July 1995

Girl Meets Boy

Emily Prentiss was pissed.

Tommy McCarthy. That stupid, immature bonehead. What the hell had she been THINKING agreeing to go out with him?

But . . . she rolled her eyes . . . after four years at Yale, internships every summer and an eighteen month fellowship at the Sorbonne, she'd needed a little break. And she was only home . . . i.e. at her mother's house . . . for three weeks between graduation, and her departure for the graduate study program in Cairo.

She was only twenty four though, and she had realized when she was renewing her passport the other day, that maybe she should try to have at least ONE stupid fun night out before she started off on the next phase of her life. After all, she was becoming a 'grown-up,' and there wouldn't be much time for fun when that process was complete.

At least not given the plans that she'd made for herself.

As soon as she finished this graduate program, she was going to apply for admittance to the FBI. With the degrees she was piling up, and her linguistic background, she thought that she had a pretty decent shot.

And though she was looking forward to these next 'adult' phases of her life, it was a little bit frightening just how quickly the years were passing. And she was letting them go by without so much as a country square dance under her belt.

Well, not that she knew anyone that had actually thrown a square dance . . . and she wasn't so sure she would have enjoyed one even if she had . . . but the point was the same either way. She needed to live a little.

And Tommy McCarthy . . . the McCarthys being old friends of the family . . . had apparently read her mind from three towns away. He'd called her up that afternoon with an, "Emmy baby, I heard you were in town! What say we hit the Stones tonight?"

It should be noted here that Tommy was kind of an idiot . . . years of blueblood inbreeding was Emily's theory on that . . . but he was a harmless enough idiot. Generally. And he did have an extra ticket to see the Stones. So she figured, hey, what the hell?

Famous last words.

The night had started out well enough. First thing, she had told Tommy that rather than him picking her up, that she'd just meet him at Wolf Trapp. She had learned a great deal of self sufficiency from her years abroad, and because of that, she never allowed herself to be dependent on somebody else if she could help it.

And driving all the way out to Vienna without knowing that she could leave under her own power, definitely fell under the category of 'dependent on somebody else.' And her control freak tendencies had actually turned out to be quite fortuitous tonight, because it turned out that Tommy had been doing shots before she arrived. And he continued doing them AFTER she arrived.

He was completely trashed by the second set.

At first she tried to just ignore his drunken idiocy, but then he started picking a fight with the two guys in front of them. As the first droplet of blood hit the ground . . . spilled out of Tommy's rapidly swelling nose . . . she'd decided that she had enough "fun" for one night. So she stole Tommy's keys from his pocket, muttered that she had a headache and left him there licking his wounds and muttering something about getting a beer.

She wasn't even sure if he noticed she was gone.

Either way, before she actually left the concert venue, she stopped to hand his keys over the security desk. And then she'd waited while they put them in an envelope with Tommy's full name and phone number on it.

The name and phone number came along with a big block letter advisory that the keys were not to be given to the owner until morning.

She might have had her own ride home but Emily still didn't want Tommy slamming into a tree. Or God forbid a nice family of four on the way home from Grandma's.

That shit wasn't happening on her watch.

So now she was on her way home . . . tired, hungry and oh so cranky. With one hand on the steering wheel, she grabbed a roll of lifesavers out of the outside pocket of her purse with the other.

She popped a green one into her mouth.

Now hopefully . . . she dropped the roll back into her bag . . . that would hold her until she could check the fridge and see if Ingrid had left a plate for her. Ingrid had been with her mother for years and she was always good to Emily. Often leaving her leftovers even if she wasn't expected for dinner. And she and Tommy were supposed to have eaten after the concert. And because of that skipped meal, her fake headache had now turned to a real one that she chalked up to the lack of food in her system.

Her blood sugar was probably low.

As Emily turned into the long, circular driveway of the house in Kalorma, her headlights flashed over a black sedan that hadn't been parked there when she left late that afternoon.

Hmmm.

After she'd parked, and got out of the car, Emily locked the doors and tossed her keys into her bag. Then she walked over to the sedan to see if she recognized it.

Her brow wrinkled . . . government plates. Had her mother been expecting someone?

Oh, that's right . . . she nodded slightly as an errant thought popped into her head . . . there was a new security detail starting. An agent . . . Ha, Hue, eh, no, wait.

Hotchner!

That was it. Agent Something Hotchner. She had been hoping to have left for Egypt before he'd arrived so she hadn't been paying that close attention to his name. But of course years of diplomatic training had ensured that she remembered it correctly nonetheless.

Regardless though, the car . . . Emily started digging into her bag as she crossed over to the front walk . . . probably belonged to him. And no offense to the guy personally . . . she didn't even know him . . . but really she didn't want anything to do with the security review. She'd had quite enough of people poking into all aspects of her life for her first eighteen years on the planet.

Which was why she'd been home so infrequently since then.

Okay . . . she rolled her eyes as she refocused on her direct problem at the moment . . . now WHY had she thrown her keys BACK into her bag after she locked the car? Like she wasn't going to need them forty five seconds later? Idiot.

Oh . . . wait . . . she shoved her wallet to the side . . . yes!

The discovery of her missing keys came simultaneous to Emily's arrival at the portico door. And she rather awkwardly tried to pull the keys out from the depths of her bag, and slide them into the lock with one fluid movement.

It would have worked too, if not for the door suddenly swinging backwards, and then her finding herself staring into the handsomest face . . . and hands down the best CHEEKBONES . . . that she'd seen outside of a James Bond movie.

Actually they were WAY better than Bond!

And Emily had just enough time to mentally register a 'whoa!' before continuing her forward momentum over the threshold as she went flying into the now gaping space where the solid oak door had been a moment before.

She would have fallen right onto the marble entryway if a hand hadn't shot out and caught her.

The Hand was attached to The Face. It was a nice hand too.

Not as good as The Face . . . NOTHING was as good as The Face . . . but still it was strong and muscular, and there were lean fingers gripping hers.

And they were still gripping hers, and she was most definitely steady on her own two feet now.

Emily looked up to see the man's mouth was twitching . . . clearly he'd found her standard Grace Kelly entrance amusing.

As she stared into his eyes . . . the darkest brown that she'd ever seen . . . she was about to say hello, when he suddenly squeezed her fingers. Then he tipped his head before stepping past her over the threshold.

She turned to watch him go down the front walk and go over to the black sedan parked ahead of hers on the circular drive. There he paused for a moment, giving a quick glance over to the well lit doorway where she was standing. Three seconds later . . . and yes, she was counting . . . he turned, unlocked the car, and got inside.

But still he didn't start the motor right away.

Emily watched him a moment longer . . . okay, maybe like twenty seconds longer . . . and then she realized what she was doing.

Staring like a buffoon.

So she quickly stepped inside the house, shut the door and twisted the dead bolt. Then she leaned back against the door thinking about that moment when he'd taken her hand. And then he'd pressed her fingers gently.

She sighed.

'GOD DAMN WEDDING RING! AAAAAAHHH!'

A/N: That's it folks! The first two chapters, please let me know what you think. And don't forget, I'm always and forever looking for prompts. I'm using these chapters as a vehicle to smooth out the rough edges of Hotch and Em's early days (like Quantum Leap – "righting what once went wrong!") so if there's something you'd like to see addressed, please drop me a line. I may have already covered it, in which case I'll let you know, but if I haven't then I'll be happy to see what I can do to accommodate you :)