Chapter Text
“What do you mean mandatory?” Aaron Hotchner glares at Strauss.
“I mean...you can no longer skirt the issue of having a Director of Wellness on the team,” she fires back, taking a step forward and planting her hands on Hotch’s desk.
“I am not hiring a legal prostitute to assist this team,” he lowers his voice, growling at his superior with the force of a sun.
“She provides more than sexual services, and you know it,” Strauss fires back between clenched teeth.
Erin Strauss had been at the forefront of the bill that was passed into law a couple of years ago. The law essentially states that a Director of Wellness was to be hired to each police station, fire station, and important government team in the nation. The only stipulation was that the woman, or man, hired was to have training, certificates, or a degree within the required field that they would be assisting.
The qualifications of the job were broad: this person was to assist in everything the team might need to help them focus and do their job better...everything from a last-minute babysitter to a personal chef to, you guessed it, a person to be physically intimate with.
The first two years had provided such uplifting and shockingly positive results that they mandated the law for each and every law enforcement station and team, requiring them to have one under their employ by the middle of the coming calendar year.
Meaning? Hotch now had to hire someone for the position.
“I already have some resumes for you to look over,” Strauss says, slapping five folders down on his desk as she rears upright and smiles.
“I take it their all your type,” Hotch grits as he leans back in his chair, opening the folder and scanning the documents inside.
“Oh, I don’t plan on ever using this person sexually. But as someone to talk to? Possibly.”
And with that, she was gone...leaving Hotch with five folders and a mandatory position he wasn’t keen to fill.
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Straightening your blouse one more time before taking a deep breath, you step off of the elevator and into an open area, what people usually referenced as a “bull-pen.”
With your head held high, you climb the steps towards the office that you had been beckoned to, raising your hand to knock on the door and trying to not stare at the multiple pairs of eyes situated on your figure as you crossed the room.
Climbing the stairs, you take in one more deep breath through your nose before raising your hand to knock.
“Come in,” you hear a gruff voice call out.
Coming in and shutting the door, you make your way over to the chair in the middle of the room.
“Sit,” the man commands.
A bit wound up, aren’t we?
Sitting down, back straight, legs crossed at the ankles, fingers interlocked in your lap, your eyes drill a hole into the man’s tilted head before he lifts his gaze to you.
“Describe to me the position I’m hiring you for,” he asks.
Pausing a beat before realizing he’s serious, you take a deep breath.
“You are hiring me to be the Director of Wellness, sir,” you say.
“And what does the ‘Director of Wellness’ do?” he says, lifting his gaze permanently to you.
You took offense to his air quotes.
“The “Director of Wellness,’...sir...is someone who is available...all day and every night...to tend to the needs of the team that employs her.”
His eyes narrowed before continuing.
“The team that employs her?” he asks.
“Yes, sir. I am not employed by you, or by your superiors. I am employed by the team. I say ‘yes’ to what they need, and act without a moment’s hesitation,” you respond.
“Sexually, you mean?” he attempts to clarify.
“No,” you bite.
“No?”
“No,” you repeat.
A long pause of silence before...
“Well, what else do you offer?” he asks.
“Besides counseling services, I provide anything and everything a team like this might need on a day-to-day basis. For example, say Miss Jareau’s babysitter gets sick, and Will is at work. She calls me to come watch her child, and I’m there.”
As Hotch’s eyebrows raise, you uncross your ankles and lean back into the chair.
“I did my research, unlike you...sir.”
You couldn’t help but smirk.
“So you’re a glorified babysitter,” he states.
“And a glorified doctor, and a glorified cook, and a glorified caretaker, and a glorified counselor, and a glorified physical trainer, and a glorified DD, and a glorified friend...”
And as you lean forward, your bosom prominent as you dip your gaze towards Hotch, you find him leaning forward ever so lightly so he can hear the next words whispered from your lips.
“...and a glorified fuck.”
