Only the Beginning - Part Two, for severity_softly, Prentiss/Rossi, FRT/PG13

[cmexchangemods]

Title: Only the Beginning - Part Two
Author: mingsmommy
Recipient: severity_softly
Pairing: Prentiss/Rossi
Rating: FRT/PG13 (a few naughty words)
Word Count: ~19,000
Warnings/spoilers: Spoilers up to current season, to be safe.
Summary/prompt: Rossi/Prentiss - AU. Emily, still in her waitressing days, is working in a diner. Dave, in his early days at the BAU, comes in and is instantly attracted to her. She has never heard of him. He tries to sweep her off her feet. She resists, so he starts frequenting the diner, trying to wear her down. Eventually it works. I would actually prefer no outright smut here, but a few steamy kisses would be lovely. :)
I hope this is close to what you wanted and that you enjoy it.
A/N: Even though this is AU there are spoilers for 4x17, Demonology. Actually, some of the dialogue was completely ripped off from that episode.
The author would like to thank her beta who is a saint and a goddess and a rock star. And thanks to the mods for all the work they put into this exchange.
Part One



Hector, thank God...well, thank Hector, had kept Dave's cell phone number and showed no hesitation in using it. "Dave, man, it's Hector."

Suddenly, Dave feels cold all over. "Is everything okay?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm calling."

Dave wants to scream at the man to just spit it out, but he reminds himself he doesn't need to bite anybody's head off until he knows what's going on. "Tell me."

"Emily just called in. She's never done that before; she said she got Sissy from days to come in for her, but she wanted to let me know." Hector sounds more concerned over Emily than upset about his help. "She didn't sound like she was in trouble...just sounded really tired. But after those guys last night..." He lets the thought fall without being finished. "So, I thought, you know, I gotta work and everything, I thought maybe you might wanna do me a favor and go check on her?"

Despite the worry starting to throb in the middle of his chest, Dave smiles into the phone.

"Yeah, Hector, I'd be happy to, but I don't have her address."

"Got a pen?" Hector asks without hesitation and reads an address from what Dave assumes is Emily's personnel file. Her place is in Georgetown, on the same street as the pub where they were supposed to have lunch last week. He'd looked it up before so he doesn't even have to look at a map before he heads out the door. The building is brick, tucked back behind a strip of brownstones on the opposite end of the street from the pub, and if he hadn't been looking for it, he would never have noticed it. He's guessing it had once been a large carriage house or a small warehouse. Now it's six studio apartments, and he doesn't care how independent Hotch says she is, there is no way she was paying for this from what she makes as a TA and a waitress, not in this location. It doesn't bother him, but he makes a note to give her grief about it once everything is back to normal and he knows she's okay.

By some miracle, there's a parking place on the street; not that he would have let that deter him. He'd have double parked and posted his FBI placard in a heartbeat, but that little bit of line blurring between personal and professional is not necessary, thankfully. It's almost dark, and the temperature is dropping. The weatherman had said rain tonight. Dave frowns. People take shelter and are harder to find when it rains. He pulls his coat a little tighter and heads into the building.

Her apartment is on the third floor and he takes the stairs two at a time. He can't hear anything through the door, but he knocks anyway then pauses to listen again. There's still no movement, no noise. He knocks again, calling, "Emily?", but of course there's no answer. He tries the knob but it's locked. Though he briefly debates with himself about kicking in the door, the more reasonable part of his brain remembers Hector saying she sounded okay, just tired. Besides, he hadn't seen her car outside, so the chances she's unconscious in her apartment are minimal.

So, the next question is, Where is she?

He needs more information to figure that out, he decides. If he was on the job, he'd interview her associates, so he heads to the diner. Hector knows her address and where she goes to school, but not a lot about her daily habits. Nobody knows anything about the two guys that had been in the diner the night before, but nobody liked them much. Dave's never met Sissy, but she's a sweet woman and eager to please. "She didn't say anything was wrong, just she had to do somethin' and could I work for her." Sissy shrugs a round shoulder. "I got kids, and Christmas is coming. You bet I wanted the shift. I didn't ask questions, I just said yes."

Dottie is on tonight instead of Jenn, and she remembers Emily saying she spends all of her time at one of the libraries when she's not in class or at the diner.

"Lauinger," Willie supplies as he plates a well done burger for table four. "Her carrel is on the third floor, toward the back near the conference room." He gives Dave a baleful stare. "What? You think just 'cause I work with my hands I don't know how to read? Or talk to people who read?" Dave shakes his head, smacks Willie on the shoulder and heads towards Georgetown and Lauinger. The point is moot when he gets to campus and finds the library closed. He'd forgotten it's a holiday weekend.

Smacking a fist against his steering wheel, he watches the first fat raindrops hit the windshield. He takes a slow drive around campus, sweeping headlights over doorways of buildings and darkened campus corners.

He calls the diner but they haven't seen or heard from her, and they don't have any more suggestions for where he might look. So he makes another tour of campus before driving the most obvious route between campus and her apartment. He has to pull over more than once to let an impatient car pass. He's driving slowly and carefully, looking through the rain pouring down his windshield for her car parked along the road  or her figure walking along the sidewalks. Briefly he considers calling Hotch to get Ambassador Prentiss's home address, but then rethinks it. As far as he knows it's not an emergency, and alarming Emily's mother at ten o'clock on a Saturday night is not the way he wants to meet her. Besides, he's pretty sure Emily would be pissed. He's gained some ground lately and he doesn't want to lose it. He parks in front of her building, grabs his umbrella and goes up to the third floor.

Even though he didn't see her car, he still knocks on the door and calls "Emily?", but he doesn't expect an answer. He rests his head against the door for a minute, contemplating his next move. Heaving a sigh, he turns and sees Emily emerging from the stairwell.

The first surge of emotion is pure relief. It's not until his knees almost give out that he acknowledges how scared he'd been. But then he really looks at her and feels his gut clench. She's soaked, her hair is dripping wet and her clothes and shoes are so wet she’s making squishing noises as she walks.

"Emily?"

