(no subject)
TITLE: Rumour is not always wrong
FANDOM: Criminal Minds
PAIRING: Hotch/Rossi
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: up to 3x06, I guess.
AUTHOR NOTES: thanks to chandlerina, who was kind enough to be my beta ^^
It starts as a rumour and ends up escalating, just like everything else. Because García hears it, and therefore JJ and Morgan know it, and then Emily and Reid are more or less astonished and shut their mouths, but the whole team look at them as if they have suddenly grown three heads more.
At some point, Hotch abandons his sergeant mode and corners him against the coffee machine to interrogate him. David shrugs.
"They're profilers."
Except García. But García knows everything.
And it ends up being a valid enough answer. Probably better than any other he could have come up with.
Hotch purses his lips and takes his cappuccino someplace else. Someplace far away, and David's coffee scorches his tongue.
They have dinner, breakfast and lunch together. From there to the of course, they are fucking there is just one tiny little step. Actually, it's just the next logical step. At least that's what David tells himself. What he tells Hotch.
"If this gets out of here..." "They know how to keep a secret."
Well, mostly.
(And, deep down, David knows that what Hotch is expecting anytime now, the reason he has bags under his eyes and always seems to be on the edge of breaking down, is Haley's call. Because if the divorce, the lack of a joint custody, the hellish work hours and the hight probability of dying in the service of duty weren't enough, having an affair with a veteran agent definitely doesn't improve the situation.)
They end up spending the night at David's and away from the cognac, because although David believes Hotch looks like he needs a few shots, getting drunk is probably not the most adult or sensible thing to do.
And David's a sensible adult. At least most of the time.
"Are you okay?"
"No."
David stops asking and grabs him from behind, one hand on his waist and the other over his shoulder, on his chest. Hotch's shirt is unbuttoned, his tie's lying on the table. He leans against the contact like he's surrendering something, and David leans his chin on his shoulder. "You worry too much," and he's got the feeling that Hotch is going to say something. But he doesn't, he just shut his eyes.
And it's the team after all.
(He can always threaten them with slow and painful deaths if someone lets go of more than they should, he's got contacts.)
FANDOM: Criminal Minds
PAIRING: Hotch/Rossi
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: up to 3x06, I guess.
AUTHOR NOTES: thanks to chandlerina, who was kind enough to be my beta ^^
It starts as a rumour and ends up escalating, just like everything else. Because García hears it, and therefore JJ and Morgan know it, and then Emily and Reid are more or less astonished and shut their mouths, but the whole team look at them as if they have suddenly grown three heads more.
At some point, Hotch abandons his sergeant mode and corners him against the coffee machine to interrogate him. David shrugs.
"They're profilers."
Except García. But García knows everything.
And it ends up being a valid enough answer. Probably better than any other he could have come up with.
Hotch purses his lips and takes his cappuccino someplace else. Someplace far away, and David's coffee scorches his tongue.
They have dinner, breakfast and lunch together. From there to the of course, they are fucking there is just one tiny little step. Actually, it's just the next logical step. At least that's what David tells himself. What he tells Hotch.
"If this gets out of here..." "They know how to keep a secret."
Well, mostly.
(And, deep down, David knows that what Hotch is expecting anytime now, the reason he has bags under his eyes and always seems to be on the edge of breaking down, is Haley's call. Because if the divorce, the lack of a joint custody, the hellish work hours and the hight probability of dying in the service of duty weren't enough, having an affair with a veteran agent definitely doesn't improve the situation.)
They end up spending the night at David's and away from the cognac, because although David believes Hotch looks like he needs a few shots, getting drunk is probably not the most adult or sensible thing to do.
And David's a sensible adult. At least most of the time.
"Are you okay?"
"No."
David stops asking and grabs him from behind, one hand on his waist and the other over his shoulder, on his chest. Hotch's shirt is unbuttoned, his tie's lying on the table. He leans against the contact like he's surrendering something, and David leans his chin on his shoulder. "You worry too much," and he's got the feeling that Hotch is going to say something. But he doesn't, he just shut his eyes.
And it's the team after all.
(He can always threaten them with slow and painful deaths if someone lets go of more than they should, he's got contacts.)