CHAPTER SIX: WORK FRIEND ACCIDENTALLY BECOMES REAL FRIEND

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

LAS VEGAS, SIN City.

The streets bustled with an energetic mix of tourists, gamblers, and entertainment seekers, creating an atmosphere of constant excitement. Las Vegas's reputation for indulgence and extravagance preceded it, creating a thrilling backdrop for adventures in the city of lights. Towering hotels and casinos, adorned with vibrant lights and neon signs illuminate the night sky and the air is filled with the heady scent of anticipation, an intoxicating blend of ambition and desire that permeated every corner of this bustling metropolis.

Clad in a shimmering gold dress, Beatrice, accompanied by Derek and Emily, stepped into the vibrant club. With her matching purse in hand, they seamlessly merged into the pulsating crowd, their destination clear: the bar. The allure of Las Vegas had ignited a desire to fully embrace the night ahead.

As they entered Drai's Nightclub, the music enveloped Beatrice, infusing her with its infectious rhythm. Her feet instinctively began to move, syncing with the energetic beat. Amidst the exhilaration, Emily's laughter rang out, barely audible over the music. "I can't believe you invited us to go clubbing!" she shouted.

"Why not?" Bea replied, her voice filled with excitement, as she ordered three glasses of old fashioned. "You never thought I'd be into clubbing?" She grinned, gesturing for them to enjoy their drinks. "Tonight, it's on me. Order whatever you like."

Morgan raised his glass, a look of pleasant surprise on his face. "You never cease to surprise me, Bee."

After a team dinner organized by Rossi and Hotchner, everyone was engrossed in lively conversations and laughter. In this relaxed atmosphere, Beatrice discovered a different side of her colleagues. She found herself laughing at Derek's amusing impressions and enjoying Rossi's tales from his extensive career. It surprised her to see Hotchner joining in the laughter and engaging in conversations. Beatrice admired the seamless camaraderie among the team members, observing how effortlessly they balanced work and play. Excitedly, she announced her plans to go to a nightclub and invited everyone to join her, but only Emily and Derek accepted the invitation as the others preferred to rest, especially JJ.

"I'll be right back, folks. See you back here or. . . in the hotel. Text me!" She winked. Sliding her glass back to the bartender, the blonde analyst raised her hands in the air, her body moving like an uncoiling rope, and eyes on fire. She moved in her dress like her hips were made to sway, the sequins catching the disco ball light that twirls above—launching every shade of the rainbow into the dancefloor.

She gazed across the dark tiles and, with a sudden burst of courage that she hadn't known she'd possessed, as the thrumming rhythm of loud club music whispered into her ears, she began to dance. The neon lights cast colorful shadows across the room, creating an atmosphere of excitement and possibility.

The blonde checked her phone and read the messages from Emily and Derek, informing her that they would be heading off to pursue their own agendas for the rest of the night. Determined to make the most out of her time, she ordered two more drinks from the bar, feeling a renewed sense of adventure and excitement.

With the drinks in hand, Beatrice made her way back to the dance floor. The dim lights and energetic atmosphere enveloped her and the thumping bass reverberated in her chest, igniting a fire within her. She moved with grace and abandon, her body becoming one with the music as she started to feel the effects of the four old-fashioned drinks she had consumed throughout the night. Finishing her fifth, she left the club.

As she approached the hotel entrance, Beatrice's steps faltered as she accidentally collided with someone. To her surprise, this was the man she briefly saw across from the bar. A wave of discomfort washed over her, but her instincts were on high alert. The man was purposefully blocking her path, positioning himself in a way that made escape difficult.

The man's smile twisted into something more sinister. His piercing blue eyes seemed to bore into her, filled with a disturbing intensity that made her skin crawl. "Why the rush, beautiful? We had a connection out there on the dance floor. I thought we could continue where we left off. I'm Chris Thompson."

Her eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, and she retorted with a hint of sarcasm, "Connection? I don't even know you. Please step aside."

Unfazed by her response, the man inched closer, invading her personal space. His voice took on a menacing tone as he persisted, "Come on, don't be like that. Let's have some fun. You know you want it."

