CM-- Combustion, Part 4
Criminal Minds--COMBUSTION, PART 4:
Author: kosmickway
Rating: TEEN
Pairing: Rossi/Prentiss
Summary: When an apartment fire renders Emily temporarily homeless, Rossi comes to the rescue.
A/N: For innerslytherin for the Queensland Flood Relief auction.
A/N 2: Apologies to all my readers for the delay in getting this done. Theatre, then job apps, then family stuff, then writer's block took over.
A/N 3: I decided to incorporate the events of "Lauren" into the narrative, although, obviously, this means going with the idea that Emily was saved from Ian Doyle and went through a period of convalescence before returning to work.
It wasn't the fact that she seemed to love his dog almost as much as he did. More than once recently he’d come home from running errands to find her playing a rough and tumble game of tug of war in the yard with Mudgie. Watching them made his mouth pull upward in a grin in a way nothing else could.
It wasn't that he finally had someone to cook for or that he was starting to really enjoy having someone else cook for him-- even if he did need to do a little advising, correcting, and once even fire fighting when she burned a chicken almost beyond recognition.
It wasn't because they had fallen easily into the habit of watching an episode (or two or sometimes even three) of "The X-Files" or "Twin Peaks" (depending on who was doing the cooking that night) while preparing and eating dinner, or because they played "either/or" while they sat down with their laptops and banged out the required reports on their cases.
No. It wasn’t any of that.
Well ... maybe it was. If Dave Rossi really allowed himself to stop and think about it, he'd have to admit to himself that he was falling hard and fast for Emily Prentiss for all of those reasons.
But there were more reasons, too, so many more. In fact, Rossi found himself agreeing more and more with The Police … every little thing the woman did was magic.
Emily loved to browse in his library late at night when she couldn't sleep and often read "Lord of the Rings" aloud to herself (or, increasingly, to Mudge who was spending more time in her room than in Dave's) in a British accent until she fell asleep with the book in her hands.
She sang in Italian when she cooked and cursed in French when she was upset.
She listened to U2 when she ran, Melissa Etheridge when she cleaned, 80s contemporary when she cooked, and a 90s New Age/techno band called Enigma when she did yoga or pilates.
She slept in running shorts and a cami and smoothed Oil of Olay into her skin right before bed.
She was an ice cream junkie of the highest order and always kept a carton of chocolate raspberry truffle in the freezer.
She had a tattoo on her lower back that he hadn't quite had the courage to ask her about yet.
She was dangerously close to making Dave break his own rule about dating women he worked with.
But as anyone who’s ever been in even a semi-serious relationship knows, loving someone is never just wine and roses. There are bitter dregs from the bottom of the glass and thorns a plenty. And though Emily tried hard to keep her problems distant from Dave, he was perceptive enough to pick up on them. He knew that her sleeplessness came in large part from an overactive mind and a stubborn unwillingness to take even non-prescription sleeping pills.
If she wasn’t sitting in his library at 1am because she was worrying over the insurance settlement for the fire or finding a new place to live, she was sitting on the back porch or prowling the yard, fighting off nightmares about Ian Doyle. The lightly discolored area on her upper chest where Doyle had branded her constantly drew his eyes, as did the fact that she (unconsciously, he was sure) almost always kept one hand held protectively near her stomach when she was among a group of people, hyper-vigilant for an attack that she seemed sure would come at any second.
And because of that he sternly reminded himself not to put pressure on her. He wanted Emily to be comfortable with their current living situation, not just because of his feelings for her but simply because she was his friend first and foremost. So despite how often he wanted to touch her hand or arm or cheek when they sat close together and talked, despite the number of times “Emmy” tried to slip from his lips, despite the warmth that flooded his chest when he saw her sitting on the back porch, enthusiastically giving Mudge a belly rub, he made himself back off. Friendly and supportive, that was the way to go … even if it was taking all of his control to do it.
They’d both agreed that advertising their living situation wasn’t a great idea. Not that the team would think anything of it … but Erin Strauss might. The last thing either of them wanted was to attract Strauss’ attention, especially because she always seemed to be gunning for someone on the team.
So when Garcia practically yelped “why didn’t you TELL me?!” and dragged him into her office two weeks after Emily moved in, he couldn’t help but sigh and hope that she hadn’t all ready told Morgan what she thought she knew.
“Why didn’t I tell you what?” he repeated patiently.
