Listening to a rebroadcast of an old Casey Kasem Top 40 this morning, Laura Branigan's "How Am I Supposed To Live Without You" came on. Immediately my brain started writing a story. First I tried to see it from Emily's point of view but it dawned on me that the story was about Dave and how he had become so jaded by his mistakes of the past that he couldn't see happiness until it walked out the door. For good.

I don't own Criminal Minds.

Song prompt: "How Am I Supposed To Live Without You" by Laura Branigan

How Am I Supposed To Live Without You

She was leaving. For good. For real.

David Rossi's brain tried to process the news- the bombshell- that had been dropped on the BAU earlier that morning.

Emily Prentiss was getting married and leaving the FBI.

He was in a daze. That wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible. He wasn't even aware that she was seeing anyone, much less serious about anyone. And he should know better than anyone because he had been her partner for over three years.

It shouldn't have come as such a shock, but he still couldn't wrap his brain around her announcement. But she had been so happy when she spoke up that morning at the conference table that he had to wonder if it wasn't an April Fool's joke. But when he glanced down at her left hand, there it was for everyone- including him- to see: A diamond engagement ring. It was real. She was leaving.

It was his fault. He could have had her, but he'd chickened out. How many opportunities had presented themselves and he had ignored them? How many times had he been so close to her all he had to do was reach out and touch her, hold her, kiss her…and he had passed them up? How many nights had he dreamed of making love to her only to find his bed empty when he woke up? How many times had he risked his career for her hoping that she understood why he was doing it?

Actions speak louder than words - his ass! Who ever came up with that ridiculous statement should be sent to Siberia. All his actions had done was chase her off to another man and out of the FBI, and his life for good. He was never going to see her again. He was never going to see her standing at the coffee pot with Morgan arguing over who forgot to buy coffee or why Splenda was better than sugar.

He was never going to see her eyes roll upward as Reid spouted off some weird statistic or fact. Or hear her beautiful laughter that filled a room. Or the way her hair fell over her shoulders- he never told her that he loved her better without the bangs.

He was going to miss her perfume - that delicate scent that weaved around him, teased his nose and other parts of his body. He was going to miss how her scent always managed to linger even after she was long gone from the room or the SUV. He had always meant to ask her what the name was, but now that she was leaving it really wasn't going to matter.

And he was going to miss her legs. Those long delicate legs that look great in heels and skirts, and even hotter in jeans and combat boots. Those long gorgeous legs that caused his thoughts to wander on more than one occasion imagining how they would feel wrapped around his waist. Now he would never know.

But more than anything else, he was going to miss her lips. Funny how he never gave her mouth much thought. It wasn't as though he hadn't imagined kissing her, but he had never been particularly attracted to her mouth. In his opinion, her mouth was too wide, her smile too broad, her lips just this side of thin…nothing he really liked in a woman. But now he wondered what he had been thinking.

Maybe it was because he had been too distracted by her big brown eyes. Those doe-shaped, huge, delicate brown pools that he had wondered on more than one occasion what it would be like to drown in them. He had seen them dance with laughter, narrow in anger, and fill up with tears. Her most beautiful asset had been her downfall because everything she felt came out in her eyes. Except for the fact that she was in love. The one time her profiling skills really worked. God, he wished he hadn't told her to never let personal baggage get in the way.

Of all the things she could have taken to heart, it had to be that?

He never thought in a million years that he would fall in love again. Honest to God true love. The kind of love that made him dream in colour and put a spring in his step. The kind of love that made him want to come out of his shell and risk his heart again. The kind of love he had read about once in a book and scoffed that 'real' people didn't get goofy and weird over an emotion.

But it happened with the one person he never could have imagined. So, he pushed her away. He did things to make her hate him. He tried to embarass her in subtle ways by calling her out for little things that didn't mean much on the surface, but underneath they were an excuse for him to act like an ass. He wanted her to despise him so he could feel the same in return and stop feeling the way he did about her.

As much as he tried, the feelings never went away and over time they only got stronger. It wasn't fair. The more he tried to fight it, the stronger the feelings became. He didn't know what to do. It wasn't as though he could talk to anyone about what was happening and there was no way he could act on it either. Rules and regs forbade him dating a subordinate. Rules and regs that were in place because of what he had done in the past. Done? Done was being nice. He had screwed around and screwed up and the result was that everyone was punished. Did he say how unfair it all was?

He should have asked her out when he had the chance.

On those nights he had sat alone in his house, he should have grabbed the phone and called her. He should have asked her to dinner, or a golf game, or to his cabin. Or he could have sat and listened to her voice - her sweet dulcet toned voice with its slight nasal sound that he could listen to all day. He loved hearing her talk in English, Italian, and Spanish. And the one time he heard her speak Russian, he had to leave the room. Erotic didn't come close to describing how turned on he had become just hearing "Я плохо говорю по-русски". He always wondered what she had said, but he played her words over and over in his head until he thought he was going to lose his mind. He had always meant to ask her for the translation, but now it didn't really matter.

Woulda, coulda, shoulda was invented for him. What would've have happened, if he could've taken the initiative and talked to her? Face it Dave, you didn't just miss the boat, you're floating alone in the ocean.

Standing next to the table, he stared at her place. He tried to memorize how she had looked that morning sitting there, beautiful, her hair falling soft and gleaming over her shoulders. The light purple turtle neck had emphasized her delicate jaw line and long neck. It complimented her brown eyes and alabaster skin and molded itself to her figure.

He reached out and touched her discarded pen. Picking it up, he took in the bite marks. She was always chewing on pens and pencils and he had teased her about that. It was sign of nervousness, he had told her. It was not lost on him this morning that she had not chewed on her pen. What did that mean? His brain tried to comprehend it but there was no logical reason for what he was thinking or feeling or what was happening.

