[Criminal Minds] Against Her Better Judgment (Rossi/Prentiss) (1/3)
This is, by the way, the Emily-in-fishnets fic.
Title: Against Her Better Judgment
Author: Smitty
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/David Rossi, Criminal Minds
Rating: This part is PG-13/Teen but will eventually be NC-17/FRAO
Summary: "Rossi looks up then, and for a moment their eyes meet and Emily doesn't want to do this anymore."
Notes: This was written for wojelah who gave me a Dorothy Parker quote and 500 words. The actual length of this is 1500 words. I begged 500 and stole the rest. And then convinced her to let me have parts 2 and 3.
"That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone: Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment."
-Dorothy Parker, 'But the One on the Right,' in New Yorker, 1929
Against Her Better Judgment
"You know, it could be worse," Reid offers, hands in his pockets. He's rocking back on his heels and Emily thinks it's so he can make a fast getaway. That means his next line is going to get him in so much trouble, he's handing it off to Morgan so he can run.
"Oh, yeah?" Emily asks, plucking at the fishnet stockings - god, who knew how much they itched? - and then freezes, wondering if she'd just pulled the back seam crooked. "Go on. Tell me how this could be worse."
"Well, for one thing, you could have to be seducing Rossi for real," Morgan points out, with an assessing glance that somehow manages not to be skeezy.
Emily's face goes hot. She ducks her head and pretends to concentrate on fixing her stockings, hoping her hair will cover her face. She thinks maybe she would rather be seducing Rossi for real, rather than wearing this ridiculous getup and staging some business-deal-gone-awry so a serial killer could come to her rescue. The White Knight, the newspapers had dubbed him before they'd arrived. It had taken long enough to figure out that each of the slain prostitutes had been rescued from a public altercation by a handsome man with features no one has ever managed to remember.
"Hey, Prentiss?" Morgan isn't teasing now and he touches her bare shoulder, but carefully, only his fingertips. "You okay?"
"Fine," she says, shaking her hair back. If her cheeks are still a little pink, well, she's got more than enough makeup on to wave that off.
"You sure you want to do this?" Morgan's eyebrows are scrunched low over his eyes. Reid's fidgeting double-time in the background.
"I'll be fine," Emily says, because she trusts Morgan's instincts and Reid's brain, and Hotch's decisions, and Rossi - Rossi she trusts to have her back. "Next time we're having you go undercover as a Chippendale. See how you like that."
"Hey," Morgan replies, one eyebrow quirking up. "Some ladies would pay big bucks for that kind of show."
"Oh, my God." Emily rolls her eyes. "Can we get on with this? The van's not big enough for all of us and your ego."
"We're all wired up." Morgan holds up an earpiece. "Reid and I will be watching from here. Rossi's inside. Hotch is watching the back. If you get a funky feeling - "
"I know," Emily says. "Open my purse. Whip out the fan."
"Or the gun," Reid offers helpfully.
"As a last resort," Morgan warns.
"Guys, this is not my first rodeo." Emily offers them a bright smile and shakes her hair back again. "Let's get this show on the road."
The Milwaukee PD driver lets her off a couple blocks away and then moves the van down the street and around the corner where Morgan and Reid can get a good view of the street where the bar entrance is.
Alone for a moment she fluffs out her bangs and makes sure to swing her hips whens she walks. The heels are too high and the skirt shortens her stride. Also, she's pretty sure her boobs are going to fall out of her tank top if she tries to run, so she makes a heat-of-the-moment decision several minutes prior to any actual heat - she's shooting the guy or he gets to run away. No one's chasing anyone if she has anything to say about it.
The bar is already kind of crowded when she steps inside and it takes her a moment to locate Rossi.
He's a glass tumbler of untouched scotch in a room full of sloshed beers and - Emily's thinking like a hooker - that's the guy she wants paying her tab tonight. She leans against the bar and shouts, "Gimme a brewski!" in the general direction of the bartenders.
