BLUE SCREEN OF DEATH.
Aaron Hotchner x IT support!reader
genre : office romance, cute and flirty banter, raging about your job, s2 Hotch (no haley for obvious reasons), i pretend to know things about tech, too many references to Jersey Shore
summary : A history of your relationship with Hotch through computer bugs. Or alternatively, Aaron Hotchner v. Technology. Computer print "Hello world!".
notes : in celebration of me finally graduating yayyy!!!
word count : 3.2k
Did you know that we started referring to computer errors as 'bugs' after computer pioneer Rear Admiral Grace Hopper found a literal insect (a moth) causing the Harvard Mark II computer to malfunction in 1947 ?
By now you practically qualify as an entomologist. In the past 3 days, your help has been requested a total of 87 times. Problems ranging from "the Central Processing Unit is letting out smoke" to "I forgot my email password, again".
Agent Eckert from the FBI Academy has started calling you 'The Exterminator'. You almost told him that you're considering a career change to pest control and that your first order of business would be to deal with him. Almost. (Un)Fortunately, years of experience in customer service and dealing with people who should be in a retirement home but aren't, have programmed you to instead say "Good one" with the best 'I'm not about to put in my two weeks' smile you can muster.
But if he keeps calling to ask how to add images in Microsoft Word, you might as well say it. What is he going to do ? Ask to speak to your supervisor ? Please. Your supervisor doesn't know what's going on and doesn't care to.
As far as IT support requests go, the BAU is the least infuriating unit. Current score board :
Dr Reid : 4 requests total. Mostly printer related. The only guy under the age of 50 who still insists on working with paper files. He's nice though. He's the one who told you about the bug story.
Emily Prentiss : 2 requests. One time for software incompatibility issues. Another time because the network wouldn't allow her to google 'Is goth fashion making a comeback ?'
Derek Morgan : 1 request. He only called you because Penelope Garcia wasn't there.
Jennifer Jareau : 2 requests. System overload, both times, from the ungodly amount of files she gets sent.
Jason Gideon : 5 requests. For a senior citizen, he's actually doing pretty good. Although the last time he called you, at exactly 8:21 PM for a log-in issue, he said "I can't believe they have you working this late," sounding all surprised. This obviously irked you. Why do you think I'm still here ? For the fun of it ? It's because of you, Gideon. I have to stand here so you can grumble about computers instead of going back home. Plus he still doesn't remember your name.
Aaron Hotchner : 9 requests. All legitimate to be fair. Maybe his fingers are so thick that he has trouble correctly typing out things on his keyboard. But you suspect that he asks for your help even when he can troubleshoot the issue himself.
Bug 1 : Accidental file deletion — Vanishing File Beetle, Filevorax deleticus.
Your supervisor wouldn't let you take the day off. Apparently, you're supposed to find someone to cover for you. Isn't that supposed to be his job ? You know, actually supervise ?
So now, as a form of petty retaliation, you're doing the strict minimum amount of work necessary.
"Have you tried turning it on and off?" and "Maybe try clearing your cache?" when you feel like switching things up.
When Hotch calls you 30 minutes before the end of your work day, you don't find it in you to blow him off. He's nice to look at, smells nice and has a nice desk chair he lets you sit on. His problem is simple enough — he deleted a file by accident — so it shouldn't take that much time.
This makes it your 10th trip to his office. On your way there, you fill the most ridiculous mug you can find (it's hot pink, it says 'JERSEY SHORE' on the front and 'GTL' which stands for Gym Tan Laundry on the back. you’re the one who brought it into the office) with plain black coffee.
You knock twice before coming in. Hotch is sitting at his desk. His suit jacket hangs at the back of his chair. The sunlight coming through his office window makes his eyes look like honey. Brown and warm and sweet.
His tie is loosened, well loosened as he much as he can allow himself while still at work (which is not that much). But it's enough to let you study his neck. The skin is a bit red, it almost looks flushed. Probably from how tight his tie was sitting. And probably from how shamelessly you're staring at him.
