Ok, so I had to edit this three times because I am that big of an idiot. Sorry. Now, to the proper AN:

Hello everyone. This is my first attempt at a Criminal Minds fanfic. OK, not first, but the first one I dare to publish. I hope it's decent enough.

This is a tag... a long tag to The fight. You should know that parts of it come from a different story, previous to this moment, though it can be read without the prequel.

One thing, my English is not the best you will find, given that it's not my mother language. I do my best and I check spelling and grammar a thousand times, but mistakes are inevitably going to slip. My apologies in advance.

That said, I hope you enjoy.

If he wasn't so goddamn cocky she would have hated a whole lot less that she found him attractive. But be that as it may, he was both attractive and cocky... and had pretty much saved her life. Scratch the pretty much, he had actually saved her life.

And there she was, beer in hand, deflecting his flirting as well as she could, being as witty as possible. But his flirting made her nervous and her comebacks, though witty indeed, weren't as snappy fast as usual. Which made everything worse because every member of her team knew that the time she took to respond was not as much needed to think of a proper answer but to fight the blush from flaming her cheeks. Embarrassing. Acting like a teen aged girl just because some handsome brit was talking to her in that sultry voice.

It was nice, though. To have someone paying that kind of attention to her. Someone with whom she could do something about it. And even if it was crazy to think about perusing something long term- or mid term after just a couple of days of vague flirtation, it was good having the chance, being able to even think about it without chastising herself. Frown upon is not the same as sanctioned immediately. Advantages of being on different BAU teams rather than the same.

It was nice being at the receiving end of that interaction. Specially there, in that group. JJ, even when popped on the table, back hunched and legs dangling in a very un-lady manner, was still beautiful and girly. JJ was pretty. Married, granted, which kept the decent guys away. But pretty and girly. Naturally likeable; she didn't need to do anything to be noticed. All it took was for her to exist. And that other agent, Gina, well, she had that sort of young, rebellious thing going on. Beautiful too. Impossible not to notice her, not to realized, upon entering a room, that she had that extra something that made guys turn around.

And then, her. Simple Emily Prentiss. Though she was certainly not ugly, she wouldn't qualify as beautiful. Not even as pretty. In the looks department, she was interesting. On her best days. Unlike the other two, she wore very boring, appropriate clothes. Clothes that, most of the time, neither flattered her figure nor expressed her individuality. And her body language? Hell, she didn't even know why she did it, but she was always kind of hunched... not in the cute JJ way. In the geeky I don't really know where I fit, 15 years old Prentiss way. Which was nowhere near as cute as JJ's. She never knew what to do with her hands either. She had beautiful hands, yes -minus the bit down nails- but she never knew what to do with them. She folded or clasped them in front of herself a lot. And, sometimes, she stood like a... soldier, arms stretched down, hands joined at her groin, shoulders hunched, of course. And her regular standing position wasn't any better. Legs spread, feet pointing at 3 and 9. Not to mention how she sat. Her knees couldn't be further away from one another. And did she always have to rest her forearms on her knees? Well, of course, how would she hunch her back otherwise?

Ok, yes, she could kick butt. That was the upper side of being slightly masculine . But that hardly compensated on the guy department. She had come to learn that, despite what many people would have thought, a kick ass girl was not such a huge turn on. The Tomb Rider fantasy only worked for Lara Croft. Apparently, you had to be that hot for your kicking ass abilities to be considered a pro. And... She was not that hot. She had a nice body, but she was not that hot. She could pass as hot sometimes, when she picked the right clothing by chance. But it didn't happen often because, well, she wasn't aware of which clothes were the right ones.

And tonight, not even her bad ass, kick ass ability had properly shown. She had been the damsel in distress needing rescue at the last second. Because if Mick hadn't been exactly where he was, if he had chosen any other rooftop, if the unsub had run the other way, she would be dead. Over a stupid mistake upon which she knew Hotch would reprimand her the second they were alone. You never, ever approach any edge, be that the one of a rooftop or of a corner, any edge, with your gun down. First the gun, then you. Law enforcement 101.