Her heart raced, vexed. Sidestepping the man, she attempted to bypass him, but he reacted with anger, his grip tightening around her arm.

The blonde woman narrowed her eyes and shot a piercing glare at the man, her glasses reflecting the indignation within her. "Let go of my arm."

"Make me," retorted the man, a smirk spreading across his face.

"Make you? Please, I can dismantle your whole existence with a single click. Now, let me go or I will break your arm."

"I'd love to see you try, darling."

A surge of anger coursed through Beatrice's veins, and for a moment, she entertained the idea of striking him with her fist. But before she could act, a voice resonated from the entrance of the hotel, cutting through the tense atmosphere. The deep, authoritative tone caused both Beatrice and the man to pause.

"When a woman tells you to let her go, you listen to her."

The man's gaze shifted towards the source of the voice, his confidence wavering for a moment as he took in the imposing figure standing at the hotel entrance. Bea turned her attention as well, her eyes widening as she caught a glimpse of the man who spoke up. Dark hair, sharp dark eyes, perfectly tailored suit and tie—it was none other than Aaron Hotchner, her team leader.

He was enraged.

And good god, she liked that look.

"And who are you? Do you even know who I—"

"Aaron Hotchner, FBI," Hotchner stated firmly, just as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his credentials. "I'm the man who's going to arrest you for harassing a federal agent if you don't walk away this instant."

Reluctantly, the man took a step back, his face contorted with a mix of frustration and resignation. Taking advantage of the brief loosening, she swiftly pulled herself free, and positioned herself behind her boss. With her heart still racing, she instinctively clung to her boss's arm, feeling a sense of safety and reassurance in his presence.

Hotchner maintained his assertive gaze, a silent challenge to test the man's compliance. Slowly, the harasser turned on his heels and swiftly retreated into the night, his presence fading into the darkness. He cast a glance over his shoulder, his eyes meeting Beatrice's, offering a subtle reassurance in the midst of the chaos. The analyst suddenly noticed her hand on Hotchner's arm and quickly pulled it back. "Sorry."

You really need to mind where your hand goes, Beatrice.

"Are you alright?" His voice held a touch of tenderness, surprising Beatrice. She had anticipated a more stoic or frustrated response from him, but this display of concern was the most expressive she had ever seen him.

Beatrice nodded, her tense posture relaxing slightly. "Yes, thank you."

"Let's get you to your room."

"No, it's okay! I can get there by my—"

"I want to make sure you're safe, Sterling. Let's go." he said as he walked away, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Yes, sir."

Beatrice walked alongside Hotchner as they made their way towards their floor. They reached the corridor, and that's when she noticed how they were a couple of doors away from each other. The woman rummaged through her bag in search of her room key. However, her brows furrowed in confusion when she couldn't locate it.

"Huh, that's weird," she muttered, leaning forward slightly to peer inside her bag, hoping to catch a glimpse of her silver key. She emptied the contents of her purse onto her thigh, meticulously sifting through each item.
"Where—what—how did. . ." she trailed off, closing her eyes briefly as the realization hit her full force. "Holy shit,"

"What is it?"

"I think I just lost my key."

"ROOM 204," DECLARED the woman, explaining her predicament to the receptionist. Uncertainty clouded her memory as she tried to recall where she might have misplaced the key, but she was certain she had it when she left. Hotchner stood by her side, their eyes briefly connecting before she turned away, feeling a hint of awkwardness. Nervous, she started picking at her nails.

As the male receptionist returned to the desk with a sympathetic smile, she listened to his words with growing concern. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we don't have any spare keys for your room."

"What—what do you mean you don't have any spare key?"

The receptionist's expression mirrored her disappointment. "It's one of the keys we haven't duplicated yet. I apologize for the. . ."

Bea tried to maintain her composure, tapping her nail against the front desk. "So, uh, we're going to re-key the lock? Like physically replacing the lock, right? Can we get that done right now?"