She looks up and his heart breaks a little. Her face is devoid of makeup, save for a remaining smudge of eyeliner under her right eye, and there are dark circles under both eyes. She's pale beyond her normal fair skin, except for what looks like a smear of blood under her nose. There's a look of desolation on her face, pain so sharp it's like a punch to the solar plexus. He doesn't think, just takes a step forward and pulls her close.

"Dave." Her voice is a whisper against the skin of his neck. "I'll get you all wet." Her words are a protest, but she doesn't try to move from the circle of his arms.

He can feel her shivering under his hands and it's that that gets him to let her go. "C'mon." He kisses her hair. "Let's get you dry."

It seems to take forever for her to dig her house key out of her pocket. She's wearing jeans, and he wishes he had time to enjoy the view since all he's ever seen her in is her server uniform from Rocky's, but she's visibly trembling by now and he knows he needs to get her inside and dry as soon as possible. He takes the key from her shaking hand and unlocks the door, pushing her through ahead of him. Quickly taking stock he sees a sofa and a coffee table. There’s a desk in one corner and a bed with black sheets and a white comforter in the opposite corner.

He strips her out of her jacket, pushes the bathroom door open and drapes the garment over the shower rod. He turns the faucet to hot and starts the shower. Then he goes to the dresser beside the bed and rifles through, grabbing a pair of sweat pants and a long sleeve shirt along with some socks and underwear. That drawer makes him pause until he remembers Emily standing behind him, wet and shivering. Gently, he nudges her towards the bathroom. "Shower," he says, pushing her into the room and pulling the door closed behind her.

He's walking toward the kitchenette when he hears something bang inside the bathroom. He turns back to the door and listens for a moment. Emily is quietly but very colorfully cursing in a nonstop stream.

"Emily?" He says after a minute. "Are you okay?"

There's a pause, then another thud. "Fighting to get my jeans off."

Dave remembers the trouble he had getting out of his jeans the last time he fell in a lake fully dressed. Despite the situation he can't help the smile he gives or the tiny surge of gratitude that she can't see it. "Need some help?"

There's another pause and he raises his eyebrows at the door, but her voice finally comes through, a little bit shaky with a shade of her usual sauciness threaded through. "I'm almost there. Thanks though."

Dave sheds his own coat and starts an investigation of her kitchen. He finds coffee, three different types of tea, a bottle of Merlot, a half empty pint of vodka and a full bottle of Peppermint Schnapps. Reaching back further he discovers a bottle of Kahlua that feels about a third full. His plan had been tea with brandy and failing brandy, then whiskey. As it stands, he's going to modify to coffee and Kahlua. He starts the coffee, and then starts looking for food. There's pasta, but nothing resembling sauce. There are a few cans of soup and a box of macaroni and cheese, plus a few slices left from a loaf of bread. The refrigerator has a half empty jar of giant olives, a stump of what was once a stick of butter, a few eggs and some passable cheese.  He opens a can of tomato soup and puts it in a small saucepan on the stove. He finds her skillet and begins melting the butter as he assembles cheese and bread.

The soup is steaming, and he's just plated the second grilled cheese when he feels the gust of steam from the bathroom door opening. He hands her the laced coffee and herds her towards the sofa. She doesn't have a dining table so he puts their plates on the coffee table. He puts the soup in mugs thinking the logistics of that will be easier than moving either bowl from table to lap or spoon from bowl to mouth. "Thanks," she says and slowly begins eating.

He begins eating too, trying not to let her catch him watching her. She's mostly silent, but she eats half the sandwich and drinks most of the soup. When she sits back with her hands curled around her coffee mug, he lets her tuck her sock clad toes between his thigh and the sofa cushion and asks, "Better?"

Her hair is damp, and it dances around her face when she nods. She's still pale, the dark circles are still there, but she doesn't look quite as fragile. She looks impossibly young and heart-breakingly beautiful, and he honestly doesn't know what to do with these feelings in the middle of his chest, doesn't know how to help her, but he does know he has to try.

He doesn't prevaricate or even finesse, he just dives in. "So, what's the story?"

She looks at him, then looks back into her mug. "Matthew...has some issues...with substance abuse."

Nodding, Dave leans back, angling his body towards her, extending his arm across the back of the sofa. That's not really a surprise; he hadn't thought the pallor and the sweats had been from some bad leftover turkey. "Yeah, I figured."

She stares into her cup. "He wants to get clean." Her eyelashes are dark against her pale skin and her hair brushes the edge of his hand when she leans forward.

"Treatment?" Dave asks.

She shakes her head and the downturn of her mouth is bitter. "His parents could afford treatment, but they just keep sending him to church, keep praying for him. His mother," she gives a choked laugh that sounds both painful and disdainful, "tells him he is possessed by a demon. Sometimes I think he believes it." She takes a long, slow sip of coffee and then puts the mug on the table. "Occasionally they'll try some tough love and kick him out. It just gets worse." Her eyes flick up. "He doesn't have any insurance. He only has John and me."

"Emily," he says gently, "you know he needs medical attention for a detox."

"I know, I know," she nods and picks her cup back up. "But he wanted to try on his own. He said if he got really sick to take him to the ER, then at least he'd be triaged in faster." She takes a sip of her coffee. "I think maybe he thought the hospital would call his parents, let them know..." Emily shrugs, blowing an errant strand of hair away from her mouth.

He reaches out a hand and tucks her hair behind her ear, allowing his fingertips to linger against the curve of her head. "What happened?"

Her lip trembles and he watches her take a breath and steel her spine as the cup lands back on the table with a loud thunk. "He did okay for awhile. I mean, yeah, he was hurting and there was some vomiting...not so much that he would have dehydrated though. Then...I don't know...we were talking...John was asleep..."

Dave bristles but manages not to scream something about some stupid punk going to sleep and leaving Emily to deal with the detoxing addict. "And?" He makes a conscious effort to relax his face, but his eyebrows are drawn so close together he can feel the muscles knotting and bunching.

"He seemed fine, then he said he didn't want to do it any more...and..." her hand covers her mouth and he remembers the blood under her nose when she first got home.