Aside from not being killed and rescuing the father and daughter on time, tonight had sucked. In fact, the entire case had sucked. She had raised suspicion on the plane and been stood corrected by Rossi, she had tried and failed to get information on Cooper through Mick and had ended up with her stupid mouth open at his response, she had missed the raw knuckles on victim number 2, hadn't thought about the unsub's possible penitential record before Mick, she had spend an entire night chasing junkies, had been hit by a car, and her only relevant insight had been that the vics were forced to fight each other. Because saying that the guy was re-enacting the loss of his own daughter, at the point she voiced it, had added nothing to the search. It was, yes, an explanation for his actions, one that the prosecutors could use- would have been able to use if the guy hadn't died- but by no means did anything to catch him when they already had a name.

So, after that load of crap it was nice to be the object of a man's interest. More so when he was good looking. Even if she knew that she was the object of his interest because she was the only viable one to get him laid. Work relation blocked one, marriage block the other, Emily was the only one open. Ok, that wasn't entirely true. Like Morgan, he could go out, hand pick a girl and dazzle her with his accent and FBI status. And Emily was sure that any twenty-something cute bubbly girl would fall for it.

However -and at the thought a smile appeared on her face- he was flirting with her, seventeen years older than those girls. And, despite the cockiness, he had raised her interest. And he had style. And he was taller than she was. On top, he was left-handed and he had short dark hair, brown eyes and thin lips. No need to have Reid's IQ to connect the dots there.

While she mentally trashed herself in that reverie of hers, she had stepped away from the chatty groups that had formed. It is necessary if you're going to stare at people and asses them. Meaning she had to walk away to profile Mick, JJ, Gina and herself without everyone asking why are you staring?

She would have lit up a cigarette, hadn't she quit that long ago... not really that long, and every now and then she still had the occasional smoke, but never in public. The point was that she would have lit up a cigarette. Partially, so her free hand would be busy, partially because smoking had a tang of what she would like to be. Some darkness that would give her a mysterious quality, that would helped her conceal, if only for a little while, her plainness.

There was no cigarette, though. She just stood in a secluded part of the room, eyes roaming it; shoulder leaned on one of the washers, drinking her second beer.

She wasn't surprised. Lost in thoughts or not, she was still aware of her surroundings and obviously saw him coming.

He was looking at her with those half lidded eyes of his as he strode towards her in that rhythm that can be read as bashfulness or utter self-confidence. She held his gaze. In fact, as he approached, she almost smiled what could have been considered a sexy smile.

He stopped right in front of her, blocking the rest of the room. Irrelevant, since her eyes were focused solely on his at the moment.

"So... What're you wearing?" He used as an open line.

Her eyelids fluttered as a half hearted chuckle rose from her. "Please, you must have something less lame," she joked back.

He flashed her a smile, eyes still focused on her, and god, were those dimples? She feared she was flushing.

He must have seen that reaction, because he leaned the slightest bit. "I do, but should I waste my good material if you're going to turn me down?" Mick asked in a deep, seductive voice intentionally accentuating his accent.

She sipped her beer, stalling again, getting her blood under control. "Isn't it the other way around? Aren't you supposed to use those lines to try and pick up a woman?"

"Well," he began taking yet another step in her direction, "you strike me as a frontal, practical person..."

It was meant as a compliment, she knew. But frontal and practical aren't the kind of things a woman wants to hear when wooed. She blinked slowly, refusing to let her smile fade. "That I am," she muttered and looked away.

He thought it was his time to speak, to say something cute, irresistible, but Emily jumped ahead.

"Thank you, I..." She said swaying her gaze at him and back away, "I...." But there wasn't much else she could say, was there? "Thank you."

He could have said any time with a husky voice and the entire thing would have been trivialized. The answer came fast, but it was not a reflex, "No big deal."

For the first time Emily gave him a real smile, and decided that that line of conversation was over with the classic "yeah, well..."

They stared for a tad too long. He knew what he wanted. Basically, her. She, on the other hand, was still torn between the possibility of him and the impossible. Being both profilers, there was not much they could really hide. He saw her hesitation she saw his assertiveness, both knowing the other understood.

