"Courtship consists in a number of quiet attentions, not so pointed as to alarm, nor so vague as not to be understood"

Laurence Sterne

Exhausted didn't come close to describing Lisa O'Reilly's status as she walked through the arrival terminal of Washington Dulles International Airport. She'd spent most of the week in California, working with NCMEC at a law enforcement conference. It had been a long, challenging week and she was more than ready to get back home.

She'd made the mistake of leaving her car at Quantico when she left for Los Angeles Monday afternoon. She didn't want to leave her car at the airport, and she surely didn't want to be caught in rush hour traffic, so she took a cab. It made perfect sense on Monday.

Now, on a bitterly cold January Friday night, Lisa wished she'd driven herself. After claiming her suitcase, she walked towards the doorway and prepared to walk out and hail a cab.

She'd talked to both Dave and Hotch during her week away and both told her to call them for a ride when she got back, but she wouldn't dare call either. Hotch had Jack for the weekend and where she'd love to see the little guy again, she didn't want to intrude on the small amount of time they actually had together.

As for calling Dave? Well, that wasn't going to happen either. Sure, he'd spirited her off to Little Creek last weekend and yes, they'd agreed to take another stab at a relationship. But, she wasn't ready to jump all the way back in to it as if nothing ever happened. After her very well received seduction attempt on Saturday night, she'd told him that the ball was now in his court and that he would have to be the one to court her.

Last time around, they just seemed to fall into their relationship and because of the clandestine nature of it, there was a hell of a lot of sex, but not a hell of a lot of courtship. Back then, it didn't matter, but now? Time had changed them both. Sure, they were both still FBI, but they didn't work in the same unit, nor did they directly report to each other, so their relationship would no longer violate the anti-fraternization rules.

That still wasn't enough to make her cast off the past and dive right in. No, this time, she would stick to her guns. This time, she wanted the courtship, the romance, the public displays of affection, well, at least when they were off duty.

He'd gone over and above her expectations while she was in LA, calling her each morning at 6 to wake her and making her swear she'd call him each night when she finally returned to her room. She did call him, and each night, they'd talk for at least an hour, most nights more.

As much as she enjoyed their conversations and as much as he reminded her to call him if she wanted a ride from Dulles, she wasn't going to call now. That would make him think she needed him and that would give him a leg up. So, no matter how cold, wet, and crappy the weather, she was perfectly capable of hailing her own cab and getting back to Woodbridge.

She walked past the limo drivers who waited in their uniforms, holding signs with the names of their passengers, only mildly envying those passengers, who'd be getting into comfortable, warm luxury vehicles.

Spotting a sign that read Lisa O'Reilly, she laughed, wondering what the Lisa, who scored the limo with the handsome older driver, was like. As she imagined some devastatingly gorgeous international business woman, the driver approached her.

"Are you Lisa O'Reilly?" the driver said in a crisp British accent.

Curious, she replied, "I am, but I don't think I'm the Lisa O'Reilly you're looking for."

"I believe you may be, Miss," he smiled, "My name is Nigel. David Rossi sent me and personally asked me to offer his apologies for not being able to pick you up himself."

"Get out, really?"

"I assure you, Miss, this isn't a joke," he responded, with a nod, then, "If you'll allow me to take your luggage, I'll escort you to the car."

Lisa allowed the man to take her suitcase and briefcase and followed him out of the terminal and to a waiting black Lincoln Town Car. He opened the door for her, motioning to the back seat with a flourish.

Lisa got into the car and relaxed into the soft leather seat. She smiled, thinking she could get used to treatment like that. As Nigel closed the door, she gazed around. On a small table between the seats was a wine chiller with a bottle in it, a champagne flute, and a white envelope.

"Ms, O'Reilly," Nigel's voice began from over the intercom, "Mr. Rossi wanted me to explain that I will not be taking you to your home."

Lisa pushed the intercom button and spoke, "And where will you be taking me?"

"To a surprise location in Virginia," Nigel returned. "He's left strict instructions that I am to deliver you there tonight without revealing our destination"

Raising a brow, she hit the intercom button again, "Did he say why?"

"No, Miss, O'Reilly," Nigel's voice returned, "He did not. He did however; tell me that you might try to protest."

"Did he now?" she laughed. "What did he tell you to do if I refused? Take me in at gun point?"

Nigel laughed, "I assure you, Miss O'Reilly, he did nothing of the kind. He just asked me to not take no for an answer."

"Well, Nigel, although I have a million things to do, I'll go along with this little scheme and won't fight you. I can't promise I won't fight Mr. Rossi once I get to this surprise location."