“That you and Emily are LIVING TOGETHER!”
“Shh!” Rossi raised a hand to her lips.
“Oh, please, the walls aren’t exactly paper thin,” Garcia scoffed.
“But you’re not exactly whispering.”
“Okay, sorry.” Garcia flapped her hands impatiently. “But that doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me! I practically decorated her room for you! You could have said something then!”
“So you could broadcast it to everyone?” He winced at her hurt expression … Garcia was many things but a gossip wasn’t one of them. “I’m sorry, Garcia. I didn’t mean it like that. But I don’t want it getting back to Strauss.”
“Duh! Who does? Look, my lips are sealed. Completely and totally sealed. Not a syllable shall be said to anyone who isn’t you or Emily. It’s just …” Garcia sighed. “You guys are so cute together and I’m so happy for you!”
“Whoa there! Emily and I are NOT together. She’s a friend and she’s staying with me because she’s having a hard time, that’s all.”
Garcia snorted inelegantly. “You just keep telling yourself that.” She grinned at his expression. “Oh, come on, I see the way you look at her.”
“And what way is that?”
“Like a fat kid looks at an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet.”
It was Rossi’s turn to snort. “I’m sure Emily’d love that comparison.”
“Besides, I saw you with her at the hospital.”
“What hospital?” Now he was really feeling confused… though that wasn’t uncommon in a conversation with Garcia, who had a tendency to let her exuberance overtake her.
Garcia’s face grew somber. “After Ian Doyle stabbed her at the warehouse. I saw you with her in the PT room, helping her do her exercises. It was pretty obvious how you felt then.”
Rossi sighed and nodded. He knew exactly which day she was talking about.
“Good job, Emily, I’m seeing some real improvement,” the therapist said. She glanced over at Rossi. “She tells me you’ve been encouraging her to walk.”
“I don’t think I said encouraging,” Emily responded. “I think I said bullying.”
Rossi grinned. “You say bullying, I say motivating.”
“Whatever you’re doing, you have my permission to keep it up,” the therapist replied, to which Rossi beamed and Emily scowled. “Emily, let’s get you down on the mat and do some core strengthening. It won’t hurt as much to walk or sit up straight once you get a few more sessions under your belt.”
“I hate this,” Emily complained, lowering herself slowly to the mat. “I feel old and feeble.”
“You’re not feeble,” the therapist replied matter-of-factly. “You’re recovering from an injury that caused a lot of damage to your core muscles. It’s going to take time to come back from that.”
She crossed to a cabinet and pulled out a stretchy blue resistance band. “You know the drill. Lie on your back like you’re planning on doing crunches. Grab your end of the band and use it to pull yourself up to sitting then lower yourself back down. Let your arms do the work, not your abs-I don’t want you injuring yourself any more than you all ready are. I just want to keep those muscles used to that movement. When you’ve healed more, you’ll rely on the band less and less to sit up.”
Emily nodded, lowered herself slowly and painfully to the floor, and took hold of one end of the blue resistance band. Her therapist knelt at her feet, holding the other end of the band.
“Whenever you’re ready, give me a set of five. Go at your own pace.”
It may have looked easy but to someone who’d just had major abdominal surgery, it obviously wasn’t. Emily bit down on her lower lip as she worked her way through a set, struggling to keep her breathing even. Rossi watched without comment, though he sometimes leaned forward, fighting off the urge to touch her arm.
Emily lay back on the mat, color slowly returning to her pale face. “I used to be able to do a hundred crunches without breaking a sweat,” she said, her voice torn by pain. “Now I can’t even do a set of five with a resistance band without feeling like I’m going to have a heart attack.”
“You’re doing FINE,” her therapist reminded her patiently, handing Emily a hand towel. “Just remember to-” She broke off as her phone vibrated on her hip. “I’m sorry.” She checked the display. “It’s my son’s school. Let me take this. I’ll be right back. Agent Rossi, if you want to help her do another set of five, you’re more than welcome to.”
“Oh, Heather, don’t say that!” Emily moaned at the therapist’s back. “Now he’s going to make me do it!”
Rossi grinned. “This isn’t quite what I had in mind when I played doctor as a kid but it’ll do.” He picked up the resistance band and held it out to Emily. “You ready?”
“No,” Emily replied flatly.
“Sure you are,” Rossi responded cheerfully. “Just think-the sooner you get these done, the sooner you can re-qualify to get back on the team.”