A pained look crossed the receptionist's face. "That's the thing," he explained. "Our locksmith is not available at the moment due to an emergency he needed to attend this afternoon. But rest assured, Miss Sterling, he will be here first thing in the morning to replace your lock."

She sighed, realizing her options were limited. "Alright, I see," she muttered to herself. "It's not like I can call anyone to break down a door. . . well, Derek might," she thought with a small smirk. Handing her credit card to the receptionist, she said, "Here's my card."

The elevator ride back to their floor was accompanied by a comfortable silence, allowing Beatrice's thoughts to drift back to the day she first met her boss. A soft smile graced her lips as she recalled her initial obliviousness to the fact that she was conversing with Aaron Hotchner himself. Her gaze shifted briefly to the man beside her, her curiosity piqued. She couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath his stoic demeanor, what emotions and thoughts he concealed behind that professional façade.

With a gentle sigh, Beatrice acknowledged the limitations of her understanding. She accepted that Hotchner's depths might remain hidden to her, and yet she found solace in the knowledge that they would continue to work together. Still, a small part of her hoped for a crack in his armor, a fleeting instant when he would let his guard down and reveal the emotions he held so tightly.

As the elevator doors opened, Hotchner broke the silence with an unexpected offer. "Why don't you stay in my room and rest? Dave and JJ are probably already asleep, so. . ."

Beatrice's head snapped towards him, surprise evident in her eyes. "It's okay, sir! I can just wait outside my room," she replied, flashing him a sweet smile and giving a thumbs up. "I-I don't want to be an inconvenience to you."

"You're not. I would feel more at ease if you stayed in my room." Hotchner's words held a gentleness that caught her off guard, leaving her to wonder if she was dreaming. It was a side of him she had rarely witnessed before, so different from the stern persona she had grown accustomed to.

Beatrice hesitated, her internal struggle evident on her face. The idea of accepting Hotchner's offer to stay in his hotel room went against her independent nature, but the circumstances left her with few alternatives. She glanced down the empty hallway, the dimly lit corridor only intensifying her discomfort. The thought of being alone outside her room, vulnerable to the potential return of her harasser, sent a shiver down her spine. With a deep breath, she made a decision and nodded, her resolve taking over her pride.

Hotchner acknowledged her agreement with a silent nod, leading the way into his hotel room. As they entered, Beatrice couldn't help but feel a pang of nervousness. The space seemed to carry an air of secrecy, akin to willingly stepping into a pit of fire, aware that the journey would leave her scarred.

Nevertheless, she pushed her reservations aside and followed her boss into his room. Surveying the hotel room, her gaze landed on the stack of papers and folders that cluttered the coffee table. It was clear that Hotchner's work followed him wherever he went. "You can take. . ." He began to say, gesturing to the bed.

"—the couch! I'm more comfortable taking the couch! In fact, I'm an expert on sleeping on couches. I always sleep on the couch whenever I have to stay up late in the office, so yeah," she exclaimed with a grin, realizing she had repeated a word multiple times. "Damn, I said couch four times."

Hotchner didn't seem to mind her ramblings as his response was composed and accommodating. "There's a spare toothbrush and extra soap in the bathroom if you need to freshen up," he pointed out, directing her attention to the bathroom door.

"I'm okay. . ." Beatrice nodded appreciatively, her mind racing with thoughts and emotions. She busied herself arranging the pillows on the couch, attempting to distract herself from the pull of her boss's presence. Yet, she couldn't resist stealing glances as he removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing a glimpse of his toned forearms.

Caught in her observation, she quickly averted her eyes when her boss turned to face her, his raised eyebrow prompting a response. Beatrice swallowed nervously, struggling to find her voice amidst the turmoil of her thoughts. "Sir," she managed to utter after clearing her throat.

Her leader gestured towards his go bag. "I also have spare clothes in here if you want to change into something more comfortable," he offered.

Beatrice presented a grateful smile, attempting to regain her composure. "I appreciate the offer, but I'll manage on my own. Thank you. Let me just call back home." With a sense of urgency, she hurriedly excused herself, retreating into the bathroom and closing the door behind her. She needed to take a breather and gather her wits for a minute. It had been a very long time since she was in just one room with another man. Leaning against the sink, she stared at her reflection.

