Chapter Text
The team sprawls around a long table in the back corner of a quiet Italian restaurant not far from Quantico. Plates of half-eaten pasta and baskets of garlic bread litter the surface, the remnants of a late dinner that stretches well past ten. The case in rural Virginia had dragged on for four days, and everyone savours the simple pleasure of sitting still without the weight of an unsub hanging over them.
Morgan leans back in his chair, nursing a beer, his usual easy confidence on full display. “Man, high school was a whole different battlefield. I remember sneaking out after curfew to meet this girl who lived three blocks away. Her dad was a cop, too. Nearly got my ass handed to me when he caught us in his garage.”
Prentiss laughs, twirling the last of her linguine around her fork. “Please. My high school rebellion involved smuggling banned books into class and arguing with the history teacher until he banned me from debates. I still maintain that my interpretation of the Cold War was superior.”
Rossi swirls his red wine, a knowing smile on his lips. “You children have no idea. In my day we hot-wired cars for fun and called it Friday night entertainment. Got caught once. The principal threatened to call my father. I told him my father would probably ask for the car keys back.”
Garcia, seated between Reid and JJ, claps her hands together with delight, her colourful earrings swinging. “Oh, my lovelies, high school me was all about the drama club and coding secret messages into the yearbook. I had an epic crush on the lead in our production of Grease. Never told him. Too scared he would laugh.”
JJ smiles, wiping a smudge of marinara sauce from five-year-old Henry’s cheek. The boy sits on a booster seat beside her, drawing on a paper placemat with crayons the waitress had brought over. “I was the good girl who still managed to get detention for talking back to the gym teacher. Nothing too wild, but I did skip a few pep rallies to study for the SATs. Wild times.”
Reid fiddles with his napkin, folding it into increasingly complex geometric shapes. “High school was… academically stimulating but socially challenging. I graduated at twelve, so my memories mostly involve avoiding the lockers where the football team liked to stuff people. Though there was that one time I corrected the chemistry teacher so thoroughly he accused me of cheating. Turned out I was right.”
Hotch sits at the head of the table, quiet as usual, listening more than speaking. He takes a measured sip of water, then sets the glass down with a soft clink. “Mine involved more trouble than I care to admit. There was this boyfriend—"
Morgan chokes on the fork of pasta he just shovelled down. Prentiss freezes mid-twirl, pasta dangling from her fork. Garcia’s eyes widen comically behind her glasses. JJ blinks rapidly, her hand stilling on Henry’s shoulder. Even Reid stops folding his napkin, head tilting in that rapid-processing way he has.
"—in senior year who convinced me to skip the homecoming game to drive two hours for a concert.” Hotch continues, looking at his bowl as he scrapes more food onto his fork and not at his flabbergasted team. “We got caught sneaking back into the dorms at three in the morning. The dean threatened suspension, but my grades saved me.”
The table falls into sudden, absolute silence.
Rossi is the first to recover, leaning forward with both eyebrows raised. “Hold up, Aaron. Boyfriend?”
Hotch looks up, expression calm and mildly puzzled, as if he has just commented on the weather rather than dropped a conversational bomb. “Yes. His name was Theo. Played guitar. Terrible taste in music, excellent taste in sneaking out. Why?”
Morgan sets his beer down with a deliberate thud, leaning across the table. “Why? Hotch, you just casually dropped that you had a boyfriend in high school like you’re telling us about the weather. We are profilers. We profile for a living. How did we miss this?”
Prentiss recovers next, a slow grin spreading across her face. “I thought I was good at reading people. Clearly I have been slacking. All these years and I never picked up on it. You never mentioned dating anyone except Haley.”
Hotch shrugs, reaching for another piece of garlic bread with the same unruffled composure he uses in briefings. “It was not too long before Haley, and I did not think it required announcement. You are all trained behavioural analysts. I assumed the signs were there. Shared living space in college, the way I spoke about past relationships, the fact that I never pretended otherwise in private conversations. Apparently my subtlety worked too well.”
Garcia clutches her chest dramatically, nearly knocking over her glass of sparkling water. “My sweet, stoic unit chief has layers! Layers! I feel personally betrayed by my own observational skills. All this time I thought you were the straight-laced king of emotional repression, and here you are with high school romance stories that include boys. Boys! I need details. Was he dreamy? Did he write you poems? Did you wear his letterman jacket?”