He’d hit her weak spot. Emily rolled her eyes and shot him a dirty look. “I hate you sometimes, you know that, right?”
“I know,” he said. “And it just makes you want to try harder to show you can outdo me.”
“What an ego,” Emily said with a laugh. “You think this is all about you?” She grabbed the end of the resistance band and wrapped her fingers around it so tightly they turned white. “No wonder you have so much trouble getting a date.” She pulled herself up, hiding a wince behind a fierce scowl. “One.”
“And why I have three ex wives,” Rossi added, grinning. “They couldn’t stand my ego either. Janice said the way my head swelled when my book hit the top of the New York Times Nonfiction list reminded her of a Macy’s Parade balloon.” He nodded in approval as Emily completed a second crunch. “Two. Good job.”
“I’d believe that,” Emily ground out, hauling herself up for a third time. “I bet you’re one of those guys who practice his autograph for hours on end.”
Rossi laughed. “Took forever to get the “R” just right in my last name. Four.”
“And your personal library is made up of all your own books.” Emily clenched her teeth through crunches five, six, and seven. On the eighth she gasped out a breath and grabbed hold of Rossi’s forearms. “I can’t do any more.”
“Sure you can. Two more and you’ll be at ten and we’ll call it a day.”
“I can’t. Seriously.”
“You can. You said you couldn’t walk down the hall on Monday and you did it today without even breaking a sweat. I know you’ve got it in you.”
Emily hunched over and shut her eyes, obviously fighting off a wave of pain. “Dave,” she gasped, her voice frantic and a little afraid. “I’m going to pass out if I try to finish that set.”
“Okay. No problem. Lie back.” Rossi moved to her side and helped her lower herself to the mat. “Don’t tense up,” he instructed, squeezing her shoulders. “Just breathe into it. I know it hurts.” He ran his fingers gently up and down her arms, which were trembling with effort. “I didn’t mean to push you, Emily. I’m sorry. I just want you to get better. If I’m a little too gung-ho about this, it’s because I want you back with us.”
“You just like watching me suffer,” Emily whispered, a faint smile twisting her lips. “Sadist.”
“I like watching you fight,” Rossi responded. He was still stroking her arm. “But I don’t like seeing you in pain.”
“My world right now is nothing but pain. But I’ll try harder to fight. For you.” She laughed softly, winced. “See? It IS all about you.”
“No. Make it about you.”
Heather re-entered the room then. “Sorry! Kid crisis.” She kneeled on the mat beside Emily and took her pulse. “Did Secret Agent Man push you too hard?”
Emily shook her head. “Just hard enough. I started feeling dizzy though, so he helped me lie down.”
Heather nodded. “It’s probably wise to stop then. Let me get you some water.”
Emily gave Rossi a considering look then said, “No, I’ll try to do another set.”
“Not on my account,” Rossi said quickly. “No way. If you’re feeling like you’re done, then be done.”
“I need to try,” she said. “I need to fight.”
Heather looked pleased, but still a bit concerned. “Are you sure?”
Emily nodded. “I need to know I can do this.” She looked at Heather. “Do you mind if Dave works this set with me?”
“Not at all. I’ll go get you that water.”
“You want me, the sadist slave driver, to do another set with you?” Rossi joked. “Seriously?”
“To keep me focused.”
He nodded and took the resistance band in his hands. “Ready?”
Emily bit her lip, nodded, and grabbed her end of the band. “Yeah.”
Pain and strain were clear on her face but she soldiered through, eyes locked on a spot on the wall just over Rossi’s shoulder. He, in turn, kept his eyes on her face, counting each rep with her. When she worked herself up to sitting for the fifth and final time, he caught her hands in his and held on to keep her sitting upright.
“I’ve got you,” he assured her, helping her lean back against the wall. He laid his palm on her flushed cheek. “You did great.”
“You looked like you’d have done anything to take that pain away from her,” Garcia said softly. “Whatever feeling makes you want to do that … love, lust, whatever … you feel it for her. I know you do.”
Rossi didn’t say anything-what could he say in the face of that?-but Garcia didn’t seem to need an answer. She laid a hand on his arm and squeezed gently. “You think she feels the same?”
“God, I hope so. I don’t know what I’ll do if it turns out she doesn’t.”
“Well, then you have to find out!” Garcia grinned at him. “Ask her out.”