"Beatrice Sterling, you overdramatic bitch. That's your boss! Get it together," she whispered to herself, attempting to calm her racing heart. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her posture and glanced once again at her reflection in the mirror.

I mean, what could go wrong, right?

"YOU KILLED MY father! Why should I listen to you?"

"It wasn't your fault those children died, Beatrice."

"Bea, come here! Help dad!"

"Please don't kill her! Please! Stop!"

Beatrice jolted awake, her body drenched in sweat and her heart pounding in her chest. Gasping for air, she struggled to regain herself after the nightmare that had shaken her from her sleep. It had been a while since she had experienced such vivid dreams, reminiscent of the horrors she had faced in her past.

Casting a quick glance towards Hotchner, she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him still peacefully asleep. She didn't want to disturb him with her own problems. Slipping her glasses on, she reached over to her bedside table, retrieving a glass of water to soothe her parched throat.

As she sat there, trying to calm her racing heartbeat, she couldn't help but reflect on the weight of her experiences and the impact they had on her present. It seems like the longer she stayed in the BAU, the more the memories of her past resurfaced.

Noticing the presence of a blanket around her waist, the analyst assumed that it must have been her boss who had covered her with it. A small gesture of kindness that warmed her heart. She silently slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb him.

Making her way to the hotel room door, she exited into the hallway, seeking solace in the stillness of the early morning hours. It was already three in the morning, but the city outside was still alive, with a cool breeze caressing her skin and the night sky adorned with a scattering of stars. Deciding to distract her mind, the blonde woman ventured out and found herself at a convenience store. She picked up a bottle of wine and some snacks, hoping it would help ease her mind. Returning to the hotel, she savored the calmness of the moment, fully aware that moments of tranquility were precious amidst the darkness she had encountered throughout her life.

A soft meow reached Beatrice's ears, drawing her attention to a stray cat laying motionless on the cold concrete, its frail body struggling for life. Without a second thought, she hurried to the cat's side and set aside her plastic bag. Placing her hand near its nose and mouth, and gently pressing against its thigh, she searched desperately for any sign of breath or heartbeat. The cat's breathing was shallow, its pulse weak.

Fueled by a mix of determination and desperation, the woman carefully positioned the cat on its side and opened its mouth, adjusting its tongue and closing its mouth tightly. She then placed her hand on its chest, applying pressure with her thumb and fingers, and performed a series of quick chest compressions.

With each cycle, Beatrice began to feel desperate as her efforts seemed futile. Sweat formed on her brow, mingling with her tears as her own chest constricted with anguish. The cat's condition showed no signs of improvement, and the woman felt helpless.

"Please, don't die," she pleaded through her tears, her voice choked with grief. She continued to administer chest compressions, her hands shaking with a mix of sorrow and determination. "Please, don't die."

"Sterling. . ."

A hand gently rested on Beatrice's shoulder, and she turned to find Hotchner standing beside her, concern etched on his face. Her tears flowed even more freely at the sight of him, as if his presence had unleashed a floodgate of emotions she had been trying to hold back.

"What are you doing—"

"The cat won't breathe, sir," sobbed the analyst, her voice filled with despair as she turned her attention back to the struggling animal. She couldn't bear the thought of losing it, of failing to save a life that was slipping away. With a renewed sense of desperation, she pressed on, pouring all her energy into her attempts to revive the cat.

Hotchner knelt beside her, his gaze filled with a mix of empathy. "Sterling. . ." he began, his voice filled with a heaviness that mirrored her own emotions. "It's gone."

"No, I can just—"

"Let's go back inside."

"Please, no."

And then, as if a miracle had unfolded before their eyes, the cat lifted its head, its eyes meeting Beatrice's. A surge of relief washed over her, tears of joy streaming down her face. The cat's paw gently touched her hand, a silent gesture of gratitude that resonated deeply within her.