Lost in his thoughts, he smelled her before he heard her knock.

"Hi," she greeted, her tone was lower than the normal range he was used to.

"Hello."

"I thought I might find you here," she teased, but her eyes were soft.

"I guess I can't get enough of this place."

"I thought the same thing. Once." There was a look of loss and regret in her eyes, but there was also something else…relief.

"So, you're really going to get married and leave this place?" he asked, his voice even as not to betray how he really felt.

"Yep. I never thought I'd be happy to leave the one place that actually felt more like a home than any place I've ever lived. But I am."

"I wish you the best, Emily." He did. He couldn't be mean and cruel and wish the opposite. It wasn't his place to destroy her dreams and happiness, even though her decision was killing him.

"Thank you." She looked at him and her eyes flicked down to the pen held in his hands. Then it dawned on her what it meant. "Dave, may I ask you a question?"

"Sure. Ask me anything."

She took the pen from his hand. "Why didn't you chase me? So many times we worked so close and you could have crossed the line, but you didn't."

"I didn't think it would be appropriate," he answered weakly.

"That never stopped you before." She sighed. "I guess now is as good a time to be honest with you: I waited for you to make your move. I don't know how many times I gave you the opportunity to ask me out, but you never did."

"I-" What could he say to that and make it sound good?

"I waited for you to call...to speak to me...to ask me out. I don't know how many nights I sat by the phone waiting for you to make the first move. But you were probably out with someone and I never crossed your mind. I guess after a while I gave up and decided that I couldn't waste my life on a wish."

"Emily…" He wanted to tell her that she was so wrong. He wasn't dating women; he was waiting by the phone trying to work up the courage to call her when he knew that she didn't want to hear from him. Oh God, what had he done?

An uncomfortable silence filled the room.

"How did you meet him? Your fiancé, that is," Dave asked.

Her laugh was soft and pure. "Actually, it was your fault. I went down to the bookstore to pick up a copy of one of your earlier books and we ran into one another. To be honest, I dropped the book on his head as I was trying to get it off the shelf. He didn't run, so I asked him out for coffee. One thing led to another, and now…"

"You're getting married."

Emily nodded. "I am."

"But why are you leaving the FBI? Is that what he wants?"

She shook her head. "No. That was my choice. I want a husband and family. I don't think it's too late for children…at least I hope it isn't. I still have time…I pray I still have time to raise a family and be a mother. I always dreamt of a little house with a white picket fence and a dog running around the front yard. I want security. He can give it to me."

The break in her voice was enough to shred his heart. He could have given all of that to her. He had the house and fence and dog. He wanted to beg her not to leave - to give him a chance. He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake some sense into her that what she needed was him. He wanted to beg her not to leave.

Then she lifted her eyes and he saw it. Love. The same kind of love he felt for her was in her eyes for him - the guy who was taking her away. Forever.

He didn't want to believe it. He wanted to throw something, break something and shatter it so it felt as bad as he did. He wanted to make her hurt and break her heart. He wanted to ask her how he was supposed to pick up the pieces and move on without her.

But he couldn't.

No matter how much he hurt, he couldn't hurt her. Instead, he pulled her close and held her tight. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her body to his as he memorized her curves and softness. Closing his eyes, he breathed in her delicate scent one last time. She felt so good against him as though she had been made for him but he had been too blind to see.

Not blind, jaded. He had told her not to let personal baggage cloud her judgment, but that's what he had done. He had used the failure of his three marriages to swear of friendships and intimacies. Now it all came back to haunt.

"Dave," she whispered in his ear. She didn't know what he was doing, and though it didn't scare her, it seemed out of the norm for him.

"Just let me hold you for another minute, mi piccola," he whispered gruffly in her ear. He needed to get himself together before he let her go. He needed to make sure that she didn't see the tears in his eyes as she walked away. He couldn't let her last memory of him be one of weakness.

Closing his eyes tightly, he took a deep breath as his strength began to build. Counting to three, he unwrapped his arms and stepped back. He tried to meet her eyes, but couldn't. This wasn't like him, but he didn't care. Not anymore.

"Dave, are you okay?" she asked, as her hand reached out for his.

"I will be."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Emily." He reached out and cupped her cheek. What he would give to have been the one to put those stars in her eyes.

"You want to ask me something. Go ahead, get it off your chest."

Did he? Could he? She was giving him permission and now was his chance.

"What is the name of your perfume?"

She smiled at him. A genuine smile that pulled her lips back and showed all of her gorgeous teeth. How did he ever think her smile was too wide or her lips too thin?

"It's Celine Dion."

"Oh," was his simple reply. Now he knew. Now he could move on. Oh, who the hell was he trying to fool? That wasn't what he was going to ask her. Was it too late to get a do-over and ask the question in his mind and heart?

But she beat him to the punch. "I'm going to miss you, Dave." There were tears in her voice. She was crying because of him. He had made her cry. Nothing was going like he imagined. He had to get her out of there before he lost control.

"You should go now," he commented, his tone raspy. "I know you have to pack your desk and finish up the paperwork…"

"Dave…"

"Go, Em. Go get your family. Find your happiness."

Standing on tip toe, she pressed her lips against his briefly. It was quick, short, and sweet. For one brief moment, her lips let him know he was a fool for giving up.

Pulling away, she touched his cheek. She picked up the pen he had been holding earlier and placed it in his hand. "Bye, Dave. I'll never forget you." Then just like that, she was gone. From the room. From his life. Forever.

Slowly, a tear broke loose and trailed down his cheek, followed by another. And for the first time in his life, something deep down inside began to hurt.

And for once, he gave in.

Can Dave get Em back? Find out in "Do It For Love".