"He hurt you?" He's still sitting, but only through sheer force of will, It must show, because Emily reaches out and grabs his forearm.

"It was an accident," she says urgently. "Dave. It was an accident. He didn't mean to."

"He bloodied your nose." Dave's not sure he recognizes his own voice. "What else did he do to you?"

"Nothing. No." She puts her hand on his cheek and makes eye contact. "Nothing." Her voice is calm and clear, and she is speaking to him in a deliberate tone. "He was not trying to hurt me. I just got in his way. Once I was out of the way, he left."

It's her fingers cupping his face that ground him and allow his rage to subside. The absolute fury, though, is not directed at Matthew but at that stupid fucking Neanderthal punk, for leaving Emily alone with Matthew in that situation.

He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. She's here, she's right here in front of him and she's safe and she's touching him. "Okay," he breathes. "Okay."

Then, she's snuggled up against him and he's hugging her close. "Okay. Then what?"

"He left." That might be the truth, but he can tell from her voice it's not the whole truth.

"And?"

She sighs, and he feels it against his chest. "He took money out of my purse and he took my car and he left."

"He took your car?" His voice doesn't have any heat to it. She's safe and he's holding her, they can deal with everything else.

"It's not...that's not Matthew." She presses her head against his shoulder. "He's a sweet boy. The drugs..."

Dave presses a kiss to the top of her head. "I know, I know."  He hesitates, but he needs to know the whole story. "What happened?"

He feels her hesitate and decides not to press, but she replies anyway. "I woke John. We went looking for him."

"You went looking for him?" Dave is incredulous. Drug houses in DC are dangerous places, andhe's not sure if he wants to chew her out for being so goddamn stupid or hug her for being brave. Both, he decides after a minute.

"Yeah." She sounds tired and sad. "We...yeah...we found him. Of course, he'd already scored. But he had enough money that we were worried about how much...so, we took him back to John's. Stayed up with him. He's  okay."

He almost hates to ask. "What about your car?"

She shrugs. "Gone."

Sighing, he hugs her a little closer. He's got a buddy with the DC police; they can report her car as stolen without too much explanation. Tell the truth, but not name any names. He's got enough of a picture of her loyalty to her friend without having to ask if she'd report him as the thief. But, of course, he's going to ask anyway. "Why are you doing this? Maybe tough love is the way to go. Take him to the ER, report him to the police. Quit bailing him out, make him face the consequences."

She tenses against him. "I can't."

Dave isn't backing down. If that's the way she feels, fine. But there's got to be a reason. "Why not?"

Her next words are tinted with anguish. "It's my fault."

"No, it's not," Dave is using as firm a tone as he can manage without actually yelling. "Matthew makes his own choices."

She shakes her head. "His life would be entirely different if it weren't for me." Emily moves out of the circle of his arms, sitting on the edge of the sofa with her back to him.

Dave is a smart guy, and he's been doing this profiling thing since before it became a science or an art or whatever the hell they consider it these days, and he's always been good at reading people. There's something in her voice, something in the rigid set of her shoulders that lets him know she really feels responsible. He doesn't want to press, he doesn't want to pry, but he wants the chance to help if she'll let him in. He gentles his tone and looks at the back of her head. "If you, uh, don't want to explain that's fine. But if you do--" He pauses for the briefest second, then says the most true thing he's ever said. "--I'm all in."

Emily turns around, bites her lip and looks at him, but barely. When she starts talking, it’s like she’s picked up in the middle of a conversation she was having before he arrived. He doesn’t call her on it; if there’s one thing the job has taught him it’s how to listen. The way she starts might be abrupt, but it’s obviously an important part of the story. "Matthew knew the Bible inside and out and he started to question everything."

"Why?"

Moving back to the opposite corner of the sofa, she shakes her head, and he thinks it's almost unconscious. Her head tilts down and when she looks back up, her eyes are dark, and he sees raw pain and unbelievable fear there. Then she gives a jerky little nod of acquiescence, a nod that says all right, you asked, I'm taking a chance, please don't let me down, but if you do, that's fine, I'll be okay and starts speaking.  "We moved around a lot when I was a kid because of my mom's postings." Though her eyes are downcast, she raises her head, and he sees her, all of her, the girl she's talking about, the young woman she is, the woman she'll become, in the tilt of her chin and the set of her jaw. "It's hard to get accepted." She shakes her head again. "When you're fifteen, it's all you want." She looks down and when she looks up again, she can only meet his eyes for a second, before her gaze slips away. "You'll do almost anything."

Her voice is wobbly and she's trying so hard not to cry, it makes him want to cry for her. What "almost anything" is isn't hard to guess, and his heart aches for her. It's her story, but he wants to make it easier for her, so he says the hardest thing so she doesn't have to. "You got pregnant."

Thankfully, she's able to maintain eye contact for a bit longer before her eyes slip away again. Whatever she wants to see, he hopes it's there on his face. "Yeah."

"Was Matthew the father?" He'd be willing to bet the answer to that is no; he's also willing to bet he knows who was the father.   "No." The response is quick, and her tone has evened out a little. "I didn't know what to do. I couldn't tell my mom. Matthew suggested I talk with our priest."

Dave remembers the priests from his childhood and can imagine how that went. "And what did he say?"

"He said---" Emily breathes out and moves a little closer to him, but he thinks it's more nervous energy than conscious movement. "---That if I had an abortion, I wasn't welcome in his congregation."

He'd expected that. "So, what'd you do?"

"Matthew found a doctor." Her voice is subdued and a little shaky, but he still hears the sadness and overwhelming gratitude. "He took me there; he stayed with me."

His heart is breaking, or maybe it's already broken. She's so strong, so brave, so grateful for a kindness she shouldn’t have had to receive. He understands why she can't turn her back on Matthew. Even if she's not responsible for his actions, she wants to support him the way he supported her.

"That Sunday when we got back to Rome, he held my hand and walked me into the church." Her eyes touch him and fall away. "Father Gamino actually stopped...his sermon. But Matthew told me to hold my head up--" Consciously or unconsciously, she does so now. "--And we walked to the front pew."