With a mix of elation and exhaustion, Beatrice turned to her leader, her smile radiant despite the tears that still stained her cheeks. She embraced him tightly, gleefully laughing with her victory.

LEAVING THE CAT with food and water, they made their way back to Hotchner's room. the analyst braced herself for a reprimand, expecting to face the consequences of her not notifying him of her departure. To her surprise, Hotchner reached for two wine glasses, offering her one.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I was going or even left a note. I made you worry," apologized Beatrice, her gaze fixed on her reflection in the glass. "I just. . . needed some fresh air and bought myself some wine."

Hotchner's voice was gentle as he asked, "A bad dream?"

"I wish it was just a dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She sighed, pouring herself a drink. "As long as I have red wine and you're willing to listen."

"I'm here," he reassured her, his tone carrying a sense of understanding.

"Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, two thousand and six," Beatrice began, her voice heavy with the weight of memories. "I'm sure you've heard of him. It was my first field case, and I wasn't even supposed to be involved in it. I was in the Cyber Division, leading my own squad." She took a sip of her wine, the bitterness contrasting with the emotions coursing through her.

"Then, I noticed these patterns of targeted killings, IED attacks, and suicide bombings in Iraq, but there were no reports about it. I had a hunch that they were connected, so I looked into it." she continued, her voice tinged with a mix of determination and pain. "I managed to track down Al-Zarqawi, uncovering the source of his funds and how he funneled foreign fighters into the country through Syria. I submitted my report, and the very next day, I was asked to transfer to the Counterterrorism Division."

Beatrice paused, her gaze distant as she recalled the horrors she had faced. "I thought I would just assist in tracking him down, but I became a field agent and brought to Iraq. During one of our rescue missions, I. . . stayed behind to ensure all the children and women got out. That's. . . when I was captured. They took me underground and kept me captive for thirty six days until my team found me. The CIA and the Marines raided the compound," she recounted.

"I almost died there," Her voice cracked as she continued, vividly recalling the horrors she endured. The beatings, the torture, the moments when death seemed like the only escape. "They tried to break me, to force every bit of information from my lips. And I won't lie, sir, there were times when I wished they had just killed me. I don't even know where I got my will to hold on during that time."

When my team finally located me, Al-Zarqawi was about to escape, and I had to stop him. I shot him in the head, point blank, in front of his son because he was about to gun down the captives that were with me underground. His son. . . his son saw what I did and despite my attempts to reason with him, he threw grenades into two houses full of innocent children. I was able to save the other group, but the other one, that house. . ." A sob escaped her lips as she closed her eyes, a deep silence settling within her as she remembered the haunting scene. "Those children. . . I couldn't save them. I couldn't save a single one and that guilt consumed me, sir. Their families accused me of failing to save their children and I can't help asking myself maybe if I didn't kill that boy's father or maybe I had just been faster. . ."

Hotchner's voice was gentle. "It wasn't your fault, Sterling. You did what you had to do to save those people. You did everything you could."

"I know, I know. That's what my therapist told me two years ago, but I just can't help sometimes feel that I will always carry the weight of those lives in my hands, sir. No matter what I do, my hands will always be stained with their blood."

"That's why you don't like to use a gun and why you have this need to fix things."

Beatrice's gaze fell on him.

"Garcia told me you would get so excited whenever you see a broken computer in the office that needs fixing."

"Yeah, I think after everything I've experienced, I developed this need to fix things, to save a life, to help, because I've already gone through it. Broken, helpless, guilty. . . I think it was part of the reason why I agreed to be transferred to the BAU when my uncle said so."

"It takes incredible strength to face what you've been through head-on, Sterling. I am impressed by your resilience."

Bea sighed, her eyes fixated on her hands, her voice softer now. "Actually, those memories don't hurt anymore like they used to. They just come and go nowadays. But sometimes, they still haunt me."

"You don't have to face them alone. If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you."