“No,” he responded immediately. “No way, Garcia. Not a chance.”
“No,” she repeated incredulously. “What do you mean, no? You’re LIVING WITH HER! Ask her out!”
“I told you, that’s different. She’s staying with me because of the fire, not because we’re dating. Asking her out would ruin everything!”
“Oh, you are hopeless,” Garcia groaned, sinking into a chair. “How would asking her out ruin everything? You go out, you have a fabulous time, you end up back at your place dancing under the stars to Frank Sinatra … what could go wrong?”
“But what if we don’t have a fabulous time?” Rossi countered. “What if things get weird? What if we don’t have anything to talk about?”
That was a pathetic excuse even to his ears … he and Emily NEVER ran out of things to talk about.
Garcia rolled her eyes. “David Rossi, I cannot believe I’m hearing this from you of all people! You could give The Dos Equis Most Interesting Man in the World a run for his money! Women flock to you like you’re the guy in the Axe body spray commercials! What would make you think that Emily Prentiss would be insane enough to turn you down for a date or that you wouldn’t have an absolutely fantastic time if you did go on a date with her?”
“Well, three ex-wives for starters!” he blurted, then nearly clapped a hand over his mouth. Where the HELL had that come from?
“I’m sorry?” Garcia leaned forward eagerly. “Was that a personal confession from the oh-so-tight-lipped Special Agent David Rossi, the suavest man in the FBI? Was that the Cary Grant of the BAU admitting weakness?”
“Forget it,” he said, turning to go. “I’m not getting into this.”
“Dave,” Garcia said quietly. He turned back around. Garcia NEVER called him by his first name. “It stays right here.” She solemnly drew an X across her chest. “Cross my warm, fuzzy, romantical heart.”
He sighed and sat down. “You know my history.”
“I know your personnel file and I know the grapevine. That doesn’t actually mean I know much at all.”
Rossi laughed. “Good point. Garcia, I’ve been married three times. And each time … I was the one who screwed it up. It was never their fault. Janice, Teresa, and Denise … they were good women … too good for me, really. I was never able to give them the time and attention they deserved. If I wasn’t half in and half out of some unsub’s brain pan, I was lost in my writing. I let my marriage come in second to my career … third, if you want to get technical about it … the Bureau came first and then my writing. It should never have been that way.”
“So what is it you’re worried about?” Garcia asked.
“What if I can’t put Emily first? What if I do the same thing to her that I did to them?”
“I think that if you’re this worried about it and you’ve put this much energy into thinking about it, you’re not likely to make the same mistake again. You’re not stupid, Dave.”
“That’s a matter of opinion. I made the same mistake three times all ready. You could argue that I’m triply stupid.”
Garcia laughed. “You have a blind spot when it comes to your job and your love life and how they intersect. Who doesn’t?” She waved a hand toward the bull pen. “JJ’s the only person who’s managed to make a relationship work in this job and that’s because she and Will both know the demands the job puts on you. They give each other leeway when they need it. Maybe you need to date someone who knows what this is like for you.” She gave him a sly look. “Like, say … Emily.”
Rossi laughed. “No matter what I say, you’re going to come up with an answer that puts the two of us together, aren’t you?”
“Probably.” Garcia picked up one of her pens from her desk-it had sparkly purple feathers glued to the cap-and waved it at him. “You BELONG together. Seriously. And it isn’t just the way you look at her or the way she pretends she isn’t looking at you.” She grinned at his expression. “Oh, please, you haven’t noticed her checking you out? Sheesh, you men are so oblivious. Anyway … it’s not the looks or the lust or anything else that makes you guys work-it’s the fact that you’re interlocking puzzle pieces. You fit together AND together you fit into the bigger picture. That’s what’s going to make you work.”
Rossi smiled at Garcia, genuinely fond of the sweet, quirky blonde. “You ever think about doing this for a living?”
“What, counseling the lovelorn? God, no. I’m no psychologist.”
“You sound pretty close to one to me.”
Garcia shrugged. “I know my guys and gals, that’s all. I couldn’t do this for anyone BUT you guys.” She leaned forward and squeezed Rossi’s hand. “You going to ask her?”
Rossi took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll ask her.”
“Yes!” Garcia squealed, throwing the pen in the air. “Okay, now, here’s what you ought to do …”
TO BE CONTINUED!
For Parts 1-3 of "Combustion," head to the tag marked "Fan Fic--Criminal Minds" and click on the entry. Enjoy!
