Criminal Minds Fic-A Hinge in the Air, Chapter 9

[mingsmommy]

Title: A Hinge in the Air, Chapter 9
Author: mingsmommy
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/David Rossi
Spoilers: Everything through Season 5
Rating: FRT/PG13
Author's Notes: This fic is the wonderful wojelah's help_haiti fic. She is an incredible writer and an absolutely incredible person. Her prompt was "good old fashioned falling in love plus h/c." The title comes from Billy Collin's poem, Japan.

smacky30 and smittywing fix my punctuation and tell me when I'm being dumb without telling me I am dumb. They are both incredible and I am fortunate to have them as betas.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8



When Emily wakes in the morning, she’s alone. She's relieved there won't be any awkward moments - though they appear to have gotten good at working through those - but she's also a little sad that she didn't get the opportunity to wake up beside him, see his face in sleep and let her imagination whisper this is what it could be like.

Rolling to her side, she looks at the clock and sees that it's a little after six. Dave's pillow is still dented but the sheet is cool to the touch. Without hesitation or shame, she pulls his pillow close and buries her face in it, inhaling the clean scent of him. Even before she realized her feelings for him were more than just friendship and professional camaraderie, whenever he leaned close she would think, He smells nice. Now that they're closer and she's aware just how deep her feelings run, the scent of him always puts her senses on alert. And sharing a bed with him, cradling his pillow is an exercise in sensory immersion.

Releasing the pillow reluctantly, she rises and quickly makes the bed, hands lovingly smoothing the dent in the pillow and the wrinkles in the sheets on his side of the bed. After the bed is made, she takes a shower then does her make-up. Since she's not sure who is up and who isn't, she towel dries her hair as best she can, rather than running the risk of waking someone with the blow dryer. She puts it up in a ponytail then plaits the ponytail with deft fingers. Though she's unsure what the day will bring, her wardrobe options are relatively limited, so she dresses in jeans with a black blouse. Oddly grateful that the job often requires her to go to victims' funerals, she pulls her black skirt out of the bottom of her go bag and hangs it, along with her suit jacket, up in the closet.

She takes one last look around the room making sure everything is tidy then makes her way downstairs to the kitchen. Dave and Rosalie are sitting at the kitchen table, a coffee mug in front of each of them, heads bent over several dozen - maybe more - pictures spread out between them, nearly identical reading glasses perched on the ends of their noses. The sight makes her smile. "Good morning," she says quietly.

Rosalie and Dave both look up. "Morning." Dave's smile is soft.

"Emily!" Rosalie drops the picture she and Dave had been studying. "Let me get you some coffee."

She starts to rise but Emily holds out a hand. "Sit. I can get it, just direct me to the mugs and the sweetener."

Rosalie relaxes back into her seat. "Mugs are in the cabinet by the sink; there's some Equal in the cabinet over the stove. Dave says you use that Splenda stuff. We'll pick some up today but can you make do with the Equal this morning?"

"Equal is fine." Emily locates a mug and pours herself a cup of coffee and adds sweetener before ambling over to the table, eyes sweeping over the photographs spread out in front of them. Many are color photos, ranging from the crisp color of the twenty-first century to the faded colors particular to the 1970s: families, children, graduations, weddings and parties. There are quite a lot that are black and white, including a few that are sepia-toned, some unsmiling men in stiff-collared shirts and women with somber children clinging to their long skirts and others the same as their color counterparts, Christmases, new cars, baseball games, babies, children smiling widely in spite of missing front teeth. A family history in frozen images spread out on Rosalie's kitchen table.

Rosalie lifts the picture she'd been looking at with Dave and beneath there's a snapshot of a much younger Dave dressed in uniform, his arm around a petite dark haired girl that Emily is sure is not one of his sisters. The girl is beaming at the camera, and though Dave is smiling, Emily is sure the smile is forced. She feels her heart hitch when she sees the small bouquet in the girl's hand and Emily knows she's probably looking at a picture of Rossi's first wedding.

“I’ve never known you to be shy.” Rosalie looks at her brother over her glasses. “It’s okay to kiss your girl good morning. Just no make out sessions in front of the kids.”

Emily feels her cheeks heat immediately and watches as Rossi shakes his head. “Cut it out, Rose.”

“What?” Rosalie holds her hands open in a questioning gesture. “I’m just sayin’.”

“And I’m saying cut it out.” He gives his sibling a stern look. “All of you need to stop seeing who can embarrass Emily the most.”

“But she’s got such a pretty blush.” Rosalie’s grin is unapologetic.

Dave touches Emily’s hand and inclines his head towards the chair on his opposite side. “She’s also an only child and she grew up around people who had manners. Give her a break, all right?”

“All right, all right.” The hands go up in a gesture of concession, but Rosalie still gives Emily a mischievous wink as Emily seats herself. When Emily looks back at the table, the picture of Dave and the girl is gone. "The people at the funeral home said they'd put together a slide show for us, but Cheryl asked to do it instead." Rosalie shakes her head fondly. "I can't seem to tell that girl 'no'." She hands Dave the picture she's holding. "What do you think of this one?"

He grunts and Emily looks over his shoulder. It's a family portrait, Angela and a man who looks so much like Dave it makes Emily blink, surrounded by their five daughters with a toddler Dave seated on Angela's lap; each of the family members has a nice, polite smile with the exception of Dave who appears to be in the middle of an open mouthed laugh. It's a nice picture, but somehow feels too solemn for the lively and loving family she knows the Rossi clan to be.

"Do you have a 'Maybe' pile?" Emily asks, resisting the urge to ask if she could have a copy of the picture.

Rosalie nods at her. "Good idea. We can give her ones we definitely want then tell her to pull what she wants from the 'Maybes'."

Dave and Rosalie continue sorting through pictures for another forty-five minutes, with Emily offering opinions when asked, but mostly she just observes, soaking in the images of this family, Angela, her husband, her daughters, her son. While it's obvious Angela was a loving mother to her daughters, it's equally obvious from the sheer number of pictures she doted heavily on her son.

When Joe comes through the back door with bagels and lattes, he's accompanied by Cheryl and Michael who had evidently spent the night with their Uncle Chris, Rosalie and Joe's oldest son. Cheryl at least seems very happy to be home, being unabashedly demonstrative to both of her grandparents and Dave. It's another loss in a life filled with too many. While that sucks, Emily has seen too much loss, too much grief, so she knows this family won't let anyone fall. Considering her history, it's natural that Cheryl is a little clingy, but the way the adults treat her with such love and patience speaks of a stability that will only benefit the girl in the end.