A genuine smile formed on her face as she felt the weight of his words. "Thank you. That means a lot to me." The gratitude she felt for his understanding and support filled her heart. At that moment, she knew that opening up to Hotchner was the right choice. She set aside her wine glass, her attention caught by the buzzing of her cell phone. With a smile, she picked it up and read the text from her uncle, informing her about her niece's late-night craving. Responding to the message, she asked, "You got any family, sir? A wife? A kid?"

Hotchner's expression softened, his gaze briefly drifting away. "I. . . got divorced a couple of months ago."

Bea's heart sank a little, regretting her question. "That must have been really difficult and overwhelming. Do you want to talk about this?"

He nodded, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "It was my fault she left. I was almost never there for her and our son."

"What's his name?"

"Jack."

"And does he stay with you? Or with her?"

"Haley asked for full custody of Jack, and I think it's better that way," Hotchner explained, his tone laced with resignation. "With this job, I can't always be there for him."

Beatrice's heart went out to him, fully comprehending the weight of his decision. "When was the last time you saw them?"

"Last Saturday," the man replied, a touch of sadness shadowing his eyes. "I visited them at her sister's house. She's now with someone else, and I only discovered at that time that they were already together before she filed for divorce."

Her heart sank as she absorbed his words, sensing the pain and betrayal that must have accompanied that revelation. "Oh, that must have been incredibly hard for you."

Hotchner nodded, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "I already had my doubts, but it was still a shock, to say the least. I thought our problems stemmed from my work, but turns out there was more going on."

Bea reached out, her hand gently resting on his arm in a gesture of support. "I'm sorry, sir. You deserve better than that. It's not your fault that she made those choices."

"I can understand why. I wasn't the best husband for her. Despite my efforts, she often felt alone. She shouldered the responsibility of raising Jack mostly on her own." He leant forward to pour himself a glass of wine. "It's just. . . now with her new partner in the picture, I'm afraid he will likely become a more prominent figure in Jack's life than I am as his father."

The woman listened intently, sensing the weight of her leader's words and the depth of his emotions. She could see the internal struggle he faced, the desire to be a more present father for his son. It struck a chord within her, resonating with her own experiences of being a mother to her niece, Chiara.

"It's tough," she sympathized. "But, sir, being a good father isn't just about physical presence. It's about the love, support, and guidance you provide, even from a distance. Even the smallest gestures can make a lasting impact on your son's life."

His eyes met hers. "I hope so. It's just difficult knowing that someone else will be stepping into that role."

Beatrice nodded, her expression sincere. "It's natural to feel that way, but remember that your bond with Jack is irreplaceable. No one else can be his father like you can. Make the moments you have with him count. Show him that he's a priority in your life, even if it's not every day. That's what I do with Chiara."

The man asked, "Chiara. . . Is she your daughter?"

Beatrice smiled sadly, her eyes reflecting both love and loss. "Actually, she's my niece, my older sister's daughter. After Olivia passed away during her tour in Afghanistan, and Chiara turned two, her dad ran away. I couldn't bear to see her without a mother or a stable home, so I stepped in to take care of her. Chia mostly stays with my uncle and his wife since they don't have any kids and I got so busy lately, you know here in the BAU. She calls me mom."

"That's incredibly selfless of you. Taking on the role of a mother for your niece, it's not an easy task."

The analyst shrugged. "Sometimes life hands us unexpected responsibilities, and all we can do is step up and do what's necessary. Chiara is my world, and I wouldn't have it any other way." A playful smile danced on her lips. "You know, I'm surprised by our conversation right now. It's the longest we've ever had, and we haven't argued or disagreed."

Hotchner's lips curved into a genuine smile, a rare sight that caught the woman off guard. "It is a nice change of pace," he remarked, his voice carrying a warmth that she hadn't heard before. "Perhaps we should make it a habit to have more conversations like this. I rarely share things about my life with anyone, but it feels surprisingly easy to open up to you."

Holy shit! Is that a smile I'm seeing? Beatrice thought to herself.

The sight of his smile filled her with a sense of fulfillment. She had always known him as the stoic, frowning team leader who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. But in this moment, he seemed like a different person, opening up and allowing a glimpse of another side of him.

