The Long, Lonely Road Ahead

The following events take place after Hotch’s divorce but prior to JJ’s giving birth.

Yes, I know it’s a Mary Sue in some ways, but it was fun to write, so I’m throwing it out there for you to read and see what you think.

The Long, Lonely Road Ahead

Chapter One

I didn’t know what to expect when I walked into the bar in Virginia near Quantico that December afternoon. I was visiting my cousin, Penelope Garcia, for the holidays and she’d asked me to come and meet the people she worked with at this bar. It was Friday and apparently they sometimes went for drinks after a long week. I get that. The teachers at the college I used to work at sometimes did the same thing. Anyway, it was Friday, December 21, so Pen was hoping to take some time off the next week to hang out with me. Our relationship is complicated: our mothers were sisters, along with a third sister, our mutual aunt. Pen’s parents had died when she was eighteen and I was 23, but we were bound together by our Aunt Addie, who kept her nose into our business inasmuch as we allowed it. Addie had asked me to come visit, mostly to make sure Pen was doing okay. We knew she had a great job with the FBI and that her boyfriend was also a computer geek with the Bureau, but we didn’t know much else. Pen and I emailed a lot, but we didn’t really get into anything serious online. It was time for some serious recon. Not only that, but I wasn’t going to have the holidays with my family this year. Dad’d died a year ago and Mom’d split more than 20 years ago, so it was just me and my brother, and he was off in New Zealand with his girlfriend for a couple of months. That meant holidays with my aunt Addie and her family, and I didn’t want to face that. I mean, why do you think Pen didn’t head home for the holidays?

Anyway, there I was, in Virginia. I’d arrived late the night before and Pen had set me up on the couch (no spare room in her tiny apartment), and given me a key, before saying good night and heading to bed. I didn’t see her in the morning, but she emailed me to meet her at this bar, The Watchman, at around 6 pm that afternoon. I was game – a girl’s gotta eat after all, right? And drink too! So I bummed around her neighbourhood for the day, doing some shopping and drinking a lot of lattes at the nearest Starbucks, reading and waiting for a chance to spend time with Pen. She’d said it was a fifteen minute cab ride to the bar, so at 5:30 I got ready and called a cab. I wanted to make a good impression (and actually, I was kind of worried about the impression I’d make, seeing as her co-workers were all behavioural analysts), so I dressed to impress. I wore my best black biker boots, a pair of skin tight blue jeans with a wide black belt, a t-shirt and black cotton sweater, my black leather duster, and a pair of the coolest West Coast Aboriginal silver earrings. My hair was loose and long, dark brown with blonde highlights. My only concession to the cold was a pair of black leather gloves. I slid my wallet and key into my coat pocket, and headed, via cab, to meet the people Pen considered her “real” family – the people she worked with every day.

