A/N: Written in response to the Dealer's Choice Challenge in Chit Chat On Author's Corner.
Pairing: Rossi/Prentiss, items to include: Worcestershire sauce, Lady Gaga, Kama Sutra
Alright not my usual pairing at all so hopefully it won't be too bad.
Also: I have nothing against Lady Gaga, and I have no clue what Worcestershire sauce is all about, I just read it's used in spaghetti sauce and cocktails. Don't shoot my superficial google search and in case it's horrible, pretend it's something else ;)
Many thanks to KuriaDalmatia for her proofreading skills and to j_stille for the encouragement.
Disclaimer: I own nothing at all!
Monday mornings at the BAU were never Emily Prentiss's favourite day of the week, but this particular Monday morning in the middle of August, when it was too hot to breathe after a long weekend in Vegas, was especially painful.
She wasn't really hungover -she knew better than that - but the lingering headache she had since Saturday wouldn't leave her alone, no matter how many times she refilled her coffee cup in the kitchenette area. Sitting at her desk, trying to concentrate on the case in front of her, she rubbed her temples, her thoughts miles away.
She had barely picked up her pen when JJ came rustling through the bullpen, carrying several files.
"Conference room in five, guys," she smiled and was out again.
Prentiss groaned. A new case was the last thing she needed.
"You alright?" Morgan asked, getting up from his desk next to hers.
"Yeeaahh," she waved him off dismissively, not wanting him to grill her about Vegas weekends again. "Just didn't sleep very well."
He walked up next to her, a broad grin on his face. "Someone keeping you up at night, huh?"
She scrunched her face in an expression of desperation. "Do you ever think of anything else?"
"Well the average man..." Reid started, right behind them, but he was cut off by Garcia, who joined them in front of the conference room.
"No he doesn't," she said with a wink at Prentiss and a large smile for Morgan, who leaned over and whispered something in her ear, which made her giggle.
Prentiss turned around, lifting her hands in front of her in mock defeat
"You two are ... disgusting. Just don't drag me down with you, okay?" she chided them, walking backwards into the room, until she nearly knocked over Dave Rossi.
"Easy there, Emily," he smirked, steadying her. "We have a busy week ahead, no need to kill me already."
She shot him a glare, before sitting down and folding open the file in front of her, quickly followed by the others.
"This is going to be quick," Hotch started the meeting as soon as everyone sat down. "There are two cases currently needing our attention."
He turned around to the screen, where JJ had prepared a presentation of both.
"These are Brooke Davis, Anna O'Neill, Isobel Meyer and Loreen Delgado. All four were abducted in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Emails were sent to the parents, informing them they were choosing a better life. The emails include a link to a website, but it only says "under construction" right now. Cheyenne PD is concerned these cases are tied to a series of unsolved murders five years ago when only body parts were recovered of a dozen girls gone missing, and similar emails were sent." JJ summed up. "Time is running out, as in the first case all twelve girls were kidnapped and probably held together before being killed."
"Second case is local, it involves the murder of three Italian American women, all three killed in their homes. No signs of forced entry, no link between them other than their ethnic background. The killer leaves a crucifix on each body," JJ zapped through several pictures, before shutting the screen off.
"Alright, Morgan, Reid and JJ you come with me to Wyoming, Garcia I want you with us to analyse the emails and website. Wheels up in 20." Hotch took over the briefing, closing his briefcase, already half out of the door. "Rossi and Prentiss, you stay here and work on the second case."
XxXxXxX
"Oh wow, I can't believe how lucky we got," Prentiss sighed, relieved. Their killer had made a tiny mistake when murdering his fifth victim, and thanks to Garcia's research skills, their profile and Rossi's knowledge of Roman Catholic rituals, they had been able to arrest a young priest, suffering from violent psychosis, just before he could make a sixth victim.
"Sometimes we get lucky. It's part of the deal; some sort of compensation for the times we arrive too late, perhaps," Rossi mused, before starting the engine of the SUV they were driving. Emily tossed her FBI vest on the back seat, relaxing in her chair.
"Wanna celebrate?" Rossi asked with a sideways glance, looking at his colleague who had closed her eyes.