Shortly after nine, a seemingly endless parade of family, friends, food and flowers begins. Dave and his sisters go on several necessary errands and Emily stays behind helping Cheryl scan pictures and Joe man the kitchen. Dave's sisters and brothers-in-law had been a large presence the day before, but the extended family is beyond overwhelming. Luckily, either Dave had warned them to save her from the masses or 'Team In-Law', as Joe refers to them, are better at reading situations than they give themselves credit for, since one of them always seems to be close to her to supply a name or make her laugh or suggest getting a little air.

The day passes quickly and the sunset sees even more people and more food.

The family had decided against a public viewing or visitation so naturally everyone is gravitating towards Rosalie's home. All of the food has been laid out on the dining room table and the soft lights on the patio have been turned on. People pass from group to group offering condolences and stories of the Rossi family matriarch to her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. There is a subdued party atmosphere, a celebration of a well-lived life.

John and Theo kick Emily and Joe out of the kitchen after night has truly arrived. "You've been in here all day working; let somebody else handle it for awhile." Joe goes to the rec room over the garage to find his daughter, Gina and six month old Joey, his youngest grandchild ("So far," he says and beams) and Emily wanders toward the French doors at the back of the house.

Enchanted by the lighted trellises and "fairy lights" twined around several of the smaller trees, Emily is drawn out into the back yard. While it's a warm summer evening, it feels easier for her to breathe out here than in the house where Dave and his sisters are constantly surrounded by what feels like a crush of people. There are quite a few people out here as well, but it isn't as crowded as inside the house. She feels a little awkward standing by herself with so many people clustered in groups of twos, threes and fours, but she's grateful for the air and the respite from conversation.

Walking around the backyard she notes all of the details of the gardens, the twisting vines, the small flower bed of impatiens planted in the shape of a heart, the stone turtle hiding amongst the hostas. She's studying several of the homemade stepping stones, trying to deduce which child, grandchild or great-grandchild made them when a voice at her elbow startles her. "You're here with Davey, right?"

Emily turns to see an elegant, dark-haired, dark-eyed woman in her late forties or early fifties. At this point, Emily has stopped trying to define or defend her relationship with Dave; she's been introduced today as "Dave's friend," "Davey's girl" and even once, "Emily almost-Rossi" so she just smiles politely. "Yes, I am."

The woman nods and offers a hand. "Hi. I'm Maria."

"Emily Prentiss."

Maria nods as if she already knew this. "Too much for you in there?"

Emily gives a small, nervous, laugh. "I've been inside most of the day and thought a little air would be good." While she knows she's not the best at social interaction, all of Emily's alarms are going off. The woman is smiling, but it's stiff and nervous.

Emily takes a breath and studies the woman in front of her. Her eyes keep darting to the door, but her stance isn't aggressive. She keeps smoothing her hands down her slacks and is fidgeting with her blouse. She's telegraphing anxiety more than aggression.

Emily tilts her head and swallows her own nervousness. "I have to admit to not having grasped all the names and relationships. Are you a friend of the family?"

The woman gives a short, sharp laugh. "I don't think I qualify for that." Maria shakes her head. "You must not have been around long enough to have gotten all the ex-wife stories."

It takes less than a second for Maria's words to sink in and Emily feels her eyes go wide. "Oh."

Both of Maria's hands go up in a defensive gesture. "I'm not here to cause a scene or make trouble." Her lip quirks. "I'll leave that to one of the others. I just came by to offer my condolences. I wasn't expecting there to be so many people here." She offers a less than steady smile. "I was just waiting for the crowd to thin out a little so I could speak to Dave and his sisters."

Emily hadn't thought of this and knows her face must reflect how lost she is. "I'm sorry..."

Maria shakes her head. "Look, it's not like there's a handbook that tells you what to say to your boyfriend's ex at his mother's wake. If I had any class at all I would have left you alone."

There's a small, almost gentle, smile on Maria's face and Emily thinks that, despite her self-deprecation, she has a lot of class. It doesn't mean Emily has a better idea about what to say to her though. "Do you, uh, you live close by?"

"Princeton." She gives a careless shrug. "It's not next door, but it's not a bad drive either." Some of Maria's tension seems to have fled now that Emily knows who she is and that is helping to alleviate Emily's anxiety.

There's a riot of thought going on in Emily's head, social politeness warring with unbridled curiosity. It doesn't matter that she doesn't have the right to ask any questions; they are lining up, one behind the other in her mind. Her manners, thankfully, don't let her ask any of them and she goes for innocuous instead. "Are you coming to the service tomorrow?"

Maria shakes her head. "My son's high school does a summer soccer league and there's a game tomorrow afternoon. There's no way I'd make it back in time."

Her grasp on the time line of Dave's marriages is sketchy at best, but she's sure the third wife wouldn't have had time to have a child that would be high school age. So, Maria is either wife number one or wife number two.

Emily is reaching for small talk, trying to find something to say that's appropriate or doesn't sound overly curious. "How many children do you have?"

When Maria smiles, it's genuine. "Five. Four boys and a girl. One in college, three in high school, one in middle school."

Emily smiles. "That's quite a range."

Maria laughs a little. "It's enough to make me question my own sanity some days." Then she grimaces and shakes her head. "Look, don't feel like you have to stand here and talk to me. I just really came to pay my respects. Angela wasn't always my biggest fan when Dave and I were married, but later, after everything was said and done, I came to see her to make amends and she was so..." Maria stops and swallows hard. It takes a few seconds of blinking before she starts again. "I don't know how to put it other than she taught me more about forgiveness than I deserved to know at the time." She gives a little nod as if she's satisfied with that explanation. "She was a great lady, and the world is a little smaller without her in it."

"I didn't know her that well," Emily confesses. "But from all of the stories I'm hearing, I had gathered..."

"Oh, wait. Here comes the cavalry." Maria nods to the back door where Tony is standing. He spots Maria and Emily standing next to each other and his eyes widen a little. "He'll come save us before we have a chance to bond over stories of how bad Dave snores when he's had too much to drink or something." Her tone is both accepting and amused, but Emily feels a sharp pinch in the center of her chest at the reminder that she has no real intimate connection with Dave and this very nice woman, who has braved a potentially awkward situation to offer her sympathy, is deferring to her as if she does.

In the meantime, they both watch as Tony says something to someone over his shoulder and steps out on to the patio, making a beeline for them. There's no hesitation as he wraps Maria in a gentle hug and kisses her cheek. "Hey, you. It's been years." He looks at her face. "How you been?"

