Sorry for the delay in posting but real life keeps getting in the way. Reviews make me write faster.
Title: An Honourable Man
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/?
Rating: M for now, but not sure where it might end up.
Disclaimers: The characters of CM are not mine, I just take them out to play.
Summary: It was just another case, just another broken resolution, that brought them to this.
Spoilers: I've only seen up to series four episode four so anything up to there is fair game.
Author's Notes: I've never written Criminal Minds Fan fiction before I have loved the show since the first episode. I've written 'Waking the Dead' and 'West Wing' fan fiction before so this seems like a natural progression. I tend to write a few chapters then post one so it may take time to update but it also means I can take on suggestions along the way.
Part Five
Monday morning was heralded in with a storm, lightning casting ivory streaks across the charcoal grey sky while thunder rumbled through the early morning air. The team awoke early to rain pelting against the window panes and the wind blowing through the window frames. It seemed the perfect accompliment to everyone's mood. After dinner the previous evening the team had headed to bed, all exhausted, their bodies still tuned to DC time. The dinner itself had been quieter than normal, no one really feeling up to making small talk, and with no new information on the case there was little to debate. The food had been less than gourmet, a little too greasy and heavy for people who barely ate most days, leaving more than one of them a little uncomfortable.
Showered and dressed thanks to nature's alarm, Rossi was already on his third cup of coffee when Emily and J.J. appeared in the coffee shop, both bleary eyed. The rest of the team arrived in drabs over the next half hour until the whole team were commandeering two tables. Over breakfast they discussed strategies, Hotch identifying tasks for the day as Rossi sat making notes in his little book. A little more awake and less lethargic the team divided up as they so often did, Rossi and Prentiss in one car heading to the accountant's firm, ready to interview witnesses, Reid and J.J. in another heading for the morgue, leaving Morgan and Hotch in the third.
It had taken longer than any of them had expected, lunch forgotten as they spent the day in conference rooms, carrying out interviews with colleagues of the victims. It was a laborious process but one that was necessary when it was still so incomprehensible how three men could disappear seemingly without a trace and turn up dead.
It was late afternoon when they returned to the small police department, the sky having turned dark and purple as morning turned to afternoon, lightning and thunder briefly flickering across the sky as they gathered once more in the conference room.
J.J. disappeared briefly from the room and came back with a coffee pot and Styrofoam cups. The room was colder, the murkiness outside dragging light from the room while crime scene photos on the table added a chill to the air. She shivered as she began to arrange the cups on the wooden slab and pour the steaming liquid into each.
"You're on speaker phone," Morgan said as Garcia answered the phone.
"Hands busy, sugar?" the analyst teased, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she brought up a new screen.
Hotch cleared his throat to let her know they weren't alone although it had never, and probably never would stop her. "So, do we have enough for a profile?" he asked, looking at each member of his team.
"He's white. Victimology supports that," Morgan began. "They're all white, all middle aged, professional."
"What about age?" They all knew it was the hardest to pinpoint but they needed to put an estimate.
Reid tilted his head, his hands moving through the air before he spoke a word. "Middle aged, although it's unusual for someone to begin killing in their middle age. There's always a possibility that he's killed before somewhere else and it hasn't been picked up."
"He would need to be strong. These men aren't exactly small and they like to look good, so probably work out."
"All three have gym membership," Garcia interrupted. "I can't tell you how often they used it though."
Morgan took a sip of his coffee and pulled a face. "Are we looking at a team? If we're talking about abduction and then murder, it would certainly suggest more than one person involved."
"The methods of choice would also be more productive with two, "Prentiss suggested. "If you're going to feed someone salt, they're going to fight it."
"I think we're all in accord on that," Hotch said. "So we flag the possibility that we have a killing team? One middle aged, one younger?"
The team nodded in agreement.
"Something still doesn't feel right," Rossi mused, unsure what was bugging him so much about the profile.
