Why did you do it?

Emily approaches Esther and Albert's café. She's walked there this time, because she's alone. This is probably the fifth or sixth time in a row she's come to the café alone. She's tried a couple of new places for her morning coffee, but nobody does it quite like Esther and Albert. Everyone else's is too bitter or too sweet or too expensive. And honestly, she's missed Esther. Esther is truly one of the nicest people she's ever met, a delight to be around. Emily walks in, holding the door open for the exiting customer: a mother with her baby. Emily recognises her and they smile at each other as a greeting. They've never spoken, but they both recognise each other from being regular customers at the same café.

"Emily! Is that you?" Esther's voice calls out behind the counter before Emily is even inside.

"Esther! It's so good to see you! I've missed you!"

"Now, now, you'd know exactly where to find me if you truly missed me", Esther huffs in mock-offense. Emily laughs, knowing she's joking, and she joins in with a smile that could light up the whole world. There's an undertone of 'I missed you too'.

"Why do you think I came crawling back?" Emily blinks innocently, lifting a hand to her chest. Esther smiles and shakes her head, and continues cleaning the espresso machine. It's so easy to joke with her, she seems to always be in the best possible mood. She's sweet, smart and maternal, and all the things that make an elderly woman feel safe and warm to be around.

"What can I get you, sweetheart?"

"How about I go with the lavender latte again?" Esther very theatrically stops everything, her eyebrows shoot higher than Emily's ever seen them and she turns to look at Emily slowly.

"Still don't want your usual, huh?"

"I'm in the mood for a change", Emily shrugs. The surprise on Esther's gentle face morphs into concern. She doesn't say anything, just rings Emily up and starts preparing the lavender latte. Emily usually drinks her coffee with just a little bit of almond milk if not black, and so she pours less almond milk in her lavender latte than she would if it was for anyone else. The silence is unnerving to Emily, who thinks Esther's extreme reaction is uncalled for. She doesn't appreciate the attention brought to her simple request for something different for once.

"How's David? He hasn't been around." Esther's voice is a sudden attempt at levity.

"He- uh, he's fine. Been busy." There's a quick sideways glance and a singular raised eyebrow. Right about now Emily starts feeling like biting her nails, but knows she can't do that without Esther saying something about it, so she settles for picking at them with her fingertips.

"I thought you had the same job. You'd be just as… busy, surely?"

"Right. Uh, we do have different roles in the team, different responsibilities…" She's nodding now, turning her head away. It's complete bullshit what she's saying, of course, but how else could she explain to Esther why Rossi hasn't been around? I kissed him in a hotel room after he saved my life in an explosion and we haven't spoken outside work since isn't really something she feels like going too far into right now. Esther's face tells Emily she knows she's being lied to. She hands Emily her drink in a to-go cup and grabs the hand Emily uses to receive it, looking her in the eyes sadly but gently.

"Sweetheart, whatever's going on between the two of you can be fixed." Emily smiles and nods, but her smile drops as soon as she turns her back. If only it were that easy. Anyway, time for work, Agent Prentiss reporting for duty. The murder of Stacy Ryan and kidnapping of Jenny Schrader need solving.

On the plane back home, Emily insists on sitting alone in the back again, chalking it up to the car crash and being sore, wanting some rest. That's not entirely true, the pain has subsided a lot, although it's not completely gone yet. She just wants to rest and think for herself for a while. JJ sits in two seats ahead of her, between the window and Hotch. Reid opposite JJ, between the window and Rossi. Morgan lounges on the longer bench, looking for his headphones. Hotch has just announced that he wants everyone to take the weekend off, not think about work.

"In that case, how about we all do something fun together?" JJ suggests. "It's been a while since we all had a chance for that."

A couple of suggestions for different activities and places are thrown around, but eventually they decide on the obvious one – dinner and drinks at Rossi's. He requires some convincing, but comes around and invites the team into his home. If he looks between JJ and Hotch's heads, he has a direct line of sight to Emily, who has clearly been listening intently, but turns her head to the window as soon as he is named their host for tomorrow. He shouldn't take it personally, but of course he does. He excuses himself and walks over to the seat opposite Emily, sitting down without a word. She reacts to the movement in her peripheral by glancing at him, but doesn't acknowledge his presence further. They sit in silence for a while. He drums his finger on the table between them absent-mindedly before finally breaking the silence.

"How are you feeling?"

