Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been a very long day. Normally Aaron would go straight home after a case and break out the scotch there, but today he couldn’t face going back to an empty house. Jack was with Haley and probably would be for the rest of the week. It was hard to plan time with him when serial killers didn’t take the weekend off. He sighed and raised his hand to beckon the bartender over for a refill. He hadn’t really taken notice of her before; he had been too busy staring a hole in the battered wood of the bar. This time when she came over, he lifted his eyes up to look at her.
Her fiery red hair was tightly braided with a few small curls breaking loose, and her green eyes were shaped with sloppy eyeliner, most likely smudged from the small beads of sweat on her forehead. It was busy for a Tuesday night and she was the only one manning the bar for the last half hour. She never stopped smiling though. Aaron couldn’t quite figured out whether she was a very good actress or if she was actually enjoying herself, but regardless she smiled at each patron as she passed by. Noticing his slightly raised hand, she turned on her heel and made her way over to him.

“A refill for you, Agent?”

Aaron flinched for a moment and looked at her face, almost instinctively letting his hand go for his gun. He stopped when he saw what she was looking at.

“Your badge,” she said nodding towards his belt. “And also the suit and face of despair. I see it a lot here.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow and held up his glass. “I wouldn’t say no to another,”

She winked at him and spun around to the many bottles of alcohol behind the counter.

She winked at him. Aaron wasn’t sure if he was incredibly sleep deprived or just tipsy because no one had ever winked at him before. Garcia didn’t even attempt to poke the bear most days.

When she turned around again it wasn’t a plain glass of scotch like he had before that she was holding. Elegantly cut was the peel of an orange sitting inside the glass, with what looked like whiskey poured over ice.

“I didn’t-“

She cut him off by waving a hand and setting the glass down in front of him.

“You sir, need to sweeten up your sour night. Nothing an ‘Old Fashioned’ with some good Irish whiskey can’t solve. If that doesn’t help then you’ve got a problem.”

She winked at him again before leaving and moving on to the next guy waiting for a drink. Aaron didn’t drink cocktails. He was a straight hard liquor drinker. Still, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. It was most certainly sweet, but not in too much of an over powering way. It didn’t ruin the taste of the excellent, no doubtingly expensive, Irish whiskey that had been mixed in.

Patrons slowly started to shuffle out of the small bar. After all, it was a Tuesday night and it was approaching 1am. He sat there for what he thought was a few minutes, until the bartender flashed the bar lights to let everyone know it was last orders. At that stage, it was only himself and a couple left in the bar. They were sitting at a table, cozied together.

“So, what’s the verdict?”

The bartender’s voice got his attention. She was leaning on her elbows against the bar, her hands underneath her chin. It was almost childlike and the smile was still there. She was staring down at his empty glass with anticipation.

“I don’t drink cocktails,” he stated, his poker face never faltering. He expected her to frown and leave but instead she simply pointed at the glass.

“The evidence points to yes, you do drink cocktails. Just very, very well made cocktails. I knew you’d be a sucker for Redbreast.”

Aaron finally let a smile break through and shook his head. “I’m not paying more than I would have if it was just scotch.”

“No worries, that was from my personal stash. I give it to people who look like they need it. I’m Sorcha, at your service!”

She lifted up her hand and held it out to him. He apprehensively took it in his own to shake. Her hand was tiny in his. He should have expected it considering her petite frame.

“Aaron.”

She enthusiastically shook his hand and released it before swiping up his glass and in one swift movement replaced it with two shot glasses in front of him. She rummaged through some glass bottles and once she found the one she was looking for, she unceremoniously launched herself up and over the counter to sit on a stool beside him.

“I am officially off the clock and I need a drink. You look like you need another one.”

Before he could object, she had filled both shot glasses and slammed the bottle down. She shoved one into his hand and raised the other in the air, gesturing for him to clink glasses. After a pause, he slowly tipped his glass against hers and threw back the shot. He instantly regretted it and ended up coughing and spluttering.

Sorcha started cackling and patted him on the back halfheartedly. “And that was the taste of Irish poitín.”

“I think you just gave me paint thinner.”

“It’s an acquired taste, I must admit.”

Aaron only caught his breath momentarily before he felt himself laughing for the first time in weeks. His face was suddenly bright red, causing Sorcha to laugh harder. She downed her shot and sighed with contentment.

“Tastes like home.”

Aaron had already guessed she must have been Irish, the accent was unmistakeable. In a way, she was the most stereotypical Irish person he had ever met. The hair, the eyes, the alcohol. He wondered if she realised it. Her nose was even littered with faint freckles.

“Thank you.”

It came out far more seriously than he had meant it to sound, but he meant it. Sorcha stilled for a moment and then gave him a sweet smile that reached her big eyes.

“No problem, Aaron.”