Gutsy, Dave thinks, but aloud he asks, "And what did the priest do?"

"He and Matthew just stared at each other." Her face is lost in memory, her focus on the past. "It was like a battle of wills." Then, she shrugs. "And then suddenly, Father Gamino went back to his sermon." She pauses, comes back to the here and now and looks at Dave fully for the first time since she began her story. Her eyes are dark and sad, her lashes are spiky and damp, her mouth is turned down. "Matthew saved my life. He made me feel like I was worthy...of love and friendship."

He wants to pull her in, wrap her up and tell her she's worthy of that and so much more. But he doesn't. She needs to get it all out and he needs to listen. "But that's when his questioning started?"

"Yeah. He started doing drugs." She takes a deep breath that sounds like a sigh in reverse. "And when that melded with his religious questioning, you could understand why his parents were afraid he was possessed by something evil."

Emily stops, sniffs back her unshed tears, tilts her head and says simply. "It's my fault Matthew’s life unraveled." She blows out a breath.
It's not her fault. It's not. But Dave knows about guilt; he knows the weight of it, the taste of it, the smell of it, the feel of it. He knows nothing he says is going to make her see that it is not her fault.

There is no escape from this for Emily, not as long as Matthew's life continues to "unravel" as she put it.

"There's a program, a buddy of mine runs it." He holds up his hands when Emily looks at him, eyes wide and full of hope. "He's a priest."

Her face falls, but he continues anyway. "It's not a religious program, though it's sponsored by the church. There's no religious requirement. Jimmy doesn't shove his faith down anyone's throat." He tilts his head until he can catch her eye. "And he owes me."

She chews on her lip for a minute and then nods. "Yeah. If it's not...if they don't try to exorcise him or anything, he'd probably be okay."

He feels himself give a half smile, and she smiles in return. "I love your lip tilt."

That's so unexpected, he barks out a laugh. "My what?"

"You do this thing--" She reaches out and stabs at his cheek with her finger. "--Where just one side of your face smiles...your lip tilts and it takes your cheek with it. It's cute."

"Cute?" He says doubtfully.

"Yep," she says, reaching for her coffee again.

He frowns. "I don't know how I feel about that."

She shrugs and takes a sip. "Doesn't matter how you feel about it."

He frowns harder at her, but inside he's heaving a relieved sigh. If she's back to giving him grief, she's moving in the right direction. "Get your shoes on, and I'll call Jimmy."

"What?" Emily is blinking at him rapidly, disbelievingly. "Now? Tonight?"

"No time like the present. You know where he is, if he's scored recently he'll be relatively malleable. He'll be feeling guilty for hitting you..." She starts to protest, but he holds up a staying hand and gives her a don't argue with me, I am so not in the mood look, and he continues. "And stealing your money and, oh yeah, your car. He'll be feeling remorse for using again. We can get him and get him checked in." He looks at her seriously. "You know all we can do is get him there, right? The rest is up to him."

"God, yes." She lets out a long, low sigh. "Thank you, Dave."

"Shoes," is his only response as he starts to dial Jimmy.

Thirty minutes later they're pulling up at Neanderthal's apartment building, and it hits him why Emily was soaked when she got home. "You walked all that way in the rain?"   Her profile doesn't shift in the darkened car, but he sees her shrug. "He couldn't give you a ride home?"

"He had to watch Matthew." Dave tries not to grit his teeth at her defensive tone.

"You could have called a cab." He's trying very hard not to sound paternal.

The light bleeding in from the complex's street lamps is enough to see the blush staining her cheeks. "I didn't have any money."

He doesn't want to point out that one of her friends stole her money or that the other could have offered to loan her some. Or that she could have called him.

"It wasn't a bad walk," she says. "It's not that far."

Astonished at the sheer stubborn pride of that, he blinks at her for a moment. He clamps down on the urge to call her an idiot. Or remind her she was soaked to the skin when she got to her place. Or that only an asshole would let a friend walk almost four miles in the pouring rain in the dark. He's not sure how he stops himself, but when she reaches out and grabs his hand and squeezes, he is grateful for whatever angel managed to give him that much self-restraint.

"Thank you." He sees her swallow. "No matter how things turn out for Matthew, I want you to know, I am grateful. Really. Thank you."

He turns his hand and catches her fingers. "Thank you for trusting me."

Her smile is tremulous, and she squeezes again before unlatching her seat belt and reaching for the door handle.

Neanderthal answers the door after the first knock, and Dave hears what sounds like cartoons deeper in the apartment. Road Runner, if he had to guess. There's the smell of slightly singed popcorn and, even fainter, the lingering odor of weed.

"John," Emily says, a little breathless, a little nervous, "this is Dave. Dave, John."

They nod at each other. The antipathy that emerged at the diner is sharper, more obvious, more focused.

He's a punk Dave thinks, looking at John's sullen face. And I don't have time for this bullshit.

"Where's your friend?" Dave figures if he uses Matthew's name, he'll have to use John's, and he's not going to give this asshole that much respect.

Neanderthal jerks his head toward the back, and Dave doesn't wait for a clearer invitation as he pushes his way inside, Emily following close behind.

Dave was right. Road Runner. Matthew is on John's sofa staring peacefully at Wiley Coyote who hangs suspended in mid air for an instant, then, with a whistling whoosh, drops off the screen, leaving nothing but blue sky and brown cliff edge on the television screen.

"Matthew?" Emily's voice is quiet, as if she doesn't want to startle him.

Matthew looks up, and his face contorts. "Emily." He grabs her arm and pulls her down onto the sofa with him. "Em." Dave doesn't know Matthew but the pain in his tone is clear. "I'm so sorry, Emily. I'm so sorry." Matthew has her in a tight hug with his head buried in her hair. "I'd never hurt you. I'd never hurt you."

