wildlyconflicted | [For Aaron] Timed to 17 January.

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aaron

[For Aaron] Timed to 17 January.

Pepper Potts was not a woman unaccustomed to asking men out on dates. Which wasn't to say she did it often or that she did it on principle alone, because while she certainly strove to be as independent and capable a woman as possible, she wasn't anything close to a militant feminist. Her job wouldn't have allowed it, even had it appealed to her.

What Pepper was, however, was a bit beyond most men. She was attractive and intelligent and very, very successful, and when Tony didn't deter other men, all of those other factors almost invariably did. More often than not, if she wanted to date anyone, ever, she had to be the one to broach the subject. It was simple practicality, and very rarely did she think twice about it.

(In being a bit beyond most men, she was, consequently, something of a catch.)

It was fairly rare that she liked someone this much from the outset, however, and although there should have been little reason for it, Pepper was nervous in a way she'd not been since college, or possibly more telling, since Tony had reached out and drawn her so utterly into his orbit.

She liked Aaron. A lot. The vaguely dizzy, breathless feeling she got around him hearkened back to the crush she'd had on Jeff Carson in the sixth grade. Thankfully, she was a bit beyond drawing hearts around his name in the margins of her notebook, but apparently the adult equivalent was showing up for their date at the Winchester in the sexiest dress she owned and a pair of strappy heels.

If you're going to do something, you need to do it right or not at all.

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It's just dinner. The fact that it's dinner with a beautiful woman, and he's wearing a suit that she found for him has not escaped him. The flowers are simple, bound with twine, and, for a while, he wavered on them, convincig himself that it wasn't that sort of dinner.

He's pretty sure that it i is that sort of dinner.

When she walks in, he looks up and he looks at her for a long moment before he stands, smiling and stepping towards her.

"You're making me feel underdressed."

At some point, Pepper reasoned that she'd stop being astonished by Aaron's effortless thoughtfulness. Apparently that wasn't going to happen today, however, as he'd brought her flowers. Flowers, that he would have had to pick himself.

"It's a perfect fit," she remarked of the suit and smiled as she gave him a once over, flipping a bit of hair from her eyes. "It looks good."

"But not as good as that dress," says Aaron, and he offers her the flowers with one hand and leans in to kiss her cheek, his other hand finding the small of her back. His hand grazes bare skin and he feels a faint thrill that has, forever before, been associated with Haley in his mind.

"Not that I would in any way complain about that dress."

"Thank you," Pepper replied, carefully measuring her breathing as Aaron's hand settled her lower back. It was easier to focus on the flowers than the fact that she'd be pretty okay with him touching her wherever he liked. "As we've established, the box usually seems to like me."

Instinctively, she lifted the bouquet to her nose. "The flowers are lovely. I can't remember the last time I've gotten any." Not entirely true, as she was fairly certain Rhodey had sent her some two birthdays ago, but it might as well have been.

He registers the conscious nature of her breathing but he doesn't take his hand away from her, finding that he likes touching her.

"I debated bringing you flowers at all," he admits, smile self-depreciating. "It's a long time since a beautiful woman asked me to dinner." One eyebrow twitches. "People still do that, right?"

"Only the thoughtful ones," Pepper replied with a knowing quirk of her lips, and allowed herself to be led to one of the tables. The flowers she carefully set upon the seat of one of the extra chairs, and then tipped a smile up to Aaron as he pushed her chair back in for her.

"You're going to spoil me, you know," she admitted, tracking him as he moved to his own chair. "I'm not used to being treated so nicely." Leaning forward, she settled her chin upon her palm. "The man coaxes me through a nervous breakdown, brings me flowers, pulls out my chair. I just don't know what to do with myself."

"Not the first time that I've been accused of being that," he says, and he sits down in the seat opposite her, hands folded on the tbale in front of him. He smiles at her and shakes her head.

"Come on, Pepper. I don't believe you ever don't know what to do with yourself."

"There's a first time for everything, Aaron," Pepper blithely replied, although he naturally was perfectly right; she wasn't a women unaware of what she wanted from pretty much anything.

"You know," she began again as she leaned back and picked up her menu, "I've done business with Neil, but this is my first time eating here. I'm not sure why, it isn't as if there's much competition."

"It's nice," he says, taking a moment to look around the place, though his eyes come back to her. "This will surprise you, but I never really had a lot of time for eating out in D.C."

The bare curve of her shoulder is utterly distracting in the most pleasant way.