He stands up and makes his way towards you. You hand him the hot pink coffee mug.
"For you."
He frowns slightly. He obviously looks very… confused by it. You can't tell if it's the color or the fact that it's Jersey Shore merch that's throwing him off.
"What's the special occasion ?" he wonders.
"It's officially your 10th request," you reply as you make your way to his desk. He follows you. "After this one, I'm going to have to start charging, Hotchner."
He chuckles lightly.
When you sit down, his suit jacket brushes against your back. It's like he's hugging you by proxy. He leans against the desk, next to you. You can smell his perfume. Almonds, fresh linen, citrus. He's wearing his summer scent. It's nice.
"So, what file did you "accidentally" delete ? Nothing scandalous I hope," you ask him.
He glances down at the mug in his hand. He's trying to figure out what 'GTL' means. You don't tell him. You'll let him discover the joys of Nicole 'Snooki' Polizzi by himself.
"It's a performance evaluation draft," he finally answers. He takes a sip of his coffee and then puts the mug down on his desk. It looks hilariously out of place next to his shiny Unit Chief plaque and the fancy pen stand. "And for the record, it was an accident."
A performance evaluation draft ? This couldn't wait until tomorrow ?
"Of course", you reply. You spin the chair towards him. Your elbow lightly hits his thigh. The material of his pants is really soft. "Just like when you accidentally used Comic Sans on that one report," you remind him jokingly.
He looks at you. He's doing the signature 'dead pan, scary and stern, do not mess with me' Hotch stare. You can tell that it's because he's embarrassed (and he should be. the report looked ridiculous) and is trying to gain back some semblance of dignity.
"That was a formatting error," he justifies. He sounds both amused and exasperated at the same time.
You turn back towards the desktop. You let your fingers lightly glide along the keyboard. To be fair, the system the FBI uses is a real nightmare. To describe it as 'ancient' would be generous.
"Sure. And you somehow didn't notice the error until you already sent the report?"
"Are you this unprofessional with all the agents you help ?" he counters.
You grin, letting your fingers pause their typing.
"No. Just you."
That earns you another chuckle. He looks pretty when he smiles. His eyes crinkle softly, his lips stretch slightly. You want to poke his dimple.
"Good," he says. "Some of them might try to get you fired."
You let out a sigh. Half from fatigue and half from hopefulness.
"I wish. If that's the way to free me from email password purgatory. Who do you think is my best bet ? Eckert from the training academy looks like he can whip up a mean complaint."
Out of the corner of your eye, you see him shake his head. He's still leaning against the desk, his arms are crossed against his chest. His biceps look very enticing, even through the dress shirt. Crazy that he's whoring himself out like this just for a performance evaluation draft.
He exhales through his nose. Almost despite him. Like he's trying his best not to encourage you.
"Don't let Eckert get you fired," he says.
You finally recover the file. You can officially clock out in 9 minutes.
"That would be… inconvenient", he admits softly.
You know that's not exactly what he means to say. Still, this is Hotch. He's not going to outright say that he'd miss you. But you can tell.
"You're just saying that 'cause the other techs aren't as fun." You smile at him.
He smiles back.
"Maybe."
Bug 2 : Network connectivity issues — Wandering Signal Gnat, Connectivorus packetdropii.
You finally come back to your desk after your government compensated break (sure it was longer than the general consensus on what 'a short break' counts as. first of all, you don't care. second of all, there's nothing that says that you have to agree with the consensus. third of all, you really don't care).
You find Hotch waiting for you there. He looks ridiculous sitting in your chair. He's all bent and twisted, like a contortionist. The sitting arrangements for IT support techs and Unit Chiefs aren't exactly on the same level…
There's your hot pink Jersey Shore mug and a pastry (blueberry muffin, safe but ultimately boring choice) sitting in front of him.
"You brought bribes, and you're here in person… Should I be worried ? You didn't "accidentally" blow up a computer did you ?" you greet him.