Maria's smile is a little shaky. "Good. I've been good."

Casually, he throws an arm across Emily's shoulders in a friendly way. "You met Emily?"

"Yeah, yeah." Maria blows out a breath that sounds a little exasperated to Emily. "She's a nice girl. Better than the last one."

"An untrained monkey with a drug problem would have been better than the last one," he says, then his eyes widen again. "Maria..."

Maria gives a small, snorty laugh and holds up a hand. "S'okay, Tony." She inclines her head towards Emily. "I'm sure Emily is better than that."

Tony's arm squeezes Emily's shoulder. "Of course she is; White Bread here is at least as good as a trained monkey."

Maria sputters as Emily gives Tony a light elbow to the side. "You always were a sweet talker, Anthony."

"It's a gift," he agrees as he rubs dramatically at the offended spot on his ribs. "The kids doing okay?"

Again, Maria's smile turns soft and genuine. "Yeah. Jacob's at Columbia, and Bobby's a senior this year, can you believe it?"

"No." Tony shakes his head. "It's not my own kids that make me feel old, it's other people's."

Maria turns to address Emily. "Tony was our lawyer when my husband and I adopted our first three." She gives a little wink. "The other two were international or he would have delivered all five of my kids."

"Thank God it was only on paper." The sound of Dave's voice surprises Emily; she'd been so intent on observing the interaction between Maria and Tony she hadn't been watching the door.

"No argument from me," Tony says lightly.

Emily watches as Dave captures Maria's hands, leans forward and kisses both her cheeks. "Hiya, kid."

"Davey." Maria's eyes fill with tears. "I just wanted to come pay my respects. Hope that's okay."

Dave gives her hands a little shake conveying something between reassuring and don't be silly. "Of course it's okay. I appreciate it." He tilts his head a little. "You look good."

Dropping his hands, Maria nods, still obviously fighting tears. "So do you." She clears her throat and darts a glance at Emily, then back to Dave. "Well, not bad for an old man, anyway."

Dave grins and reaches out to draw Emily towards him. "This is Emily."

"We met," Maria nods. "She didn't run screaming, which I took as a good sign."

"Not that amazing," Dave chuckles. "Especially since she'd already met Tony."

"Hey!" Tony blusters loudly, getting the tension-breaking laugh Dave was obviously going for.

"Come see my sisters." His voice is gentle and coaxing.

Emily clearly sees a bit of nervousness slide back over Maria's face but she nods anyway. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Dave tries to bring Emily with them as they move towards the door, but she shakes her head. "No, you go. I'm going to stay here."

The men exchange a look; Dave inclines his head and Tony gives a slight nod. "Yeah, White Bread is going to tell me how to make her sauce."

Dave opens the door for Maria. "You know if she really liked you, she'd just make it for you."

"Told you so." Tony grumps as the other two go into the house. When the door closes, he turns to Emily. "You okay?"

"Yes." Emily fights the urge to roll her eyes. "She's nice."

"She is," he agrees. "Wasn't always like that, but it's not my story to tell."

Every inch Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss's daughter, Emily raises an aristocratic eyebrow at him. "Did I ask you?"

He looks nonplussed for a moment, then chortles. "No, White Bread, you did not. I apologize."

Still channeling her mother's regal carriage, Emily lifts her nose slightly and sniffs. "That's Miss White Bread to you."

Emily isn't sure if it's a sense of chivalry or under Dave's unspoken orders, but Tony sits with her outside until Joe appears holding a baby that looks so much like a miniature version of him it startles a laugh out of Emily. "See why she named him after me?" he asks, grinning. The baby just blinks at Emily and sticks his fingers in his mouth.

Tony grunts. "She should have named one of the other kids after you...one who looks like you, one with your name. Would have had two that had to claim you then."

Joe shifts the baby to his other arm. "You're just jealous none of your grandkids are named after you."

"I don't have any grandkids," Tony reminds him.

"Then you're just jealous." Joe smiles as the baby reaches towards Emily. "Look at that, already hitting on the ladies." He quirks an eyebrow at her and she holds out her arms.

Emily hasn't had a lot to do with babies. She's good with kids and teenagers, but she hasn't been around many babies. Still, she knows how to hold one, though her grip is a little more careful, maybe a little tighter than the relaxed grip his grandfather had on him. Emily is surprised by the solid weight of him in her hands; he's heavier than he looks.

The baby looks at her with dark, solemn eyes, even his expression a perfect replica of his grandfather's and Emily laughs again. Young Joey seems to approve of her laugh and gives a little one of his own, the high pitched baby giggle making all three adults smile. "Oh, you're a charmer," Emily says. Joey, in answer, makes a grab for her earring. She's grateful she's not wearing hoops as the baby's damp fingers close over her earlobe.

"All right, Romeo." Joey's mother appears beside her father and begins prying the tiny digits off of Emily's ear. "Let's call it a night. Aunt Emily is spoken for, and it's way past your bedtime."

Emily feels the now familiar burst of guilt, but then pushes it aside. This is the situation, there's no way to change people's assumptions and it's not going to last forever. She supposes when this is all over and the book is done and they stop seeing her at Dave's house on the Skype calls they'll assume the two of them broke up. She has the small, evil thought I hope they blame Dave as Baby Joey is lifted out of her arms by his mother.

"Yeah," Joe says, running a large hand over the baby's head. "It's past my bedtime, too. I need to get these people outta my house."

"It's not as crowded in there now," Gina informs him. "Lots of people have left. I just saw Uncle Dave walking Maria to her car."

Joe looks towards Tony sharply. "Maria is here?"

Tony rolls his eyes and when he speaks his voice is full of dry sarcasm. "Yeah, she and White Bread went ten rounds out here on the patio. You shoulda seen it." He throws an arm across Emily's shoulders again. "Emily won, so Maria has to take Dave and we get to keep our girl."

Both Joe and Gina laugh a little, which causes the baby to giggle again and bounce his little body within his mother's arms.

"See?" Joe asks. "Even the baby knows it's a good thing we get to keep Emily."

Emily snorts, and even though she liked Maria and there had been no animosity, she's incredibly grateful for Tony's humor and support. This whole situation was one endless opportunity for awkwardness and embarrassment, but Dave's family has done nothing but make her feel welcome and comfortable. But she does feel the need to clarify. "Maria was really nice."

