Falling part 5
Title: Falling (part 5)
Author: Louisa and Tamoline
Thank you to nonpresence for looking it over and making it better
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Emma Frost
Notes: This revolves around the events of Faces, told from Emily's point of view. (We really will get around to the sequel, but Falling is of sufficiently different form that we thought it best to make a seperate story for it.)
You will need to read Faces before reading this story:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9
The Hunt is suggested as well, as it deals with Emily prior to the events of Faces:
Groundwork Interrogation Contact Aftermath
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
"The last hundred feet to the restaurant are definitely the hardest.
I don't mix work and not-work. It's one of my rules, one of the ways I survive. Emma already crosses enough boundaries with me. Bringing her into my work world just feels like a recipe for disaster, on a personal scale. It doesn't help that my profile of Emma throws up far too convincing scenarios as to what might happen on an evening with the team. Especially when combined with Morgan, curse him.
Maybe he's been stricken suddenly ill?
I doubt that I'm that lucky.
I may have been dreading this ever since the idea was broached. But I locked that fear up into a little box and didn't let it out.
It's not as though it would do any good to worry about it before. Not that the pointlessness of worrying is stopping me now.
So here I am, a hundred feet away, and it feels like the path to the restaurant is up a steep incline, like there is a palpable force pushing me away. I want to stop, to make my excuses, to leave.
I won't, of course, but I'd like to.
Caught up in my own internal psychodrama, I almost, but not quite, jump as I feel one arm quite determinedly taken by a certain blonde. I look askance at her.
"My public awaits. Not to mention all kinds of juicy gossip about you." She smirks at me, clearly already plotting.
Weirdly, this makes me feel better. This is a game I know how to play.
The doors are just in front of me now. I'm tugged through, and suddenly it's like I'm in freefall. Maybe a little disoriented, a little off balance, but I'm in motion and there's nothing to stop me. Nothing at all.
Emma strides into the room like a queen, like a conqueror, letting me trail behind her as part of her retinue. She pauses just within the threshold, surveying the restaurant and everything in it as if it has failed some ineffable test. Only then does she resettle her hold on my arm and lead me over to the table. A waiter is politely waved away as we make our grand approach. (In her typically confident way, she doesn't even bother to check that she's heading for the right table. It would totally serve her right if she's guessed wrong, but of course she hasn't.)
And so we set the tone for the evening. We are *definitely* going to have words about this later. For what good that will do.
As we approach, I can see that everyone else is already here. We are, despite my best efforts, what Emma terms 'fashionably late'. She has a way of turning everything into a dominance game, and this is no exception. Just like the way she took my arm. And I bet that none of this is going unnoted.
I find myself cataloguing their reactions out of habit. Hotch is typically understated, any tells concealed behind a mask of polite interest. Maybe there's a slight quirk to one eyebrow, but maybe there isn't. Rossi nods a greeting, his expression open, friendly and giving absolutely nothing away. Reid has that small, shy smile he often wears when meeting new people socially, but his eyes flick back and forth between us and I know he's in analytical mode, trying to work out how we fit together. His gaze makes me even more acutely aware of our body language, of the way she's holding my arm, but there's nothing I can do about it right now. Morgan's gaze is frankly appreciative. Whatever else he might be thinking, it's locked away behind his easy smile and sparkling eyes. Garcia looks surprised, even startled; her eyes wide and her mouth falling open before she collects herself. And as for JJ...
Her gaze scalds me from across the room. Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments, and then her expression is wiped away as if it had never been, leaving nothing but polite interest in its place. Despite myself, my stomach twists uneasily. I expected this, or something like it, but even so the intensity of her reaction takes me by surprise. We need to talk, she and I. But not here and not now.
I have more immediate problems to deal with. Time to make the introductions. I open my mouth to speak, but Emma -- curse the wench -- beats me to it.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. You must be the fine people of the BAU. I've heard so much about you." Is that a smirk? Is she smirking? Of course she's smirking. "I'm Emma Winthrop." After bestowing a regal smile upon one and all, she turns to me expectantly.
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes at her, I obligingly name my colleagues one by one. I can't help but notice that I seem to be the only one who isn't here alone. Funny, that. It's almost as if this dinner was a thinly veiled excuse for the team to get together and play 'let's interrogate Emily and her special friend'. Maybe the knowing glances and subtle insinuations in their responses are just my imagination, but even so, I can't stop myself from finishing the introductions with: "Everyone, this is my friend Emma." At least I manage not to emphasise the word 'friend'.
"Charmed." Favouring them with another flash of her brilliant white teeth, she takes a step towards one of the vacant seats, but makes no move to pull it out and sit down. Surely she's not expecting...? Even as the thought forms in my head, she flicks a glance in my direction, confirming my suspicion.
Well, that's just not going to happen.
Completely ignoring the implicit demand, I pull out my own chair and sit down, leaving Little Miss Imperious to fend for herself. A long moment passes, but then I hear the scrape of wood on tile. So, the Empress can deign move a chair after all.
I'm almost surprised she didn't summon a waiter to -
"Please, allow me."