He gets up from your chair and glares at it. Like it was actively insulting his spine. In comparison to his chair, it probably was.
"I wouldn't rule it out," he replies dryly. "There's a network issue in my office. The internet keeps dropping."
You sigh dramatically, and drop your jacket on your chair.
You take a sip of the coffee. It's a lot better than the office one. Does he bring his own?
"Lead the way captain."
When you get to his office, the router seems to be working just fine. You narrow your eyes at him.
"The signal flickers in and out," he anticipates.
It sounds more like an excuse than an explanation.
You sit down at his desk. Or more accurately, you reclaim it. Like it's yours to take. He doesn't seem to mind how comfortable you make yourself in his office.
You give the monitor a quick glance, open the terminal to run a few commands, check the network diagnostics.
Green.
Suspiciously green.
"Wow, would you take a look at that. Not only is everything working, your office has the fastest internet speed out of the entire building."
He's peering at the screen over your shoulder. His left arm is bracing against the desk. His chest is basically touching your back. It's like he's engulfing you. He feels warm, so warm. You're not even touching. You glance up at him. His face is so close to yours, you can count every frown line, every mole. You can see that his lips are slightly dry. He wets them just as you lift your eyes back up to his.
He leans back.
"Not bad right ?" he asks in an almost smug tone. Like the fact that his internet is fast is all his doing. Like you called him the fastest or maybe he interpreted it as 'the biggest'.
"What exactly are you bragging about ? The fact that your network isn't bugging ?" you fire back. You can't have him getting too cocky all of a sudden.
He shrugs. He looks entirely unbothered by the fact that you're calling him out.
"Reliable connection is a rare thing," he says.
You squint at him. "Was that supposed to be a tech joke ?"
"Would it work better as a dinner invitation ?"
That shuts you up for once.
You don't even have to think about it. Yes, yes, yes.
"Only if I get to pick the place," you say.
He gives you a smile. It looks boy-ish, almost shy. He nods gently.
"And you can't wear a suit," you continue. You like the suits, they look real nice, but you're hoping for someone more… slutty ?
"And you have to do four shots of SoCo lime with me. Meatball style. Without throwing up."
He blinks. He looks vaguely alarmed. "I'm sorry… what ?"
You grin. "You'll see."
Bug 3 : Software failure — Frozen Window Moth, Glitchonoma unresponsivea.
The Bureau's latest failed technological venture is the 'Virtual Case File'. This system is somehow even worse than the previous one. And that's saying something, seeing as its predecessor dates back to the literal 80s. Not only are the bugs worse, the intended features that were supposed to justify a $100 million investment of tax payer money don't even work.
You're already 5 agents deep in troubleshooting hell (and it's not even lunch yet) by the time you make it to Aaron's office.
You only knock once before coming in. He cut his hair shorter the other day. Well, more like you cut his hair, and you made it shorter than planned. It still looks nice, he just doesn't have the little bangs anymore.
He's wearing the gray suit today. With the red tie. Just for you. Because he knows you think he looks ravishing in it. And, because he knows it's your favorite suit to take off of him. Whore.
"Please say that this is one of your fake requests to see me and that you don't actually need help," you complain.
You're tired and irritated and running dangerously low on fucks to give.
For once you're the one frowning.
"Hi sweetheart," he says gently. He's smiling, soft and warm and stupidly sweet. He takes your hand in his (warm, always warm) and leads you to his (your) chair. He leans down, brushes some of your hair back and fixes the collar of your shirt with so much care it's making you want to kiss him.
So you do. Because you can.
Just once. One little peck. We're still at work.
Alright, no, another one.
And a third one. For luck.
You can feel him smile through the kiss. Or maybe you're the one smiling.
"Better?" he asks sweetly.
You poke his dimple with your finger.
You nod.
You pull away just the tiniest bit. Your hand's on the nape of his neck, playing with the short hairs there.
"So, what exactly can I do for you, Agent Hotchner ?" you ask with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.