"You want to hold off, Dave?" Hotch asked, turning to look at his friend, his impatience at how little they had achieved, palpable to everyone.
Rossi shook his head as he closed his notebook. "Nah. I just feel like we're missing something. Nah, just go with it. This is just a preliminary profile. The more hits we get the easier it will be to narrow down the suspect pool."
"J.J, let Deputy Newstead know that we'll brief his team in the morning," Hotch instructed, noting that his team were getting restless. "We can meet again over breakfast and run through it. In the meantime, how about we get some dinner."
Emily pulled a face at the thought of food. The previous evening's dinner had brought forth a flurry of nightmares, not to mention discomfort and she didn't want to impose that on her body in a hurry. "Is there anywhere else to eat around here?" she asked the room in general. "Anywhere?"
Hotch allowed himself a small smile at the look of concern on his colleagues face. He had to admit dinner had been pretty awful the evening before but he had rarely seen Emily look so horrified about food.
"I'll go check." Morgan disappeared for a few minutes, finally returning to the small conference room that had been their home for several hours. "We have options apparently, aside from the diner, and I'm guessing we want to avoid a repeat of that. . ."
There was a mumble of agreement as they all remembered the previous night.
"Well there's a drive through Bonanza Burger, which prides itself on the Bonanza Burger." His lips quirked up into a grin at the look on the faces before him. "No, okay, there's a Chinese come Thai come Vietnamese restaurant at the bottom of Main Street, and a pizza place. The Chinese is edible allegedly but the locals tend to drive the thirty minutes into the city."
"Well, in lieu of the fact the whole team is in serious danger of a coronary if we stay here many nights, how about I drive and shout you all dinner," Rossi offered, sliding off the desk, and picking up his jacket. "Hotch?"
"I don't know . . ." They were in the middle of a case and while he didn't mind them taking dinner breaks, they usually talked shop and remained in the vicinity of the police department.
"We can stop at the first restaurant that looks edible," Rossi suggested, knowing that good food was essential in keeping the team morale up. "Eat and head back to the hotel."
"It's just appearances . . ." Hotch argued.
Emily and J.J. shared a knowing look. Hotch was wavering but often times couldn't switch off from being the boss so sometimes it took a little intervention.
"We have cell phones," J.J. said, raising her satellite phone in the air to demonstrate the point. "And pagers." She crossed the room to stand next to him, her smile widening as she stared up at him. "Garcia and the deputy can track us down in minutes if something comes up." She gave him her most earnest expression for good measure.
"And we have a laptop," Emily added, gazing at him, giving him her most flirtatious smile. It only worked about ten per cent of the time but it gave them all lightness on the darkest of days. "We can be back in thirty minutes. Less if we let Morgan drive."
Morgan shot her a glare.
Hotch glanced between the two women and knew he was being played but these were moments that made his team the family that they were. "Okay," he relented with a mild smile. "Let's go, before Reid and Morgan get in on the act."
The women smiled at each other and secretly high-fived as they followed the men out of the room towards the cars.
"I'll drive," Hotch offered, holding his hand out for the keys. "And follow you, Dave."
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They returned to the hotel after what had proved to be a lively and entertaining Italian meal, loitering in the lobby as Hotch and J.J. checked for messages, before moving towards the elevator.
"You coming up?" Hotch asked, as David bid them goodnight and moved towards the bar.
He shook his head. "I'm going to grab a drink." He'd had one drink all night, acting as designated driver. Now that he only had a few steps to take until bed, he fully intended to indulge in the top shelf. He watched as the others filed into the elevator after their boss.
Less than an hour later, he watched, smirking, as Emily walked across the bar and slid into the empty seat beside him.
David Rossi turned to look at her. "Couldn't sleep?"
"Just felt like a drink."
Rossi raised his hand to the bartender and indicated his drink, waving two fingers.
"Scotch?" she queried surprised.
"If you're not going to sleep, you'd better learn to drink the real stuff," he offered, lifting his own glass to his lips.