Dammit, Morgan!
"Why thank you." Gracefully, she lowers herself into the seat next to mine, 'accidentally' brushing her leg against mine as she does so. If I were anyone else, I would almost certainly be gritting my teeth right now. As it is, I don't react in the slightest. For her part, Emma is smiling up at Morgan, ostensibly focusing all her attention on him. "It's so wonderful to meet someone with good manners."
Subtle, Emma. Really subtle.
Although, considering how blatant she can be when she puts her mind to it, that actually was quite subtle for her.
Morgan grins back at her as he reseats himself at the table. "My pleasure."
Oh, don't encourage her.
Fortunately -- and somewhat surprisingly -- she doesn't immediately pounce on the straight line. Maybe she's actually going to behave for the rest of the evening. Or, maybe she's just trying to lull me into a false sense of security before doing something truly outrageous.
It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you.
On that note -- as if by coincidence -- I become aware of a whispered conversation taking place to my left. Reid and Garcia are obviously trying to be quiet, but whispers can carry across a dinner table surprisingly well. Especially if no one else is talking.
"I don't *know*, Reid. I've never met her before either." Garcia sounds a little frazzled. I know the feeling.
"She did say 'friend', though, didn't she?"
"Yes, that's what she said."
"But their body language would suggest..." Mercifully, Reid breaks off mid-sentence, frowning as Garcia gesticulates wildly at him. I shoot him a Look, uncertain how much of his current obliviousness is real and how much is him trying to provoke a reaction from me. Not that he can't be socially clueless at times, but I know for sure that he sometimes does it deliberately. Obliviousness can be a very effective shield. Or a sword.
At the moment, Reid is looking confusedly at Garcia. "What?" he asks.
Before she can answer, Hotch clears his throat, the sound drawing the attention of everyone at the table.
"Now that we're all here, I suggest we think about ordering." He gestures at the menus before us, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly as he turns his gaze to Emma. "The food here is very good. I'd be happy to recommend something if you like."
"Thank you," she says politely, "but I think I'll be fine." And, although she's still looking at Hotch, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that her next words are meant for me. "I always know exactly what I want."
Oh god.
Hotch... actually blinks. Even through the rising mortification, there's a part of my mind that is raising a metaphorical glass to Emma for *that* achievement. Some of us have been trying for years without even that much. I get the feeling he isn't used to women like her.
But then, I'm not sure there are any other women like Emma. And that's probably for the best.
As if she knows exactly what I'm thinking, she turns to smile archly at me.
"I bet I know what you want, too."
Only force of habit stops me from freezing like a deer in headlights. Unfortunately, all the composure in the world can't help me come up with a coherent response.
"Huh?" is the best I can manage.
She taps her open menu, the mischievous glint in her eyes belying the innocence of her next words. "If I recall correctly, the chef here does a superb linguini."
"Maybe I'll try that, then." Seizing the apparent reprieve with both hands, I focus on my own menu as if I'm actually interested in food right now.
This is going to be a long, long evening.
"So, there I was, debating whether to take my life in my hands and try to approach the coffee machine."
It's funny: Morgan's little exaggerations always seem much more amusing when they're not about me.
Emma, the treacherous viper, laughs delightedly, lightly touching Morgan on the arm. "I can imagine," she says sympathetically. "She can be quite..." Briefly, her eyes meet mine, amusement sparkling in their depths, before she looks back to the Judas at her side. "Formidable."
"Heh. That's a good way of putting it. She was stomping around like she was just waiting for an excuse to rip someone's heart out with her bare hands."
"I was not!" I'd told myself wasn't going to get involved in this, but there's no way I can let him get away with that kind of slander. "Morgan, you're full of crap."
"Darling, that's not a nice thing to say to your charming colleague," Emma purrs. Morgan preens at being called charming. The bastard. He really is a sucker for a pretty face. And impressive... other parts.
"Yeah, Prentiss." Morgan smirks, and I'm sure I hear a giggle from Garcia. "You'll hurt my feelings. And you know I'm a sensitive soul."
"Oh, I'll bet you are." she pitches her voice low, but not so low that we don't all hear it. And she doesn't even bother to conceal the rampant speculation in the words.
"Emma," I say, warningly.
"Yes, darling?" And now she's all innocence, like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. I shake my head wordlessly. After all, what would I say?
"Oh, finish your story, Morgan." I don't concede with the best grace in the world, but I manage to scrape up a lopsided smile from somewhere.
Not needing to be told twice, he turns back to his rapt audience.
"Anyway, I made my decision and cautiously entered the danger zone..."
* * *
I hovered by the coffee machine, waiting for Morgan to get his ass in gear and head over here. I had the day's newspaper in front of me, but the words didn't really register in my consciousness. It was more for camouflage than anything else.
Come on, Morgan.
Naturally, because I was waiting, he took his sweet time. Not deliberately, I was reasonably sure, but simply because that's how life works. He headed back to his desk to mess around with something or other. He stopped to flirt with a secretary and a passing agent or two; to exchange chit chat with a couple of the guys. He even stuck his head into JJ's office for a couple of minutes. By the time he finally ambled over in my direction, I was just about fit to be tied.
