I say it every week, but it bears repeating: many thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you enjoyed the peek into Matthew and Emily's friendship. We've got a familiar face for this one - Mr. David Rossi. It's tagged to the scene from season 4's "Memoriam" that always makes me chuckle. Explaining Emily's hangover was too enticing a prompt to ignore... :)

Happy reading =)

"Drunkenness is nothing but voluntary madness." – Seneca

"Here you are, sir," the bartender says as he places my refilled glass in front of me.

"Thank you," I say, grabbing the drink and nodding it toward him slightly before taking a sip. Smooth as you like, and just how I remember it. The bartender disappears to serve another man at the other end of the bar, and I'm left alone to enjoy my drink.

My eyes wander around the large room, taking in the compulsive gambling habits of the people – some good luck rituals, some drunken hopes and prayers, and some very stressed expressions forming as the cards don't fall kindly. And of course there are the individuals who are taking advantage of the old adage 'what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas'. Those are perhaps the most noticeable individuals – the ones who have an arguably unhealthy amount of excitement buzzing through their veins, and dancing in their eyes. They're usually the loud and obnoxious ones. The regulars are the one with set patterns, not the ones making grand gestures for friends, or capturing the room's attention with loud proclamations of injustice or jubilant cries of happiness.

I take another sip of my drink, turning my attention to the elevators, watching as a steady stream of people file in and out. After a few minutes, and a few more sips, I find myself smirking as I recognize a familiar face coming out of the elevator and heading straight for the bar.

It takes her a moment, but eventually her eyes find me and she smiles in recognition. "Rossi," she says with a smile when she reaches me. "I see you had the same idea I did."

"That I did, Emily. What're you having? First one's on me."

Her brow furrows slightly in concentration before her gaze falls to my own drink. "That looks good."

I raise an eyebrow. "You have expensive taste."

"Correction, I have excellent taste. The fact that it's expensive is irrelevant."

I chuckle before signaling the bartender to bring another drink. "So, what's your game plan for this evening?" I ask, noticing the care and effort she's put into her appearance. Not that she looks like a slob at work, but this outfit is a far cry from the usual work attire I see her in.

"A little of this, a little of that," she says vaguely, before murmuring a thanks to the bartender who'd appeared with the drink. "We're in Vegas…I couldn't let the opportunity pass, especially considering how often our plans get foiled thanks to serial killers."

"Well, here's to an evening of no interruptions then," I say, raising my glass in a toast.

"Cheers," she replies happily, raising her own glass and touching it with mine. "You mind if I sit here for a bit? This is not a drink that should be enjoyed quickly, after all."

I smile in appreciation. Who knew the mysterious and intriguing Emily Prentiss knew her liquor? This woman was turning out to continue to surprise me. "Only if you don't mind the company of an older gentleman."

"Ew, gross! You make it sound like you're a… Oh, can we just enjoy a drink together without the creepy visuals? Please?"

I suppress another laugh. Clearly she has a bit of alcohol in her system already. Perhaps courtesy of a certain minibar? I doubt she'd have said that otherwise – while I'd settled in nicely into the team, we weren't so close yet that those types of conversations were normal. "As you wish."

"Thank you," she says, taking another sip and groaning in appreciation. "God, this stuff is heavenly."

"It ought to be, given what it costs."

"Don't pretend like you don't buy this stuff every chance you get, Mr. Best-Selling Author."

I raise an eyebrow at her comment, but try not to give away how true the statement is. I do buy the stuff every chance I get. It's that good. "Hey, everyone's gotta make a living."

She rolls her eyes and laughs. "Some just get to make a better one than others."

"Glass houses, Emily…" I warn, betting she probably came into a healthy trust fund either before or after college…or maybe both. While I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her mother, I do know of her. I'd worked enough political cases with European ties to know Elizabeth Prentiss was a significant enough figure on the political scene. And with that came not only financial stability, but financial success. Yes, I can safely say that Emily Prentiss has never lived a day in her life struggling to make ends meet.

"What's that supposed to mean? Do I have a best-selling novel out there I don't know about? Or did you all get raises except me? Because I'm pretty sure being an FBI agent doesn't come with that generous a pay cheque."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I say with a shake of my head. "You're a regular comedian, you know that?"

She grins widely and signals the bartender to come over. He arrives shortly and she orders a refill. She begins to tell him to charge it to her room, but I interrupt her and tell him to put it on my tab instead. People may insist on tagging me with the reputation as a ladies' man, but I'm nothing if not a gentleman. Not that I'd ever protest the label they try to stick me with…and if I'm honest, it may be a little bit true…

"Thanks, Dave," she says with a warm smile and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. I blink in surprise but otherwise school my features. She's definitely enjoying her alcohol this evening.

"My pleasure, bella. Be careful with that stuff, it sneaks up on you."

She waves her hand dismissively. "Don't worry about me, I'm fine."

"Speaking of you being fine, how are your ribs?" I ask, remembering that not so long ago she'd taken a rather nasty beating at the hands of one Benjamin Cyrus, earning some bruised ribs for her efforts. She'd begun fighting us when we all suggested she get checked out by the medics, instead trying to make sure Reid was okay. The two of them had gone through hell on that trip, and the guilt was still swimming in Reid's eyes. It had begun to fade now that the visible cuts and cruises had healed, but it was still there. We could all see it in the lingering looks, and micro expressions.

