled in the back and a little on the side and had flouncy sleeves which only served to highlight her bustier supported breasts. She had a fleeting moment wondering how woman could wear such heavy and constricting clothing all the time but it was certainly glamorous and not terribly revealing either. That perfect mix of revealing just enough to leave some to the imagination. "I can see why you want to rip this off of me."

Aaron took her hand and kissed it yet again, begging her. "Please, don't remind me."

He led her to the entrance where she was introduced to the host of the dinner and mystery, Lord Charles Bromwell (retired SSA William Galvin). He too kissed her hand in pure gentlemanly fashion before taking her arm in his and escorting her inside with Aaron following closely.

"Are you familiar with these things my dear?" He allowed himself to break character only with a noob.

"With this particular genre, yes. However I do act in my own time, occasionally LARP." She smiled when he seemed satisfied with that and looked to Hotch. "Have you ever done this before?"

He shook his head. "No. I figured you would teach me, keep me in character."

She nodded and allowed Sir Bromwell to seat her on an incredibly well stuffed sofa, Hotch taking post behind her against the wall as appropriate when other ladies were to be seated. After a few moments of taking in everyone's garb she got a feeling that tonight was really going to be interesting when it comes to her and Hotch. There were pre-established roles here, as if the house ran these nights consistently. She decided it was time to get information on her role and the night in general from her hostess, Lady Bromwell (Galvin's real wife).

"Lady Bromwell," she started, noting the pleased expression in the other woman for staying in character and Hotch as he took notice to overhear the conversation.

"Yes, Lady Cybil Cheshire I presume?"

Ah, good. She has a name. "Please, just Lady Cybil. Might I ask how long your family has been established in these parts?" She was loving this already, reading between lines, keeping in character, finding little mysteries.

Lady Bromwell was more than obliging in her answer, terribly impressed with the younger woman on both her manners and her dress. "Why my husband's family has been housed at Cambray for near two centuries, however it is of late that we ourselves took over. Just eight years or so since, since the way of course."

Wow, they have been doing this for eight years? Since Galvin retired? No wonder why it seems the room has its own feel. "My, that is a wonderful story. I am thankful to be among your guests this evening."

"As am I." A blonde man not much older than herself took the seat beside her. "Our hostess is quite wonderful to have invited us tonight, is she not? When the famed Mr. Branson makes his first appearance in our society? I do believe you rather took a taking to his likeness when we were last in London for the season, did you not my dear sister?" He teased and implored her to understand his role in this. She got it, this was her brother Carlisle.

Not only was this a murder mystery but it was a real, ongoing club of sorts. She looked to her brother for the night. "Would you be a dear brother and show me to the room? I have made few introductions thus far."

He nodded, understanding she was a new comer, he loved nights like this. Whenever someone close to Galvin finally decided to try out a night he would create a special role, make more of a mystery than the typical nights of social backstabbing and romantic manipulation. These nights always helped push plot lines along, rev up the drama and he was only thankful to be the victim this time. He could always come back as yet another character; this was his third so far.

His girlfriend had brought him to this a few years ago and he was anything other than excited but he actually got into it, more into it than he was into her apparently. He stood and folded her arm around his to do his duty and make introductions.

Hotch watched as Penelope glowed in meeting the room, aware that he had to slink back to the wall and adhere to his role as the mysterious Mr. Branson. When he had called up Galvin about this the other man specifically asked him if he should add a romantic component to the budding relationship of Branson and Lady Cybil. At the time they weren't an official anything but he had decided if it helped make the night fun, then yes, definitely. So, he knew they would eventually be paired together for a considerable amount of time throughout the night.

Penelope met all sorts of characters tonight. There was Lord and Lady Chatham who were apparently well acquainted with her parents just before her birth. Lady Chatham offered her condolences to the brother and sister on the loss of their father. She pulled Cybil aside in confidence as the men talked politics. "Tell me my dear if this is too bold. But I must say it is fortunate you have a man in your family considering the entail. Our own family is unfortunately wretched with my husband's ill health and four daughters, yet to be married. Perhaps your brother might take a liking to them?"

Penelope had to internally laugh her butt off. This was so much more authentic to the time period than many steam punk things she had ever seen. Other than the time machine she understands she and her brother have been working on, nothing else seems quite so eccentric, other than the people who habitually come here and play out their mix of a wild west/Victorian fantasy. She had to admit, you could plop this place down in either the English country side or the Wild West of the US and it could be taken as fact without much of a stretch. These people were good. Period.

"I do believe I could convince my brother to take and eye to your eldest, Lady Catherine, correct?" She had met the four daughters of the Chathams earlier, wondering if they were in fact their real daughters. And her 'brother' seemed to be giving Catherine the eye already… whether that was in character or real life she couldn't be sure.