Mick surveyed the room before smiling broadly, "join me for some air?"

She studied him for an extra millisecond, "sure."

Trying to sneak out of a room full of profilers was pointless. There was no disappearing, no sliding without being noticed. The best one could do was just look down to avoid the direct gazes. On their way out, they left their empty bottles and grab themselves another two cold beers and their coats.

They strolled outside. The narrow street, more like a passage actually, was dark and there was a chill in the air. She enjoyed the sudden change of temperature, the quietness. She realized that she preferred, even if just for this one time, not to be in a room crowded by people who knew her, filled with chatter and music. Tonight, she wanted to be someone else. Not the snappy, reliable, predictable Prentiss. She missed her old wild, reckless self. The one that knew how to flirt with men who weren't criminals.

She rested her back against the wall and took a deep breath. It was the kind of things girls did, right? And he followed suit, coming to stand by her side, his shoulder on the wall, facing her.

Emily closed her eyes feeling stupid and helpless and not wanting Mick to see those things in her eyes. She was too old to be having this kind of self esteem issues. To spend half an hour thinking about how other women were better at being women than she was. To try and lure a man by doing things girls do.

A draft of cold air made her shiver and her eyes snapped open. She found that he was looking at her between amused and interested. She smiled shyly and eluded his eyes by glancing to her left.

Another soft breeze hit her. It was a bit too cold to be on the street, but she was not going back inside. She reached behind her head and tugged at her elastic band, loosening her hair and shaking her head a little. It wasn't a scarf, but it prevented the air from striking directly.

He chuckled at the careless action. She had no idea, did she? No, she was absolutely oblivious to the effect this little, everyday things she did so nonchalantly had on him.

The silence was becoming awkward. It was one of those situations in which you know what's going to happen but not how to make it happen. And she sucked at those.

Realizing that she was not going to say or do anything, God only knew why she was so insecure, he turned on his back and took a long sip of his beer.

"Does it still hurt?" He finally asked.

"Hmm?" She had been sucked back into the vortex of her self-doubts and the question took her by surprise. Then she remembered the accident, "oh, no, not much..." She said, shaking her head for emphasis, "I have had worse," she added.

Mick smiled at her dismissal and Prentiss reprimanded herself for her damn need to appear as strong as any male agent.

"Are we going to compare scars now?" He half joked.

"I don't have that many scars, I am more of a bone-broker... you?"

He sent her his best charming grin, "I'm a bullet man myself. Internal bleeding always gets you days off work."

She laughed a little. "I'm going to keep that in mind next time," she said back.

Thanks to some deity that was looking over their shoulders, they managed to get away from work related topics and, instead, discussed British bands from the '70s and '80s. Emily loved the '80s music and Mick soon discovered that she could completely forget about everything when she spatted facts that most people ignored.

He tried to defy her and threw a couple of questions meant to make her slip, but Prentiss knew her punk, rock and pop bands.

She was so animated by the conversation that she started to recite every single concert she had ever attended, only to finish with a "... and that was the best The Cure show I've ever seen!" that lit her face in a way he hadn't seen until then.

Mick laughed, thinking that he had attended that same concert but was too toasted to remember anything at all. "Yeah, I can picture you all in black, hanging with the dangerous crowd..." His tone changed to a more secretive one, "but, tell me, how does the daughter of an ambassador jump from that to the FBI?" he asked mirroring the first question she had asked him.

Her eyebrows shot up and, graceful as always, she almost spit her beer, "how do you... oh, Prophet..." she nodded her understanding.

He chuckled. He was sure she had used her own tech analyst to check men's backgrounds at some point.

"Yeah, so... how did it happen?"

"Well, the Ambassador's daughter was not interested in following the Ambassador's steps. She preferred something else, and she once met an FBI agent."

She was unable to continue when Mick's eyes almost popped out of their sockets, "you entered the FBI over a guy?"

"What? No!" She shook her head vehemently, "I joined because chasing scumbags was far more important than anything else I could think of." But then, she had to admit, "and it's not like the Ambassador's daughter could just be a cop, right? College was a must, and I do like studying... well, not when I was 16, but... yeah, I like studying."