"I'm so honored. Thank you for entrusting me with your thoughts and for being willing to share this side of yourself."

Hotchner nodded, his expression gentle. "You're a genuine person, Sterling. You've shared so much with me tonight. It's only fair that I reciprocate that trust."

"We're a team, and we're here to support each other, both professionally and personally. If you also need someone to talk to or lean on, I'm here for you, sir."

"Hotch," He suddenly said, causing Beatrice to perk up with curiosity. "Call me Hotch."

A bright smile bloomed on the woman's face. "Hotch," she tested the name, feeling a sense of familiarity in the act then realized that they were now slowly starting to form a bond. That they were no longer just colleagues, but individuals who had opened up to each other now, finding a friend within each other. She smiled. "Thank you, Hotch."

AS THE MORNING light gradually filled the room, Bea's body protested with aches and strains from the uncomfortable position she had slept in. She lifted her head, her eyes focusing on the peaceful face of her boss, Aaron Hotchner, who lay so close to her.

In that moment, he looked so peaceful, as if he had never encountered the darkest minds of criminals or witnessed the depths of evil. He looked incredibly attractive from her current point of view.

A sense of shock washed over the woman as she realized that her head had unknowingly resting against his arm, which unknowingly became her pillow during their sleep. It seemed that both of them had fallen asleep on the couch. Furthermore, her hand had settled on his chest, bringing forth a sudden awareness that sent a jolt through her. She swallowed, unsure of how to interpret the mix of emotions swirling within her.

With utmost caution, the woman slowly disentangled herself from the couch, tiptoeing toward the door. Her gaze flickered back to the scene she was leaving behind, a quiet sigh escaping her lips. For the first time in a long while, she felt a genuine bond with someone, someone she could confide in and trust. She hoped this would positively impact their work relationship.

Closing the door behind her, she turned around to make her way to her own hotel room, her mind preoccupied with the events of the night before. But as luck would have it, standing right in the middle of the hallway was David Rossi, his gaze fixed on her, as if studying her. Beatrice felt a rush of surprise, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

"Rossi. . . hi," she greeted, waving her hand awkwardly.

"Bea? Why were you in Hotch's. . . oh," Rossi's voice trailed off as realization dawned on him. "Huh, you guys are fast—"

Beatrice's face flushed beet red, and she stammered, "N-no! It's not what you think! It's not that! I was just. . . uh. . .checking the hallway for. . . uh. . . fire safety. Yeah, fire safety!"

The older profiler raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, really? Fire safety at this hour? Well, I hope you found all the exits in Hotch's room."

"Jesus! I can explain-"

"What's there to explain? Two young hot-blooded people decided to let off some steam and—"

"Oh, my god!" Bea whisper-yelled, rushing over to him and gesturing for him to lower his voice. "I can assure you that's not what happened! We just fell asleep on the couch, innocently, okay? It was purely accidental!"

Rossi raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Accidental? Please, that's what they all say. Come on, I've been around long enough to know the signs."

Beatrice's cheeks burned even hotter, and she let out an exasperated groan. "You're not letting this go, are you?"

"Not until you tell me what happened."

She shot him a glare. "Trust me, Rossi, nothing happened. Can we just forget about this and grab some coffee, hmm? How's that sound?"

He grinned and clapped her on the back. "Absolutely! Who knows, maybe we can come up with a better excuse for your hallway adventures. 'Checking the artwork', 'practicing your tiptoeing skills'?"

"David Rossi, I swear to god, if you breathe a word to anyone about this, I will replace your fancy Italian suede shoes with Crocs!"

"You won't."

"Fuck around and find out?"

The two of them hollered, their voices echoing down the hallway. Beatrice couldn't help but wrap her arm around his, their laughter intertwining as they walked together. After all, if you couldn't laugh at life's awkward moments, what else was there to do?

——————

hi there! phew, that was a long chapter but so worth it to write. this chapter took me longer to write as i am not good in writing "opening up" scenes, but i hope i did it justice! let me know what you think of this chapter! your comments brighten my day and motivate me to continue ♡♡