Dave wants to snap that whether he wants to hurt her or not, he did, but that's not going to accomplish anything, so he just stands and watches. John is behind him, leaning against the wall, and Dave doesn't know if he's looking at the scene on the sofa or at Dave's back. As for Dave, he's watching Matthew sob against Emily, but he also wouldn't pass up an excuse to pop Neanderthal in the mouth, either. Not that that would win him any points with Emily, but at this point, Dave is willing to risk it.

"I'm no good," Matthew says. "You gotta give up on me."

Emily shakes her head and pulls back from the hug. "Listen to me." She puts her hands on either side of Matthew’s face. "I am never, ever giving up on you."

Matthew, eyes red, nose running, shakes his head. "I can't kick it, Em. I tried. I really did." He sucks in a shuddering breath. "You gotta give up on me."

Emily presses a kiss to his forehead. "I'll make a deal with you."

She waits until he's looking at her, and Dave is pretty sure she's a genius from the way she's playing this. "This is Dave. You remember me telling you about Dave?'

Matthew's eyes flick to Dave, and he looks boyish, like he has a secret. "Yeah." He smiles, and his eyes slide back to Emily. "I remember."

Dave thinks he would give his pension to know exactly what Emily told Matthew about him.

"Dave has a friend who runs a program." Matthew is shaking his head, but Emily ignores it and continues on. "They have doctors and nurses on call and a place for you to sleep, and they'll let you stay as long as you need to."

"Can't afford it," Matthew mumbles.

"It won't cost you anything," she says. "You go to this program, and if they can't help you, if you try this one last time and you can't make it, I promise I'll give up on you." She's lying; of course she's lying, but he likes that she'll do what it takes.

Matthew is looking at Emily, both of them earnest and a little bit sad, both of them carrying their own guilt over the other.

Dave clears his throat. "Yeah. Gotta warn you though, Matthew. My friend Jimmy, he's a priest." Matthew lifts his gaze to meet Dave's eyes.

"Yeah?" His voice is low and slow, as though he understands Dave is trying to interact with him, that Dave is a friend, and he's not quite sure what the appropriate response is, but he desperately wants to do the right thing.

Smiling at Matthew, Dave puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, he loves to argue theology."

There's a slow dawn settling over Matthew's face. It's a mix of amusement and resignation; there's not a lot of hope there, but Dave figures that's okay. He doesn't need to hope, he just needs to try. "Okay." He looks back at Emily. "Okay. Tomorrow?"

Emily puts her hand on Matthew's cheek. "How about tonight?"

He looks uncertain for a minute, then slowly nods. "Yeah. Okay."

Dave pats his shoulder. "Get your things, then."

Matthew reaches across the sofa and drags his army jacket across to him and stands. "Ready."

John steps forward, "Matthew. Are you sure this is what you want?"

Emily turns to look at him, mouth open, expression incredulous.

Dave squares his shoulders and tells himself he can't punch the bastard no matter how much he wants to. "You got a better idea?" Dave's not a big guy, but he's never been afraid of a fight either. He knows his message is telegraphing to Neanderthal. Give me a reason. His expression and his body language and his very breath are singing at John. Give me a reason and I will pound you into next week, I will clean your clock, I will rip your head off and take a shit down your neck. Just give me a reason. But his mouth says, "Cause if you have a better idea, I’d think you'd have tried it before you went to sleep and left Emily alone with a detoxing drug addict, so he could bloody her nose and take her money and her car." He feels Emily reach out for Matthew, but he's not worried about him. The kid knows what he did; he even feels remorse for it. But Neanderthal? He's gotten off way too easy. "Matthew here has a good excuse...I've seen what drugs can do. But you?" Dave looks at John, feet to head, head to feet, then shrugs. "You've got no excuse. So, if right now, you've got a better idea? I would really love to hear it."

John looks at Dave for a moment, jaw clenched. Dave can see the same desire to reach out and punch in his eyes that Dave knows must be in his own, but there's also a fear there that Dave doesn't have. He knows his voice is derisive when he says, "That's what I thought," but he can't really help himself. As it is, he's patting himself on the back for the amount of restraint he's shown.

He turns to Emily and Matthew. "Ready?"

John stays in the living room as Matthew and Emily move toward the front door. He's staring at the television screen as Wylie Coyote receives an anvil to the head the last time Dave sees him.

By the time they get Matthew to Jimmy's, Matthew is having second thoughts, and Emily is incredible with him. She talks to him, holds him, offers to stay with him, "The way you stayed with me." Matthew finally signs himself in and asks Emily to stay for a few minutes. They're on the sofa in the common room, Matthew with his head in Emily's lap while she runs soothing fingers through his hair as though he were a sick and cranky child. Dave and Jimmy are watching from the nurses' station. They can't really hear what Emily is saying to Matthew, but he's calm again and peaceful, smiling occasionally and even laughing once.

Jimmy never takes his eyes off the two of them but says to Dave, "She's a very special woman."

Dave feels a little burst of pride, and a little bit of relief, that Jimmy sees it too. It's not just his dick that's got him so wrapped up in Emily Prentiss. He doesn't voice any of that though, he just says, "Yeah, she is."

The priest still doesn't look at him, but Dave can clearly see his small smile. "You gonna come to confession this week?"

Dave lifts an eyebrow towards him. "Why would I do that?"

Jimmy makes a little meaningless gesture towards the glass. "I'm doing you a favor. You owe me one."

Snorting, Dave shakes his head. "Let's not talk about who owes who what after that whole debacle with my boss calling his friend at the DEA on your behalf."

Lightly smacking Dave's upper arm, Jimmy laughs. "It was worth a shot."

Nodding at the glass, Dave concedes, "It never hurts to try."

"Take care of her," Jimmy says, suddenly sober again.

"Yeah," Dave agrees. "I will."

The eastern sky is beginning to lighten by the time he pulls into a parking place near Emily's building. They'll have to report her car stolen tomorrow, well, today.

He leans his head back against the headrest and turns to look at her. She's staring out the windshield, her profile illuminated by the digital glow from the dashboard. She has a classically beautiful silhouette, but he's not so far gone that he doesn't know he thinks everything about her is beautiful. As gorgeous as he thinks she is, as much as he wants her, right now he'd much rather get into her head than into her pants. She hasn't spoken since they left Jimmy's, and he'd been so busy trying not to fall asleep at the wheel, he hadn't noticed until they got here.

