Chapter Text
Aaron Hotchner’s first week on the job was over.
He stood at the sink in the bar’s restroom, washing his hands. Five days of embassy work. Five days of files, security briefings, diplomatic phrasing, and conversations where every word had to be measured.
Now it was Friday night, and he had somehow ended up in a bar—even though all he had really wanted was to go home and call it a day. But according to his new colleague Tom, this was mandatory. You had to put the week somewhere.
By now, Aaron had definitely had a few beers too many. He could feel it creeping in—but Tom had been right.
He was having fun.
When Aaron stepped back into the main room, the music hit him first. Voices, laughter, the clinking of glasses. The bar was crowded and loud.
Tom wasn’t alone anymore.
He leaned casually against the counter, a beer in hand, head tilted slightly to the side. His body language was open, familiar. Next to him stood a woman with dark hair—black, straight, worn loose. She laughed at something Tom had said before taking a sip from her bottle.
Tom spotted him first.
“Ah, there you are.” He gestured toward the woman. “Have you two met yet?”
Aaron stepped closer, picking up his glass. His expression stayed calm, professional.
“Not personally,” he said. Then, after a brief pause:
“But I think I saw you at the embassy yesterday. Didn’t I?”
The woman looked at him now. Her gaze wasn’t obvious—it was precise. A quick, assessing look that seemed to take in more than she showed.
“Exactly,” she said. Her voice was friendly.
“Emily. Nice to meet you—and welcome to the most boring job of your life.”
“Aaron,” he replied with a faint smile.
“It hasn’t been that bad.”
“Not yet,” Tom added with a grin, clearly pleased with himself.
“Newbie,” Emily said, shooting Tom a look before turning back to Aaron.
“So—how would you describe it?”
He considered for a moment.
“Structured,” he said.
“Complex. Educational.”
She tilted her head, a crooked smile forming.
“That might be the most diplomatic answer I’ve ever heard.”
“Occupational hazard.” Aaron shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Tom laughed, leaning further back against the bar.
“Told you. The man’s a lawyer through and through.”
Emily raised an eyebrow.
“That explains a lot.”
“What exactly?” Aaron asked.
“That you listen before you speak,” she said.
“Not many people do.”
He took a sip of his drink.
“You learn.”
“Well then—to surviving your first week,” Tom said, raising his bottle.
After that, the conversation drifted—work, Washington, places they’d rather be. Emily didn’t say much that was concrete, but enough to hold presence. Aaron asked questions—precise, not intrusive—and Tom talked the way Tom always talked.
As the evening wore on, Tom set his glass down and checked his watch.
“Damn,” he muttered.
“If I want to catch the subway, I need to go.”
Emily made an exaggerated pout.
“Already?”
“Unfortunately.” Tom grabbed his jacket.
“Hey—are you at the embassy on Monday?”
Emily sighed softly.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Then she winked at him.
“Works for me,” Tom said easily.
“See you then.”
He gave a quick wave and disappeared toward the exit.
Emily took another sip, set her bottle down, and looked at Aaron.
“Another round?”
Aaron didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
The third round came faster than expected. Closely followed by the fourth.
The alcohol settled over everything like a warm haze, dulling the noise, closing the distance between them. Emily laughed more. Aaron did too—he only noticed it once it was already happening.
They stood closer than necessary. Their shoulders brushed—and then stayed that way.
No comment.
No pulling back.
At some point, they both realized it was very late and probably time to leave. When they stepped outside, the night was cool. Washington smelled like asphalt and summer. The street was quiet, nearly empty.
Emily’s steps weren’t entirely steady anymore. Neither were Aaron’s.
He noticed how aware he was of her beside him—how natural it felt. They talked the entire way, laughing like people who had known each other for years.
They stopped in front of his building. Nothing special. Just an ordinary entrance.
Aaron reached for his keys—but didn’t unlock the door.
He didn’t know who moved first.
Only that suddenly her hand was on his sleeve. That he could feel her breath. That the world went very, very quiet for a moment.
Then they kissed.
The kiss deepened without either of them consciously deciding to give in. Emily’s hand slid up his jacket, gripping the fabric. Aaron pulled her closer, feeling her warmth, the firm press of her body against his—leaving no room for doubt.
Her back hit the wall harder than necessary. She let out a breathless laugh against his mouth as he kissed her again. Hands were everywhere—too firm, too hurried, as if they were afraid the other might disappear if they let go.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, hands still firm on her hips.
Emily nodded—quick, certain—and reached for him again.
Aaron broke away reluctantly and unlocked the door.
Inside, it was quiet. Dark. The space suddenly felt too small for something that already felt inevitable between them.
The door closed behind them. Soft. Final.
Jackets ended up somewhere. Shoes too.
Hands searched, found, held on.
It was clumsy and urgent at the same time—as if they were trying to make up for time they’d never had. Emily’s back against the doorframe, Aaron too close to allow distance. Her fingers under his shirt, his at her back—feeling, demanding.
The walk to the bedroom blurred.
The alcohol made everything faster. Sharper. Less filtered.
“This is a bad idea,” she laughed softly against his lips.
“Yeah,” he said with a grin—pulling her closer anyway.
They landed on the bed, crooked, uncoordinated, with too many clothes still on and far too little patience to deal with them properly. Emily’s knee pressed against his hip, Aaron’s breath hot against her neck, her quiet “Aaron” more invitation than name.
It wasn’t gentle. Not planned.
It was raw, warm with alcohol, driven by that overwhelming sense that nothing else mattered right now.
Her nails dug into his back, leaving burning marks—as if she needed to leave something behind that wouldn’t fade so easily.
The moment broke over them—loud, breathless, undeniable—until the tension finally gave way and only exhausted closeness remained.
At some point, Aaron fell asleep—satisfied, still catching his breath, no longer thinking about what morning might bring.
And when he woke up, it was quiet.
The light was gray. Too clear. Too sober after the night before. His head throbbed.
He turned his head.
The bed was empty.
Emily was already gone.
No sound.
No note.