Sunday Surprises

Dolphins vs Sharks

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

How could there be nothing?

Hotch delved deeper into his research early in the morning before work, research he most certainly shouldn't be doing- research that led nowhere.

There was of course the obvious stuff that someone with less experience would flag up; bum ex-boyfriends, creepy distant family members, university transfers with no explanations- but none of them were enough to cause that look on her face, the fear in her voice, the visible panic from the memory that sent her flailing from his arms into the alleyway and the subsequent look of horror at the thought of Hotch knowing what it was in the hospital...

He hadn't wanted to invade Sunday's personal life by dealing into her past, of course, nor did he have any intention of spending the last week locked up in his office every spare waking moment searching any form of digital footprint of hers.

But he had to, the sickly feeling in his gut wouldn't let him turn the other cheek like he normally would.

And it wasn't like she was going to tell him, let alone allow him to help her with whatever it was, that was made more than clear since her flee from the hospital room she refused to let him pay for.

It was like she was doing everything in her power to avoid him, more than the unspoken usual agreed amount they both partook in.

In fact, the only time he had even the slightest glimpse of her was when they both inexplicably appeared in the kitchen at 4am for a late night snack- Hotch appearing behind the open fridge with half a muffin stuffed into his mouth as Sunday snuck down to steal the other half.

The two shared an awkward laugh followed by silent muffin consumption before Sunday practically raced up the stairs with the occasional trip on the carpet, hiccuping all the way.

And that was the last he saw of her.

He knew she was still there, still working, still humming, still keeping a distance.

Jack would tell him of their days out together, the movies they'd spend hours watching with popcorn filled tummies, the books she'd trick him into reading- the way he described it, the way he described her, made Hotch almost jealous.

Jealous that he didn't know that side of her, something he was adamant he didn't even want to do- other than to find out what she was hiding.

That was it, that was the reason his eyebrow peaked with interest when her name was mentioned, or the goosebumps he got when he heard her distant laugh on the phone with her father, it was because he couldn't figure her out fully, not without knowing that past.

"So when did you make this career move then?" Hotch's unwavering search through her old Facebook accounts was interrupted by a voice at the door, looking up to see Rossi leaning against it with a raised eyebrow.

"What?" He shook his head with tired eyes and an almost delirious fog, "what career move?"

"From FBI agent to professional stalker of a woman living in your house" Rossi half joked, strutting into the office without permission.

Out of all the agents, Rossi was the most comfortable with Hotch- having been long time friends before the unit was created- he had slightly less terror in his voice talking to their unpredictably moody boss.

Well, 'friends' is what Rossi would call them, co-workers was what Hotch preferred.

"I'm not stalking her-" Hotch went to defend with a sweat to his forehead before remembering he was still the boss, the unpredictable one at that, and standing up, "-we have a meeting you are all late for; get to the jet."