He gives you a little chuckle. Sometimes when he laughs it almost sounds like he's giggling. But again, we're still at work…
"I actually do need your help this time," he says almost sheepishly.
You groan. "Of course you do. You're like a damsel in distress."
Still, your thumb brushes his cheek and you give him one last peck.
"It's the new system isn't it?"
"It completely freezes when I try to upload attachments," he explains.
"Have you tried throwing your computer out the window ?" you offer. "That usually works."
"I figured I'd call you before escalating to that."
You turn towards the computer. You're already pulling up the terminal and checking the system logs. He's watching you work, almost lovestruck. You can feel his eyes tenderly following your every movement. It makes you feel warm.
"What would I do without you?" he asks. His finger lightly caresses your ear.
"I don't know. Probably Comic Sans again ?"
He lets out a half-annoyed half-fond groan.
You laugh. Pleased with your joke, with how annoyed you can make him and still have him be sweet to you. You're a lot less grumpy than you were when you came in.
"What do you want to have for lunch?"
Bug 4 : Cybersecurity phishing test — Inbox Lure Wasp, Phisherix simultan
You almost don't believe it when the report comes through. You double-check the logs. Then the email header. Then the simulated domain redirect path. Then the logs again.
Nope. There's no two ways about it. Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, your Aaron, clicked on a phishing link.
You sit back in your chair (still no lumbar support), stunned.
You feel slightly disappointed at first. But then an idea forms in your head and you start grinning.
When you walk into his office, he's in the middle of reviewing a case file. He looks up, about to tell off whoever it is that dared to just barge into his office, but softens when he sees it's you. Except he then actually sees you, sees the smug smile and unholy glee that are clear as day on your face.
"Why are you acting weird towards me?" (this somewhat softens the blow of having your boyfriend fall for a phishing link. he's in so deep that he's quoting Snooki. the other day, he called one of the police officers he was working with 'a grenade'. it's not exactly right but it’s still disgustingly sweet that he tries. for you.)
You put down the report on his desk. "You failed."
He frowns. He picks it up. There's a very faint teeth mark on the top knuckle of his index finger (don't ask).
Slowly, his expression shifts from confused fondness to quiet horror. You perch yourself on his desk.
"Aaron, honey. It said "autovrify" in the URL. And you still entered your password. Twice."
He exhales, clearly mortified. You're doing your best not to start laughing.
He resorts to doing 'the Hotchner glare' again. You know the one. It hasn’t worked before and it's not about to now.
"I have to send you to retraining," you start, as sweetly as you can. "Mandatory. Two hours."
He groans and leans back in his chair. Throws his head back. Closes his eyes. This position looks vaguely familiar…
"Please tell me this doesn't go in my permanent file."
You pause. You can't hold back the smile that's making its way onto your face. Of course he would be worried about that. "I'm not at liberty to say."
He glares. You blow him a kiss.
"Also," you continue, all innocence, "since I have your password. By the way 'RingoSavoyTruffle1965', seriously ?"
You shoot him a look. He shrugs his shoulders.
"I did a quick sweep. Purely for cybersecurity purposes of course."
His eyes narrow instantly. His thumb starts rubbing his finger. He's nervous. He doesn't look that different outwardly but you know him.
"And what did you find ?" he asks, trying to seem unbothered.
"Oh, you know" you say casually. "The usual. Tax reports, newspaper subscriptions, grocery lists. And—"
You run your finger lightly along his chest. Your nail scratches against the fabric of his tie.
"—a very interesting folder labeled 'personal reference material'."
He sits up. And grabs your hand to stop its descent.
"You opened that ?"
You laugh and you squeeze the hand that he's holding. You use it to drag his chair closer to where you're sitting on his desk.
With your free hand, you brush back some of the strands at the front of his head that got messed up. It's getting long again. Not that you're complaining.
"How could I not?" You laugh. "You labeled things like it was evidence. With subfolders and—"
He kisses you to shut you up.