He stood to get up and pushed the stool under the counter. Just as he turned to leave, something stopped him. Him and Haley were done. That much was clear to him. Morgan and Prentiss had been nagging him to get back into the dating game, something he hadn’t ever had to do since high school. Maybe, just maybe, if he asked Sorcha for her number they would shut up for a while. She was a nice girl. Pretty. Making the decision, he momentarily panicked. How on earth should he even ask for her number? What was the usual non creepy way to go about it? God, he felt old. Doing the only thing he knew to do, he put a hand into his breast pocket and took out his card.

“Um, Sorcha. Here’s my card. If you ever need anything. Or you know… Yea.”
He grimaced and internally kicked himself. How was this asking for her number? To his relief, she took the card from him between her fingers and handed him a napkin in return. He looked at it with surprise. It had her name and number on it, with the subtitle ‘That red haired bartender you met on Tuesday’ written under it.

“What a coincidence! It just so happens that I had my card in my pocket!” Her words dripped with sarcasm. “Goodnight Aaron.”

It was 2.30am when she got home. It was weirdly busy for a Tuesday. All the regulars were there as usual of course, and then some people who drifted in after work. Then there was that agent…

Sorcha kicked off her black converse, almost stumbling over her own feet in the process and made her way into her bedroom. It was small, with just a bed and storage shelves but it was hers. Too exhausted to bother find something to wear to bed, she stripped off her sweaty clothes and climbed into bed. She was sure that the moment she lay her head down she would fall asleep but of course insomnia struck again.

After an hour of tossing and turning, and counting at least 500 sheep, she turned onto her stomach and groaned loudly into her pillow. With a sigh, she thought back to that night. She had seen plenty of FBI agents blowing off steam in the bar over the last year, giving the close proximity of the bar to their headquarters. They would usually come in tired and grumpy with their colleagues and have maybe one or two drinks before calling it a night.

This agent however, was like a different species of FBI. He wasn’t just tired, he was stressed and pale faced, and whatever he had dealt with that day was obviously taking its toll on him. He seemed sad. A type of sadness Sorcha hadn’t seen in a long time.

She didn’t usually give freebies or sit down with customers after her shift but there was something about him. That knee jerk reaction he had when she had called him agent and the constant glancing around his surroundings. Whatever section he worked in was bad. Remembering she hadn’t actually looked at his card, Sorcha gave in to her curiosity and leaned over the bed and grabbed her jeans from the floor. With some difficulty, she fished out Aaron’s business card and turned on her lamp. Aaron…

Hotchner. Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. Yikes, she thought to herself. He wasn’t just your run of the mill Fed. Unit Chief of the Behavioural Analysis Unit. She had read David Rossi's book not long ago.

“Oh my god,” she whispered to herself. No wonder the man looked haunted. What had he seen that day? If Rossi’s book was anything to go by, it would probably have been murder, kidnapping, arson; anything that would keep a normal person up at night.

She fell back against her pillow and wondered if he’d ever even have the time to date. She certainly wouldn’t mind it.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Rossi came into Hotch’s office, expecting to see him hard at work. Instead, he was greeted with pure silence. Hotch had his chair pushed back with his phone in one hand and a napkin in the other. His eyes were solely fixed on the napkin and hadn’t even taken notice of Rossi’s entrance.

“Is that what I think it is?” Rossi asked, a small smirk pulling at his lips.

Hotch almost levitated with a fright and dropped the napkin on to his desk. He frowned at David and cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry? What?”

He all but confirmed it for David, making him to break out into a full grin and a chuckle.

“Nice to see you took my advice.” David strolled over to Hotch’s desk before he could say another word and picked up the napkin. He looked from the ink on it to Hotch’s tense face.

“‘That red haired bartender you met on Tuesday’. Huh. Nice one, Hotch. Sor-cha?”

“It’s pronounced Sor-ka. She’s Irish.”

Rossi slowly nodded, a shit eating grin spread across his face. Hotch didn’t let his stone cold face falter, making his thoughts on the subject unreadable. To a non-profilers eye, of course. David Rossi could see right through him.

“And have you called Sorcha?”

Aaron’s eyes narrowed almost comically at Dave’s tone which just made the man chuckle even more.

“No.”

“Are you going to?”

“I-“ Aaron stopped before he replied fully. That was the question he’d been asking himself the last half hour as he stared at her number. Should he? Rossi noted his obvious internal struggle and set the napkin back down on the desk before giving Hotch a pat on the arm.

“Don’t worry, Aaron. It takes a while to get back out there.”

Aaron sigh in resignation and nodded.

“Thanks, Dave.”

He was surprised when Rossi let it end at that and then left the room. Aaron was sure he was going to push further like he usually did. Instead he left him by himself and that damn napkin. Deciding to leave the decision for the day, he wedged it into his date planner and dropped it in his desk drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. For now.

There was no way Rossi was going to leave this alone. He was itching to know more about this bartender and there wasn’t a hope that he’d get anymore information from Hotch. There was one person he could go to that could guarantee some intel for him.

“Well hello there, Agent Rossi. What can her magical highness do for you today?”

Garcia turned in her seat to look at him and once she spotted the cupcake in his hand she gasped in fake astonishment.