Rossi looks up then, and for a moment their eyes meet and Emily doesn't want to do this anymore. She breaks eye contact and smiles widely at the nearest bartender, who's sliding a cold bottle in her direction.
"What do I owe you?" she asks, crossing her arms under her breasts and leaning forward a bit more.
The bartender leans forward, too, mirroring her. She can tell he's interested. She's not, but she's got a job to do, and that job involves playing along until they get what they're after. She's pretty sure he's about to let her know that flashing her tits is worth $3.50 in his book, but a voice cuts in above the noise.
"I'll be paying for the lady's drinks tonight." Rossi drops a ten on the bar and the bartender picks it up and backs off. "Keep the change," Rossi adds, settling himself against the bar beside Emily. "What's your name?" he asks, and she wonders if this is how he is with all his storied conquests, if she's getting a full dose of the legendary Rossi charm.
"Emily," she answers. Reid had offered to let her make up a name and Morgan had volunteered several options, but her brain had frozen and it's not like it matters, not out here, 800 miles away from her real life. She settles her weight on one hip and lifts her beer bottle. "Thanks for the drink," she adds.
"My pleasure," he says. "I'm Dave." He salutes her with the glass of scotch but doesn't take a drink.
"So, you uh, come here often?" Emily asks. She attempts a flirty smile and feels like an idiot. She's pretty sure Dave's laughing at her but he smiles and plays along and acts like she's the most interesting thing he's ever seen until he taps her knee twice where it's pressed up against his on the bar stools. Emily knows that's the cue
"Come on, we're getting out of here," Dave says, and grabs her upper arm. It's sudden and it's a little rough and cue or no cue, she isn't exactly expecting it.
"Hold on a sec," she says, and balks half-heartedly.
He leans in and growls, loudly enough for the surrounding bar patrons to hear, "Come on you little tease. Outside." He yanks and she stumbles and she hates this, hates it. It's easier to take when the person roughing her up's the bad guy, someone she can hate, someone she can rail against in her head, and she doesn't hate Dave. His thumb strokes softly against the inside of her arm, comfort, an apology, something, even as she trips after him. The air outside is a shock - it's gotten colder since she went in and when they're clear of the door, Dave whispers, "You okay?"
"Shh," she reminds him because the last thing she needs is for him to be nice. Then, louder: "Where are we going? Where are you taking me?" She pushes weakly at his hand, not actually trying to get away. If she'd wanted to get away, she knows, at minimum, four far more effective moves.
Rossi steers her into the alley and leans in close enough to smell his shaving cream and cologne and see where the hair at his temples ranges from dark to gray.
She spits on him.
Rossi rears back, cocking his fist, and then he wavers. His eyes go soft and she's afraid it won't happen, that he won't go through with it and the whole stupid thing will be for nothing.
"Do it," she whispers. "Dave. Now."
He lets it fly and she winces, bracing for impact - he'll pull it, but it's going to hurt anyway- but the impact never comes. She opens her eyes in time to see Dave's fist fly by her face and then he hits the brick wall next to her.
It splits the knuckles, blood running over the back of his hand, and she's pretty sure she heard bones break. Her mouth is open, a swallowed scream choking in her throat, and after a moment, she takes advantage of it to scream, loudly.
And then someone is hauling Rossi away from her and Rossi is stumbling back from a solid roundhouse to the jaw.
"Are you all right, ma'am?" a voice was asking her. "Come with me, I'll keep you safe."
Emily presses back against the wall, the brick rough against her bare shoulders. She doesn't have to fake being rattled, but she has to fake feeling helpless about it.
"You - you saved me," she says in a deliberately small voice.
"I'm going to take good care of you," the man assures her, drawing her away from the wall with a hand on her shoulder. He's taller than she is in heels, so he's over six feet, and a good two hundred pounds. His hair's dusty brown and his features are soft. He's probably a boyish forty. "Come on," he croons, guiding her around Rossi's body. "Let's get you out of here."