"You okay?"

Emily blinks, then blinks again, as if the sound of his voice has awakened her from some long and distant dream. "Yeah." That comes out scratchy so she clears her throat and says it again, "Yeah. I"m good."

She turns to him, the crinkle of her jacket seeming overly loud in the car's interior. "I really don't know how to thank you..."

He holds up a hand. 'You've already thanked me. Matthew thanked me. You thanked me again. I've been thanked." He's happy to see a small smile touch her lips. There's a part of him that wants to shake his head at himself, because he really is too old for this shit, for all of it, from staying up all night to falling in love, but here he's gone and done it anyway. "What time do you need to be at work? I'll come give you a lift."

Wearily, she closes her eyes. "Noon."

Shit. That's less than six hours and she's gotta be feeling worse than he is, because she's gone two nights with no sleep.

"But you don't have to drive me." Her tone is unbelievably tired, but she's showing no inclination to get out of the car. "I can get a cab."

"Emily. I'll pick you up at eleven-thirty." He's not trying to boss her around, but he's also not going to let her pride over-rule common sense. Besides, he wants to give her a ride just to see her again.

She turns her head and gives him a slight head-shake, accompanied by a smile. "I am too tired to argue. But if you're going to insist on doing that, then just sleep here."

Dave supposes if he weren't so tired he might want to analyze that a little more. And if she weren't so tired, he's pretty sure she never would have issued the invitation. It's a logical choice to make, and at this point, he's not sure he can drive home. "Okay," he says and they both stumble out of the car and into the building.

The first set of stairs nearly kills him, and he says so. Emily gets the so-tired-everything-is-funny giggles halfway up the second set, and he has to practically drag her the rest of the way. She's mostly just snickering by the time she gets her door unlocked, and she goes straight into the bathroom. He struggles out of his coat and kicks off his shoes and eyes her sofa. It's a little on the short side, but he's slept on worse.

Emily emerges from the bathroom in an over-sized t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms with what appears to be red reindeer dancing across them. "Here," she says, slapping a plastic rectangle into his hand.

"What?" He's confused for a second, until he sees it's an unopened toothbrush.

"One of the Ambassador's house rules. Always have one or more unopened toothbrushes in case of unexpected guests." She snorts. "No talks about birth control, but hey, we have dental hygiene covered." She starts giggling again, and Dave shakes his head and goes to brush his teeth.

When he comes out of the bathroom, instead of finding a pillow and blanket on the sofa as he expected, he finds Emily on one side of the bed with the covers turned back on the other. Her eyes are barely open, but she makes an effort to pat the empty space on the mattress beside her, even if it's really something more like a fish out of water having a seizure than a graceful invitation.

So tired, he thinks as he lays down beside her. Then she's snuggled up against him, her head on his shoulder and her arm across his chest, and he thinks, So grateful, before he stops thinking all together and just sleeps.

"Fuck!"

He startles awake, for a minute unsure of where he is, then he sees Emily sitting up in bed beside him and he remembers the previous night.

"It's eleven-twenty," she says, shooting out of bed and into the bathroom.

Dave takes stock; he's tired and for some reason he's sore, but he's still smiling when he rolls off the mattress and begins making coffee.

He gets her to the diner at 11:59. "What time are you off?" he asks as she unbuckles.

"Nine," she answers, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek.

His cheek is warm and a little tingly. "I'll be here." He takes her answering smile with him when he leaves.

He can't get his buddy with the downtown force to take the stolen car report from him over the phone. But he does agree to go see Emily at the diner.

"He was really nice," she tells him as he drives her home. "He took the report and didn't ask if I knew who took it, thank God." She slides a look in his direction. "Or thank you, as the case may be. I'm not sure if Matthew honestly didn't remember where he put it or if the dealer took the keys as soon as he zoned out. But at least now I can file a claim with my insurance company. I can do that tomorrow."

"Yeah, do that as soon as you can." He's trying to be good, trying to help without taking over. He has to fight the way he was raised sometimes, has to remember not all women want to be rescued, not every problem needs a man's touch. If he were to do that in Emily's case, he thinks it would be because she's Emily and not because she's a woman, but that's just one of those things that can't be explained, feminist or not.

"Come on up," she says when they arrive at her place. Despite his best intentions he'd fallen asleep this afternoon, and he finds the idea of another hour or two in Emily's company appealing to an amazing degree, so he doesn't hesitate to follow her.

He sits on her sofa while she opens the bottle of Merlot. His gaze moves to the bed, covers tumbled and pillows rumpled and he thinks, I slept there. Emily and I slept there together. The thought warms him, makes it easier to hope for things, bigger things, brighter things, when a little bit of time has passed.

The wine glasses are high quality, delicate, but not exactly fragile. He’d be willing to bet they were a gift from her mother or some other relative of means. The wine itself is cheap and tastes it, but he knew that before he ever took a sip. However, good wine is not the point, at least not tonight. Tonight it's just about being with her, away from the diner, away from Matthew and John, just making sure she's okay.

But, somehow, between the first glass of wine and the second, he finds himself with a lap full of Emily Prentiss.

He's not even sure how it happened. It certainly wasn't the plan, but she'd looked up at him as she was refilling his glass and her eyes had been wide and dark and her smile had been soft and she'd leaned forward and kissed him. God help him, he hadn't even thought twice, he'd kissed her back. One kiss had turned into two and two had turned into three, building on each other, the way one note builds on another, until there's a prelude, a suite, a symphony.

And now she's straddling him and they're kissing like kissing is breathing, like each other's mouth is air. And his world is narrowed to this, to her mouth, her tongue, her lips. The curve of her skull under his palm, the silk of her hair between his fingers, the heady taste of wine on her tongue.

It's when she raises up and tugs her blouse from her pants that he remembers this isn't a good idea right now.   
“Emily,” he breathes against her mouth.

