December 11, 2013

Dave inadvertently plays into her hands with the next door in Jack's calendar. On the day Jack is supposed to find a music note, Dave personally calls her to deliver the news.

"Good morning sunshine," she greets and she wants to kill him. She really does.

"It's early," she groans. "This had better be good."

"It's almost eleven."

Emily all but yanks her head from the pillow. "Liar."

Unfortunately for her, the clock says he's right. Holy crap. She cannot remember the last time she's slept this late. She groans.

"Late night?"

God, she hates the amusement in his voice. She hates him right now. "What's it to you, Rossi?"

"Whoa tetchy," Dave answers easily. "None of my business-"

"Exactly."

"Except Hotch has looked pretty exhausted all day. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

She buries her face in her pillow to muffle the ensuing groan but from Dave's chuckle floating over the phone, it's a failure.

"It's a good thing," he says, approval warming to the slow rhythm of his speech.

"You did not call this early to taunt me-"

"It is a pleasant side-effect."

"So what do you want?"

"I have tickets."

Emily sits up, running a hand through her bedhead. Eleven is too late for her to be in bed. "I don't do burlesque shows or strip clubs, Dave. Try Morgan."

"To the ballet, sassypants."

"Since when do you like the ballet?"

"I am a man that likes the finer cultural arts, Emily Prentiss."

There's a smile twitching on her face as she asks, "Which wife?"

He huffs and there's an ache in her chest at the easy sparring. She'd made the decision she'd had to make for her own personal wellbeing – she'd needed to leave DC after the whole debacle with Ian Doyle – but she had never, in a million years, expected the ache she's been experiencing now that she's back in the city.

"Carolyn," he answers softly.

She makes a sympathetic noise.

"Coincidentally, she's also the reason I can enjoy art galleries and museums now."

She smiles. "So, the ballet. You don't have to get expensive tickets just to take me out, Dave."

"Then I'm glad I bought a dozen."

"Twelve? What the hell are you doing to do with twelve ballet tickets?"

"Call it team building."

"I'm sorry?"

"It's the Nutcracker, the one the Washington Ballet does every year. The whole team is going."

"Reid is going to a ballet? Scratch that, Derek?"

"Never underestimate the power of Penelope Garcia. He's bringing his girlfriend."

She's pretty sure she can feel her jaw brushing the bedspread. "Girlfriend? How long have I been gone?"

"Too long."

It's a moment of serious silence and she chews her lip through it. It's just long enough to have her heart clenching in her chest, to feel the guilt rising up into her mouth. But then he's clearing his throat. "Clean yourself up, Prentiss. We're painting the town red tonight."

They are the best dressed people in the theatre.

Not that Emily particularly cares either way. Her immersion into this type of culture has always involved fancy dress. The team doesn't seem to care either because it's an excuse to dress up and go out. Even if the party is a kid-friendly ballet rather than something adult-focused.

But there is one major difference between this time and the million others they've been out as a team. And it's not Blake's presence either.

Hotch is touching her.

It sounds both ridiculous and dirty and she means neither of those definitions. It's just a bit strange because these are after-hours touches. Not the triple-x kind, but his hand rubs up her back, slides down her arm, hovers around her waist, and while it honestly doesn't seem to change anything about the way the team interacts with them, she can feel the way their eyes are drawn to these things. Hell, she can all but hear the questions Penelope would like to spew.

But it's Dave who manages to corner her at the concession stand where she waits for an ice cream to split with Jack.

"So I was right?"

Emily hums her acknowledgement of his presence.

"You're the reason Hotch looked like death this morning."

She merely arches an eyebrow. She and Hotch haven't talked about whom they're telling about this 'test' of theirs and she isn't about to give Dave gossip fodder now. Even out of the Bureau and out of the world of politics, old habits died hard. So she doesn't answer his question, just calmly pays the cashier and takes the treat.

"Hey," Dave says, catching her elbow gently. "I was serious on the phone, Em. It's a good thing."

"Is it?" she finds herself blurting. "I waffle between being baffled and being terrified. I'm on a countdown and that's no way to start a relationship."

"So you'd rather dance around it all for the next couple of weeks pretending that those kinds of feelings aren't between the two of you? What was it you told me again when Carolyn first contacted me?"

She feels a soft smile spread across her face. "Considering it was after I died, I'm pretty sure it was something about taking the chance."

This time, it's Dave's turn to hum his acknowledgement. "Taking chances. Sounds like you. And you never know, do you?"

She looks up into his smug face and rolls her eyes. "You get so smug when you're right."

"I know," he agrees. "It's part of my charm."

The chapters are posting two by two hurrah, hurrah. ..

Okay partial lie partial truth. Two today and cross your fingers for two tomorrow 'cause then I'll be caught up!

No, but seriously. Cross your fingers okay? Because at some point I have to add some sort of conflict into this and I already know what that'll be and all that and it's still feeling toothbrush inducing.

Glad we had that talk.