“A treat? For me? Agent Rossi what have I done to deserve such a gift?”

He smiled at her and placed the cupcake on her desk before leaning towards her and whispering.

“I need you to look up someone for me.”

Garcia looked at him like he had four heads. “Well yes, sir. That’s my job. But hey if you want to give me cake every time-“

“I need you to look up someone for me off the record. And not say anything about it to anyone.”

Garcia opened her mouth and closed it again. She looked at Rossi with apprehension and then turned about to her screen to bring up the search engine.

“Okay then. Hit me with what you have.”

“Red headed female bartender named Sorcha. I assume in a bar around the general area, not too far. Somewhere that would be in range of the jet and Hotch’s place.”

Garcia’s eyes went big. “Hotch’s- oh okay. Right. Sorcha? Sor-ka? Sor-cha? Oh right okay. Bringing up females in the general area that work as bartenders, narrowing it down to red heads, then with the name- Ah. Seems like there’s only one Sorcha, sir. Is this her?”

Rossi had tuned out while Garcia ran her program and muttered to herself but once a picture came up on her screen he stood up straight and whistled.

“Damn, Hotch.”

The picture was of a young woman with red hair pulled back tightly into a pony tail. She was covered in freckles and had green eyes under long lashes. It was some sort of official ID photo. Garcia pulled up some files.

“Okay so her name is Sorcha Lisa Walsh and she was born in Cork, Ireland on the 29th of August 1980. Two sisters, five brothers. Yikes, that’s a lot of kids. Poor momma. Irish schools don’t seem to keep digital records that much until they get to their teens it seems. Got average grades… Went to University Limerick and studied criminology and law… Ooh, she applied to the police and was accepted. Worked there for a while, got promoted a few times and then poof. Gone to America.”

“Huh.” Rossi was rubbing his chin with his hand with his eyebrows furrowed. “Any indication as to why she left?”

“None, sir. She handed in her resignation and just left. Moved to DC and picked up a job at Charlie’s Pub about a year ago. Gets paid weekly, pays her taxes, has a valid green card… Sparkling clean. May I ask why we’re snooping, sir?”

“You can ask, doesn’t mean I’ll tell you. Good job, Garcia. Enjoy the cupcake.”

With that, he left the room, leaving Garcia staring at the red head on the screen. She picked up the cupcake and peeled away the case and hummed to herself. If Rossi wasn’t going to let her in on the secret, she’d just have to theorise herself. She was banking on Ms Walsh being some long lost relative of Hotch’s.

Sorcha was a little disappointed that she didn’t hear from Aaron so far. She wasn’t surprised; she knew very well how busy he probably was and who was to say he’d even ring her anyway? She sat on her leather sofa with her boots propped up on the dented coffee table in her living room and idly sucked on the strawberry lollipop she had nicked from the bar the night before. She wondered what it was about Aaron that had him on her mind so much, aside from the obvious. He was an attractive man, that was for sure. A lot of attractive men came through though, and not one of them caught her attention quite like he did. Was it the whole suit and FBI thing? A lot of women find that hot. Sorcha frowned the more she thought about it. Was it just her missing law enforcement and trying to get closer to the real deal?

She loved her job. It was great; she met lots of different people, got tipped very well, and got to have a bit of fun while working. But it wasn’t the same. It didn’t scratch that itch that being in the police force did, and every time she saw an FBI agent or even just a basic uniformed officer, it stung a little bit. It was her choice to leave though, and it was something she would just have to live with. Even if she wanted to join back up, she didn’t have US citizenship. She had only been in the US for a year and she counted her lucky stars she was even able to get a green card in the first place.

Maybe sometime down the line, she’d find someone to love and marry, and maybe then she could entertain the idea of going back to law enforcement. Until that time, however, she was stuck serving drinks to highly attractive FBI profilers. She could be doing worse.

Just as she came to the end of her lollipop her phone buzzed. She had hardly any friends since moving, so a text was generally something of a surprise. She held up her trusty old Nokia and opened the message.

Hi Sorcha, it’s SSA Aaron Hotchner. Would I be able to reserve a table tonight for myself and some colleagues? 9pm?

Sorcha burst into laughter, partly from the absurdness of the situation and partly out of disbelief. He texted her to book a table. At the pub. For him and his work buddies. Sorcha stopped laughing when the thought had occurred to her that maybe he didn’t understand why she had given him her number. She thought it was pretty obvious why a single woman would be giving a man her number. Should she feel a little offended that he was using her number as a reservation service? Probably. Regardless, it was either be pissed off and offended, or take it as it is and just laugh it off. She chose the latter.

Hi Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, thank you for making a reservation at CHARLIE’S PUB. Your table will be kept for you a 9PM. Regards, the red head you met on Tuesday.

She really hoped he understood sarcasm and didn’t actually get annoyed. She was curious to meet his co-workers. Were they all as uptight as he was? If so, she had her work cut out for her.

Her phone buzzed again.

Thanks.

The man had a way with words.