She hums and keeps on kissing him, her hands busily working the buttons of her shirt open.  Dave really knows he should stop, but she tastes so good and she feels so good and he’s wanted her since the moment he first set eyes on her. It’s when she leans back just a little, trying to shrug out of her shirt, that he becomes aware of the urgent need to stop right now.

“Emily,” he repeats, grasping her arms and thereby preventing her from sliding the blouse off her shoulders. “Stop.”

“What? Why?” Her breathing is labored, the rise and fall of her breasts drawing his attention. He pulls the edges of her shirt together to keep himself from getting distracted by the curves that crest above her simple cotton bra, by the valley in between.  Her eyes are dark and wide and her mouth is open slightly and her lips are moist and he really, really wants to kiss her again. Instead, he slides his hand across her cheek and into her hair, his thumb drawing tiny lines against her skin.

“You’re…we can’t do this,” he says slowly, his voice a little rough with want.

“Oh.” Her breath blows across his face. ”Yes, we can,” she disagrees, leaning down to mouth at his chin. “I promise we can. But if you need lessons, I’m more than happy to show you how.”

She’s warm and she’s soft and obviously willing, and he doesn’t want to stop, but he also doesn’t want this to end badly. If he’s honest, he doesn’t want this to end at all, and it’s that thought that makes him gently push against her shoulder.  “Em,” he says again, trying for serious, trying to not pay too much attention to the press of her body against his erection.  “Listen.”

Sighing, she sits back a little, decreasing the contact between their upper bodies, but increasing the pressure further south.  “Dave,” she whines, “what’s the matter?”

“You’ve had a rough few days.” He smoothes her hair back with gentle fingers. “It’s been emotional, and I don’t want you to do something you’re not ready for just because you’re reacting to all that.”

She blinks at him several times. “Dave.” There’s a flush staining her cheeks but he can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or arousal, and he doesn’t care, because whichever, it’s charming. “I want this. I want you.” She settles herself a little more firmly into his lap and there’s no way in hell he can stop the groan he gives in reaction. “And you want me. It’s as simple as that.”

“God, I wish it was that simple.” He settles his hands on her hips.

“It can be that simple. Just let it be that simple.” She slides against him, wrapping her arms around his neck, her breasts conveniently located within easy reach of his mouth, and he’s really having to grab for why it’s a good idea to stop.

Later, he’ll wonder how he managed, but somehow he does. "Listen," he says again.

She pulls back with an expression he can't define, something between impatience and disgust, and looks at him expectantly.

"Emily, I want you."

The impatience and expectation melt off of her face and her expression softens. "I want you, too."

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then opens them again. "You want me right now, but is it for the right reason?"

Emily takes his hand, pressing it against her breast, arching into his palm. "I want you because I want you. That's the only reason."

Dave shakes his head and somehow manages to move his hand from her breast back to her hip. "It's been an emotional few days for you. This could be left over adrenaline or stress relief or...or gratitude and I--"

"Don't try this paternalistic bullshit on me, Rossi." Her words are harsh but her mouth is soft as she kisses his ear.

"I'm not. Really." He groans as she sucks his earlobe between her lips. Her mouth is warm and wet and he's thinking about how it would feel on other parts of his body. "Stop that," he says, equal parts exasperated and out of his mind with lust. "Listen to me," he pleads.

Sighing, she sits back and looks at him, and fuck, she is the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen.

He looks at her, cups her cheek, makes sure he has her attention, because he wants her to hear what he has to say. “I want more from you than one night.” He watches as that sinks in, as her eyes get just a little wider and the flush gets a just little darker. “So, I don’t want to take any chances here. If this isn’t what you want, if it isn’t what you’re ready for now, then I’d rather wait until it’s right, rather than rushing into something that you might regret.”

“Oh, Dave.” Her voice is husky as her fingers stroke through the hairs at the back of his neck. “I want more, too. I was ready for this before the last few days…I was ready for this before you went away.” She turns her head and lays her lips gently against his.

He returns the kiss. He can’t not. Her lips are soft and her mouth opens easily under his, but it’s not the same heat that was there a few minutes ago. It’s gentler, more about feeling than sensation, more about promise than passion. For all that, it curls his toes and makes it a little hard to breathe.

When she breaks the kiss and rests her forehead against his, he takes a moment to breathe her in, the floral scent of her shampoo and soap, the slight smell of sweat and underneath that the smell of her arousal. “Still,” he says and then has to clear his throat. “I’d feel better if you’d let this…let things with Matthew settle and see how you feel in a few weeks.”

“I’m going to feel the same way,” she breathes but she doesn’t sound nearly as put out as she had before.

Dave nods. “I hope so. But just to be sure.”

“All right,” she sighs and kisses him one last time, then climbs off his lap. She begins buttoning her shirt and he reaches out a hand and touches the skin at the base of her throat, slides a finger down to the valley between her breasts, eyes drinking her in.

“I must be out of my mind,” he says solemnly.

“That’s my theory,” she smiles, pushing his hand out of the way to finish buttoning the blouse.

There's a serial arsonist in Texas, and Dave's on a plane to the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport Monday afternoon. But this time he has her number and calls to leave his own message. He concentrates on the case instead of Emily, tries not to think about her moving through her days, waking up in her bed, walking to campus, working on her thesis. He tries not to be the lovesick fool he knows he is.

It's late when he gets back to his hotel room Friday, and he realizes she'd just be getting home from her shift at Rocky's, so he doesn't fight it, he just dials.

She answers on the first ring, and he has to laugh. "Hey. Expecting a call?"

"Hey." Her voice is husky and sexy and God, he misses her. "Just hoping for one."

"Really?" he asks. "Anybody special?"

"Yeah, there's this guy..." she sighs, and he hears rustling in the background and imagines her in her bed, dark hair against the pillow. "He's a great guy. He's funny and smart and he's helped me out a lot and I really, really like him."

"Yeah?" he asks, grinning.

"Yeah," she says. "But he seems to be having trouble believing that, and I sort of want to hit him over the head with a brick."