"Thank you, Miss O'Reilly. It's only a short ride, but please make yourself comfortable. I've opened the champagne for you and if you'll notice, there's a note from Mr. Rossi with your champagne."

"Thank you, Nigel," she mused, looking around.

"If you need me, just press the button," Nigel went on, "Other wise, please just relax and enjoy the ride."

After a moment, Nigel's voice was replaced with music. She listened for a moment, recognizing Sade's voice. She remembered a night, many years ago, when she admitted to him that she found Sade's music very romantic and sensual and that it really helped set the mood. She was surprised that he retained that bit of information after all this time. And now, she was curious, as well.

"Okay," she said aloud, "Champagne and Sade, huh? What are you cooking up, David Rossi?"

She poured herself a glass of champagne and taking a sip, picked up the envelope that Nigel had mentioned. Opening it, she found a sheet of very nice stationary, monogrammed with the initial "R". She recognized it instantly, remembering that she'd purchased it for him years ago, telling him that romantic men wrote letters to women. He'd never used it, until now.

Taking another sip of her champagne, she read the words written in his always surprisingly neat script.

"Lisa, I'm sure that by now, you're grumbling about having too many things to do and how I've disrupted your over loaded weekend plans. You're probably thinking up some choice words to greet me with when you arrive. I'm sorry, but you'll have to put those choice words on hold. I won't be joining you until later this evening. But I promise, you'll enjoy what I've planned for you while you wait for me to arrive. Do me a favor, Little Girl, don't fight me. Just relax and enjoy this. Dave."

Folding the letter and slipping it back into the envelope, she wondered what, exactly, he'd cooked up this time.

"The resistance of a woman is not always a proof of her virtue, but more frequently of her experience"

Ninon de Lenclos

Lisa was surprised when Nigel pulled the limo up the long winding driveway and parked in front of the entrance to the Valhalla Spa and Resort. She'd read about it in one of the travel magazines designed for people with too much money, that was tucked into the seat pocket on the flight home. Merely half an hour from downtown DC, this place was touted to be something close to Nirvana for the city's movers and shakers.

Nigel opened the door and escorted her into the lobby, where she was greeted by Jerome, a very courteous African American man with a rich Jamaican accent. After thanking Nigel and refuse the tip she tried to palm him, she followed Jerome across the lobby, lugging her overstuffed brief case and dragging her suitcase full of dirty clothes with her and wondering what it was with men with accents tonight.

Jerome handed her a key card and informed her that she'd be staying in room 714, which was a "deluxe suite", but before she went up, that she had been scheduled for a massage upon arrival. Jerome assured her that he would have her luggage, and her heavy wool coat taken to her room.

So it was, that an hour and a half later, following the most amazing hot stone massage she'd ever experienced, that Lisa finally entered room 714. Closing the door behind her, she walked through the living room area of the well appointed suite and straight into the large bedroom.

She smiled, as she noticed the large bouquet of irises and white roses that sat on the small table near the window. Irises and white roses were her favorites.

"Damn," she said aloud, walking to the flowers. "You remembered the flowers, too? You're pulling out all the stops." She noticed another envelope. "Oooh, another note," she mused, opening the envelope and pulling out yet another sheet of his monogrammed stationary.

"Hopefully, your massage has helped you to relax and forget about the many things you think you should be doing. If you're not too mellow, you have a dinner reservation downstairs in the Golden Plow at 9 pm. Don't worry about digging through the dirty clothes in your suitcase, there's something hanging in the closet for you to wear. Don't be late. Dave."

"What the hell are you doing, Rossi?" she laughed, walking across the room and opening the closet. Hanging there was a slim, emerald green silk tank dress. It was gorgeous and where the style something she definitely would have picked out for herself, the color was one she rarely wore. She used to wear it a lot, years ago; once he'd admitted that he'd liked her in green, saying it brought out her eyes.

On the floor below the dress was a pair of simple black high heeled pumps and a pink, plastic bag.

"This just keeps getting better," she mused, picking up the bag and looking inside to find a black lace bra and panty set with a pair of lace topped thigh high stockings, "So, the black lace fetish hasn't changed, huh?"

She stopped for a second, holding the black silk stockings in her hand, feeling a strange melancholy. He'd remembered a lot. Details she'd wondered if he'd ever really cared about. The music, the notes, the flowers, it was all very romantic, very touching. Yet, on some level, it brought back the pain of the way things used to be and how they ended. It reminded her of the depths of feelings he really did have back then, and of how easy it was for him to walk away and not look back.