"How does it look like I'm feeling?" She doesn't mean to sound quite so bitter, but it seeps out and she bites her lip. She can't bring her eyes to meet his, the highest she can do is his chin.

"Still in pain, huh?" His voice isn't full of pity, but it's easier if she believes it is. That way she can be upset and justify not looking at him.

In more than ways than one, she thinks. Out loud she just mumbles: "Yeah."

"I'm assuming you heard we're all gathering tomorrow?" Nod. "Are you coming?" Pause. …Nod. "Great. Listen, I would appreciate it if we talked before that." She clenches her jaw at the thought and finally meets his eye. "As in, words. From both of us." He looks at her expectantly. She holds his gaze and thinks. Whatever's going on between the two of you can be fixed. What a timing the woman has.

"Tonight after the flight or tomorrow before the others come in?" Dave is surprised how easily she agrees. He was expecting this to be harder, as she has been avoiding him since the night of the bomb.

"Tonight sounds good." He leans his hand on the table, using it to push himself up. There's no need to force himself in her space when he's clearly not welcome. It wouldn't do good to annoy her if the idea is to bury the hatchet – whatever it is she's holding the hatchet for. He offers her a smile which she doesn't quite return -she does try, but what her mouth does instead is just purse her lips together- and returns to his seat next to Reid.

Emily thinks about dropping by at home first, but neverminds the thought. What would be the point? She'll just hop over to his mansion, they'll talk and she'll be home in a few hours anyway. The bigger issue is what the hell she is going to say to him. He wants to talk about not having talked since the kiss. It's a fair request, he must be confused. Initiating a kiss but then avoiding the person you kissed, peak mixed signals. She follows his car all they way to his garage, and parks right outside it.

Rossi walks straight to his liquor cabinet and takes out the same bottle of scotch they drank the last time she was here. Or maybe just a different bottle of the same brand, she wouldn't know. Without speaking a word, he asks if she wants a glass too, and she nods. She's going to need some liquid courage for whatever's about to happen.

"You've been avoiding me." Rossi speaks almost as soon as his buttocks hit the couch. That's a hell of a way to start a conversation. It is spoken without judgment, making it more of a statement rather than an accusation. It's true, Emily sees no point denying it. Instead she takes a long swig out of her glass and blows out an exhale.

"Yes." She doesn't elaborate, even though he waits for her to, gives her space to do so in her own time. She stays silent, eyes finding that familiar spot opposite the couch where wall meets floor.

"And why is that?"

She ponders for a while, giving the alcohol time to warm up her insides and make her say things she doesn't even know she's thinking and feeling. Or is it Rossi that has that effect on her? Now that she thinks, it hasn't happened with anyone else, no matter how much alcohol has been involved. "I don't know." Again Rossi gives her time to elaborate. This time she uses it. "I don't know what to say. To you."

Now it's Rossi who voices thoughts he isn't aware of until they're out of his mouth. "Do you regret kissing me?"

"No." The reply is immediate. "Kind of." Ouch.

"Why?"

"For the same reason I don't know what to say."

"Which is?" The pace of the conversation is slow. There are silences between every sentence, pained ones at that. Rossi keeps his eyes on her, waiting for her to look at him. She doesn't, her gaze remains fixed on the same spot. The silence before Emily's reply feels like forever. It is the longest one yet, and it takes all he's got to stay silent and let her think. To give her the space to come to him. She won't otherwise, and he knows this better than anyone. When Emily finally speaks, she sounds surprised at her own words. She almost is.

"I'm scared."

"Of me?" This choked-out question makes her finally turn her head and look at him, really look at him for the first time in a long, long time. She sees a scared face looking back at her. It's almost like the lines on his face look deeper than they did a month ago, the skin under his eyes darker than in a while. There's a deep, confused sadness in him. She feels an emotion raising its head, guilt. She's the reason he feels this way. She's hurting him. And yet, right now all she wants to do is reach out a hand and help him, comfort him like she did some months ago on this same couch, sitting on the same spot, drinking the same scotch. Her, scared of him? Never.

"Don't be an idiot, of course not."

"Of what, then?"

"What happens next?" She answers his question with a question of her own. He takes a while to answer, and when he does it's with yet another question. This time she gives an answer.

"Why did you do it?"

"I wanted to."

"Was that day the first time you wanted that?"