Not that anyone would know it to look at me, of course.
"Morning, Prentiss," he greeted me cheerfully.
"Good morning." I nodded cordially. "How's it going?"
"Pretty good, thanks. You?"
"Yeah, pretty good." I waited while he poured his coffee, timing my next words so they seem casual; an afterthought. Nothing of any great significance. "Actually, while you're here: mind if I pick your brains about something?"
He leaned back against the counter, raising his eyebrows enquiringly. "Shoot."
"Hypothetically," I began, sticking to the angle I'd rehearsed.
Morgan had that smirk on his face; the one that said he wasn't fooled in the slightest by the pretense, but was willing to go along with it for the moment.
"Hypothetically," he repeated, gesturing for me to continue.
"The situation is this: it's Saturday night and our subject is out playing wingman to a friend. She is emphatically not looking to hook up herself at the moment. Her only objective is to watch out for her friend. Anyway, at some point during the course of the evening, she actually does end up meeting a guy." Guy in the non-gendered, generic individual sense of course. If Morgan wanted to read more into it than that, then that was his own look out. "They seem to hit it off, and end up chatting for a while."
"Chatting, huh?" I could practically hear the quotation marks around the word.
"Yes, chatting. It may surprise you to know, Morgan, but some people actually spend time on the verbal before diving straight into the physical." If Celia was here, she would have laughed hysterically at that little hypocrisy. Not that she would have room to talk.
Now he grinned. "I've never had any complaints about my... verbal skills."
I rolled my eyes, but I supposed I couldn't really blame him for leaping on the straight line. I did hand it to him, after all.
"At the end of the evening, the guy gives her his phone number."
"Unsolicited?"
"Yep. And he doesn't ask for hers in return."
"Does she offer it?"
"No."
"The ball's entirely in her court, then."
"That's about the size of it."
He tilted his head, looking at me thoughtfully. "Seems fairly straightforward to me. You said they hit it off, and he wouldn't give her his number if he didn't want her to use it. She should call him."
"But there's a complication."
"Figured there'd have to be."
"Say the place they met was a real dive; the kind of place in which our subject wouldn't normally be seen dead. The kind of place that would generally mean an automatic rejection." It wasn't the real problem, but I couldn't help my habit of laying false trails. On the rare occasions I needed one, Morgan was a good sounding board even if I didn't exactly give him all the facts.
"I'd say maybe she shouldn't be so judgemental. A place doesn't have to be high class to have a good vibe."
"Say it was the S X Factor." Okay, maybe that was a mark against Emma. But the real issue was: did I want to see her again? She was amusing, witty (albeit in a somewhat cruel way) and obviously intelligent. All plus points. But there was a spark there, and it seemed to be reciprocated. And that had been a signal for me to just run for several years.
And, really, that was what I should do now.
So why hadn't I already put her out of my mind?
His eyebrows shot up. "Damn!" He gave a theatrical shudder. "That place is nasty."
"Yeah." Even as I nodded in agreement, I made a note of the fact that Morgan had obviously been there. Although I'd lay odds that he hadn't been more than once.
"In that case, I'd say find a friend with better taste, or stage an intervention ASAP."
Except I would never ditch Celia, and I doubted yet another intervention would succeed where all the others had failed. Celia *liked* cheap and nasty for some unknown reason. Only loyalty to my best friend in all the world helped me scrape together the lackluster glower I turned on Morgan. "Can we get back to the question?" Facts were tumbling inside my head, but they hadn't resolved just yet.
He sighed. "So, this hypothetical woman hypothetically gets dragged out to the S X Factor" -- another dramatic shudder -- "where, against all odds, she meets someone she can actually hold a conversation with. You want to know if she should see him again." He drummed his fingers on the worktop thoughtfully. "I have a question for you. If they'd met somewhere else -- anywhere else -- would she call him?"
And suddenly, the facts slid into place, made sense, became an answer. Yes. Yes, I would. Emma Winthrop intrigued me, and I'd like to see her again under better circumstances.
Maybe, later, I could plead temporary insanity, but for now the decision just felt right.
Of course, my response to Morgan was somewhat more cautious. "Let's say yes, on balance."
"Then that's your answer. She should see the guy again." He shrugged. "Either it'll work out or it won't, but at least then she'll know one way or the other. And if it doesn't work out, she's lost nothing but time." His eyebrows lifted enquiringly. "Does that help?"
"It does, thanks." I smiled at him as I got some more coffee. "You make a good sounding board."
He grinned back at me. "Anytime, Prentiss." His smile took on a sly edge. "So, you picked up someone in the S X Factor, huh?"
"Hypothetical, remember?"
"Uh huh."
Great. Why did I get the feeling that he wasn't going to let this go? That would be because I knew him. Oh well. I knew that was a risk when I approached him, but it was worth it for the lightness I felt, like a weight had been lifted from my mind. I was going to see her again.
And then... We would see what happened.
Author's Note: The flashback is from after the meeting at the S X Factor, but shortly before the text message to Emma.