"Mama, please tell me you are not plotting my future with Lady Cybil." Catherine interrupted, aware she had a role of her own tonight. "I will entertain whatever offers, of course. But for now I would like time with my friend."

The two walked off toward the piano in the drawing room, taking post in front of it as they watched the room. Catherine turned to Cybil. "Now, I hear you are rather fond of Mr. Branson?"

"I've heard of his successful exploits of course." She got that she was supposed to be attracted to Hotch's character, not a far stretch but she had to play the demure lady, even if she gathered that her character had a reputation of being a near radical in many respects, being in the sciences with her brother one of them.

One of her favorite introductions of the night was to the eldest woman there, the dowager duchess of Cambray. When Carlisle informed her of his 'tinkering' she seemed interested though uncomfortable, as a woman would be expected when the gentry begin to delve into the lesser forms of societal contribution… she said as much. But her reaction to Cybil's assisting her brother was priceless: "A woman? In the sciences? My heavens it's as if you have no regard for impropriety."

She had to employ use of her fan to hide a smile at that and make a polite excuse to see the others of the room.

Catherine turned to her, a smirk on her face. "He is handsome I hear, dark hair and a stern expression. But if you have no claim on interest there I do believe my youngest—"

Lady Cybil cut her off. "You are so cruel, you realize. Taunting me so. Yes, I do have a claim there, if I may take it."

Catherine chuckled behind her fan. "Then may I suggest we persuade our hostess to seat you near him? You know how loud large parties such as ours may get."

Looking around at the eighteen people in the room, she agreed. It would be difficult to see Hotch at all if she were not seated near him. Catherine pulled them to the hostess and in an underhanded and skilled fashion set it all up, the hostess more than obliging and turning to her husband to instruct him that he must make the introduction.

Hotch watched all this with fascination. His character was a brooding man, not much for the social scene yet engaging the men in conversation. But he laughed inside just out of glee with how Penelope worked her character around the room, sparing glances at him here or there and trying to not let others catch them. His heart was thudding for his character, aware they were soon to meet as the host pulled them over.

He took her hand, kissing it much the same as she loves in their normal life. She hid her flattered smile but not her blush before dinner was called by the servants. So, he escorted her, noticing the little murmur throughout the room by the other ladies all sharing encouraging and conspiratorial looks with the beautiful and elegant lady Cybil.

In this society they were not equals as far as anyone knew. His character routinely underplayed his identity as an earl in favor of being the simple genius detective. He was a single man and his main motivation was to protect himself from gaining a wife who cares too much of these things but rather to find one with a passion unknown to most women of society. But even in character he could spot Cybil's dislike of the usual social order. Her reputation as somewhat of a radical precedes her.

Dinner was actually incredibly delicious. He hadn't expected so many courses and Penelope almost broke character in her praise of such a meal. Under the table she began to rub his thigh to show that appreciation but withdrew once he looked to her, aware this was both her and him as well as their characters engaging in a little impropriety.

After dinner conversation for the men turned into discussion over the time machine which Lord Cheshire, Cybil's brother, was building. Several of the men discussed its use as a tool for speculation. Perhaps an American would buy the patent or the crown would purchase and build one to help alter the course of politics to the advantage of the nation.

There was considerable interest in the contraption even as they rejoined the women preparing to be regaled by their singing and performing on the piano forte. Just a spare thought was passed in Hotch's mind wondering when they would get to the murder and just then they noticed that Carlisle was sleeping in his chair.

Penelope noticed as well and nudged him in character, asking him to pay attention to Catherine and let out a scream that seemed so utterly authentic to Hotch he almost worried if this were real. But Penelope would have instantly broken character had that been the case.

She stood with her hands covering her mouth in shock and looked on as the men nearby checked the man over for signs of life. She shifted her gaze, internally exceptionally excited that she would be spending so much time with Hotch now, to Mr. Branson. "Please," she implored as she ran up to him. "Help me find who did this."

He took her hand once more in a kiss and vowed he would do just that. At once he ordered a stop to the servants, instructing that they must come into the drawing room for interrogation. In this social order, one would have to vet the servants first in order to retain cooperation with the elites.

Their host and hostess offered whatever resources were necessary and agreed that no one should leave until this was solved.

Inside, Pen's stomach was doing flips. Had she and Hotch not been together already she was sure this would have pushed her over the edge. Watching him give Holmesian assessments of the crime scene he declared that her brother was killed by poison. Looking to her and then the hostess he suggested everyone settle into various rooms for the remainder of the evening so that they could focus best of the case.

Some of the woman retreated to another drawing room, some men decided it was time to check out the Lord's library and others floated about the large house- everyone staying in their true character, trying to gain wives and husbands, erase debts, manipulate fortunes.