Author: kosmickway
Rating: TEEN
Pairing: Rossi/Prentiss
Summary: When an apartment fire renders Emily temporarily homeless, Rossi comes to the rescue.
A/N: For innerslytherin for the Queensland Flood Relief auction.
A/N 2: Apologies to all my readers for the delay in getting this done. Theatre, then job apps, then family stuff, then writer's block took over.
A/N 3: I decided to incorporate the events of "Lauren" into the narrative, although, obviously, this means going with the idea that Emily was saved from Ian Doyle and went through a period of convalescence before returning to work.
It wasn't the fact that she seemed to love his dog almost as much as he did. More than once recently he’d come home from running errands to find her playing a rough and tumble game of tug of war in the yard with Mudgie. Watching them made his mouth pull upward in a grin in a way nothing else could.
It wasn't that he finally had someone to cook for or that he was starting to really enjoy having someone else cook for him-- even if he did need to do a little advising, correcting, and once even fire fighting when she burned a chicken almost beyond recognition.
It wasn't because they had fallen easily into the habit of watching an episode (or two or sometimes even three) of "The X-Files" or "Twin Peaks" (depending on who was doing the cooking that night) while preparing and eating dinner, or because they played "either/or" while they sat down with their laptops and banged out the required reports on their cases.
No. It wasn’t any of that.
Well ... maybe it was. If Dave Rossi really allowed himself to stop and think about it, he'd have to admit to himself that he was falling hard and fast for Emily Prentiss for all of those reasons.
But there were more reasons, too, so many more. In fact, Rossi found himself agreeing more and more with The Police … every little thing the woman did was magic.
Emily loved to browse in his library late at night when she couldn't sleep and often read "Lord of the Rings" aloud to herself (or, increasingly, to Mudge who was spending more time in her room than in Dave's) in a British accent until she fell asleep with the book in her hands.
She sang in Italian when she cooked and cursed in French when she was upset.
She listened to U2 when she ran, Melissa Etheridge when she cleaned, 80s contemporary when she cooked, and a 90s New Age/techno band called Enigma when she did yoga or pilates.
She slept in running shorts and a cami and smoothed Oil of Olay into her skin right before bed.
She was an ice cream junkie of the highest order and always kept a carton of chocolate raspberry truffle in the freezer.
She had a tattoo on her lower back that he hadn't quite had the courage to ask her about yet.
She was dangerously close to making Dave break his own rule about dating women he worked with.
But as anyone who’s ever been in even a semi-serious relationship knows, loving someone is never just wine and roses. There are bitter dregs from the bottom of the glass and thorns a plenty. And though Emily tried hard to keep her problems distant from Dave, he was perceptive enough to pick up on them. He knew that her sleeplessness came in large part from an overactive mind and a stubborn unwillingness to take even non-prescription sleeping pills.
If she wasn’t sitting in his library at 1am because she was worrying over the insurance settlement for the fire or finding a new place to live, she was sitting on the back porch or prowling the yard, fighting off nightmares about Ian Doyle. The lightly discolored area on her upper chest where Doyle had branded her constantly drew his eyes, as did the fact that she (unconsciously, he was sure) almost always kept one hand held protectively near her stomach when she was among a group of people, hyper-vigilant for an attack that she seemed sure would come at any second.
And because of that he sternly reminded himself not to put pressure on her. He wanted Emily to be comfortable with their current living situation, not just because of his feelings for her but simply because she was his friend first and foremost. So despite how often he wanted to touch her hand or arm or cheek when they sat close together and talked, despite the number of times “Emmy” tried to slip from his lips, despite the warmth that flooded his chest when he saw her sitting on the back porch, enthusiastically giving Mudge a belly rub, he made himself back off. Friendly and supportive, that was the way to go … even if it was taking all of his control to do it.
They’d both agreed that advertising their living situation wasn’t a great idea. Not that the team would think anything of it … but Erin Strauss might. The last thing either of them wanted was to attract Strauss’ attention, especially because she always seemed to be gunning for someone on the team.
So when Garcia practically yelped “why didn’t you TELL me?!” and dragged him into her office two weeks after Emily moved in, he couldn’t help but sigh and hope that she hadn’t all ready told Morgan what she thought she knew.
“Why didn’t I tell you what?” he repeated patiently.
“That you and Emily are LIVING TOGETHER!”
