#493-From the moment he walked in the room I knew this was a bad idea.
It's a bad idea. Like, a super, insanely, hugely bad idea. She should have said no when he called her. Should have said that she'd walk him through the steps over the phone. Should have said anything other than 'I can be there in half an hour' because this is clearly such a Bad Idea. Penelope sits at the desk in Hotch's home office-his home office. She's in his house-and taps away at the keyboard. The virus isn't that serious. She'll be able to fix everything without even breaking a sweat. The computer will be fine. Her nerves on the other hand...
At first he'd been in a different room while she saved his computer. She'd felt a small pang of apprehension when he'd walked in about five minutes into her working, but it hadn't been too bad until he'd started drifting closer and closer. And now? Well, if Hotch doesn't stop leaning over her shoulder to watch what she's doing, she's going to snap. She can feel the heat radiating from his warm body, the faint brush of his fingers against the thin fabric of her shirt from where they're resting against the back of the chair, his breath stirring the feathers in her hair. There's no way he isn't doing this on purpose. She pauses.
"Hmm?" He's still bent over her, and when she turns in her seat, his face is inches from hers. Hotch is studying the computer screen so intently that Penelope thinks she could probably grab him around the neck and kiss him and he wouldn't really notice. She sighs and digs in her pocket. When she finds what she's looking for, she grabs Hotch by the wrist-okay, since he notices that then he'd probably notice the kiss-and drops it in the palm of his hand.
Hotch looks down at the small, plastic wind up toy and arches an eyebrow. "I'm confused."
"No offense, sir, but you're driving me crazy. If you have to be in here, then can you please just sit down and play with the little chicken while I take care of this?"
Hotch blinks at her and his lips twitch, then curve into an actual smile. When he chuckles, she swears she feels her heart flutter a little. Oh, she thinks, barely hearing his apology, he really needs to do that more often.
Twenty minutes later-during which time Hotch ends up playing with the toy with Jack-the virus is soundly defeated and Penelope's in Hotch's kitchen, entertaining Jack while Hotch makes her dinner as a thank you. He isn't really smiling anymore, but he looks content.
They have wine with dinner-grape juice for Jack-which leaves them both feeling relaxed, loose. They're still talking when Jack's bedtime rolls around, and Penelope can't resist the kid when he asks her to read him his bedtime story. Afterward, she settles on the couch with Hotch and another glass of wine. He's being a perfect gentleman, keeping the conversation on neutral topics like work and never doing or saying anything that could be construed as a come on.
But he'slooking at her. And not just looking, butlooking. With intent. Penelope may not be the profiler here, but she knows how to read that look. So, she kisses him. When, after an impossibly long hesitation that makes her wonder if she could have misread the situation, he cups the back of her neck, pulls her even closer, and kisses her back, she's willing to concede that maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Based on a prompt from the LJ community staringout. Written for wingstarvegeta over on LJ, who is so flattering that I couldn't say no when she asked for a Hotchner/Garcia fic.
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