Reid’s brain clearly short-circuits for a moment before he blurts out, “Statistically, bisexuality occurs in approximately three to four percent of the population, but among law enforcement the numbers are—”
“Not now, pretty boy,” Morgan cuts in, though his tone carries laughter rather than irritation. He turns back to Hotch, shaking his head in disbelief. “You let us go years thinking we had you all figured out. Years. I spent entire cases wondering why you never checked out anyone at bars during undercover work. I thought you were just that disciplined.”
Hotch’s mouth twitches, the barest hint of amusement breaking through his usual reserve. “I am disciplined. And I did not realise my personal history was a team briefing item. Theo was a long time ago. We were seventeen. It ended when I went to college and he joined the military. No dramatic story. Just two kids testing boundaries and bad decisions.”
JJ laughs softly, covering her mouth with one hand while the other keeps Henry occupied with his drawing. “Aaron, I have known you since before Henry was born. I profiled you for fun during maternity leave and still missed this. You are too good at compartmentalising. It is actually impressive.”
Rossi raises his wine glass in a mock toast, eyes sparkling with mischief. “To Aaron Hotchner, the man who made an entire team of elite profilers look like amateurs at their own game. I knew there was more to you than those perfectly pressed suits and that perpetual frown. Next you will tell us you secretly play the saxophone or collect antique teapots.”
Hotch allows himself a small, dry smile. “No saxophones. No teapots. Just a high school boyfriend who taught me how to hot-wire a car better than Rossi ever did in his youth. And before any of you start digging for more stories, that is all you are getting tonight. Some things remain classified.”
Morgan leans back, arms crossed, grin wide and unrelenting. “Classified? After dropping that bombshell? No way. I want to know if he was taller than you, if he broke your heart, if you wrote him love letters in that perfect handwriting of yours. Come on, Hotch. Give us something. We just spent four days chasing a guy who talked to ghosts. Throw us a bone on your actual life.”
Prentiss joins in, elbowing Morgan lightly. “Yes, and while we are at it, I want to know if this Theo knew what he was getting into with young Aaron Hotchner. Did he have any idea he was dating future FBI legend material?”
Hotch sighs, the sound long-suffering but not entirely displeased, and reaches for his water again. “He knew I was focused. That much has not changed. Now can we return to discussing Morgan’s near-arrest for garage make-out sessions or Reid’s chemistry teacher trauma? Those stories were far less revealing.”
Garcia shakes her head vigorously, blonde curls bouncing. “Absolutely not. We are circling back to this. I demand a full character witness report. Was he kind? Did he make you laugh? Did you two slow dance at prom before the whole sneaking-out incident?”
Reid, still processing, pushes his glasses up his nose and offers helpfully, “If it helps, bisexuality does not alter profiling ability. In fact, studies suggest heightened empathy in individuals with fluid sexual orientations due to navigating multiple social—”
“Reid, buddy, not the time,” Morgan says through a laugh, waving a hand to cut him off.
The table erupts into overlapping voices — teasing questions, mock outrage at Hotch’s secrecy, and wild speculation about what other details the stoic unit chief might be hiding. Henry looks up from his drawing, confused but delighted by the sudden energy, waving a red crayon like a conductor’s baton.
Hotch sits through it all with remarkable patience, occasionally offering a single dry remark that only fuels the fire. “If I had known my high school dating history would cause this much chaos, I would have mentioned it during orientation.”
Morgan wipes tears of laughter from his eyes, pointing an accusing finger across the table. “Orientation. The man thinks dropping lifelong revelations should happen during new agent orientation. Unbelievable.”
The banter continues late into the night, plates pushed aside, stories twisting from high school antics to gentle ribbing about Hotch’s hidden depths. For once the darkness of their work feels distant, replaced by the warm chaos of family discovering one more layer of the man who leads them.
Eventually the laughter winds down into comfortable quiet, the team lingering over empty plates and half-finished drinks. Hotch meets each of their eyes in turn, his expression steady and faintly amused.
“I thought you knew,” he says simply, one final time, voice calm as ever. “You are profilers.”
Morgan snorts, raising his beer in surrender. “Yeah, well. Even profilers miss things sometimes. Especially when the subject is you.”
The table dissolves into fresh laughter, Aaron’s private grin is constant throughout the night when someone looks at him with fond befuddlement and a ‘how did I not see it?’ expression. He cannot believe they didn’t see it sooner, he wasn’t exactly private about it, but it just never came up naturally.
Well, they know now, and Aaron has a feeling he’s going to be pestered the next few weeks, or Garcia will hack into his old high school to see pictures of him.
Family never gets boring.