“Shh!” Rossi raised a hand to her lips.
“Oh, please, the walls aren’t exactly paper thin,” Garcia scoffed.
“But you’re not exactly whispering.”
“Okay, sorry.” Garcia flapped her hands impatiently. “But that doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me! I practically decorated her room for you! You could have said something then!”
“So you could broadcast it to everyone?” He winced at her hurt expression … Garcia was many things but a gossip wasn’t one of them. “I’m sorry, Garcia. I didn’t mean it like that. But I don’t want it getting back to Strauss.”
“Duh! Who does? Look, my lips are sealed. Completely and totally sealed. Not a syllable shall be said to anyone who isn’t you or Emily. It’s just …” Garcia sighed. “You guys are so cute together and I’m so happy for you!”
“Whoa there! Emily and I are NOT together. She’s a friend and she’s staying with me because she’s having a hard time, that’s all.”
Garcia snorted inelegantly. “You just keep telling yourself that.” She grinned at his expression. “Oh, come on, I see the way you look at her.”
“And what way is that?”
“Like a fat kid looks at an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet.”
It was Rossi’s turn to snort. “I’m sure Emily’d love that comparison.”
“Besides, I saw you with her at the hospital.”
“What hospital?” Now he was really feeling confused… though that wasn’t uncommon in a conversation with Garcia, who had a tendency to let her exuberance overtake her.
Garcia’s face grew somber. “After Ian Doyle stabbed her at the warehouse. I saw you with her in the PT room, helping her do her exercises. It was pretty obvious how you felt then.”
Rossi sighed and nodded. He knew exactly which day she was talking about.
“Good job, Emily, I’m seeing some real improvement,” the therapist said. She glanced over at Rossi. “She tells me you’ve been encouraging her to walk.”
“I don’t think I said encouraging,” Emily responded. “I think I said bullying.”
Rossi grinned. “You say bullying, I say motivating.”
“Whatever you’re doing, you have my permission to keep it up,” the therapist replied, to which Rossi beamed and Emily scowled. “Emily, let’s get you down on the mat and do some core strengthening. It won’t hurt as much to walk or sit up straight once you get a few more sessions under your belt.”
“I hate this,” Emily complained, lowering herself slowly to the mat. “I feel old and feeble.”
“You’re not feeble,” the therapist replied matter-of-factly. “You’re recovering from an injury that caused a lot of damage to your core muscles. It’s going to take time to come back from that.”
She crossed to a cabinet and pulled out a stretchy blue resistance band. “You know the drill. Lie on your back like you’re planning on doing crunches. Grab your end of the band and use it to pull yourself up to sitting then lower yourself back down. Let your arms do the work, not your abs-I don’t want you injuring yourself any more than you all ready are. I just want to keep those muscles used to that movement. When you’ve healed more, you’ll rely on the band less and less to sit up.”
Emily nodded, lowered herself slowly and painfully to the floor, and took hold of one end of the blue resistance band. Her therapist knelt at her feet, holding the other end of the band.
“Whenever you’re ready, give me a set of five. Go at your own pace.”
It may have looked easy but to someone who’d just had major abdominal surgery, it obviously wasn’t. Emily bit down on her lower lip as she worked her way through a set, struggling to keep her breathing even. Rossi watched without comment, though he sometimes leaned forward, fighting off the urge to touch her arm.
Emily lay back on the mat, color slowly returning to her pale face. “I used to be able to do a hundred crunches without breaking a sweat,” she said, her voice torn by pain. “Now I can’t even do a set of five with a resistance band without feeling like I’m going to have a heart attack.”
“You’re doing FINE,” her therapist reminded her patiently, handing Emily a hand towel. “Just remember to-” She broke off as her phone vibrated on her hip. “I’m sorry.” She checked the display. “It’s my son’s school. Let me take this. I’ll be right back. Agent Rossi, if you want to help her do another set of five, you’re more than welcome to.”
“Oh, Heather, don’t say that!” Emily moaned at the therapist’s back. “Now he’s going to make me do it!”
Rossi grinned. “This isn’t quite what I had in mind when I played doctor as a kid but it’ll do.” He picked up the resistance band and held it out to Emily. “You ready?”
“No,” Emily replied flatly.
“Sure you are,” Rossi responded cheerfully. “Just think-the sooner you get these done, the sooner you can re-qualify to get back on the team.”
