Many, many thanks to those who left kind words for the last chapter! Your reviews all brought smiles to my face.

This next chapter was ridiculously fun to write. After a few emotionally draining writing processes, this was a welcomed change of pace. Here's hoping I can elicit a chuckle or two from some of you. Happy reading! =)

"I cook with wine, sometimes I even add it to the food." – W.C. Fields

Hell hath no fury like Emily Prentiss scorned. I'm fairly certain there are scorch marks on the inside of the elevator and the walls surrounding the doors. Her eyes are ablaze with passion-fuelled rage. As much as she prides herself on having unparalleled compartmentalization skills, there are a few things that always seem to rattle her. This didn't used to bother her. In fact, she used to take the seemingly good-natured ribbing in stride, but then again, I suppose living in isolation for months fearing a terrorist who has a deep hatred for you and has the means to kill you, again, might change your perspective on things and shorten your fuse a little.

She glances over to me, attempting to keep her expression neutral and control her tone, but those eyes give her away. They're blazing with anger, and I definitely don't want to get in her way. I suppress a chuckle, knowing that it will implicate me for a crime I most certainly did not commit, and was not an accessory to.

"Where is he?" she doesn't bother using his name, she knows I know exactly who she's asking about.

I shrug, portraying nonchalance, even though we both know I desperately want to see the verbal ass-kicking she's about to deliver. Those two need to relieve some tension.

"Dave," the fire in her eyes flares dangerously as she warns me with her tone.

"I think I'll get some coffee," I say with a wink. I'm antagonizing her, and I know it, but I can't help myself. I can't get over how good it is to see her, alive, and to see an emotion in her eyes besides fear. After she came back her eyes were deadened in a way, filled with a heaviness of sorts, devoid of any real emotion other than fear. And of course, it's completely understandable given what she went through.

She huffs in frustration throwing her bag onto her desk causing papers to fly to the ground, and drops into her chair heavily. She glares at me as I make my way to the coffee machine. I see him turn the corner behind her, stop dead in his tracks and eye the papers on the ground carefully. I avert my eyes from him quickly, but it's too little too late, she saw the subtle movement.

"Morgan," she says icily as she turns around in her chair.

He gulps nervously and smiles his best charming smile, "Princess! Good morning."

She rises from her chair, and I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms. This is going to be good. Either she's going to physically harm him, or the two of them will end up confirming my suspicions in a rather different ending. Like I said, they need to relieve some tension.

"Don't you "Princess" me."

He keeps smiling nervously, his eyes begging me for support. I'm definitely not jumping to his defence, especially not when she is so dangerously aflame with anger. I give him my best "you-made-this-mess" look.

"I've had it with your "Prentiss can't cook" routine."

He had literally backed himself into a wall, and she was only inches from him. He gulped again, clearly figuring silence was his best option. Her supposed inability to cook was a source of ongoing ribbing, and had been as long as I can remember. It's actually quite shocking she hadn't attacked him over it years ago. What is even more impressive is how the brave Derek Morgan is reduced to a whimpering, terrified mess with just one look from her.

"Hey, what's going on?"

"Shhh" I hush Reid quietly. "Emily's confronting Morgan."

"Oh. Has she cursed at him in another language yet?"

"Not yet."

"Let's get one thing straight, buddy. I. Can. Cook," she accentuated each word with a rather forceful poke of his chest. She was just getting warmed up.

"I'm actually fairly accomplished. The reason I eat so much takeout is because of this job. You know, the one that has painfully long hours, a packed schedule, and limited time off. I eat takeout because more often than not, I'm tired after a case and don't feel like cooking. Picking up some pizza or a salad or some Chinese after a case does not necessarily mean I can't cook. It means I'm tired, cranky and just want to relax in my hot tub with a good book and some good, easily accessible food."

"Princess, it was just a jo-"

"Oh no, don't you even think of trying to weasel your way out of this one. I'm not even close to finished with you..."

My best guess is that Morgan had cracked another joke on the flight home from our last case and it had been the last straw for her. Her patience had been wearing thin on it for a long time.

"Rossi, boy wonder, what are you guys doing?"

"Shhh" Reid and I shush Garcia as she comes to grab some coffee.

"OH! Is she finally confronting him over the cooking thing?" Garcia asks as she eyes Prentiss and Morgan.

"Yeah, she's just getting to the good part too," Reid says as he smiles excitedly.

"Has she started her international cursing routine yet?" she asks, mischief dancing in her eyes.

"Not yet," I utter.

"Fifty says she goes with French," Garcia says with confidence.

"No, she's definitely going to go with Russian," Reid replies.

"I'm thinking German. Put me in for fifty," JJ says as she appears beside us in the doorway.

"Hey," Hotch says as he leans against the counter beside me, having entered from the other doorway. "Prentiss finally addressing the cooking thing?"

"Yep," we all reply in unison, not moving our eyes from Emily's tirade.

"What's everyone betting?"

"Reid's going with Russian, JJ with German, Garcia with French, and I'm siding with Italian. Wager is fifty. You want in?" I reply, not responding with shock at Hotch's knowledge of our break in regulation. Garcia, Reid and JJ's wide open mouths tell a completely different story however.

Hotch considers the situation for a moment.