"Yeah." Joe tilts his head, looking at her as though he's trying to fathom how much she knows of the story just from looking at her. "I haven't seen her a lot over the years but things seem to have turned out all right for her."

Gina shifts the baby a little higher on her hip. "Dad, I hate to interrupt the revelation of deep, dark family secrets that are, you know, nobody's business but Dave and Maria's, but I could use some help getting the monster and all his stuff to the car." Her voice is the same dry intonation Emily has heard from Rosalie and all of her sisters at some point. Emily is grateful; she certainly can't deny that she's curious about Dave and Maria, well, about Dave and any of his wives, but that's information that's too personal to find out in a casual revelation by a family member who thinks she's more than she is.

First looking at Gina, then turning to Joe, Tony raises his eyebrows. "She's got a mouth on her, that one."

Joe nods several times, lower lip extended over his upper lip. "I blame her mother."

"Preachin' to the choir, pisan. What are you gonna do?" Tony holds his hands open in a helpless gesture.

"You," Gina says as she leans down to kiss her uncle's cheek, "are gonna behave yourself. And you." She looks at her father. "Are going to help me get the four bags of clothes Aunt Sophia brought for your namesake to the car."

Joe blinks at her. "You might be bossier than your mother."

"I have an infant and haven't had caffeine in over a year. I'm not bossy, I'm tired." She gives a one-sided grin that definitely came from the Rossi side of the family. "And maybe a little cranky."

"I can help you," Emily says, standing.

"Nah. He's acting like he's being bossed around, but he told me he'd help earlier." Gina kisses Emily's cheek. "It was good to see you again, Emily. We'll see you tomorrow."

Joe and Gina head towards the front of the house and Tony allows Emily to lead him back to the kitchen where clean-up has begun in earnest. They take over at the sink, Emily washing, Tony drying and when Cheryl appears, she is given the job of putting things up. The dishes are loaded in the dishwasher until it's full, then the dishes, along with the wineglasses, are hand-washed. It's mindless, yet feels useful and Emily allows herself to be immersed in the back-and-forth between the family members: "Did Carlo show up? I didn't see him." "Yeah, he was here but he didn't stay long." "Victoria looked tired. Did she bring the new boyfriend?" "No, I think Gabriella would have shot him on sight if he'd shown up." "That bad?" "It's not good." "I didn't see Thomas, either." "He called; said Anna's ankles were too swollen to go anywhere. He sat home with her; said he'd be at the service tomorrow unless she went into labor early." "God forbid." "Tell me about it." "Do I need to get TJ from the airport tomorrow?" "Nah, Gina said she was going to get him, then go to the train station to get Paula."

Family members are moving in and out of the kitchen in a steady stream , bringing in casserole dishes, plates and wine glasses, picking up the thread of the conversations as they move through. Emily knows a few of the names, is getting a better sense of which branch of the family everyone belongs to and is only slightly confused by a few name duplications, including a 'David' who is Gabriella's oldest son. Theo smiles as he wipes down the counter by the stove. "My David, not your David. Though my David has always been David and your David is Dave or Davey."

"Except when he was in trouble." John places a heavily cheese-encrusted dish beside the sink with an apologetic look in Emily's direction. "If you want to watch him cringe, have one of his sisters address him as 'David'. Which was nothing, of course, compared to Mama Angela saying it."

Emily frowns at the dish then gives John a chagrined look. "Are you hiding any more of these out there?"

"I think that was the last of any of the dishes," Rosalie says from the kitchen doorway, she looks at the casserole dish and makes a pained face. "Don't even try to clean that tonight. Let it soak overnight." She gives Emily a one-armed hug. "We didn't want you to be here for manual labor anyway."

She hands Emily a dishtowel. "Have you and Dave even spoken to each other today?"

"Yes, of course we have." Emily dries her hands and loops the towel through one of the drawer handles as she's seen Joe do over the last two days.

Rosalie lowers her voice and leans closer. "He's in Mama's room now; you should go see him."

Emily feels her heart clench at the thought. Oh, Dave. She runs her fingers through her bangs. "What if he wants to be alone?"

Patting Emily's cheek, Rosalie smiles gently. "Even when you want to be alone it doesn't mean that you don't need to be with people who love you."

It's the same peaceful tone Emily heard from Rosalie Sunday morning; there's acceptance and wisdom there and Emily knows it's the right thing to do. Taking a shaky breath, she nods and steals out of the kitchen and down the hall to Angela Rossi's bedroom.

The furniture is dark wood, a small four-poster bed with a cheerful pink chenille bedspread, and a matching dresser and mirror. A crucifix hangs over the bed, with paintings of Jesus and the Virgin Mary on either side of the posts. On the bedside table there's a framed portrait of Dave's father and a photo crowded with the extended Rossi family, Angela, surrounded by her children, her sons-in-law, her grandchildren and her great-grandchildren.

Dave's sitting on a ladder-back chair in a corner of the room; he looks sad and tired, but he doesn't have the same despondent look she's seen on his face a few times since Sunday morning.

"Hi." She keeps her tone soft, both wanting to be respectful and not wanting to startle him.

Looking up, he blinks, his eyes dark and mournful. "Hi. You need me?"

Emily shakes her head. "Just came to check on you."

He gives a small snort. "Rose sent you?"

Approaching slowly, Emily puts gentle fingers on his shoulder. "She told me you were here; she thought you might want some company."

"I'm not sure I'm fit company for anyone." It's his distracted tone, the one he uses with Reid when he would do anything to get Spencer to quit spewing facts and figures at him, but he's too polite to say so.

"Well, then it's a good thing I'm used to you being unfit company." She looks around for a place to sit, but the only other place is the bed.

He gives her a look, but there's no real heat to it. "Kicking a man when he's down, Prentiss?"

Inwardly she winces; he hasn't called her Prentiss off the job since Charleston. But she also knows it's just a distancing technique, deliberately being prickly and less personal to push her away. It occurs to her that if he weren't trying to push her away right now he would have stood and offered her the chair or told her it was okay to sit on his mother's bed.

And as far as she's concerned he can try that crap on someone else.

Leaning against the dresser, she quirks an eyebrow at him and he scowls at her; they're both clear about what's going on.

"I don't want to talk," he finally grumbles, looking down at the toe of his shoe as he moves the fringe on the bedspread idly back and forth with his foot.

"Didn't say you had to," she replies cheerfully.

They're silent for a bit; Emily learned very young how to be still and stay still. It's not her preferred method of resolving a situation, but sometimes it's a necessity.