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“Everyone, I want to introduce you to our new Director of Wellness, Miss Y/F/N Y/L/N.”
As everyone’s heads turn to look up towards the balcony, you hear a whistle come from afar, your eyes dancing around as they land on a chocolate-skinned man standing next to a gangly-looking sea urchin, whose jaw was swinging against the floor.
“It’s about time!” the dark one exclaims.
Watching as the people in the bullpen shake their heads and snicker, you watch as an older gentleman approaches your side, a sly smile on his face as he takes your hand within his, bringing it slowly to his lips and kissing the back of your hand.
“Hello. I’m David Rossi,” he introduces.
“Nice to meet you,” you say, smiling back as you bow lightly in his general direction.
“Her office!...” Hotch interrupts, “...will be right under mine. She has some office hours as well as other things that she will discuss.”
“Miss Y/L/N,” he ushers, his hand ushering outward as he turns back out towards the team.
“Hello,” you say, waving lightly, “I’m Y/F/N, and my office hours are pretty regular compared to yours. I’ll come in around 7:30 and leave around 5:30, and I am available at all hours of the night for anything that may arise that you might need assistance with.”
“I’m sure she is,” Prentiss mumbles into J.J.’s ear.
“Anything from needing a ride to an emergency room to a last minute babysitter, to a running partner to someone to cook with...or for...or to have someone cook for food for you. Whatever you need, I am there for, no questions asked.”
As you watch the confusion slowly waft across their faces, you find yourself chuckling as you shake your head lightly.
“Yes, stereo-typically, my position has been directly related to sex, and other sexual proclivities. And while that is open and on the table as part of my job description...and feel free to explore the option, as I knew it helps reduce stress in, and out, of the field...I am also many other things, including a friend...if you need one.”
“Huh,” Spencer says, eyeing Morgan out of the corner of his eye, “told ya.”
“Can it, pretty boy,” Morgan mutters, taking out his wallet and slapping a $20 in his hand.
“And at any point in time during the day, if you want to talk about something, schedule something, or rant about something, feel free to knock on the door and come on in,” you finish.
Turning towards Hotch, his eyes glaringly hooked onto you, he lets out the breath he was apparently holding as he turns toward a shy intern running up the steps.
“Here are your credentials,” Hotch says, passing you a badge and a leather-bound FBI ID.
“That was fast,” you say, your brow furrowed as you look back up at him from the objects in your hand.
“I had to hire someone. You were the last folder in my pile,” he says, turning around and walking back into his office.
Snickering lightly as you gaze down upon the credentials in your hand, you pull your lips taut as you shake your head lightly, hearing the team go back about their daily duties as your feet absent-mindlessly draw your body towards the steps.
“Welcome to the team,” you mutter to yourself, taking a deep breath and slowly beginning your descent down the stairs.
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“Boss-man not a fan, huh?” a woman’s voice finally interjects.
Breathing deeply as your swollen face slumps over, you slowly bring your sore neck up to an even level as you try to open your tired eyes.
“At first,” you snicker, resulting in a crack across your face.
“Disgusting little wench,” the woman mutters, wiping her hand off on her pant-leg as she sits down in a chair in front of you.
Swallowing hard to suppress a painful groan, your heavy tongue darts out to lick your dried, chapped lips as you attempt to pull your wrists once again from the binding ties.
“Don’t worry,” the woman coos as she watches you struggle against the chair restraints, “you’ll get used to them.”
And as you clench your jaw tight, trying to keep your tears at bay so as to not give her the satisfaction, you bend your chin down against your heaving, bruised chest as your mind begins to whirl with endless thoughts and tremor-inducing ideas.
The woman wanted to know about your sexual escapades with the team. She wanted to know all of their filthy, dirty secrets.
But you weren’t going to give her the satisfaction.
Your were going to employ the tricks Emily had taught you over and over again.
You were going to lie.
And the woman was going to believe you.