A/N: Hey all! Here's another story I'm doing to help promote this year's Profiler's Choice, Criminal Minds Fanfic Awards (details at the end of the chapter). This one's a three-shot. Emily/Morgan. I kindly asked for prompts and, once again, Classic Erynn provided me with some excellent ones: sparkles, dancing lessons, a broken ankle. I also borrowed the title, Strictly Come Dancing, from the British show of the same name.

Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds, Dancing with the Stars or Strictly Come Dancing.

Chapter 1:

"Again, again!"

Derek Morgan groaned out his irritation. He sat on the hard bench in defiance, staring up at the older man mutinously.

"Monsieur Mor—gen… again, s'il vous plait; you have not quite mastered the lock step."

Understatement of the century. Derek glared at the man who bore a striking resemblance to Len Goodman, the head judge from Dancing with the Stars. Except Master Rene Laroche was French not British.

"Get up, get up," Laroche urged, this time actually taking his hand and tugging at him. Geez, did this guy have any boundaries?

He stood up just to get him off his back, only to hear laughter from nearby. He looked past Master Laroche to see his real taskmaster in a fit of giggles. Well, he was glad one of them was having a good time. Irritated as he was, he couldn't help the pleasure he felt whenever he set eyes on Emily.

Emily Prentiss, first his partner in the field, now his partner for life, and they were going to make it official in a year's time. But first, the lovely brunette was set on putting him through some serious torture in the form of dancing lessons.

When she'd first come to him suggesting the lessons, he had to admit, he'd outright laughed in her face, thinking she was joking. Derek had quickly come to learn that she had not been kidding.

Once he figured out she was serious, he listened to her proposal: Emily wanted to learn ballroom dancing for, 1) their wedding; and 2) so they could enter competitions. Basically, she was bored ever since returning from London, now jobless, and she needed a hobby.

Now, here they were, one week away from the competition where they would perform the ambitious Quickstep and he had yet to master the three characteristic dance figures of the Quickstep. They were, essentially, doomed.

"Come on," Emily said, clearly amused. "Our time's almost up, anyways."

He sighed. He didn't want to, but her eyes sparkled hopefully, so he moved into place, readying himself in hold position. Emily moved into his arms, giving him a big smile, before surprising him with a short kiss.

"Thank you," she murmured.

And this was why he'd agreed to the lessons; not only because she was a woman who more than knew her way around a gun, but because it made her happy. He'd give his right foot if it made her happy.

"Good, good," Master Laroche exclaimed, moving to the sound system. "Dès le début!"

Morgan braced himself as the first bars of Queen's Another One Bites the Dust started up, Emily's favorite song. In three, two, one… run!

"You come again tomorrow, oui?"

"What?" Morgan jumped in surprise. As far as he'd known they would not be back till Wednesday, three days before their performance. "Ah… I don't think—"

Emily quickly rushed to his side, tugging at his arm, urging him behind her. "Of course, of course," she assured, nervously throwing him a look over her shoulder. "We will be back first thing in the morning. Eight am, like we agreed."

Morgan shot her a wide-eyed look which she promptly ignored.

"Dieu merci!" Master Laroche exclaimed. Then he went on to sputter very quickly, while pointing and gesturing at him, so fast that his high school French could not keep up. He did catch the words deux, gauche, and pieds. Two left feet? he thought angrily. I'll show him what these two left feet can do!

He took a menacing step towards the man. Emily took one look at him and grabbed his arm once again, halting him.

"Thank you for everything," she said swiftly. "We'll see you tomorrow!"

She tugged on his arm, causing him to take a few steps backwards. Master Laroche waved his fingers at him. "Bye, De—reek!" he called, all pleasant, not like just thirty minutes ago he wouldn't have thought twice about tying him to the dance floor to practice all night.

Without a word, he turned around to face the direction they were moving. Emily took his hand in hers, swinging them happily as they walked through their local community center. His exasperation melted away as he glanced over and saw that she was practically beaming.

Your right foot, remember? he reminded himself.

"Thank you," she said again. "I know this isn't your thing; and I know Master Laroche can be a little…"

"Annoying," he supplied helpfully.

She shot him a wry smile. "I was going to say exuberant, but ok…I guess he can get on the nerves…" Second understatement of the night. "But this is important to me. And I can't tell you how much it means to me that you're taking it seriously. So, thank you."

Emily bestowed upon him a warm, grateful look and suddenly he felt guilty. Really, Derek, is it too much to ask to learn a few moves for her, the woman you love?

"Emily, you've got to stop thanking me," he lamented. "I'm happy to do it."

"You're happy to dance?" she asked, incredulously, as they reached his parked SUV.

"Ok… not so happy to dance, exactly… but, I am happy that you're happy. Does that count?"

She laughed, going to the passenger side. "It does." They got into the vehicle and she turned to him. "What can I do to make this easier on you?"

He smiled. "Just keep making sure the guys never find out about the competition and we're good."

It was one thing for Garcia or JJ to know he was taking lessons. If Hotch, Reid, or heaven forbid, Rossi were to find out, he'd never live it down. He could only imagine the grief he'd get from them. Yeah, they could never know.

"Will do!" his fiancée guaranteed.

Well that's it for this chapter. I hope you enjoyed and I hope you'll let me know what you think! Next chapter coming soon!

French translations for those curious (from google translate):

Monsieur: Mister

S'll vous plait: please

Des le debut: from the beginning

Diex merci: thank goodness

Deux: two

Gauche: left

Pieds: feet

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