Patience, she learned from her mother and reinforced in the Bureau, is not a quality, but a skill and like any skill, if practiced enough, it can be perfected.

Finally, Dave sighs. "Do you remember the night of the ambassador's ball?"

"Of course." Emily doesn't change her stance.

"You remember when I told you you weren't a pain in the ass?" His lips twitch. "I lied. You really are."

"Ah, well." She tilts her head. "Your memory is a trifle faulty. You didn't say I wasn't a pain in the ass, you said I was your favorite pain in the ass."

"You are that." He sighs, stands and holds out his hand. "Let's go to bed."

Her stomach gives a tiny little flip at how intimate that sounds, but she keeps her face impassive and nods. "Yeah, let's." She slips her hand in his, grateful for the little squeeze he gives as their fingers entwine.

He lets her have the bathroom first, then he showers.

She's on her side facing him when he slides between the sheets. Evidently some of the lights in the backyard are still on, and the light floats through the white sheers covering their bedroom's windows, giving everything a slightly luminescent glow. It makes it easier to see him; she can't see the look in his eyes, but she can see that he's awake and knows he could see that she is as well if he were looking at her. But he's not; he's on his back, staring at the ceiling.

It's Dave, so she really shouldn't be surprised when he starts speaking without preamble. "Maria was my second wife." He folds his hands over his chest, interlocking his fingers. "My first marriage was a teenage mistake and lasted less than a year. I went home to Commack when I mustered out of the Marines, helped Mama take care of Pop at the last. I got recruited by the Bureau, went to DC, started building a career." He moves his head to glance at her briefly then looks back to the ceiling. "Maria was an interpreter for the Bureau, Italian and Spanish." He frowns at the ceiling. "I don't even remember how we met."

Giving a little shrug, he continues. "We dated for awhile, off and on. We'd break up, see other people and then get back together. After a few years it just seemed like the natural thing to do, get married. We were good for a couple of years, everything was fine."

There's a slight pause and Emily can almost feel there's something he doesn't want to say. "She...we decided it was time to start a family but, you know, it didn't happen right off like we thought it would. Then I was starting the BAU and I was traveling more and more and she was more and more unhappy."

His fingers steeple up, then flatten again. "I agreed to the fertility consultations and we did the tests and when the tests came back it turns out she had some medical issues that were going to make it impossible for her to conceive."

Emily feels a tumble of emotion, a mix of empathy and jealousy roll over her. The irony isn't lost on her either. Right around the time she was terminating an unwanted pregnancy Dave and his wife were finding out a family wasn't in the cards for them.

"We decided to adopt, filled out all the paperwork; but...there was a case...a serial in San Diego. It was one of the first cases where the BAU was called in near the beginning and I was gone for weeks. I missed an appointment with the adoption agency and a home visit with the social worker." This time when he turns to look at her, he doesn't look away. "I knew I was missing the agency appointment but the home visit was a surprise."

Shaking his head, he gives a sigh. "Maria...well, it wasn't pretty. She said it was obvious I didn't really want a family with her." His mouth tightens. "She said a lot of other things, too. But, you know, I knew she was upset and I thought I'd let her calm down and we'd talk about a private adoption."

He turns his gaze back to the ceiling. "Gideon and I were working a serial rapist in Orlando when I got the call she'd been in an accident. I flew home right away; her blood alcohol level was borderline, but nobody else was hurt so they didn't pursue it. But the accident messed up her back and she was in a lot of pain."

Emily watches as his chest rises with a deep inhalation, then falls with the slow release. It's almost as if she can hear the memories in his head, ticking like a car engine as it cools.

The light bleeding into the window is suddenly halved, then quartered as the lights from the backyard go out. The silence seems heavier somehow in the darkness until he speaks again.

"Long story short, she was already drinking pretty heavily; then she got hooked on the pain meds."

Emily sees his head turn and knows he's looking at her, but she can't see him anymore, the shadows between them are too deep, but the pain and guilt are obvious in his voice when he tells her, "I was gone all the damn time, I didn't see it, I didn't do anything to help her."

Blindly, she reaches for him, her hand falling across his chest, reaching for his hands. "It's not your fault, Dave."

"Bullshit." His voice is bitter and his body is tense, hard against her touch.

"Unless you put the bottle and the pills in her hand, it's not your fault." Her tone brooks no argument, but she doesn't feel any lessening in his body's tension.

"She..." Dave swallows heavily. "She did things because of the addiction I know she never would have done otherwise. Tony, God love him, spotted the trouble and talked to me." He gives a humorless bark of laughter. "Trust me that was not a conversation anyone wanted to be a part of."

Emily can only imagine.

He's lost to memory for a moment then he just sounds sad as he finishes the story. "Anyway, we got her into rehab. She cleaned up, but it was too late for the marriage."

"Dave." Emily isn't sure what she wants to say; what she could say that would make a difference.

Suddenly, he turns his hand to grasp hers and his voice, when he speaks, is softer. "I don't think we would have lasted anyway, to be honest. Maria's a good woman, but we weren't strong enough to last through all the different things that were being thrown at us, even without the drugs and alcohol. But I should have done better."

Rising up on her elbow, she tries desperately to see his expression. "You couldn't have known. We've seen addicts, Dave; they're really good at hiding their disease."

He shakes his head and turns on his side, her hand still grasped in his. "The thing is, Em--" She always gets a bit of a secret thrill when he calls her Em. "--That old saw about the road to Hell being paved with good intentions? It's true. In my head, I'm a good man. I intended to go to Gideon's wife's funeral, I intended to spend another day with my dad...and all intentions to the contrary, I never did. I...every time I got married I intended to be a good husband. And I just wasn't."

She feels his breath skating across her knuckles and almost unconsciously moves a little closer. "Who thinks they're a superhero now? Dave, you can't blame yourself for everything you never did. You're human, we all miss things. Think of all the things you did do."

"I know my missing the occasional birthday or phone call doesn't make me a bad person. None of it caused any harm, not overtly anyway, but they left me with a lot of 'should haves' that turned into a festering pile of regret." He sighs and it's sad and tired. "That is its own special Hell. Not the Hell of sin and bad behavior but the Hell of missed opportunity to let someone around me know I cared, I thought about them, they weren't alone. And Maria is the biggest skeleton on that pile."

"Dave, you can't blame yourself." She squeezes his fingers. "You just can't."

He moves his head, though she's not sure if it's in a negating move or if he's simply nestling deeper into the pillow. "I don't blame myself for her addictions, but I wish she hadn't had to sink so low. I wish I'd been a better man even if I couldn't be a better husband."