She takes a long drink from her tumbler. "Fine," she answers succinctly, clearly finished with discussing the topic.

Right. I should have known even in a slightly drunken state she would be her usual strong self. I swear she gives Hotch a run for his money in the stoic department sometimes. I know from experience bruised ribs hurt like a bitch. She has to be hurting a little. Then again, alcohol is a wonderful pain medication…

"Good. We can't let Morgan have all the fun kicking down doors, can we?"

"Definitely not!" she agrees enthusiastically. A moment of silence passes. "So what are you planning on doing tonight?"

"I'll probably enjoy another one of these, and then head up to bed."

Her face falls. "Go up to bed? Really? What are you, 90 years old?"

"We have an early flight, remember?"

"But we're in Vegas!" Ah, youthful exuberance. I remember those days. While I'm not exactly lining up for my walker and hearing aid just yet, my body likes to remind me more often than not that it's been in existence for a fair few years.

"You forget I've done the whole 'Vegas' thing several times over," I point out.

"You think I haven't?"

"Then why are you so gung-ho to be in Vegas?"

She shrugs. "We haven't had a whole lot of stuff going our way lately, and like I said – I figured I'd enjoy the opportunity."

I scrutinize her for moment while wondering if the recent cases have been weighing on her. The events in New York had shaken us all up in one way or another, but she'd shot a kid. And no matter what the circumstance is, that weighs on your soul. And if it doesn't…then it's time to get away from the job.

And then not long after that, everything in Colorado had happened. I know she feels bad about what Jessica's mother went through, and the guilt Reid feels. She's the type of person to shut away her own emotions in favour of helping others work through theirs. She makes every effort to help those she calls friends, even at her own expense.

Maybe she needed a night of reckless and foolish action. Maybe she needed that outlet to release everything she'd locked up tight these past few weeks. Or maybe she really did just want to seize the opportunity. She was right, we didn't often get the chance to really relax and let go…there was always a distinct possibility (and that possibility seemed to be coming to fruition more often than I like) of getting called into the BAU.

"Well don't do anything I wouldn't do, and definitely don't call me if you need bail money."

She laughs heartily. "You got it, Rossi. See you tomorrow!" she says before downing the rest of her drink and heading toward the craps tables.

I watch her disappear into the throngs of people and wonder what kind of person she is when she's off duty. We've gotten to see snippets of her personality in small moments, but largely the Emily Prentiss I've come to know is smart, witty, exceptionally loyal, and a capable agent. And if tonight is any indication, she also appears to be able to enjoy and appreciate a good drink, and let loose to enjoy some alcohol and gambling. And she had said she'd been to Vegas before… So the tough and driven agent appears to have something of a wild side… Who knew?

I hear a loud cheer and look over to find a crowd around Prentiss celebrating some kind of success. I shake my head as I contemplate what else is hiding underneath the calm, cool, and collected exterior of hers. She reminds me a bit of myself with that calm and level-headed behaviour punctuated by a flaring temper.

I add tonight's observations to my mental file on my teammate. Though I'd been with the team about a year now, there were still parts of them that were a mystery to me. Hotch I had a fairly strong grasp on from our previous time working together, and I'm certain I'd never fully understand Garcia. Morgan wasn't hard to figure out, though I suspect there are a few things he's holding close to his chest and doesn't want to share with the team. The young genius is…different, though the more time I spent with him, the more I find myself able to understand him. I've begun to grow accustomed to his rambling, and learned certain nuances in his behaviour, though I'm not sure the facts spewing from his mouth will ever cease to amaze me. JJ was easier to understand, given her role as a non-profiler (but really…she does more profiling than she realizes). She was our link to the victims, to the public, and the one who kept us grounded in why we're doing this.

But Prentiss…she was a bit of a mystery. Sure, I'd learned a lot about her through working with her, and watching her interact with the others, but on the whole she was the one who still hadn't revealed a lot about herself. Yes, I know about the kind of circles she grew up in, and the fact that she's multilingual, but beyond that…I honestly don't know much outside of her capabilities as an agent.

Maybe it's because she joined the team most recently before myself, or maybe it's because she's just used to holding things close to her chest, but either way, I get the distinct impression that she somehow has convinced us all that we know her really well…without actually having to reveal anything to us. It's a difficult thing to master, and one which is cherished by law enforcement agencies that recruit people for undercover assignments.

I watch as she finishes another drink, and shake my head. She's going to regret it tomorrow. But she's a big girl and can make her own decisions, so if she wants to suffer the mother of all hangovers tomorrow morning for our early flight home tomorrow, then she can do just that. I'll do nothing to stop her. As for me, I'm going to enjoy the rest of this drink, head up to get some sleep, and leave the partying and drinking to excess to the younger crowd. And tomorrow I'll try my hardest not to say "I told you so" when she's holding her hand in her hands and praying for all the light and noise in the world to disappear.

Thoughts? If you have the time, I'd love to read 'em!