Rossi hasn't moved, but Emily doesn't let herself look back as the White Knight leads her deeper into the alley.
TBC
Title: Against Her Better Judgment
Author: Smitty
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/David Rossi, Criminal Minds
Rating: This part is PG-13/Teen but will eventually be NC-17/FRAO
Summary: "Rossi looks up then, and for a moment their eyes meet and Emily doesn't want to do this anymore."
Notes: This was written for wojelah who gave me a Dorothy Parker quote and 500 words. The actual length of this is 1500 words. I begged 500 and stole the rest. And then convinced her to let me have parts 2 and 3.
"That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone: Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment."
-Dorothy Parker, 'But the One on the Right,' in New Yorker, 1929
Against Her Better Judgment
"You know, it could be worse," Reid offers, hands in his pockets. He's rocking back on his heels and Emily thinks it's so he can make a fast getaway. That means his next line is going to get him in so much trouble, he's handing it off to Morgan so he can run.
"Oh, yeah?" Emily asks, plucking at the fishnet stockings - god, who knew how much they itched? - and then freezes, wondering if she'd just pulled the back seam crooked. "Go on. Tell me how this could be worse."
"Well, for one thing, you could have to be seducing Rossi for real," Morgan points out, with an assessing glance that somehow manages not to be skeezy.
Emily's face goes hot. She ducks her head and pretends to concentrate on fixing her stockings, hoping her hair will cover her face. She thinks maybe she would rather be seducing Rossi for real, rather than wearing this ridiculous getup and staging some business-deal-gone-awry so a serial killer could come to her rescue. The White Knight, the newspapers had dubbed him before they'd arrived. It had taken long enough to figure out that each of the slain prostitutes had been rescued from a public altercation by a handsome man with features no one has ever managed to remember.
"Hey, Prentiss?" Morgan isn't teasing now and he touches her bare shoulder, but carefully, only his fingertips. "You okay?"
"Fine," she says, shaking her hair back. If her cheeks are still a little pink, well, she's got more than enough makeup on to wave that off.
"You sure you want to do this?" Morgan's eyebrows are scrunched low over his eyes. Reid's fidgeting double-time in the background.
"I'll be fine," Emily says, because she trusts Morgan's instincts and Reid's brain, and Hotch's decisions, and Rossi - Rossi she trusts to have her back. "Next time we're having you go undercover as a Chippendale. See how you like that."
"Hey," Morgan replies, one eyebrow quirking up. "Some ladies would pay big bucks for that kind of show."
"Oh, my God." Emily rolls her eyes. "Can we get on with this? The van's not big enough for all of us and your ego."
"We're all wired up." Morgan holds up an earpiece. "Reid and I will be watching from here. Rossi's inside. Hotch is watching the back. If you get a funky feeling - "
"I know," Emily says. "Open my purse. Whip out the fan."
"Or the gun," Reid offers helpfully.
"As a last resort," Morgan warns.
"Guys, this is not my first rodeo." Emily offers them a bright smile and shakes her hair back again. "Let's get this show on the road."
The Milwaukee PD driver lets her off a couple blocks away and then moves the van down the street and around the corner where Morgan and Reid can get a good view of the street where the bar entrance is.
Alone for a moment she fluffs out her bangs and makes sure to swing her hips whens she walks. The heels are too high and the skirt shortens her stride. Also, she's pretty sure her boobs are going to fall out of her tank top if she tries to run, so she makes a heat-of-the-moment decision several minutes prior to any actual heat - she's shooting the guy or he gets to run away. No one's chasing anyone if she has anything to say about it.
The bar is already kind of crowded when she steps inside and it takes her a moment to locate Rossi.
He's a glass tumbler of untouched scotch in a room full of sloshed beers and - Emily's thinking like a hooker - that's the guy she wants paying her tab tonight. She leans against the bar and shouts, "Gimme a brewski!" in the general direction of the bartenders.
Rossi looks up then, and for a moment their eyes meet and Emily doesn't want to do this anymore. She breaks eye contact and smiles widely at the nearest bartender, who's sliding a cold bottle in her direction.