He’d hit her weak spot. Emily rolled her eyes and shot him a dirty look. “I hate you sometimes, you know that, right?”
“I know,” he said. “And it just makes you want to try harder to show you can outdo me.”
“What an ego,” Emily said with a laugh. “You think this is all about you?” She grabbed the end of the resistance band and wrapped her fingers around it so tightly they turned white. “No wonder you have so much trouble getting a date.” She pulled herself up, hiding a wince behind a fierce scowl. “One.”
“And why I have three ex wives,” Rossi added, grinning. “They couldn’t stand my ego either. Janice said the way my head swelled when my book hit the top of the New York Times Nonfiction list reminded her of a Macy’s Parade balloon.” He nodded in approval as Emily completed a second crunch. “Two. Good job.”
“I’d believe that,” Emily ground out, hauling herself up for a third time. “I bet you’re one of those guys who practice his autograph for hours on end.”
Rossi laughed. “Took forever to get the “R” just right in my last name. Four.”
“And your personal library is made up of all your own books.” Emily clenched her teeth through crunches five, six, and seven. On the eighth she gasped out a breath and grabbed hold of Rossi’s forearms. “I can’t do any more.”
“Sure you can. Two more and you’ll be at ten and we’ll call it a day.”
“I can’t. Seriously.”
“You can. You said you couldn’t walk down the hall on Monday and you did it today without even breaking a sweat. I know you’ve got it in you.”
Emily hunched over and shut her eyes, obviously fighting off a wave of pain. “Dave,” she gasped, her voice frantic and a little afraid. “I’m going to pass out if I try to finish that set.”
“Okay. No problem. Lie back.” Rossi moved to her side and helped her lower herself to the mat. “Don’t tense up,” he instructed, squeezing her shoulders. “Just breathe into it. I know it hurts.” He ran his fingers gently up and down her arms, which were trembling with effort. “I didn’t mean to push you, Emily. I’m sorry. I just want you to get better. If I’m a little too gung-ho about this, it’s because I want you back with us.”
“You just like watching me suffer,” Emily whispered, a faint smile twisting her lips. “Sadist.”
“I like watching you fight,” Rossi responded. He was still stroking her arm. “But I don’t like seeing you in pain.”
“My world right now is nothing but pain. But I’ll try harder to fight. For you.” She laughed softly, winced. “See? It IS all about you.”
“No. Make it about you.”
Heather re-entered the room then. “Sorry! Kid crisis.” She kneeled on the mat beside Emily and took her pulse. “Did Secret Agent Man push you too hard?”
Emily shook her head. “Just hard enough. I started feeling dizzy though, so he helped me lie down.”
Heather nodded. “It’s probably wise to stop then. Let me get you some water.”
Emily gave Rossi a considering look then said, “No, I’ll try to do another set.”
“Not on my account,” Rossi said quickly. “No way. If you’re feeling like you’re done, then be done.”
“I need to try,” she said. “I need to fight.”
Heather looked pleased, but still a bit concerned. “Are you sure?”
Emily nodded. “I need to know I can do this.” She looked at Heather. “Do you mind if Dave works this set with me?”
“Not at all. I’ll go get you that water.”
“You want me, the sadist slave driver, to do another set with you?” Rossi joked. “Seriously?”
“To keep me focused.”
He nodded and took the resistance band in his hands. “Ready?”
Emily bit her lip, nodded, and grabbed her end of the band. “Yeah.”
Pain and strain were clear on her face but she soldiered through, eyes locked on a spot on the wall just over Rossi’s shoulder. He, in turn, kept his eyes on her face, counting each rep with her. When she worked herself up to sitting for the fifth and final time, he caught her hands in his and held on to keep her sitting upright.
“I’ve got you,” he assured her, helping her lean back against the wall. He laid his palm on her flushed cheek. “You did great.”
“You looked like you’d have done anything to take that pain away from her,” Garcia said softly. “Whatever feeling makes you want to do that … love, lust, whatever … you feel it for her. I know you do.”
Rossi didn’t say anything-what could he say in the face of that?-but Garcia didn’t seem to need an answer. She laid a hand on his arm and squeezed gently. “You think she feels the same?”
“God, I hope so. I don’t know what I’ll do if it turns out she doesn’t.”
“Well, then you have to find out!” Garcia grinned at him. “Ask her out.”
“No,” he responded immediately. “No way, Garcia. Not a chance.”
