He was in big trouble. Very, very big trouble.

The kid did like him. And, oh dear God, the thought of crushes already had him, Aaron Hotchner, thinking like a teenage girl. "Ohmigod he LIKES me!"

Even worse, the kid was there. As in right there in front of him, and Aaron knew there was no plausible explanation. He'd obviously been eavesdropping. And he'd obviously heard. Dammit, Garcia, if you'd just been quiet like you should have I would not be in shit this deep. He continued cursing her into the fieriest pits of Hell in his mind.

In times like these, Aaron let his body and his lawyer mentality do all the talking for him. He drew back from the door.

Rule 1-Assess the situation. He quickly glanced around. Garcia was watching through the open door, eyes wide, hand over her mouth. He sent her an unmistakeable you-know-this-is-your-fault-help-me-out-here look.

Rule 2- Dazzle the judge and jury. He smiled, a warm grin that brought a soft look into Spencer's eyes. "Um. Hi."

Well, didn't he sound smart. His allotment of intelligent conversation had vanished in the wave of panic. What am I supposed to do now?! Garcia was typing fast and furious on her computer, leaving Hotch lost. His mouth was going dry. He kept the smile there, and Reid quirked an eyebrow. There was a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, no doubt he was amused by seeing the infallible boss at a loss for words.

Everything was so much easier when I pretended not to see what was there, Aaron thought.

The blonde girl threw herself out of her chair and darted to Aaron, stopping at the printer. She shoved a page into his hand, then flew back to her screen. Moments later, some vaguely familiar 80's song started midway through. He glanced at the paper in his hand- Spencer was still watching him- and recognized it, frowning.

It was the lyrics to the song playing.

"Garcia, I am not singing along."

"Yes you are. This section of the song is perfect! Don't make me revoke your analyst privileges."

"Garcia." Aaron used his most threatening FBI agent voice, praying it would work. He would not sing to ABBA's "Voulez-Vous" in public.

"Agent Hotchner, sir, I respect your supremely scary awesomeness. But this is my area of expertise, and I will not back down."

"Penny," a quiet voice interjected. Aaron looked up from the page and saw Spencer. His arms were crossed, head tilted down but still looking at Aaron through his lashes. "It's fine. Leave it alone."

Aaron looked at him gratefully.

"Hotch, you want to go get some coffee with me? It's almost lunchtime."

Was the genius asking him out?

"Only if we go for lunch. You're skin and bones, Reid." He added a smile to soften the remark.

Reid smiled back, and it was very.... Aaron didn't know how to describe it. It just made him want to taste those lips. Those dusky pink, smooth-looking lips. "Lunch it is."

They began to walk to the bullpen, courses differing partway. Aaron turned to his office, while Spencer walked to his desk. At least, he should've. But instead, he whispered in Hotch's ear, voice smooth and far more suited to a bedroom than an office. "Voulez-Vous is 'do you want to' in the language of romance." Aaron looked at him.

And Spencer Reid, shy, awkward, tense, clumsy resident genius of the FBI, winked.

(AN: So, my lovely readers, tell me: What should happen at lunch? What should be the chapter opening prompt? And did you like?)