Your turn to share

Rossi pours another glass of whiskey and brings it to Emily, who's already sitting down in the far corner of his couch, stony expression on her face and eyes on the floor. He hands her the drink wordlessly. She takes it, doesn't speak a word either, and they sit on opposite ends of the couch, both leaning their elbows on their knees and staring into nothing. He doesn't need to take another look at her face to know exactly how she's feeling. He doesn't know why, what's brought it on, but he knows exactly what it is. He is, however, too far in his own head to ask her. He's too consumed by his own guilt and grief and regret to really care either.

Funnily enough, Emily reads Rossi's face in approximately three seconds. It takes her an additional five to remember why he's feeling like that. She was too wrapped up in her own drama to think about his feelings until she saw them drawn across his face. She throws a sideways glance his way, her eyes softening a little.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nope." She turns her gaze back to where wall meets floor across the room, eyes hardening again. It's his turn to look at her, the smallest amount of worry creeping its way into his eyes. "Do you?" Emily snorts a puff of air through her nose.

"No."

Moments pass, they sit in silence. The only movement is their hands rising and falling as they sip on whiskey. Emily knows what Rossi's thinking about, and it almost brings her some peace to share his thoughts and not dwell on her own. She'd feel better if he wanted to speak of them with her, but he clearly said no. She takes the last sip of the whiskey in her glass and starts fiddling with the empty glass. A quick sideways glance at Rossi – his glass is nearly empty as well.

"Care for more?" She holds up her empty glass for context. He starts to get up, but she stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'll get it." She rises from the couch, letting her fingers drag from his shoulder to his cheek. She stands in front of him, stroking his cheek and looking at him with sadness. When he lets out a shuddering sigh, she bends down to pick up his glass. No more words are exchanged. She walks to the kitchen, sets down the empty glasses and picks up the bottle from where he left it. She pours the smallest amount she can get away with, knowing it's better if they don't get too drunk.

When she walks back to the living room, she finds Rossi with his face buried in his hands. He's not crying, but he's damn close to it. She sets the glasses onto the low table in front of the couch and sits close enough to him to wrap her arm around his shoulders. He doesn't react. He said he doesn't want to talk, but she cannot take the silence anymore. Here goes nothing, she bites her lip before speaking.

"It wasn't your fault. She would've gone anyway."

He turns to face her furiously, his mouth open as if he wants to say something, but as he looks into her gentle face, his breathing slows and expression softens. He goes through a couple of emotions and thoughts, and Emily keeps her left arm around his shoulders, her right hand cupping his right shoulder gently.

"It still feels bad." When he finally speaks, his voice is low and raspy. She weighs her options for a while. She could comfort him, change the topic or challenge him. She's not entirely sure which of these categories her choice of words falls into.

"In our line of work, a mistake can mean somebody dies. Even if you don't make a mistake, people get killed and we're the ones facing it."

"She's only dead because of me. She read my book and now she's dead." This statement makes Emily remove her hands off of his shoulders and shuffle to the side so she can turn her body more toward him. She looks at him incredulously, and somehow manages to both challenge him and comfort him at the same time with only her eyes. He's not quite sure how that's possible, but that's the effect she has on him right now.

"That's arrogant, even from you." Rossi stares at her in disbelief. How can she say that? He urges an explanation out of her without speaking it. She sucks air in through her teeth. "I think you've got your cause and effect flipped here. She was interested in criminology and read your book because of that. I'm willing to bet it didn't all start from reading you."

"Right, but- "

"But nothing. You had no hand in her death. If it wasn't her, it would've been somebody else. If anything, she helped us catch the killer."

Rossi nods silently. He still doesn't look exactly happy, but most of the pain and guilt have made way for something much calmer. She's not the first person to tell him it's not his fault and comfort him, but for some reason it feels different from Prentiss. The way her shell is cracked just enough for him to see the soft side of her that she usually keeps hidden is enough to convince Rossi that she's not only genuinely concerned for him, but also right. He grabs the whiskey, takes a sip. Somewhere on the edge of his field of vision he can see Emily smiling slightly. His insides feel all nice and warm, must be the whiskey. He turns to look at her and sees something bothering her, even though she tries her best to hide it and be comforting to him. But he decides to push his luck and try to crack that shell just a bit further open.