That was something, he thought. Not only was she beautiful and seemed to have no idea of it, she was intelligent, and honesty dripped from every single one of her pores. Regardless of what she thought, that was very endearing.

"You're gorgeous, you know?" He muttered leaning forward.

This time, she didn't bother to fight the blush or to repress the huge smile that appeared on her face, "thank you..."

She was even more beautiful when she smiled, and he was just gone. So he cupped her face with one hand and tilted it towards him. His thumb brushed her upper lip and her smile broadened. He was going to kiss her and, all of the sudden, butterflies invaded her stomach.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything," the very distinctive stern voice said.

They almost jumped. The hand dropped, they stood straight and stared at the intruder.

Shit! She thought. "You didn't," she replied. In fact he hadn't until he spoke. He could have walked right by them and they wouldn't have noticed and the moment wouldn't have been ruined. And something about that morphed her embarrassment into anger.

And Hotch wasn't leaving, he was there, looking... staring at her, really.

"Do you need anything?" She asked in a very dry tone.

He snapped out of whatever had had his mind wrapped, "yes. The plane leaves at 7 AM tomorrow," he informed. But he simply couldn't resist adding, "be sure you're there on time."

It wasn't the kind of you kids go have fun as long as you like, just get to the plane on time. No. It sounded like an accusation.

"We will," she said sternly.

Without another word, Hotch went back inside.

Only then she looked back at Mick. There was something different on his gaze, but she was unable to decipher what it was.

On his part, Mick had gained some insight. The fact that he had seemed to have vanished into thin air the second Hotchner appeared and the stares he and Emily had held had been very informative. They spoke volumes.

She sighed loudly, how the hell do you go back in time? How the hell could she manage to get his hand back on her face, to get him to want to kiss her?

"Looks like Hotch is overprotective of his staff..." Mick muttered not without a hint of humor.

"Yeah..." Emily replied more to herself than to him, slurring the word as she did when something was the understatement of the century. But she snapped out. These thoughts were not the kind she wanted when she was trying to get another man to kiss her. If he was even willing to do it now. "Yes, he is a little overprotective. I think it comes with the territory, you know? A member of your team almost gets killed and you kinda want to check on them, right? I mean, when Reid was shot we took care of him..." and when Hotch was stabbed I didn't move from his bedside, but she wisely kept that unsaid.

"Yes, yes, of course..." He said to cut her babbling. It was time to go back to a safe topic, "I think... well, I know I was at that The Cure concert."

The awkwardness seemed to evaporate as Emily's bright, broad smile lightened up the entire street, "You were? Oh, man, that's... that's so cool!" Memories began to flash and she couldn't resist, "Do you remember..."

His laughter made her stop. She stared at him with a weird smirk on her face, "What?" She feared that her over excitement about a concert was probably not the kind of thing that got a man interested. God, she was so goofy!

Mick pondered. He could say yes to whatever anecdote she threw at him, which would probably end up with Emily believing he was lying to get in her pants. Or he could tell the truth.

"Well... I was a little... high at the concert," he explained. And, since honestly was the key with this woman, he elaborated, "I was so high I don't remember a thing. See, I was..." he looked away trying to find the expression that would make it sound cute, if such thing existed.

"You were part of the dangerous crowd," she nodded knowingly.

He wasn't entirely surprised she wasn't giving him a disapproving look.

"How deep into it were you?" Emily asked aware of the fact that it was not something people usually wanted to talk about, but she wanted to know.

He looked at her by the corner of his eye and took a sip before replying, "Pretty deep. Police involved deep...Old fashion detox deep..." He studied her face. It was that of one who knew. "You?"

She looked at him through her eyelashes. It was not something she shared. In fact, with the exception of Rossi, she hadn't talked about it with anyone on the team. They might or might not know, hell, JJ still thought she was the model of a nice, good girl growing up. But tonight, her dark side was screaming to be let out. "Not that deep... but close... you know... experimentation..."