"What do I owe you?" she asks, crossing her arms under her breasts and leaning forward a bit more.
The bartender leans forward, too, mirroring her. She can tell he's interested. She's not, but she's got a job to do, and that job involves playing along until they get what they're after. She's pretty sure he's about to let her know that flashing her tits is worth $3.50 in his book, but a voice cuts in above the noise.
"I'll be paying for the lady's drinks tonight." Rossi drops a ten on the bar and the bartender picks it up and backs off. "Keep the change," Rossi adds, settling himself against the bar beside Emily. "What's your name?" he asks, and she wonders if this is how he is with all his storied conquests, if she's getting a full dose of the legendary Rossi charm.
"Emily," she answers. Reid had offered to let her make up a name and Morgan had volunteered several options, but her brain had frozen and it's not like it matters, not out here, 800 miles away from her real life. She settles her weight on one hip and lifts her beer bottle. "Thanks for the drink," she adds.
"My pleasure," he says. "I'm Dave." He salutes her with the glass of scotch but doesn't take a drink.
"So, you uh, come here often?" Emily asks. She attempts a flirty smile and feels like an idiot. She's pretty sure Dave's laughing at her but he smiles and plays along and acts like she's the most interesting thing he's ever seen until he taps her knee twice where it's pressed up against his on the bar stools. Emily knows that's the cue
"Come on, we're getting out of here," Dave says, and grabs her upper arm. It's sudden and it's a little rough and cue or no cue, she isn't exactly expecting it.
"Hold on a sec," she says, and balks half-heartedly.
He leans in and growls, loudly enough for the surrounding bar patrons to hear, "Come on you little tease. Outside." He yanks and she stumbles and she hates this, hates it. It's easier to take when the person roughing her up's the bad guy, someone she can hate, someone she can rail against in her head, and she doesn't hate Dave. His thumb strokes softly against the inside of her arm, comfort, an apology, something, even as she trips after him. The air outside is a shock - it's gotten colder since she went in and when they're clear of the door, Dave whispers, "You okay?"
"Shh," she reminds him because the last thing she needs is for him to be nice. Then, louder: "Where are we going? Where are you taking me?" She pushes weakly at his hand, not actually trying to get away. If she'd wanted to get away, she knows, at minimum, four far more effective moves.
Rossi steers her into the alley and leans in close enough to smell his shaving cream and cologne and see where the hair at his temples ranges from dark to gray.
She spits on him.
Rossi rears back, cocking his fist, and then he wavers. His eyes go soft and she's afraid it won't happen, that he won't go through with it and the whole stupid thing will be for nothing.
"Do it," she whispers. "Dave. Now."
He lets it fly and she winces, bracing for impact - he'll pull it, but it's going to hurt anyway- but the impact never comes. She opens her eyes in time to see Dave's fist fly by her face and then he hits the brick wall next to her.
It splits the knuckles, blood running over the back of his hand, and she's pretty sure she heard bones break. Her mouth is open, a swallowed scream choking in her throat, and after a moment, she takes advantage of it to scream, loudly.
And then someone is hauling Rossi away from her and Rossi is stumbling back from a solid roundhouse to the jaw.
"Are you all right, ma'am?" a voice was asking her. "Come with me, I'll keep you safe."
Emily presses back against the wall, the brick rough against her bare shoulders. She doesn't have to fake being rattled, but she has to fake feeling helpless about it.
"You - you saved me," she says in a deliberately small voice.
"I'm going to take good care of you," the man assures her, drawing her away from the wall with a hand on her shoulder. He's taller than she is in heels, so he's over six feet, and a good two hundred pounds. His hair's dusty brown and his features are soft. He's probably a boyish forty. "Come on," he croons, guiding her around Rossi's body. "Let's get you out of here."
Rossi hasn't moved, but Emily doesn't let herself look back as the White Knight leads her deeper into the alley.
TBC