"Stop it, Lisa," she said, staring at herself in the full length mirror. "Just stop it. Put that freaking dress on, make yourself look amazing and go down and have dinner." Taking a deep breath, she forced back the demons that were picking at the raw spots in her heart and set about getting ready for dinner.

"Don't tell a woman she's pretty; tell her there's no other woman like her, and all roads will open to you"

Jules Renard

David Rossi was not a man to give into his nerves, yet, as he sat in the surprisingly busy restaurant, he had to admit he was a bit nervous. When Lisa threw down her challenge to him last weekend, telling him it was his turn to court her, to win her affections, he took it to heart. After all, he did not back down from a challenge, especially when the prize was so valuable.

Knowing that she'd been working way too hard and taking little or no time for herself, he booked the weekend at Valhalla. Knowing full well that, if he showed up at her door and asked her to go, she'd find a way to blow him off, he began to cook up this scheme. He was surprised at how many details he'd remembered about her and tried to incorporate them into the whole event. He'd thought himself quite clever, especially the notes.

Now, sitting at the table, waiting for her, he wondered just how clever he was. She'd arrived as planned and had her massage before being escorted back to the room. The hotel laundry was working to wash and return the clothes from her suit case, although he had provided her with something to wear to dinner. He hoped she liked it. He hoped it fit. Hell, he hoped she'd put it on and just walk in the door before he slowly drove himself crazy.

This was not a feeling he was accustomed to feeling. Of course, in the past few years, he'd gotten pretty good at not feeling much of anything other than desire and sexual response when it came to women. Casual relationships and one night stands had taken care of the need for sexual release and companionship. He wouldn't allow himself the luxury of a real relationship. Not when he'd just fuck it up like he'd fucked up all three marriages and one very fulfilling affair.

Yet, here he was, given a second chance with one of the few women in his life who actually managed to mean something. Age and experience had taught him that second chances were rare and he'd be damned if he'd blow it again.

Thus came this whole production number and thus he sat, waiting like a high school kid wondering if his prom date would show. As he finished his glass of scotch, she walked into the room. He watched as she stopped and spoke to the maitre d'.

He was grateful to see that the dress fit and, as he'd imagined, she looked great in it. Hell, for as tired as she must have been when she arrived, she looked incredible. As she followed the maitre d' through the restaurant, her eyes caught his and she gave him a smile. He stood up as they approached.

XXXXX

"Here you are, Ms. O'Reilly," the maitre d' said, with a smile, "Can I get you something from the bar?"

"Scotch on the rocks, please?" she asked.

"Certainly," he returned with a nod, walking away.

She turned her eyes towards Rossi, who stood waiting with, what she believed to be, an anxious look on his face.

"You get ten thousand points for creativity," she said, leaning in and pecking his cheek. Before she pulled back, she quietly said, "This place is too ritzy for me to lay the lip lock you deserve…"

He interrupted her by pulling her close and kissing her deeply. "Now, what was that you were saying?"

Lisa laughed, then reached out and, with her thumb, wiped off the trace of her lipstick that she'd left behind on his lower lip. "I'm not used to these public displays of affection."

"Get used to it," he smartly said, as they stepped apart and sat at the table.

"When I got into that limo," she began, laying the linen napkin across her lap, "I had planned on reading you the riot act."

"I figured," he allowed.

"But, now, I'm not so sure I'm going to," she said with a smile, "This was a great idea and a perfect night away."

Rossi shook his head, "But that's where you're wrong, Little Girl," he began, "It's not a night away, it's a weekend."

"Dave…"

He held up a hand, "Let me finish before you complain."

"Okay…"

"Tomorrow, you have been scheduled for a full day in the spa, there's a whole laundry list of stuff they're going to do to you, only some of which I will pretend to understand the rationale for, but needless to say, by the time they let you go, you'll be sufficiently pampered to last you for a bit. Then, I thought we could come back down here and have dinner and maybe go down to the lounge for a little dancing."

"And what will you be doing while I'm being pampered all day?" she asked with a laugh.

"Believe it or not, I'll be holed up in our room working on the syllabus of a class I'm teaching at the Academy in March."

"You poor thing," she playfully said, "Working while I play…"

Taking her hand and bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss, he said, "I prefer to play while you're in the room with me."

Something about the smoldering look in his dark eyes sent a chill down her spine. "You know," she began, wearing what she hoped came off as a seductive smile, "We could have room service for dinner."

Rossi chuckled, "As tempting as that offer is, I believe you issued a challenge that involved public displays of affection. If I have you all to myself in our room, I won't be able to live up to that part of the deal." He leaned across the table, capturing her lips in a soft kiss, then, before he pulled away, he said, "But after dinner, you're all mine."