"Well," he drawls, "I bet any guy who really, really, really likes you already feels like they got hit over the head with a brick."

She laughs then and he just smiles wider. He wants to tell her he misses her. He wants to tell her he loves her, but he's not going to, not on the phone, not with thousands of miles between them.

He kicks off his shoes, and slides down on the pillow, turns out the light and imagines Emily in the bed next to him as he listens to her voice. "Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"Sometimes I think..." She hesitates, sounding a little shy, maybe a little embarrassed. "I get really freaked out when I think about what would have happened if you hadn't come in with Agent Hotchner that night. What if you'd come in on a Tuesday instead of a Friday or you'd sat at one of Dottie's tables instead of mine?"

"Oh, well, we still would have met," he says with assurance.

"Oh, yeah?" He can almost hear the eyebrows raise back in DC.

"Sure. It might have taken a while, but we would’ve met. I'd probably have kept on getting married and divorced and you'd have had horrible dating luck and gotten a cat or something." He rolls to his side and pitches his voice a little lower. "But then, one day you'd have shown up in Max's office at the BAU, some hotshot agent he couldn't wait to bring into the unit. And I'd have taken one look at you and fallen at your feet."

When she laughs, he forgets what he does for a living, he forgets he's fifteen years older than she is, he forgets they're going to call him a cradle robber and a dirty old man...all he remembers is every good thing about the world.

"I kind of like the idea of that." He can still hear the laugh in her voice, and he can't wait to kiss her again.

"Hmmm, yeah. Instead you fell at mine."

The noise she makes is indignant, but he's not going to go as far as to call it a screech. That may be only because he is lovesick.

"I did not." She enunciates every word for emphasis. "You were an egotistical jerk because someone other than you was the center of attention."

"Prentiss. You knew my middle name. I never give out my full name at those classroom talks." He's bluffing. He doesn't really know if he ever has or not.

The lengthy pause tells him he's hit pay dirt. When she finally speaks, he wishes he could be there to see the blush he knows is on her face. "You were very..." She clears her throat. "You were interesting, and I wanted to know more about you."

"You thought I was hot, and you wanted to do me right away."

"You..." she huffs. "Tell me again why I like you?"

"No accounting for taste, I guess." He's still smiling, and even in the silence, he can hear that she's smiling too. "How was work tonight?"

It takes them two more weeks to catch the guy, and he drives straight from the airport to Rocky's. It's Saturday night and two weeks before Christmas, so there are a dozen wreaths around the dining room and garland is hanging from every available surface. The music is popular Christmas songs. and the place is packed, except, miraculously, his table. It is open and waiting.

Emily is taking a table of twelve's order, her back is to him when he comes in. He shrugs out of his overcoat and drapes it across the seat of his table. Dottie nods at him and stops to watch. Hector has caught sight of him and, laughing, has called Willie out from the kitchen. Emily turns and sees the two men standing there, grinning and says, "What?"

Willie shakes his head. "I don't know what kind of a Fed you're going to be, girl. You don't even check out your surroundings."

Her brow furrows, but she takes a slow turn around and finally sees Dave standing there. When she shrieks and throws herself at him, he gladly catches her to the applause of both staff and customers.

It's later, almost closing time, and they're sharing the same side of the booth, when she hands him an envelope that's a little frayed at the edges and has a few stray pencil marks on it. "I've, uh, been carrying it in my purse for a while," she says apologetically.

He opens it and pulls out several pieces of colored paper and printed cardstock. They are tickets. A pair of tickets to the opera, a gift certificate for two tickets to the movies, tickets to the symphony, even two tickets to a Redskins football game in two weeks and two tickets to the Washington Wizards in February. "What are these?" He quirks an eyebrow. "Early Christmas?"

"No.” She shakes her head. "They are me, asking you out." She says this like he's thick.

"Hmmm." It's taking everything he has not to grin, but he manages. "Like as a thank you?"

She squints at him, "No. Like dates."

"So," he shuffles through quickly and picks up the tickets to the opera. "Our first date is Amahl and the Night Visitors on the 22nd?"

Emily looks exasperated, as though this is not going at all the way she wanted and she knows he's yanking her chain and she is going to figure out a way to make him pay. "If that's what you want." She crosses her arms over her chest, and he tries not to notice how that pushes her breasts up and makes them strain against her tuxedo shirt.

He drops the tickets to the opera and holds out his hand. She looks at him for a moment, then uncrosses her arms and puts one of her hands in his. Slowly, deliberately, he runs his thumb over her knuckles. "What I want, Emily Prentiss is for you to come home with me now, tonight."

He brings her hand to his mouth and kisses it softly. "What I want is to be with you, as much as school and your thesis and your job allow. I don't want to get in the way of any of that." He gives a half smile. “There’s my job too. But I’m not going to let it get in the way of me being with you.” He tugs her a little closer. “I can always take early retirement and write that book Max is always nagging me to write.”

She's taking in every word and her eyes are a little moist and her mouth is trembling very slightly, but he knows she's not going to cry. Not here, not now, so he finishes what he has to say. "I want you to come home with me tonight. I want you to come home with me whenever you can, as much as you can. And one day, when you're sure you want to, I want you to stay." He looks at her, putting everything out there, letting her see it all. Later tonight, when she's lying in his arms, he will say the words, when he can say them in her ear, against her lips, against her neck, against her heart. But right now, she needs to see it in his eyes.

He was wrong about one thing though.

Not a lot wrong, but a little wrong, because one tear does escape. It rolls down her cheek but she doesn't bother to wipe it away; she just nods and says, "I want that, too."
He cups his hand over her cheek and uses his thumb to wipe the tear away. Just for a minute, he rests his forehead against hers, soaking in the moment: the Christmas music playing in the background, Hector and Willie arguing over ham versus turkey for Christmas dinner, the feel of Emily’s cheek under his hand, the smell of her perfume, the warmth of her skin. Briefly, he wonders if he’ll ever be as happy as he is in this moment.
But then Emily smiles at him, leaning forward and touching her lips to his and he knows this is only the beginning.
Fin