"-as if you even have the qualification to assess my cooking skills Mr. "my-mom-makes-everything-for-me" and spoils me rotten," Emily's rant had continued during our conversation, but no hint of a foreign language yet.

Hotch gives an uncharacteristic grin, "I really shouldn't, but I'm in for fifty on Spanish."

"Oh! I forgot about Spanish!" Garcia squeals.

Several minutes of Emily's diatribe continued, until I hear the sweet, sweet accent of an accomplished Italian speaker utter a string of rather foul, but colourful and definitely amusing curses.

"Pay up everyone. I knew my girl would go with the language of the greats, with the hand gestures to match!" I say with glee. Fistfuls of money are handed over amidst groans and eye rolling.

She has finally finished, leaving Morgan leaning against the wall, too stunned to move.

"Hey. Everyone.," she says, grabbing our attention. "Apparently I have to prove that I'm not completely useless in a kitchen, so I'm cooking for you. Tomorrow. 6 o'clock sharp at my place. Got it?"

We all nod quickly in response, not wanting to anger her further.

She finishes speaking and settles in behind her desk, grabbing a stack of files. We follow suit, Morgan perhaps never being happier that he has his own office, and Garcia pouting that she has to return to hers.

I arrive at her home early, bearing a gift of fine wine, her favourite to be exact. The winnings from the bet would certainly go to a worthy cause and it seemed only fair I thank her for it, even if she was unaware of what her actions won me. I raise my free hand and knock.

"MORGAN! I swear if you're here early just to judge me and my cooking I'm going to- Oh. Hi Dave."

Her expression softens as she offers me a wide smile, "Please, come in."

"I brought a peace offering," I say with a chuckle. "Just in case I resemble Morgan more than I think I do."

I hold out the bottle for her to examine. A smile graces her lips once more and she gestures to her living room, "I'll grab us some glasses."

Three-quarters of a bottle of wine later, her feast for us is cooking in the oven, and she is curled up on the couch, telling me about a time she travelled to Italy with some college friends. Her story wraps up, and she glances at the watch on her wrist. Plenty of time left until they arrive.

"So Dave, to what do I owe the pleasure of my favourite, and very expensive wine making an appearance here?"

"You won me $200 yesterday," I reply with a grin.

"What? How?"

"Your language of choice for your verbal assault on Morgan was Italian."

"You didn't actually bet on what language I was going to curse in, did you?" she says as she exhales in embarrassment, covering her mouth with her free hand.

"Yep. Fifty bucks each, bella. That's how this wine came to join our party here tonight."

She grinned and sipped the last few drops of her glass. I followed suit, and poured us each a fresh glass, finishing off the bottle.

"But $200 doesn't cover this wine…" she says with a frown.

"No, but it goes a decent way to replacing one of the bottles from my collection," I say with a smile. She grins in response.

"I missed this," I say after a few moments of comfortable silence. "No one else I know appreciates fine wine and good conversation quite like you do."

Her expression saddens, "I missed it too. Those months were long and painful enough, but no alcohol and no conversation definitely put it over the top for me."

"No alcohol?"

"Well, even if I could have convinced myself to drink in my overly paranoid and hyper-vigilant state, it would have probably wreaked havoc with my medications I was on. This is actually the first drinking I've done since the whole..." she trailed off and gestured to her abdomen in a stabbing motion.

"Well, then here's to fine wine, and good company. May they never part again!" I say as I raise my glass to her.

She raises hers in response, and we each take a full gulp, finishing off the last of the bottle, and enjoying the smooth texture and full flavour.

A few hours later, the team sits around her table, conversation and laughter filling the room. Empty plates sit in front of each team member and Emily's cooking is certainly never to be questioned again.

I look around the room at each person, and see happiness and peace in their eyes for the first time in many months. Emily feels my gaze on her and quickly raises her eyebrows questioningly. I shake my head subtlety, and raise my glass to her. She echoes my movement, and we drink, toasting this wonderful occasion.

"Okay Princess, you have definitely proved yourself. I hereby pledge to never question your ability to cook ever again. That meal might actually be better than my mama's cooking," Morgan says with a goofy smile on his face.

Emily smiles triumphantly, and lifts her glass in one final toast, her eyes fixed on mine, "To my cooking ability! And to us, together again."

"Finally!" we all reply, somehow in unison with smiles all around as the last drops of the wine I brought are finished.

We all being to make our way home after the dishes are all cleared, and eventually just Morgan and I are left. I hang back, giving the two of them some space.

Morgan gives Emily another goofy grin and throws his arms around her in a tight hug. I see her close her eyes for a moment and she seems to melt into his arms with a sigh. The hug lasts significantly longer than your average hug between friends. I smile knowingly. It's only a matter of time between those two.

"Princess, I'm so glad you're back," Morgan says as she escorts him to his cab that is waiting on the road out front. Just before he enters the cab, he throws his arms around her once more and says something that makes her blush and then laugh heartily. With Morgan on his way safely home, she returns to the doorway and opens her arms, inviting a hug.

"Thanks Dave," she says as her arms wrap tightly around me. This affection is not characteristic of her, but is much appreciated. I hope it is a trend that continues, it could do her a lot of good.

"No problem, bella," I reply, knowing she's talking about more than just the wine.

I enter my cab, and wave to her through the window. She waves back with a smile. She's going to be okay. We're going to be okay.

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