They sat in silence, intermittently sipping their drinks, conversation stilled as they tried to pretend it was normal for them to be alone drinking in a bar.
"Are you going to tell me what's keeping you awake, Emily?"
Swivelling on her stool, she focused her attention on the older man. "The need for alcohol."
"If you didn't want to talk about it you could have raided the mini bar," he offered, his dark eyes catching hers and holding her with an intensity that profilers seemed to acquire.
"I thought about it." She paused, debating whether to tell him about the nightmares or draw him back into silence. She chose the latter. "Do you realise how difficult this all is for a woman?" Her hands moved through the air as if to emphasize what all this was. "I spend my days trying to get in the minds of serial killers. And my evenings alone. It's not the biggest turn on for any guy. And the few dates I do get to go on, well I'm not very good at."
Momentarily he looked surprised, his eyes searching her face for sincerity. Eventually he settled for listening. "Well it's not the flirting, you seem to have that down pat."
She raised her eyebrows at him, pleasantly surprised that he noticed. "I spend my time trying to find their flaws, making conversation that doesn't make me seem . . ."
"You're dating the wrong sort of guys."
"Yeah, the dating pool is so big I have a variety of options," she grumbled. "Most of the time I'm too over tired to give a damn about anything other than collapsing in bed."
Dave raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking up in a smile.
"Alone!"
"And then you can't sleep," he finished.
"Yeah, so occasionally I need a drink."
Rossi sought out the bar tender and ordered another round of drinks. "Well it's probably good you don't want to talk about it. I'm not exactly the relationship counsellor around here."
"You've probably had more dates than me in the last six months," she snorted, shifting position to avoid his gaze, knowing that they were on unfamiliar territory.
David Rossi, BAU, author, womaniser. He knew what they all thought of him, but only he knew how wrong the were. He certainly wasn't without offers but after marriage number three fell apart he began to rethink his life plan. A fourth wife didn't seem like such a good idea, and casual affairs weren't really his scene. There was also the possibility that one sexual encounter would lead to yet another woman chasing his money. And then there was the job. It wasn't so easy for a man in the FBI to date either, and dating your co-workers was practically illegal. Not that he hadn't thought about it, when he was lying in yet another hotel room, alone and unable to sleep.
"I wouldn't be so sure."
Her eyes studied him, trying to read what he wasn't saying.
"You know the dreams don't mean you're failing," he said, his voice almost inaudible. "And they certainly don't last forever."
"Who said anything about dreams?" she scoffed, taking the last few sips of her drink.
"We've all been there. I've been there. When you're ready to talk about them you should talk to Hotch."
Emily wanted to laugh. Hotch was the last person she would ever admit to having a weakness with.
"Or Reid, or J.J., or Morgan," Dave continued, his eyes darting to glance at her. "Or me."
David Rossi had surprised her since the first day she had met him, and this night was no exception. What surprised her more was the fact she wanted to talk to him. "Okay."
"Okay. Do you think you can sleep now?" Dave asked, pushing his glass across the bar and throwing notes on the side.
Emily shrugged. She really didn't want to go back to her room, knowing that sleep would be evasive, but she couldn't sit in the bar alone. Reluctantly, she rose to her feet and followed him through the bar to the elevator.
Dave pressed the button for the fourth floor and they stood in silence waiting for the car to arrive. Momentarily he would glance in her direction, wondering what her demons really were.
They stepped into the elevator, standing side by side. Twenty years earlier he would have kissed her, twenty five years earlier he would have stopped the elevator and pinned her against the wall. With age came sense. Or at least some modicum of.
"Would you like a night cap?" Rossi asked, his fingers lightly resting on her arm as they stepped out of the elevator and walked towards the rooms they had been assigned.
Emily shook her head, propriety and common sense kicking in. "I'm fine." She gave him a small smile. "Goodnight, Dave."
"Night, Emily." He waited for her to disappear into her room and the door to shut quietly behind her before he entered his own room.
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