"David Rossi." She scoots a little closer, until their joined hands are the only thing keeping them from being chest to chest. "How could you be any better? You are the best man I know."

Whether her eyes have finally adjusted to less light or his eyes are overly bright, Emily can see his eyes are moist. His voice is thick as he responds, "You should get out more."

She sighs. "I really should."

Giving a quiet laugh, he slings an arm over her hip. "Go to sleep."

"You go to sleep." The soft cotton of his pajamas is skin warmed and pleasant against her palm as she gives him a light tap on the arm.

"Emily?"

Expecting a sharp retort or a set-up for a good-natured insult, she answers cautiously. "Yeah?"

"You're my best friend."

Emily feels a little teary, surprised, touched and very much in love. She can feel the thud of his heart beneath her hand; he's so close she can feel his breath against her cheek and she wants nothing more than for him to lean forward, close the small distance between them and kiss her.

He runs his thumb gently over her knuckles, then back in the opposite direction. Her heart is thumping in her ears and she wonders if he can hear it. The silence between them is heavy and a little breathless until he brings her hand to his lips, placing a soft, chaste kiss on the back. "I...it means a lot to me. Your friendship." His fingers tighten over hers briefly. "I...I just want you to know how much I appreciate you being here now."

The sudden realization hits that he's telling her friendship is all this is. While he wouldn't share a bed with Hotch or kiss his hand, it's the same type of friendship to him, nothing more. Her throat is burning but she's still proud of her even tone when she answers, "That's what friends are for." If her voice is a little small, it's easy to blame the night and the dark.

"Yeah." He pulls her hand back to his chest. "Goodnight, Em."

"Goodnight, Dave." She swallows against the thickness in her throat, grateful she doesn't have to guard her expression. His breathing evens out fairly quickly but Emily remains awake until he shifts in his sleep and she can free her hand easily. She rolls away, her back facing him, full of disappointment and self-castigation. You knew better.

It's not that she expected him to have suddenly fallen in love with her. They're friends, of course they're friends; if he felt something more -- well, Rossi had never been shy about going after what he wanted. She's disappointed in both the situation and herself...she hadn't realized how much hope she had allowed herself, how spending so much time with him and being a part of his family had seduced her into a false sense of the two of them being more than they are.

Reminding herself how they got to this point, she hates herself a little when she realizes she's feeling sorry for herself when he's just lost his mother.

Okay. She clamps down on the desire to cry. Okay. I can do this, I can be a friend.

But her chest aches for hours as she listens to his breath in the dark until sleep finally forces her down.

The feel of a hand on her foot startles her awake. The sun is up and so is Rossi; he's dressed, standing at the foot of the bed, his hand on her ankle.

"Good morning." He offers her a small smile, releasing her ankle. "I wasn't trying to rattle you awake."

Glancing at the time, she grimaces. It's half-past six and the last time she remembers looking at the clock it had been after two. Her eyes are filled with grit and her heart is still sore. "Morning," she replies, not quite willing to concede the "good" part.

"Father Frank is hearing confession for the family this morning; Rose instructed me to invite you along." He smoothes a hand over his beard.

"Uh," she replies. If she's going to receive communion, then she has to go to confession. Oh, this will be fun, she tells herself sourly as she struggles against the covers and gravity to sit up. "What time?"

Dave clears his throat and she looks down to see her camisole has twisted and half of her right breast is exposed. Impatiently, she jerks the material back into place and rolls her eyes. The snarkier part of her brain wants to know what difference it makes if she's flashing a little boob at him, it's not like he's interested. Okay, her inner monologue concedes, that's more bitter than snarky.

He doesn't seem to know where to look when he says, "We'll leave about quarter to eight." Emily is pretty sure she hates him this morning. She decides she should write a book: Curing Unrequited Love through Sleep Deprivation.

"Yeah, okay." She pushes her hair back from her face. "I can be ready before then."

"Okay." His eyes dart toward her and he must decide her modesty is intact once again because he doesn't look away. "There's coffee downstairs."

Barely resisting the urge to say, You mean where they keep the coffeepot? she just nods. "I'll be down after I shower."

"All right." He looks as though there's something else he'd like to say, but when she raises an eyebrow at him he shakes his head and heads towards the door. "See you in a bit."

She feels better after her shower; not great, but it's enough of an improvement that she's sort of sorry for being so grumpy with Dave. As she applies her make-up, she has a rather stern conversation with herself about it being a rough day and her bruised heart is nothing compared to what Dave and his family are going through. It's not Dave's fault she's in love with him; though there's a rather surly part of her brain that insists it is indeed his fault, he shouldn't be so charming and talented and sexy. But she's almost positive that part of her brain is where her inner 14-year-old lives, so she ignores it.

So, it's going to be a hard day and despite her complete and utter stupidity in falling in love with him, she is, above and beyond everything else, his friend. When they get back to DC tomorrow she can start putting her heart back together, figure everything out, get some distance. But today...today she is here to support and help and that's what she's going to do.

The smell of coffee bolsters her even more as she comes through the kitchen door.

"Good morning, Emily."

Rosalie kisses her cheek while Joe pours her a cup of coffee and Cheryl hugs her and Emily feels her heart soften. Whatever happens, she wants to maintain these relationships. It might be a little difficult, depending on what Dave tells them, but she's never known anything worth having that didn't take a little work. Plus, he's told her more than once he's grateful to her for taking an interest in Cheryl, so he shouldn't object to them keeping in touch.

Joe sets her coffee within reach and pulls a box of Splenda down from the cabinet. Emily smiles her thanks and fixes her coffee.

The mood in the house is a little more solemn this morning and it looks as if Rosalie has already been crying. Emily leans against the kitchen counter beside Dave, offering him a tentative smile, a silent apology for her grouchy attitude when he'd come to wake her up. The smile he gives her in return is grateful, if a little hesitant.

"Joe, I still don't hear him." Rosalie is at the kitchen door, intent and listening. "Cheryl, are you sure he heard you? We gotta leave in fifteen minutes."

Cheryl is pouring cereal into a bowl, the small pieces making a musical pings as they hit the china. "Nonna, I swear he said he was getting up."

Rosalie sighs and Joe puts his coffee cup down. "I'll go."

"Thank you," she says, leaning against his arm briefly. "You're a good man."

"Yeah, you remember that the next time I forget to take out the trash." Joe kisses the top of Rosalie's head and leaves the kitchen.