Experimentation was so good at covering things up that she had been really tempted to fall free style into it. But, "It scared the crap out of me how much I liked it," she confessed.

Their eyes were locked once again, empathy flowing freely. She was something else, he thought. "Then what happened?"

"Then I got lucky," she sighed, knowing that it had really been by sheer chance that she had gotten away in time. "My mother was transferred... and I walked away from it all... well, not all, I still like the music," she said lightening the mood.

He smiled broadly. It was not usual to find a person that could use humor talking about their past with drugs without downplaying it.

"Yeah, that and the clothing..." He replied.

They both chuckled.

"Cheers to the music and clothing!" Emily said lifting her beer.

They clinked the necks of the bottles and drained their contents. Yes, they both were that kind of people. The ones that turn things around against all odds. Which made her much more appealing. Above all the things he had already listed as outstanding, Emily was also strong and brave to face her demons as well as the ones on the street.

They were both wrapped on their own thoughts for a long time. Probably of those times neither of them wanted to revisit.

Emily felt relieved, though. She wasn't used to show her real self, the person she used to be and that had got her to the one she was now. Revealing it to someone who didn't judge, that understood, that had been there too, lifted an enormous weight from her chest that she hadn't even known was there. She sighed.

As if her sigh was a sign, he stepped in front of her. They stared at each other and he could see the glimmer on her eyes. Tasting the waters just to be sure, Mick brushed her bangs to the side using just the tip of his fingers. He was certain, then. Whatever the deal was between this amazing woman and her boss, she was still in. And for that he was thankful. A woman that didn't run away once his past was disclosed.

From the caress on her forehead his fingers traveled down to her nape and pulled her to him. And they kissed. His arms circled her waist and hers locked around his neck. It was sweet, delicate almost. His lips were softer than she had expected and she enjoyed the abrasiveness of his stubble. It would leave red marks on her chin and around her mouth, but she still wondered how it would feel against her bare back.

The kiss escalated to something more passionate and the initially soft touches became a game of grabbing and pulling, clumsily since they were still holding their bottles, while the tongues and lips danced an almost violent waltz.

Mick pulled away slightly panting. He stared at her eyes and saw fire and darkness in them. He knew his eyes matched hers and simply asked, his voice much huskier than before, "What do you say if we just go to bed and try to get a good night sleep?"

She chuckled, "Sure, we wouldn't want to be late for the flight tomorrow, would we?"

So they started to stroll to their hotel, a pretty ugly place three blocks away from there, between giggles from her part and a sultry smug smirk that flashed on his, while they continued their little kisses. The beer bottles were discarded in the first trashcan they came across.

As soon as Mick's bedroom's door clicked closed, Emily fell into a haze of feelings and thoughts that she couldn't stop. Along with the heat that was rising within her, the sensation of being pulled closer to him, of his hands suddenly slipping underneath her shirt, the faint notion of her own hands gliding over a flawless chest confused her. It should be great. It all should make her lose herself, but there was something in the back of her mind, something that got in the way.

Jackets fell to the floor and things slowed down. They didn't stop, just slowed down so they could unclasp the gun-holsters, which was not really an easy task when somebody's lips on yours were generating instinctual reactions.

Her back hit the door as he pressed his body flush against hers. She hissed as the blue and black spot on her lower back made contact with the door knob. He was careful then, pulling her towards him, away from the hard surface as his fingertips crept once again underneath her shirt. It joined the jackets on the floor.

He was kissing her all over. And caressing her all over. And she was swept by it, by the physical reality of Mick's attraction to her. And she let herself go.

It was mind-blowing. How she reacted to his touch, how her hands seemed to need his skin too by the way they were sneaking up his sides, pushing his shirt off.

After that, a blur overcame them. Shoes and socks came out, though none of them could say how or when exactly. The same occurred to his gloves and her bra. It was impossible to know who did what to whom when hands and mouths were running free under the sole direction of instinct.

They bumped on the bed and fell ungraciously on it. He chuckled against her neck and began to kiss her there.

But then something happened.

When he reached between her legs, she realized something was off. When he went underneath her pants, she fisted her hands on the belt-loops of his jeans. But the breaking point was when the pads of his fingers touched her folds. And alarm went off in her head.