"I'm really not up to going out and drinking, and Hotch is expecting us in Wyoming tomorrow morning," she answered, the exhaustion shining through in her voice.
"How about I make you Mama Rossi's famous spaghetti bolognese, and then we get a good night of rest before heading out? We have all afternoon to relax," Dave suggested, a little worried because she had seemed very tired all week.
"I don't know... I just want to sleep," she hesitated.
"Well you have to eat anyway, and if I would make an educated guess about what has been ailing you all week, it's that you are not eating correctly and not taking care of yourself, leaving you exhausted," he lectured her, sternly.
"Okay dad, I'll eat your spaghetti," she surrendered, turning on the radio and searching for some music until she heard the familiar notes of 'Alejandro' through the speakers.
"What is this song?" Rossi cringed, trying to make sense of the lyrics.
"You don't know Lady Gaga?!" Prentiss cried out, her eyes wide in disbelief when he shook his head. "What rock have you been living under?"
"One where music was made by talented people," he muttered, changing the channel.
XxXxXxX
Walking into Rossi's house after a brief stop at hers to change, Prentiss was impressed. Not because of the obviously expensive interior decorating, because she was used to external displays of wealth and power, but rather because of the lack of it. The house was luxurious, certainly, but also very tasteful. David Rossi had nothing to prove to anyone and it showed.
"Well, Rossi, I was expecting a lackey at least," she joked when he took her coat.
"Well, E-mi-ly," he mimicked her tone, dragging out her name, "Looks like you'll have to do with just poor ol' me." He looked smug when she smiled, leading her to the living room.
"Make yourself comfortable, I'll start the spaghetti," he informed her before disappearing into the kitchen.
Half an hour later he re-emerged, carrying a bottle of wine.
"The sauce is simmering, the afternoon still long, how about a glass of wine?" he asked, holding up the Chianti.
"Ah hell, why not," she accepted graciously.
"Let's head out to the deck, too beautiful of a day to waste it being inside. Did you bring your swimsuit like I asked?" He opened the double doors to the back porch, looking out over a pristine looking swimming pool.
"I thought you were kidding when you said you had a pool!" she exclaimed, appreciating the view in front of her, the deck chairs and a lazy afternoon of lounging beckoning to her.
"You'll just have to go skinny-dipping then, Princess," Rossi teased, but Prentiss quickly slapped his arm. "I did bring my swimsuit, just in case," she admitted sheepishly.
"You can change in the cabin," he motioned her, disappearing back inside himself, only to reappear a minute later in in swimming trunks. Emily let out an appreciative whistle seeing him when she came out of the cabin herself. "Writing books agrees with you, it seems," she winked.
"You aren't looking too bad yourself. I should've offered this ages ago," he teased right back, handing her one of two glasses he was holding.
"Cocktails?" she lifted an eyebrow.
"Figured it was more fitting than wine," he winked, leaning back on his chair and closing his eyes.
They enjoyed the sun in silence for a while, until Rossi spoke up again.
"Care to share what has been plaguing you these past few weeks?" he lifted his sunglasses, looking in the direction where Prentiss was dozing off on her own chair.
"Huh?" she shot up, awakened from her daydreams.
"You have been absent-minded, grouchy, you look generally miserable and you have a headache more often than not. What's keeping you up at night?" He wasn't going to give up as easily.
"Oh? It's nothing. We've just been so busy with back-to-back cases and hardly any time to relax in between.." she brushed it off, relaxing into her chair again.
"We've been through that before. Hell, it's even in the job description," Rossi scoffed, annoyed she would try bullshit excuses with him. She confided in him after her childhood friend died, he knew more about her than anyone else on the team and now she was not even acknowledging him as a friend. Which was at the very least what they were, or so he thought. "Emily, what's wrong? I thought we were friends. You can tell me if something is bothering you."
His calm reassurance shocked her. She did see David Rossi as a friend, despite the age difference and his position on the team. If she was really honest with herself, she saw him as more than a friend too. But she also knew she stood no chance, not with the reputation Dave had. Working together so closely for the past week, without the rest of the team, brought them closer than ever, but was that enough?