As is the way of the teenage boy, Michael had gone back to sleep and is rousted from his bed by his grandfather who allows him a five minute shower and ten minutes to dress, comb his hair and brush his teeth. Rosalie pronounces his first outfit unacceptable and sends him back upstairs to change. Cheryl has choice words about his personality and IQ, while Rosalie tells her to mind her manners and asks if she has her rosary.

Dave and Emily stand side by side, sipping coffee, staying out of the familial fray until they leave for the church.

St. Gabriel's is bright, light pouring in from dozens of windows, clear, glazed panes around the perimeter of the ceiling and beautifully ornate stained glass illustrating the stations of the cross slightly above eye-level. The pews, rails and altar are constructed of gleaming blond wood and the smell of linseed oil and lemons hangs in the air. Emily grew up visiting churches in Europe and Asia and, despite her bad experience in Italy she's always found churches to be peaceful places. She doesn't attend Mass all that often but she does manage to make it to confession on a regular basis, thanks to her mother whose idea of a fun Saturday in DC is confession, lunch and shopping.

Gabriella and Theo, along with their youngest son, are leaving as they arrive. There are brief hugs and whispered, "We'll see you later." Quietly they enter, observing the small rituals of holy water and genuflection, kneeling and prayer. John is seated beside a young woman Emily recognizes as one of his daughters.

The adults remain on the kneeling bench, their rosaries moving through their fingers, but Cheryl and Michael seat themselves on the pew after a short amount of time in prayer. When Sophia emerges into the sanctuary a few minutes after their arrival, Father Frank's arm is around her shoulders.

Though Emily had been hoping for at least a show of anonymity, she's not surprised to see the personal contact and she's fairly certain the door leads to an open "Reconciliation" room instead of the dark confessional of her first communion. This is going to suck she thinks. Father Frank is essentially a part of the Rossi family and he was always going to know who she was anyway, but she'd been hoping for the small dark space to at least hide her humiliation. Her only hope is to hit the highlights and avoid specifics.

Sophia's family rises to meet her and Father Frank looks expectantly at Rosalie's family. Emily hears Michael sigh from behind her then watches as the teenager slouches toward Father Frank. The priest puts his hand on Michael's shoulder and closes the door.

Emily isn’t sure she would qualify as a good Catholic, but she does pay attention to the ritual and tries not to be disrespectful. Oddly, it's been easier since Matthew's death. Father Silvano might be one of the problems with the Catholic Church, but there are good things about it to, like Father Davison and Father Frank, the way Dave retains a faith in God even through seeing some of the most horrific things mankind has to offer.

But right now she feels like she's cheating, because she cannot even begin to concentrate on her prayers. She keeps starting an Our Father and her thoughts about confessing to Father Frank keep derailing her. Finally, she decides to give up and rises from the bench to sit. One of the preparations for confession is contemplating one's sins; she feels well-qualified on that front. She feels a touch on her shoulder and turns to see Cheryl smiling at her. The girl leans forward, "Waiting is the hardest part." Though her tone is hushed her grandmother looks up from her rosary with a look that clearly says she should stop talking or there will be more than confession at stake. Cheryl shrugs and leans back against the pew, but then stands immediately when Michael and Father Frank return to the sanctuary. Father Frank wraps Cheryl in a bear hug; she hugs him back and the door closes.

Dave rises from the bench and sits beside her on the pew; she remembers sitting beside him at the wedding, being slightly thrilled at the brush of his thigh against hers. It's almost difficult to trace her steps from that moment to this. Everything seemed different then, before Charleston, before she realized she was in love with him, before they were spending all their free time together. Sadness falls over her like a cloth falling over abandoned furniture; she's promised herself she'll see him through this and when she gets home she'll find a way to move on, move past it. But the truth is she doesn't want to, she doesn't want to move away from loving him. This might be hard but she'd gotten so used to being alone she'd forgotten what it was like to live for more than the next case, the next unsub, the next solve. Somehow she thinks going back to that is going to feel even more hollow than it did before.

The door opens and Cheryl comes out under Father Franks arm; he kisses her temple then looks at Emily expectantly. Sighing, Emily stands and moves forward.

"Emily." He motions her into a hallway, then immediately into a bright room. It's small enough to be considered intimate, but not so small she feels trapped. There are two chairs and a table with a Bible and a figurine of the Virgin Mother. "Please sit." He indicates one of the chairs while he takes the other one.

She sits and he looks at her expectantly. Taking a deep breath she nods and he makes the sign of the cross.

"Forgive me, Father, for I've sinned. It's been seven weeks since my last confession." Chewing on her lip, she looks up at him.

"Go on." His fingers are steepled against his chest and she feels every bit of his attention focused on her.

"I've committed the sins of lying and...and lust." Really, she didn't feel this nervous at her first confession thirty years ago.

There's no judgment in his tone when he speaks, he's simply gathering information. "How many times have you lied since your last confession?"

Emily winces. This is where it gets sticky.

She thinks about telling Morgan she was going home one night when she was really going to Dave's, telling one of the Baltimore detectives she had a headache when she just didn't want to go for a beer with him and a few other small lies. "In word? Maybe a dozen times?"

"And in deed?"

Crap.

"A...lot." She's sort of tries to close her eyes and still look at him at the same time. It's not working well.

Father Frank tilts his head towards her. "I appreciate that these things are difficult to quantify sometimes, but you are an intelligent, articulate professional. I think you can do better than 'a lot'."

She lets out a breath and relaxes her shoulders; really there was nothing else to do and confession is supposed to be good for the soul. "Non-stop for the past few days."

His eyes widen and his head tilts back. "I'm listening."

"Dave and I are not involved; we're not..." she starts to use the word "lovers" but decides she really can't use that to a priest, in church. "We're not a couple. We're just friends. We, we work together and we're friends and I'm helping him write a book."

Now that she's started, the whole story comes tumbling out, end over end like a rain of stones rolling down a hill, picking up speed the further they roll. "But he needed a date for Jennifer's wedding a few weeks ago and his sisters -- well, Rosalie -- started talking about babies and I told her we were just friends but she kept on and I panicked and she said she was just yanking my chain but I still don't think she believed me. Then a serial killer drugged me and we ended up staying in Charleston and Dave talked to Cheryl on the computer and she saw we were in the same hotel room, but it was a suite...a two bedroom suite. Then when we got home he asked me to help him with the book, well, no, he asked me to help him when we were still in Charleston and I said yes, but that was before I realized I'm sort of, really, a lot, in love with him. But I'd already said I'd do the book by the time I figured it out. Some profiler I am, right? I mean I can't even figure out when I'm in love but I'd already said yes to the book so we were always at his house working on it and Cheryl and Rosalie and his mother would call and see me there." She makes herself stop talking to take a breath, though it ends up sounding more like a gasp.