Usually, women bucked onto the hand, not away. Usually, women pulled him closer; they didn't shove his hips backwards. He pushed himself up to face her.

They stared at each other and time froze. It simple ceased to pass as the realization hit them. She could not do this. She had thought she could, he had thought she could, but she couldn't.

God! He looked so shocked. Why wouldn't he? There she was, half naked, on his bed, breathing heavily, face reddened from kissing and with his hands down her pants. And she wanted to do it, she really, really wanted to have sex with this knight with disheveled hair and racer's gloves.

Emily's eyes were wide and round and her mouth just hung open, a twisted mix of frustration and surprise on her face and.

God, she looked even more beautiful than before, he thought. He liked her. He liked everything about her. Just for once, he would have loved to be the kind of guy who said everything's going to be OK, baby, and kept kissing her until her body gave in. But he was not that kind of guy. He was the kind that didn't want to be with women that didn't want him.

He sighed and untangled from her, dropping onto his back on the other side of the bed, his arm thrown over his closed eyes.

What the hell had happened? Why on Earth was she pushing this perfect guy away? She had no answer, no explanation to either him or herself. A minute might have passed before she realized she should say something.

"I am so sorry..." Emily muttered when she regain the ability to form words. "I... I...."

"It's OK," he replied softly, eyes still closed, trying to think of anything that would cool him off.

She sat and shook her head more to herself than him, while she continued to stutter her apology, "I am so sorry, I... I do want... I really... but I just... I don't... I can't... I am so, so sorry..."

His hand reached out and landed on her forearm as he uncovered his eyes, "it's fine, you can't, it's... it's OK."

It was not fine. Not OK according to Prentiss. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead, her face crunched. She felt Mick's hand moving to her back, stroking her in a soothing manner and decided to face him.

She found him sitting now, by her side, a sympathetic look on his eyes.

"It's fine," he repeated. "I don't want to be your tomorrow's regret," he added in a tone so understanding that Emily wanted to kick herself from there till the end of times.

"I didn't mean... I mean... I didn't...." She started again. But she honestly didn't know what had happened, or why she had had the sudden need not to be touched by him. Because until he went between her legs, she had wanted to sleep with him. But there was something missing from his touch.

He smiled at her confusion. Though the situation was far from being what he had expected, he should have known. A woman that walks with her heart on her sleeve even when she doesn't know what the hell is in her heart, that goes out of her way to spit sarcastic comebacks and that oozes sincerity would be simply unable to have sex with the wrong guy. Even if she honestly thought she wanted to.

"I'm not what you want. It's fine," he reassured her.

It hit her then. He was by any standard amazing. But not quite what she wanted. If only... if only she had known that before she went into his room. Or at least before she lost her jacket, shirt, bra, shoes, socks and gun. Or, God, before his hand was inside her pants! But only then had she realized that Mick's touch was wrong. Not in general, but wrong for her. She needed other kind of touch, or maybe someone else's touch, she really didn't want to think about it now. She wanted to get out of there, crawl under her own blankets and block everything out.

Silently, embarrassed out of her skin, she began the shameful process of redressing. She didn't even dare to glance at him knowing that he would held no resentment, that his eyes would be screaming the unabashed truth she had barely come to realize a few seconds ago.

She heard him fall back onto the mattress as she clipped her holster back where it belonged. Only then, fully dressed, even if not quite well put together, and standing by the door, she turned and faced him.

His winning grin was still intact, though his brown eyes looked a little hurt. She blinked slowly. "You are a real gentleman... and I am an idiot," she said, guilt pouring out of her.

He chuckled, "Nah, you're just... confused," he offered with a final wink.

She nodded for lack of anything better to do and simply left, loathing herself for every single moment since she had gotten into the jet three days ago.

Well, if you liked it, please review. If you didn't, please review anyway, otherwise I won't know what I'm doing wrong.
I do have a second chapter written, and a third one residing in my head. Say the word and they'll be up.
Thanks a lot if you've made it this far.

allthatisevil