Sunday Surprises

Dumplings

Hotch was going to bite her head off for this, he had decided that much so as he marched out of his bedroom and banged on the door.

"Miss Paisley."

No response.

"Miss Paisley I know you're awake I heard you half an hour ago, open the-"

As if she had a new life mission to avoid taking his instructions, Sunday opened her door before Hotch could finish his order, anticipating a snarky yet insufferably polite quip, but instead he was met with an unusual silence and an even more unusual appearance.

She stood in her pyjamas, something he rarely saw her in but the times he did, it wasn't like this.

He recalled shaking his head at her put together gingham set just two weeks prior as he came home late from work and found her and Jack having a movie night in the living room, Sunday still looking somehow perfectly put together in her 'dressed down' clothes.

But this was something different all together.

It wasn't just the slightly tattered oversized sweatshirt, or the joggers that looked designed for a man triple her size, or the fact her hair was in a sort of derelict birds nest on the top of her head-the thing that seemed most unnatural about this picture was the lack of her usual joy in her eyes.

He wasn't sure why, but that fact disturbed him the most.

More than the mess of her room she attempted to cover with the door behind her, more than the fashion disaster, more than the clear signs of a sort of depressive episode any profiler could spot.

It was her eyes that flickered his switch of concern on that should have been there for days already.

It wasn't that he didn't notice she hadn't left her room, it was more so that he didn't have a reason to; Jack was at a stay away camp for the week, thus giving her that time 'off,' logically she had every right to spend that time locked in her room- but Hotch couldn't help feeling that concern grow every time he walked past her door over the week.

He barely knew her, but he knew enough to gather she wouldn't spend her days off like this.

She was always taking Jack out on day trips, planning activities he didn't know how she had the time or energy for, making even an evening at home some kind of event.

This was... odd.

That was the only word he could fit, the only word he would use to hide his deep concern that only grew more when she finally spoke.

"D-did you need something?" Her voice cracked quietly, as if she hadn't spoken in days, as if she hadn't drank water in more- both being true.

Hotch couldn't help just staring at her for a moment, a blank frown usual on his face, but an ever so subtle furrowed brow growing into a tilt of his head of worry that seemed to flicker a different emotion on her almost unreadable face.

Irritation.

"Mister Hotchner, did you need something or have you just come to cloud my doorway because I'm really not in the mood to-"

"Are you okay?" His voice cut her off before he realised he was speaking, a thing that had never happened to him before.

He had seen it in witnesses and suspects all the time; their minds vomiting up information and their hidden thoughts before they realised they were speaking, an overwhelming thought begging to come out no matter how much they'd push down the urge to say it.