“No,” she repeated incredulously. “What do you mean, no? You’re LIVING WITH HER! Ask her out!”
“I told you, that’s different. She’s staying with me because of the fire, not because we’re dating. Asking her out would ruin everything!”
“Oh, you are hopeless,” Garcia groaned, sinking into a chair. “How would asking her out ruin everything? You go out, you have a fabulous time, you end up back at your place dancing under the stars to Frank Sinatra … what could go wrong?”
“But what if we don’t have a fabulous time?” Rossi countered. “What if things get weird? What if we don’t have anything to talk about?”
That was a pathetic excuse even to his ears … he and Emily NEVER ran out of things to talk about.
Garcia rolled her eyes. “David Rossi, I cannot believe I’m hearing this from you of all people! You could give The Dos Equis Most Interesting Man in the World a run for his money! Women flock to you like you’re the guy in the Axe body spray commercials! What would make you think that Emily Prentiss would be insane enough to turn you down for a date or that you wouldn’t have an absolutely fantastic time if you did go on a date with her?”
“Well, three ex-wives for starters!” he blurted, then nearly clapped a hand over his mouth. Where the HELL had that come from?
“I’m sorry?” Garcia leaned forward eagerly. “Was that a personal confession from the oh-so-tight-lipped Special Agent David Rossi, the suavest man in the FBI? Was that the Cary Grant of the BAU admitting weakness?”
“Forget it,” he said, turning to go. “I’m not getting into this.”
“Dave,” Garcia said quietly. He turned back around. Garcia NEVER called him by his first name. “It stays right here.” She solemnly drew an X across her chest. “Cross my warm, fuzzy, romantical heart.”
He sighed and sat down. “You know my history.”
“I know your personnel file and I know the grapevine. That doesn’t actually mean I know much at all.”
Rossi laughed. “Good point. Garcia, I’ve been married three times. And each time … I was the one who screwed it up. It was never their fault. Janice, Teresa, and Denise … they were good women … too good for me, really. I was never able to give them the time and attention they deserved. If I wasn’t half in and half out of some unsub’s brain pan, I was lost in my writing. I let my marriage come in second to my career … third, if you want to get technical about it … the Bureau came first and then my writing. It should never have been that way.”
“So what is it you’re worried about?” Garcia asked.
“What if I can’t put Emily first? What if I do the same thing to her that I did to them?”
“I think that if you’re this worried about it and you’ve put this much energy into thinking about it, you’re not likely to make the same mistake again. You’re not stupid, Dave.”
“That’s a matter of opinion. I made the same mistake three times all ready. You could argue that I’m triply stupid.”
Garcia laughed. “You have a blind spot when it comes to your job and your love life and how they intersect. Who doesn’t?” She waved a hand toward the bull pen. “JJ’s the only person who’s managed to make a relationship work in this job and that’s because she and Will both know the demands the job puts on you. They give each other leeway when they need it. Maybe you need to date someone who knows what this is like for you.” She gave him a sly look. “Like, say … Emily.”
Rossi laughed. “No matter what I say, you’re going to come up with an answer that puts the two of us together, aren’t you?”
“Probably.” Garcia picked up one of her pens from her desk-it had sparkly purple feathers glued to the cap-and waved it at him. “You BELONG together. Seriously. And it isn’t just the way you look at her or the way she pretends she isn’t looking at you.” She grinned at his expression. “Oh, please, you haven’t noticed her checking you out? Sheesh, you men are so oblivious. Anyway … it’s not the looks or the lust or anything else that makes you guys work-it’s the fact that you’re interlocking puzzle pieces. You fit together AND together you fit into the bigger picture. That’s what’s going to make you work.”
Rossi smiled at Garcia, genuinely fond of the sweet, quirky blonde. “You ever think about doing this for a living?”
“What, counseling the lovelorn? God, no. I’m no psychologist.”
“You sound pretty close to one to me.”
Garcia shrugged. “I know my guys and gals, that’s all. I couldn’t do this for anyone BUT you guys.” She leaned forward and squeezed Rossi’s hand. “You going to ask her?”
Rossi took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll ask her.”
“Yes!” Garcia squealed, throwing the pen in the air. “Okay, now, here’s what you ought to do …”
TO BE CONTINUED!
For Parts 1-3 of "Combustion," head to the tag marked "Fan Fic--Criminal Minds" and click on the entry. Enjoy!