Just a quick drabble one-shot about how Emily Prentiss hates Saturdays and the one thing that changed her mind. Not my best story, but it's drabble, so what the heck, right?

Song prompt: Saturday Afternoons by Norman Connors

Saturday Afternoons

She had always hated Saturdays. She didn't know why. Perhaps because it was the last day of the week the catch all day for making up for everything that she couldn't tackle Monday thru Friday. Or maybe it was because Saturday was a good liar- telling her she could oversleep while knowing full well that sleeping in meant she would inevitably stay up late when Monday was just around the corner.

Saturdays were for cleaning, running errands, going for walks in the park, fishing in the creek, shopping at the mall…things that would excite other people, definitely not her. She lived by a schedule- albeit a schedule that tended to be disrupted by the evil ills of other people.

She once tried to get a bird. She liked birds- they were easy to care for: keep them fed and watered, and change their paper daily. Easy enough. Then the team had to go out of town for a week to catch a kidnapping rapist terrorizing a small town. The case ended on a good note with the scumbag going away for life, but unfortunately the bird ended on a bad note. Poor Tweety.

Next she tried a gerbil. Now nobody could mess that up. Plenty of food, a big water bottle, and wood shavings in the bottom of the cage...how could she go wrong? Hell, if kindergarteners could take care of a hairy rodent, she could too. Right?

Chalk another up in the Emily Prentiss book of "Easier Said Than Done". Three days out in the field had her coming home to the cage laying on the floor and an escaped gerbil roaming through out the house. She thought eventually it would get hungry and come back. No. The little shit managed to get into the wall and keep her up night after night with its crawling. Only after she discovered the lifeless body of the great escape lying beside the chewed cord of the TV did she decide that she would never own another pet.

With the exception of the opossum who decided to take up residence on her back porch. The first time she stepped outside and the ugliest creature on earth looked up at her and snarled, she nearly passed out. Her job required her to stand toe to toe with some of the nastiest villains and criminals ever created and she had never blinked- much less broken out in a cold sweat- but then again none of the scumbags she arrested had fifty teeth. Though in all fairness, that last UNSUB virtually had NO teeth.

Once she got over her shock, and suppressed the urge to grab her gun, she realized that maybe it could work out. It didn't run when she put the food out, and it stopped growling at her- although it did tend to curl up and fall to the ground and play dead if she got too close. But it was a happy relationship. It stayed outside and took care of itself, and Emily only had to watch it from a distance. No maintenance required.

Now what?

Idle hands are the Devil's playground. True because when she did have a Saturday off, and she tried to relax, nothing good ever came of it.

She tried her hand at cooking. She was paying for cable, why not put it to use? But eventually she burned out on making meals that always looked good on the Food Channel, but somehow turned out differently on her stove. Plus, it was only her in the house; it did no good to cook for an army. Eventually the pans were stored and the TV was turned off.

Saturday plans for redecorating the house were shelved after cases took her away from half finished projects that required her to hire contractors to finish the grouting in the bathroom and kitchen. Her closets must have held five baskets full of yarn and half finished Afghans and sweaters she always meant to complete. But she blamed Saturdays for that; it beaconed her to start something because she would have all day to see it thru, but she never did.

Books she promised herself to read, sat on the bookshelves with book marks in various places. Some of the books had sat for so long that the book marks were no help trying to remind her of the plot. Her only choice was to start over or donate the books to the library. She sighed. She was going to be donating so many books they were going to have to build another wing to house them. Maybe they would name it after her. Okay, so maybe that wasn't so bad because everyone would get something out of it.

Ironically, her computer was probably the only thing that got attention. Web searching, internet games, and occasional chats with friends were probably the only things that kept her sane. Her dating life sucked, but she was kicking ass in Mafia Wars and she had the best looking farm in Farmville. So it wasn't all bad. Still, she wished that her existence could be a little more normal.

Virtual games, cafes, and shooting bad guys did nothing to lessen the loneliness she felt in the middle of the night when she rolled over and reached for the warm body that was never there. She craved companionship, touching, the security of knowing that all she had to do was reach out and someone would be there for her if and when she needed them. But they were never there.

She was set for a life without anyone but an opossum who ate her cat food, and harvesting a virtual farm. Until that day he asked her what she was doing that Saturday. Unsure, she replied nothing was on her schedule- okay, she had planned on scrubbing the bathroom, but she wasn't going to tell him that- she wasn't crazy.

He smiled and told her that he would pick her up Saturday morning at eight. He had somewhere he wanted to take her. Intrigued, she cautiously agreed.

That Saturday was spent at a vineyard for a wine tasting party. Having never been to one in the States, she watched as people interacted and learned new ways of drinking wine and spirits. It was a fun day and she felt her shield start to come down.

Dropping her off late on Sunday, he asked if she was doing anything the following Saturday. She shook her head. Unless they had a horrible crime in another state or the opossum decided to throw a party on the back porch, her day was clear.

Clear? She chided herself, It was so clear it was transparent. For one whole moment she debated with herself before saying that she would love to spend the day with him.

Now her weekends were filled with art shows, auctions, estate sales, wine-tasting, bed & breakfasts in the country side, and nights of conversation over homemade lasagne. He even seemed to like the opossum. But she still held her breath. Saturdays had never worked in her favour and all of this could end on a moment's notice and she would be back to killing bad guys on line.

Then came the day he told her he was going to have to cancel their Saturday plans because he was going to have to go out of town for a meeting with his editor. It was okay because she understood he had another life outside of work and being with her.

But one Saturday lead to another and then the crimes and UNSUBs seemed to come in waves and pick up in intensity, and before she knew it, she was back to life before he had come into it. So much for finding something to occupy her weekends.

Then the opossum went away and never came back. She tried to tell herself that it was meant to be. But did she have to make the discovery on a Saturday? Quietly she nursed her broken heart with a pint of Haagen Dazs Rum Raisin.

With the free time she tried to finish her knitting projects and book donations. But eventually those too fell by the wayside as her Saturdays went back to the way they used to be before he teased her with good times and promises of friendship.

She was resigned to spending her weekends cursing Saturdays. Until that Friday night he knocked on her door with a single rose. He apologized for breaking his promises and if she would give him another chance, he had something he wanted to show her. Please?

She couldn't deny his request. And as they drove to the middle of nowhere, she confided in him that she hated Saturdays. She didn't really know why- probably because nothing good ever came of that day.

With a faint smile, he reached over, took her hand, and told her that he was going to change her mind about Saturdays.

Now the sun was coming up and she was leaning against the railing of his porch and taking in the glorious way Mother Nature changed night into day. The sounds of birds chirping and squirrels clicking filled the air. She took it all in as he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Good morning," he whispered in her ear.

"Good morning to you," she whispered back.

"I told you I would change your mind about Saturdays."

"Yes, you did." As his mouth moved against her skin, she arched into his touch. He made her feel secure and safe, and when she rolled over in the middle of the night, he was there. All she would ever have to do was reach out her hand and he would be there. And more importantly, she realized he kept his promise about Saturdays.

God, how she loved Saturdays.