Rubbing a hand across her eyes, she continues. "Then Rosalie couldn't get him when Mama Angela died and she called me instead, but we were in Baltimore and he'd been up over forty-eight hours so Hotch, that's our Unit Chief , Aaron Hotchner, said that I should drive him and Dave said Rosalie said I should come. So, I drove him but Cheryl showed us to the guest room and there was only one bed and he said he'd explain to Rosalie, but then I thought, no, that would be too awkward and he didn't need anything else to cause him stress. So I told him, I told him we were adults and we could share a bed with nothing happening. And nothing has happened. Except everybody treating me like I'm a part of the family and me sort of wanting to jump him even though his mother just died and he doesn't seem to want to jump me back."

Once it's all out, she takes another deep breath and looks at Father Frank. He's biting his lip and his eyes are shining and she has the impression she has just made a tremendous fool of herself. But, strangely, she feels better.

Father Frank rubs a hand across his forehead, obscuring his face for a moment. "Well, that explains why fornication didn't make the list." His voice cracks on the word "list" and Emily's mouth drops open.

"Are you laughing?"

Father Frank shakes his head in the negative, though his broad shoulders are clearly shaking with laughter.

Indignant doesn't even begin to cover it. "You are laughing! At my confession!"

"We call it the Rite of Reconciliation now." A giggle escapes Father Frank and it reminds Emily of Baby Joey's giggle from the previous night. The sound is completely at odds with the man's size and demeanor. "Though that's not a confession so much as it's a comedy of errors."

The only error Emily thinks has occurred is her decision to come to confession. "This is...the lying and...the lusting and you're laughing?"

He giggles again and the sound is so incongruent, so childlike that, despite her indignation and humiliation, she feels her own lips quirk in a half smile.

He draws in a breath and waves a hand. "You haven't lied to anyone by acting in this way. You've been a comfort and solace to the family. You are not responsible for their assumptions. This is, at the most, a venial sin, and I don't even see it as such."

"But the other?" She really doesn't want to say "lusting" again, especially knowing Dave is going to be coming in to this same room shortly.

His posture straightens and he clasps his hands in front of his chest. "For the times you've lied in word, are you truly sorry?"

Her answer is automatic. "Yes, Father."

"Say one Hail Mary for each lie you spoke and you are absolved of the sin." He makes the sign of the cross.

"Thank you, Father." She shifts in her chair. "But the other?"

His face is open and kind. "You are a human being, Emily. God knit you within the womb of your mother, with all of the frailties of the human body and the potential of the soul. All human beings lust. God knows your heart, Emily. God knows you to be a woman in love, but a noble one."

"And this whole thing...with the family and the comedy and the bed?"

"You're good," Father Frank chokes out, then dissolves into another fit of the giggles while Emily rolls her eyes.

She's really trying to whip up some more indignation but the sight of the priest nearly doubled over, wheezing out laughter makes it impossible. And, really, the whole thing is ridiculous. She hasn't done anything wrong, even though she feels guilty for misleading Dave's family.

With less than gracious patience, she waits for the giggle fit to pass, but every time he begins to sober and looks at her, he starts all over again.

"You know," she says finally, "I get that you probably don't get a lot of entertainment in here, but, hello? Rite of Reconciliation? Sacrament of the Church?"

He wipes his eyes with a large hand. "Joy is its own sacrament."

Eying him speculatively, she crosses her arms over her chest. "That sounds like something you made up to excuse laughing at my confession."

"One of the perks of the job." His smile is wide and beautiful and she can't help the one she gives in response. As much as she'd love to remain indignant, she really can't. The whole thing felt so large in her head, the guilt and the want becoming so much bigger than they actually are and, thankfully, Father Frank's laughter has given her perspective. She's also not blind to the knowledge that she has been unable to enjoy the feelings of belonging and acceptance without feeling like an impostor; she feels like rolling her eyes again, but this time at herself.

"So, that's it?" she questions.

"Do your penance and that's it." He nods.

Waving an airy hand, she shifts in the chair. "You call that penance? Please. I lived in Rome as a teenager. We're talking epic penance." It's true and that was before the abortion.

Putting his hands on his knees, Father Frank leans forward, still smiling, but a little more serious. "In the absence of epic penance, then, may I offer you a blessing?"

"Thank you, Father."

Emily bows her head and feels his large hand come to rest lightly against her hair.

"May God our Father grant you His consolation and His strength, and help you to accept His will and praise His Holy Name forever and ever. Amen." His thumb traces a cross on her forehead.

"Amen," she echoes, crossing herself.

He walks her out of the room and across the hall to the sanctuary door. Once the door is open, he leans forward and enfolds her in a warm hug. The embrace is a comfort for a peaceful moment, then she hears another one of his giggles and he asks, "Does this mean we're engaged?"

She's fairly certain the look she gives him would have burned an ordinary mortal, but it simply causes him to laugh harder, though it appears he's trying to be quiet about it. Nonetheless, Dave, Rosalie, Joe, Michael and Cheryl are all staring at them. Emily feels her face flame as Dave walks toward them; he looks at her inquiringly, but she holds up a hand and stalks past him, back to their pew.

Father Frank throws a brotherly arm across Dave's shoulders, guiding him into the hall and closing the door behind them. Joe and Rosalie give her looks that defy description and her cheeks heat even more. Lowering the kneeling bench, Emily situates herself and begins her penance.

When Dave returns, he looks even more as though he'd love to know what happened during her confession, but she studiously ignores him, reminding herself her sins, both real and imagined, are safe with Father Frank.

Joe follows Dave and Rosalie goes last and it seems a very short time before they're on their way back to Joe and Rosalie's house.

"Emily?" Cheryl leans forward from the third seat of the SUV. "What did you say to Father Frank? I've never seen him laugh so hard."

"I'd like to know that myself." Dave is staring at her profile but she refuses to look at him.

Rosalie turns in her seat. "You don't ask questions like that."

"But, Nonna, he was doubled over." Cheryl is earnest and indignant and giving that damned cocky Rossi grin. "She broke Father Frank!"

Emily finally loses the fight; turning toward the window, she covers her mouth and laughs silently until they're back at the house.

TBC...

Chapter 10