not a lot, just forever
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Lunch consists of chicken wings and an offensively large slice of pizza. Silent stares that range anywhere from an eternity to half an hour. A red slushie, slurped between typing fundamentally connected words on her iPad: eat and shit. Hotch, ever the champ, endures it all, eating his all-nutrient, government-approved meal and tapping away at his laptop, probably emailing back every bright-eyed, blonde, and barely-thirty contact in his inbox.
At some point, he tunnels through the noise in her head and past the scowl on her face. “Governor insists you attend the ceremony on the eighteenth. A friendly refusal wasn’t enough. Your director says it’s good press. Can’t hurt.”
“Director would also drop his pants for any guy in a suit named ‘Five Seconds of Attention’ if it meant a pat on the head and a ‘good boy’ right after. Now, would you please…”
Dramatic pause. Long enough to make him glance up a little, eyebrow cocked, what, it asks.
“…pass the ketchup.”
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au where emily has a pa.
Series
- Part 1 of not a lot, just forever