That left just Branson and Lady Cybil. After some time trying to drop in on some of the conversations of the room, Branson turned to her. "Would you accompany me to the garages my lady?"

She remarked on how inappropriate and instantly agreed. Within the garages the device itself stood. It was as large as a small car, open on all sides other than a rail which surrounded the two seat bench inside. One could clearly see the steam engine of the time machine.

On an index card that Hotch received with instructions for the night it included an understanding that if he pulled on the levers to act as if he was truly using the machine that the characters inside would get the signal and were all instructed (other than Penelope's character) to reenact their earlier activities as is. This would be a first for the club and so he assumed it would be a little exciting for everyone. He was also made aware that his actions and Pen's were carefully watched so that understudies of sorts were picked from the servant staff to dress and act as them. This, would be fun he was sure.

"Lady Cybil. Do you possess instruction of this device?"

Penelope chuckled. Hotch was getting so into this. Despite all the other fun she was having (and this was the best fake birthday ever), watching Hotch for the last hour as he tried to figure out who killed her pretend brother with her had simply been a hot mess of excitement.

"I fear my answer might betray me sir."

Hotch quirked an eyebrow. "And how is that my dear lady?" He moved closer to her as she perched on the bench seat with her feet dangling off the side of the device, at just the right height where he could stand between her legs if she let him.

Her wicked smirk brightened perceptively as Hotch stalked towards her. "I am perhaps less gentile than I should admit in polite company." She looked away in feigned modesty, aware she was teasing both Hotch and Branson.

He pressed himself against her closed knees. "So you do have considerable knowledge of the device I see. Tell me, have you often operated it?"

She was about to burst into laughter in Hotch's mastery of double talk here, but she was also almost entirely consumed by the warming sensation between her legs at the heat in Branson/Hotch's eyes and the feel of his hands slowly lifting under the edge of her dress, now sliding just half way up her calves. "I could always use more practice."

He had no chance to even lift her dress as his body propelled itself between her now open (yet clad, darn it all) legs and passionately swept her into a kiss. Her arms reached around his neck to secure him to her but loose enough to allow Hotch to skirt his kisses down her jaw and over her neck, lowering to her décolletage and now across the bust line of her dress.

She felt her knees weaken and her torso fall back on the seat as Hotch climbed atop her form, his hands desperately trying to gather up the cumbersome bulk of her skirt to make contact with her skin. This was frustrating, she was sure. Her dress was so large that layers were ending up snagging on some of the levers of the fake time machine and just when Hotch finally got to feel the silk of her stockings and reach up for more kisses the fabric pulled in such a way that suddenly a bunch of futuristic lights began to go off around them.

"Crap!" Hotch muttered out of character before resigning and straightening the lady up. "My dear, I do believe we have proved your brother's experiment a success."

She had to shake the lust out of her head as she sat back up. "Whatever do you mean Mr. Branson?"

"Does this counter here not read we are currently at the time of an hour and a half ago?" He looked to her, not in mockery but rather asking for her expertise as a strange and intelligent woman of her time. He could feel his character falling in love with the woman even as he loved her in real life. It was phenomenal to see her so set in this state, the intrigue and thrill of a mystery to solve when no one was really being hurt. Her sensitive spirit always seemed crushed at work, but here she could enjoy that sense mystery without guilt.

She played along and attested to the fact before looking to Mr. Branson. "Could it be we may stop my brother's murder?" Her tone carried such hope.

It broke his heart, even in this simulation she wanted to spare everyone from hurt. "I am afraid not my dear, I am sorry. We cannot alter the past, as your brother informed me earlier this evening. But we may observe as from outside. Would you come then? Face your brother's murderer with me? I warn you, you must be brave to do so."

She took his offered hand and accepted the help off the machine. "While I mourn my brother's death, it is true. I cannot ever be accused as a delicate variety of female. Please, help me find who did this. If not for me, then for my poor mother."

Branson swiped a stray lock of her incredibly ornate hairdo. "My dear, all I do is for you from here on out." He winced inside, wishing he had said that when not in character because in all honesty he meant it for their real life. So, he settled on giving her a chaste kiss to hopefully back the message up.

She got it, and it filled her chest with more air than she thought she could hold. He was devoted to her. She had to swipe a stray happy tear from her eye as they walked back into the house.

It was almost midnight, so he was aware that the crime would most likely be solved within the next several minutes. He ushered her behind a large sofa, trying to determine if he may interact with the characters or not and finally decided that he would tell Cybil loudly that the others cannot see or hear them, but rather are much like characters on the stage.

Everyone got the message and went about their business as they had done earlier in the night. Not one person there was anything less than having fun with this. It made them have to be more aware of how they interact with their counterparts throughout the night.

Cybil looked to Branson. "Is that how I look from behind?" she asked, pointing to a blonde woman she hadn't seen earlier in a dress fairly similar to her own.