"Okay, Prentiss. Your turn to share." She takes a sip instead, avoiding eye contact. Now that his mind is not so clouded by all the negative feelings, he takes time to notice that she's not exactly dressed in her usual day-to-day style. Instead, a red dress is hugging her body in all the right places, making her look, frankly, amazing. "You could start by telling me what's with the getup?" She throws a murderous look over her shoulder. Rossi doesn't feel threatened by this, instead his lips curve upward. He knows somewhere deep down she's amused, but maybe that's buried a little too deep right now to show up on her face.

"I was on a date", she finally sighs, all emphasis on the word 'date'. She pauses to think about how to continue telling him what happened, but he beats her to it.

"It didn't go well?"

"The date itself was… good, I guess. We went to this gorgeous restaurant with amazing food. He really went all out." As he should, Rossi finds himself thinking. Suddenly he feels uneasy again and has trouble understanding why. Something is making one of his hands clench into a fist. "He was good to me and we had a good time… It's the talk we had after the restaurant that has me in a mood." Emily really doesn't want to get into it right now, but almost feels like she owes Rossi some kind of explanation.

"What did you talk about?" Rossi has a hard time keeping his voice neutral, it wants to come out all shaky and uncool. This has been happening a lot recently, maybe he should consult a doctor. Or stop drinking.

"We've been… dating, I suppose, for around four months now. The issue is, for reasons I will not be discussing with you right now", her tone gets poignant and her eyes stern as she look him directly in the eye, "we can't see each other for two months." Obviously, he immediately starts imagining all the possible reasons. He realises this is reflected in his face, because she whacks him lightly on the arm. "I just told you I'm not getting into it."

"Alright, alright. But you can't blame a profiler for his curiosity."

"You're not supposed to be profiling me, Rossi."

"But I might profile your mystery man!" He's shrugging animatedly now, arms sprawled outward. There's a victorious tone to his voice, and she can't help but laugh along.

"You're impossible, did you know that?" There's a fondness in her voice and a shadow of a smile on her face. And she's not turning away from him, either. Her body language stays open, which he considers a small miracle. He lets his grin fade into a soft, sad smile.

"So you can't see for two months. Don't get me wrong but it's not like you spend every night together as it is anyway? Doesn't he live far?"

"It's not exactly the next town over, but it's flyable. And he has visited me weekly, even if just for a day. He tries to stay every weekend, but with our jobs, that's not exactly possible. It's a lot of traveling for him but he does it for me." She's speaking slowly, as if trying to stop each syllable from coming out. She sees Rossi nod and then furrow his brows. She answers his question before he has time to ask it. "And no, I don't go to him. He doesn't want me to."

"Would you want to?"

"It's easier if I don't."

"That's not what I asked. I asked if you want to."

"We don't always get what we want, do we?" The question is very obviously a rhetorical one, and so they resolve to just finishing their glasses of whiskey. He picks up the empty glasses and brings them to the kitchen. She follows suit, propping her purse on her shoulder and straightening out her dress. "I should probably get going. Thanks for the whiskey and company."

He stares at her making her way to his front door. As she's reaching out for the handle, he lets his voice pierce the silence.

"Emily." He speaks her first name quietly. It catches her attention, and she freezes. "Why did you come here?"

Emily lets her arm fall to her side and turns her torso just enough to face him. "I... I don't know." Her head drops. "I got into a cab after the date. I don't remember giving him the address but when the car stopped, I was here." She casts one more look his way, and when he doesn't react fast enough, she opens the door and slips out.

He is left standing in the foyer, staring blankly at the closed door. He can hear the click-clack of her heels on his driveway, and soon a car pulling up and out again. He can still smell her perfume in the air and see the look on her face as she admitted she wasn't sure why she'd come.