"They've really done a very nice job with it," Pepper had to agree as she glanced up to the chandelier. Under the circumstances, that was something of an understatement. She'd never understood the impulse to create a restaurant in a place with neither an economy nor currency beyond arbitrary bartering, but to each their own. Obviously she was getting some use out of it.

"Don't worry, Agent, I won't chastise you for your social habits," she continued as she looked back to the menu with a smirk. "Considering how infrequently I made the time for it myself back home. That is, unless cocktail parties count."

"If you wore dresses like that, they definitely counted," he says, glancing at her over his menu. Having decided what he wants, he looks up to try and catch the waitress' eye.

"How do you think they feel about dancing?"

Pepper looked up at him across the top of her menu, just a little quietly astonished, although god only knew why at that point. Apparently she was on a date with the perfect man.

"I honestly have no idea," she finally answered, and carefully folded the menu and set it aside. "The Hub is probably a better place for it, given that it has an actual dance floor. We could go after, if you're interested."

At that moment, the waitress finaly appears, so Hotch orders and waits for Pepper to order before he speaks again.

"It's been a long time since I went dancing," he says. "I'm sure I could be persuaded."

"I used to be halfway decent at it, once upon a time," Pepper mused, and then shook her head in disbelief. "Do you ever think back to how you were in school, and marvel at the fact that you're actually the same person? I used to go out club hopping with this friend of mine, Debbie. God. I haven't thought of her in years. It was the early Nineties, you know, and I honestly think everything she owned was flannel."

"I'll bet you were," says Hotch, nodding thanks when his drink is delivered and sipping it. He laughs, and it feels good, actually - it feels really good to laugh at something.

It's only been two weeks, but it's alright to laugh, sometimes. Haley would approve.

"I think you may have to prove it to me," he says.
So maybe he's not up to talking about High School.

"Without hesitation," Pepper replied, her fingers sliding easily over her own glass. "Although you may get more than you bargained for," she warned, and took a slow sip, smiling against the glass.

One eyebrow twitches. He doesn't have to be a profiler to see the innuendo there. He smirks.

"At least we both konow where we stand, Ms Potts."

If they actually made it to the Hub, Pepper would be extremely surprised.

"What made you want to join the FBI?" she asked, thinking a change of topic was probably due if she didn't want to end up with her foot in his lap like one of Tony's floozies. "Was it a lifelong ambition?"

"I was a Prosecutor originally," say Hotch, leaning back in his chair, relaxing a little. "But the law, is...Well. I always wanted to be one of the good guys, you know? And when you work for the D.A's office, you make the world better in really small increments."

He takes a swallow of his water.

"So I joined the Bureau, was stationed to Seattle, met Dave Rossi and ended up in a bunker in Quantico."

"I never worked much with the FBI," Pepper said, but then considered how odd a statement that was for the average person to make and huffed out a little laugh. "Stark Industries was- Or, is, I suppose, a very large conglomerate," she explained. "Mostly focused on high tech weapons manufacturing. We dealt with the CIA a fair bit, the FBI not so much." At least, not until Tony had made it necessary.

She settled back in her chair, watching him. "I think it's fascinating, though, what you do."

"We serve a purpose," he says, fingertips of one hand tapping against the table. "Serial kilers function by ojectifying victims. We find them by humanising the killers. We empathise. It's not always easy but it's effective."

He sips his drink and glances back at her over the rim of his glass.

"Great dinner conversation. I told you I was out of practice."

"I think as long as you're not relating grisly details while I'm eating my shrimp, it's the best sort of dinner conversation," Pepper countered. She smiled, canting her head, and motioned absently with her free hand. "Of course, the more I think about it, the scarier it is that you can probably tell everything about me just by looking at me, but I can't deny being fascinated at the same time."

"I will do my best never to do that," he says, which expects the possibility of further dates. He's perfectly happy with that. He sets his glass down and leans forward a little, though the table keeps the room between them.

"Are you asking me to profile you over pre-dinner drinks while you're wearing that dress?" he teases.

"No, I'm asking you say it out loud," Pepper serenely replied, her smile quirking. "If you told me you hadn't already, I wouldn't believe you. Isn't that what having that skill is for? Catching serial killers and knowing whether you're going to get a goodnight kiss."

"Well," says Hotch, leaning onto one elbow. "Firstly, you're preening because you find me attractive, and I touched you earlier and you want me to touch you again. You know exactly how good you look in that dress, but you'd feel better out of it. And I'm definitely getting a goodnight kiss."

He arches an eyebrow.

"How many points do I get?"

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