Shannon

The coffee here was different. Hotch couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was about the coffee he got around the city, even at Starbucks, it was just different. Everything here was different. Hotch was no stranger to change but he was not the sort of man who embraced it. He certainly didn't thrive off it, per se. His work was always different, but that was plenty of novelty for him. He liked the day to day function of his life to be predictable. And moving to London to work in the FBI Legat's office had upset everything.

He had placed his order and then stepped back, firing off a text in reply to the one he'd gotten from his ex-wife. He missed Haley and Jack terribly and was grateful that he was on good terms with her so that they could Skype, and he got plenty of photos of his son. He was typing to her that he'd be available Saturday to talk to Jack and he'd be sure to be prompt and not keep the boy up past his bed time.

"Aaron," the barista called, then followed it immediately with, "Shannon." Two cups were on the counter, white and indistinguishable.

Hotch tried to get the barista's attention but he was off talking to a customer, so he turned to the man with long hair and offered a tight smile.

"I can't tell them apart," he said. "Should we pop off the tops and try to tell them apart?"