Hotch nodded, pleased that she picked up on the fact that they were being played by others. "Yes, disconcerting is it not? I myself never realized I seem to walk with an unsteady gait when intoxicated."

Cybil laughed and joined Branson as they stood and individually circled the room, listening in on conversation and reaching into people's pockets to see if they held any vials of poison. They would have gone through the servants as well but Branson had already determined that the only motive for murdering Carlisle was for his machine that only four of the six men present were aware was housed on these very grounds.

One by one all the men seemed clear so the duo met up again to discuss. "Have you come across anything my dear?"

"Not in so many words. However, I did overhear one of the four Chatham sisters speaking of 'particular motivations' for trying to snag my brother. I gather there might have been some disagreement between her father and my brother."

Branson nodded. "Yes. A political argument turned rather heated earlier in the evening. Your brother was trying to explain why his machine could not be used to alter the last elections and her father seemed enraged he would not try. He lost a great deal of money as a result of them I have been led to believe."

Together they had the epiphany. "Catherine." They declared before going to Catherine and Pen's stand in by the piano once again. They watched as Catherine walked with Cybil towards her brother's direction and seated themselves by him. He wasn't paying much attention to Catherine; rather he was favoring one of the other young ladies which coolly enraged Lady Catherine. When his coffee came, she slipped a little of the poison in his drink and down he went.

"My lord!" Cybil cried and pressed herself into Branson's chest. "Please, I can see no more."

Branson stroked her back. "Of course my dear." He led the way back to the time machine and seated them inside. "Dear, can you return us?"

She smirked at the technical magic she still had to perform even when in character and poof! They returned to the present. Before allowing her out of the machine he dropped to a knee. "My dear, I must be truthful with you."

"In what way have you not?" More surprises in character? Hotch was so good at this.

"Well, you see. My real name is Lord Carrington, Earl."

She gasped. "The famed dejected earl? I suppose one should not be surprised. However, why so serious is this matter to have you looking with such regret?"

Wow, she was a master at improv. "One must be truthful with the woman he intends to marry."

Her heart was thudding hard within her chest. She knew this was all part of the night, part of their characters created roles but she just could not help herself from wondering if Hotch would ever say such words to her.

"If this is a proposal, I most resoundingly accept."

He swung her in the air and gave her a loving kiss, hoping that when the day comes he can match that romanticism Penelope deserves from such a moment.

He offered her his arm yet again as he led her inside and into the main drawing room. "Lord Bromwell. I must request all return to this room at once."

Lord and Lady Bromwell ordered it so and soon everyone returned; the ladies all seated other than Cybil who stood by the handsome Mr. Branson. Catherine winked at her in conspiracy but Cybil was nothing civil to her anymore.

Branson paced back and forth for the room. "With the assistance of the lovely Lady Cybil whom I now have the pleasure to announce as my betrothed, I have determined that the culprit is none other than Lady Catherine Chatham."

The room filled with gasps and the lady fainted at having been found out. Hovering over his daughter Lord Chatham vehemently protested. But Branson would have none of that. "I am of course not done sir. Now sit." He coolly demanded. "Do you not deny it is your influence for her to have done so?"

The lord in question rose yet again. "I most certainly do deny such a thing. No one in my family is capable—"

Branson switched his gaze and held a hand for the lord to be silent. "You are right of course. It was not you. Lady Chatham had more to gain. She was always pushing her daughter onto the deceased, perhaps in an attempt to woo him to your way? I see it all now. He would not have her and you were desperate for him to use his machine to try to change the election. And I am sure of this, because the loser of said election was none other than her very own cousin!"

The room yet again was filled in gasps and then silence. And reluctantly, Lady Chatham admitted her guilt after the urging of the friendly solicitor, her other cousin present.

The room erupted into applause and bravos to the couple so capable of solving the crime. Little by little everyone left, Hotch and Penelope escorted to their car by Galvin who finally broke character besides the modern contraption.

"Penelope, Aaron. It's truly been a pleasure. I do not think I have seen such a quick resolution to our mystery, most go for a few weeks here. I should have known to write something more challenging for the talented agents of the BAU." He kissed Pen's hand and let Aaron load her into the car before walking around to the driver's side with him. "Aaron, may I have a moment?"

Aaron nodded and walked with him about ten feet from the car. "Here, take this key. It goes to the small cottage at the end of the drive." The drive was a half mile long, this estate was gigantic. "My wife always has it prepared for guests. I believe you could use a more local destination for your… activities tonight."

Hotch quirked an eyebrow, wondering if they were really that transparent. But smiled and gratefully accepted. He had been thinking much the same, at first thinking he would have to find a local hotel. But this was a wonderful solution.

Being alone in a cottage meant they could be as loud and active as they wished for their reunion.