The bar, from the outside, looked like a pick up joint for wealthy business people. It was all glass and dark wood, and the windows were completely fogged inside from the heat of the bodies pressed against each other and the bar. I opened the door and fought my way inside. For a moment, it felt as if the entire bar looked at me, and the feeling was incredibly uncomfortable. If this was a bar mostly populated by spooks and agents, then having them all suddenly check me out was bizarre. The bar was on my right as I walked in, and it was packed with men and women in suits and business outfits of all kinds, drinks in hand, talking and laughing and checking their blackberries. On the other side of the room and further in were tables populated by the same kinds of people. Only one woman completely stood out and that was my cousin, Pen. Her crazy, curly blonde hair, her wacky jewellery choices, and her bright, fun outfits always made my day. Today was no different. She stood when she noticed me and called me over.
“Terra! Over here!” I grinned back at her and pushed my way towards the two tables between which she was sitting. “I’m so glad you made it! Did you have a hard time finding the place?”
“No, no, it was fine,” I said, taking off my gloves. I squeezed over to her and gave her a huge hug. “It’s so good to actually see you!”
“I know. Ships passing, darling, ships passing. Hey, let me introduce you to the gang, so to speak,” Pen said, patting a stool next to her. I perched and slid off my duster, and she started the introductions on her right. “First of all, everyone, this is my cousin, Terra Wintersmith. Okay, so over here we have Special Agent Emily Prentiss.”
“Nice to meet you,” Prentiss said, holding out her hand.
“Nice to meet you too,” I replied, shaking it awkwardly because of the angle between our chairs. She laughed as we tried to make the handshake work and then gave up.
“I’m JJ Jareau, media liaison,” said the blonde woman next to Prentiss.
“Nice to meet you, JJ,” I said, giving her a wave, because I couldn’t reach her to shake hands.
“Over here,” Pen continued, “we’ve got Dr. Spencer Reid, the youngest member of the BAU and the youngest person ever to join the FBI.”
“Right, the super genius, eh?” I said, as he awkwardly reached over the tables to grasp my hand.
“You’re Canadian?” he asked. “Where in Canada are you from?”
“I never said she was Canadian,” Pen said, an eyebrow arching.
“It’s the linguistic tick common to all Canadians, no matter which part of Canada they’re from. In fact, it’s interesting, because no other country has the same kind of linguistic commonality,” Reid began. The man next to him put up a hand to stop him.
“Reid, you’re never going to get anywhere if you keep spouting stats,” he said, then put out his hand towards me. “I’m Derek Morgan.”
“Ah, Derek Morgan,” I said, glancing with a grin at Pen. She almost blushed.
“What have you been saying about me, Garcia?” Morgan asked, and she laughed.
“Nothing bad, I assure you, Sugar,” she said. “If you’ll allow me to continue, to Morgan’s right, we have Special Agent David Rossi, the newbie to our team.”
“Newbie?” Rossi asked, standing up to shake my hand. He held it just a moment too long, which I found interesting. “I may be new to the team, but I’m certainly no newbie.”
“New to the team then. He’s replacing Jason Gideon, you remember I told you about him,” Pen said to me and I nodded. I remembered her concern about Gideon, someone they all seemed to revere almost as a father figure, who one day just up and disappeared. No one’s heard from him since. “And finally, last but certainly not least, we’ve got Special Agent Aaron Hotchner.”
“Ah, the boss,” I said. He looked directly at me before standing up to offer his hand, and when our eyes met it felt like fire. Holy crap. I hadn’t felt that for years. We shook, and my hand tingled all the way up to my shoulder. I could feel the touch of his hand down to my toes. This time, I held on just a little bit too long, and by the very slight smile I could discern on his very serious face, I could tell he noticed. Damn profilers. They always notice everything.
“Nice to meet you, Terra,” Hotch said. I nodded.
“Nice to meet you too, Aaron,” I replied.
“Now, you need a drink,” Pen stated. “We’re already two drinks ahead of you.”
“Mmm, a drink is just what I need,” I said, starting to stand up. Morgan and Rossi began to stand up too, but Hotch beat them to the punch.
“I’m heading to the bar for another beer,” he said, holding up his empty glass. “What can I get for you?” he asked me. I glanced at Pen. He was her boss – was this okay? She shrugged imperceptibly and made that small hand gesture I knew meant “go for it.” We’d spent a bit of time together in clubs (although I was older than her), and we’d developed a series of subtle hand gestures for talking to each other when the noise was deafening or the company was watching. I turned to Hotch.
“A Bacardi cooler would be great. Any flavour,” I added. He nodded and headed to the bar; the other two men sat back down, a glance passing between the two of them. Interesting dynamic.
“You prefer rum?” Reid asked, playing with the stir stick in his highball glass.
“I prefer a drink you can’t get in the States—only in Canada,” I answered.
“Ah—the Caesar,” Prentiss said. “Clammato juice and vodka.”
“Spicy, preferably,” I added. “But you philistines here in the States have no clue what makes a good drink.”
“Sounds undrinkable to me,” JJ said, sipping her soda water. She was pregnant, Pen had told me, so I assumed she wasn’t drinking.
“It’s actually pretty good,” Prentiss told her.
“It’s interesting that Canadians, while they can’t seem to define their own culture for what it is, almost always define themselves by not being Americans,” Reid interjected. “Why is that, do you think?”
“Uh…” I started, not sure how much detail to get into. Pen saved the day.
“So, what are people doing for their holidays this year? Anyone going home?” she said, and it was as though the table released a collective breath. I wondered if Spencer Reid always did that to people.
“I’m heading home to Chicago,” Morgan said, just as Hotch came back with a beer and a cooler.
“It’s orange,” he said, putting it down in front of me. I twisted just a bit, so when he withdrew his hand, it brushed very lightly against my breast. I could see him inhale sharply at the contact; his hand shook almost imperceptibly as he pulled it towards himself. As for myself, I felt a thrill of desire run down my spine and I had to close my eyes for a second to gain control. His eyes met mine, and I knew he could tell I’d done it on purpose. He held my gaze for a moment longer than was proper for two people who’d just met, and then he took his beer and went back to his seat.
“Thank you,” I told him, taking a deep swallow of my cooler from the bottle. I wasn’t going to be quite as obvious as to fellate the bottleneck, but I was seriously considering it.