"I'm a little burnt out I think," she admitted softly. "I see my mother, and how alone she is, despite being surrounded by her so-called friends and her busy social calendar. And I have you, the team, you are like my family and I really appreciate all of you, and our time outside work, but in the end I'm just as alone as she is a lot of the time..." she rambled, once she started she couldn't really hold it back anymore, despite always being one of the most collected members of the team there was something that made her vulnerable today, between the adrenalin rush of solving the case, her tiredness, the sun, Rossi's care and concern...
"Emily, having these feelings is normal in our line of work. It's hard, keeping up personal relationships. We have family, and friends, but do they really understand what we are going through? When we can't make it for the hundredth time, do they really forgive us because we're out saving someone they never even heard about? Are they okay with taking the back seat half of the time, despite knowing they come first in our hearts?" He paused, taking her in, leaning on the side of her chair, her raven hair brushed out of her face, looking at him with her big eyes, and a feeling he thought he had buried long ago resurfaced in his heart. All he wanted to do was keep her safe, hold her and tell her it would be allright. She had him, after all, didn't she? Was that even enough?
"I know it seems impossible, and we as a team don't exactly have the best track record. I messed up three times, and Hotch tried everything but it wasn't enough. Morgan was a disaster waiting to happen until he finally opened his eyes about Garcia, who had fight after fight with Kevin about her dedication to the team before she realised it was all about Morgan anyway, and then there's JJ and Will who make it work no matter what..." he enumerated. "It is possible, Emily, but you have to let it happen and go for it."
She pondered his words for a few seconds, then shot him a grateful smile. "Thank you." Her voice cut right through to his heart, "What would I do without you?"
The mood lightened, and he stood up. "So, how about that spaghetti? It should almost be done now."
XxXxXxX
Prentiss shoved her plate away from her, sitting back with a fulfilled smile on her face.
"That was the best spaghetti I ever had," she sighed, "But I couldn't possible eat another bite."
Rossi looked smug, his lips curled in a half-smile. "I told you so."
"You did. Now spill it, what's your secret?" she leaned over the table, grabbing her glass of wine, a flirtatious smile on her face. Dave leaned closer too, looking her straight in the eye.
"Nuh uh. Can't tell, bella, or my mama would cut my tongue out!" he said in mock horror, his eyes twinkling.
"Ooooh come on, you can tell me," she pouted, her head cocked to the side in a pose he never could resist too well, even without several glasses alcohol.
"Alright, Prentiss, just remember," he paused for dramatic effect, "my dying words will put her on your trace."
She laughed, a sound he never could get enough of.
"It's Worcestershire sauce." He sat back, gauging her reaction. She laughed again, shaking her head. "Oh no Mister, don't expect me to believe you. That's not even Italian!"
"It's true though, I put some in the cocktails too. My mama may be Italian, but she's also a damn fine cook and she taught me good taste doesn't have a nationality," he winked.
Prentiss wasn't sure she really believed him, but she didn't feel like arguing either, so she leaned her elbows on the table, rest her chin on her hands and said sweetly: "I believe you."
"Good," he said while standing up. "I'll take care of this, wait for me in the salon."
He quickly gathered the used plates and cutlery, putting them away in the dishwasher, before heading to the salon. He stopped dead in his tracks in the doorway, stunned by the sight in front of him. Emily was standing with her back towards him, she had slipped off the light sweater she was wearing against the evening chill, her jeans and tank top so different from her normal business attire. She put her hair up in a messy bun, and he drank in her appearance with an appreciative stare. She was looking over the titles in his impressive library, and he was pulled from his reverie when she laughed.
"What's so funny?" he asked her, shaking his daze off, and startled her a little.
"Oh, nothing," she still laughed, holding a book in her hands. "Only you, Rossi, would have a shelf dedicated to rare editions of the Kama Sutra." She shook her head, and turned back to the library.
He walked up to her, slipping both his arms around her waist, pressing her close to him. He knew it was a bold move, but the whole afternoon, her flirting, the alcohol made him lose the inhibitions he otherwise held strong. When she didn't protest, he lightly kissed her neck, taking in her scent, as tantalizing as he always imagined.
"I'd rather dedicate one to you," he murmured against her ear, taking the book out of her hands and putting it back.