Agent Grey.

~Tiramisu~

                                         ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

"Have you ever considered becoming a full-time cook instead of a profiler? I'm sure it's a lot less stressful. Plus, you have the talent!" Garcia's bubbly voice swept its way into the kitchen, her never ending questions and laughter igniting the table's conversation time after time. I balanced multiple plates and a few cups, my arms faltering slightly as I hauled the last of the empty dishes into the kitchen, safely deposited in the large sink. My gaze drifted outside the open double doors towards the buzz of noise, the now cold air swirling the curtains as it went, leaving slight goosebumps on my skin in its wake. 

Flicking the tap, I started on the pile of used cutlery. I had perhaps slightly regretted my sudden raised hand in question to a much needed washing-up volunteer, the annoyance of the man that was previously sitting in front of me had once again made itself known. I could not quite explain my feelings of distaste for the man in question, and what made it even more peculiar, was the fact that for a few minutes-- I almost liked him. His deep laugh and small smiles, his subtle humour unnoticed by most. 

The way that if you looked close enough, if you knew where to look, you could see exactly what he was thinking, feeling. I almost began to feel as though he was tolerable, even nice. My judge of character had obviously completely vanished, for just as I was starting to like him, his low voice decided to make an appearance. "Your hair. It's nice." He said plainly, no hint of emotion nor any real interest in my hair I suspected. Did he enjoy making needless, stupid comments? Maybe he was being sarcastic. No, he definitely was, he was trying to get a reaction out of me, something to indicate that he had succeed in making another day of mine all about him.

My internal rant ended abruptly at the feeling of my manicured nail tearing, the sharp pain, unexpected pain, made me jump. I focused my eyes on the damaged hand, grumbling in dismay I placed the last clean glass on the drying rack and strode out of the kitchen, muttering out a string of curses as I tried to pull the torn nail off, the action simply resulting in more pain. I pushed through some doors, walked through some hallways, and tackled a flight of stairs. The clicking of my heels was all I could hear, my teammates long drowned out as I progressed through the house I knew all too well, to the room I knew best of all. 

Stopping in front of a gold-handled wooden door, I reached out my non-injured hand and pulled, the door swung open silently. Taking a step into the dark room, I felt up the wall for the switch, a warm light effortlessly turning on, alluminating the bedroom. Classic furniture was pressed against walls, a large double bed in the middle of the room was topped with rich green sheets, the same pattern on my duvet at home. I smiled as I fully crossed the threshold, my eyes wandering to the framed photos, old posters, and a towering bookshelf filled with none other than books. The creeping nostalgia was harshly pushed away as I remembered the task at hand. Marching towards a cabinet, I pulled open the draw in search of a nail clipper, or even a nail file. A few draws later, I found what I was looking for and settled on the bed. 

Some minutes passed, my nail was somewhat rescued, although it was rather uneven. Standing up, I replaced the clippers, not before hesitating as I found my gaze lingering on an old framed photo, the idyllic moment stuck perfectly in time, another life altogether. A short knock brought me out of yet another gripping wave of nostalgia, my body tensing, preparing for anything, before remembering no killer would knock. That would be stupid.

I turned around and shut the draw firmly, relieved at the interruption. "Come in." I announced, expecting anyone but Hotch. I should have known. The door opened, revealing the well dressed individual that I truly had a burning dislike for. He lingered in the doorway, eyeing me before concluding to step inside. My hands betrayed me, subconsciously reaching for my dress, they flattened it out, fidgeting with the hem. The thick silence was unbearable, my mouth desperate to make a sound. "What are you doing here?" I huffed, regaining my usual composure and crossing my arms over my chest, my eyes disregarding him as you would a piece of gunk on the pavement.

"I was looking for you." he stated simply, looking around the room. I felt uncomfortable, it was as if he was pulling a layer of my skin away, revealing the vulnerable insides, the intimate knowledge of something personal. My skin prickled at the knowing he had succeeded in discovering the first layer and he had ripped it away, just a little bit closer to the next piece, something I guarded fiercely. "What do you want?" I muttered, our answers nothing short of direct. He let out an almost inaudible sigh, his eyes taking in every little detail, dragging up and down, taking his time. "Dessert is being served." Hotch said, retreating with a silent gesture to urge me to follow. Ignoring the urge to roll my eyes and be sick, I sauntered out the room and passed him, his able fingers switching off the light and firmly closing the door.

I continued ahead of him, my fingers curling into my sides painfully, my mind throwing vulgar words mentally at him. I somehow hoped they'd get past his thick skull and into his even thicker brain. Descending the stairs, I cared not to see if he was still behind me, a small part of me silently wished he'd get lost and would somehow disappear forever, never to be heard from again. My hopes and dreams came crashing down. Again. "Was that your room?" He questioned, quickening his pace to match mine. "Yep." I briefly replied, transfixed straight ahead, walking a little bit quicker than before. "It was what I expected from you." I glared at him, my nostrils flaring at his words. "I am ever so glad I lived up to your glossy expectations. Perhaps now that I have, you'll leave me alone?" I narrowed my eyes at him, my sarcasm clear. 

Eventually we both arrived in the kitchen, I was personally glad to escape the awkward and mostly painful situation, a large grin playing out on my face as I was greeted with a large tray of Rossi's tiramisu on the island counter. The team was gathered in the room, the sun slowly faded outside and the doors were firmly closed, the cold draft eliminated. I sidled up next to JJ, her blue eyes questioning as she looked between me and Hotch. "I'll tell you later." I whispered, eagerly watching as the tiramisu was plated up. JJ nodded slightly skeptically, raising an eyebrow. I disgustedly grimaced and poked her in the ribs. "Don't even say it." I glared, smiling slightly as she smirked at me. "Secret's safe with me." She said quietly, grinning as she mimed zipping her lips closed. I rolled my eyes playfully, my hands reaching out to take a portion of tiramisu, my appetite making a rapid appearance at the sight of it.

 I love tiramisu.

                             ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Author's Note:

600 reads, 400 away from 1k ;D Love ya'll. Also, didn't proof read this lol, so good luck.

Word Count:1271