"I… I want to say yes, but I'm not sure that's true." Again she is surprised by her own words. Now that she thinks about it, she recognises that to be true, but she'd never thought about it before. One singular eyebrow of Rossi's rises. "Before that, I was preoccupied trying to build a relationship and keep it together." She pauses, trying to make sense of everything that's happened since she and Andy started dating. "That night… After Matthew's death… The thought crossed my mind but I chalked it up to everything that was going on and the way you were there for me." The last words come out with difficulty. She feels even guiltier now, remembering how he's always been nothing but good to her, and this is how she repays him. "But then there was the bomb and you saved my fucking life and I knew it had to be something else."

"But then why start ignoring me?" She let out a pained sigh, the weight of the guilt and frustration sitting heavy in her chest.

"There's no way any of this", she gestures between the two of them, "is a good idea. We work together, you're superior to me and not to even mention all the rules against fraternisation – for which I hear you were the reason in the first place." Rossi's face takes on an odd colour at this accusation. The images going through her head make her feel sick to her stomach, and that makes her negative spiteful side raise its head. "And I'm not exactly looking to be just another notch on your bedpost." Rossi sets his glass down with a loud bang. His face is furious.

"How can you say that?!"

"Am I wrong?"

"Yes! Yes, you are!" Rossi is genuinely offended now. How can she think so little of him? Sure, he has a colourful past when it comes to women, and there was a time after his second marriage that sparked the rumours of him being the reason for the fraternisation rules. But he would never classify himself a player. He does enjoy the art of seduction and sex itself, but he's a romantic first and foremost. "I don't care about the notches on my bedpost and I can't believe you of all people would think I do!"

Emily's taken aback by this outburst of pure, raw emotion. She takes a quick notice that his glass is much emptier than hers and takes another swig to even the situation out. "Me of all people? What do you mean by that?"

"I thought after all the time we've spent together, you'd know me better." His tone is cold and now it's him avoiding eye contact. He tries not to say it, but the alcohol loosens his tongue and it slips out before he can stop it. "And if I was what you seem to think I am, don't you think I would've tried something a lot earlier?" Her eyebrows form a line and she lets out an incredulous chuckle.

"Why would you have?" He looks her up and down a few times, trying to decide if she's purposefully being this dense or if she really is. Her disbelief feels sincere, and his anger at her softens as he realises exactly how low her opinion of herself is. She truly doesn't think he would seriously go for her.

"Emily… I meant it when I called you insanely beautiful." She smiles awkwardly at the memory. "You're intelligent, funny, and you put an incredible amount of time and energy into the people you love. If I was Cooper, I would've never let you go."

"Dave…"

"Emily", he's speaking firmly, encouraged by the alcohol, but meaning every word. "I want you. All of you. Fuck the rules, I need you." Need. That's not a word David Rossi is often heard saying. She finishes her scotch in one swig and stands up. She paces his floor slowly, trying to make sense of any of this. This conversation is so far from what she'd expected. Then she thinks back to the night he'd surprised her at her apartment. The whisper she wasn't sure had actually happened, or if it had, she wasn't sure it was truly meant for her. Buona notte, amore. But now it seems to make so much more sense.

"You- you- you can't mean that." He steps in front of her, reaching his hands on her hips. She braces hers on his arms, pushing him away powerlessly and without really meaning it.

"I mean it." His voice is low and his eyes are dark and how is it possible for his touch to feel this good? He pulls her closer and she doesn't even try to resist anymore. "How the hell could I not?" She gasps, feeling the distantly familiar scraping of his beard on her face. He's hugging her close, her hands travel up his arms, she's melting to his touch and it shouldn't happen but they're too far gone. His lips brush hers, and she inhales his intoxicating scent and closes what's left of the distance between them. It's not the first time they kiss, but it feels like it. It's soft and tender, but as they relax into each other's touch, it's not enough anymore. They're both pulling the other closer, desperate to feel more. Hands start roaming, Dave's fingers fidget with the hem of Emily's shirt, and she finds the buttons of his shirt. She has already opened the top one, when he stops her.

"Wait, wait. What are we doing?"

"Fuck the rules, right?" He chuckles at her urgency but insists. He takes her hands into his and looks her in the eye. She doesn't give him time to protest further, as she steps back into his space and covers his lips with hers again. Someone should really be smart about this, but the way Dave described his feelings for her makes Emily want nothing more than to feel his touch and accept his affection, and the way she's throwing herself at him is making it exceedingly difficult for him to resist her. He tries to make good decisions, but she yanks her hands free from his grip, uses them to pull him closer and he's gone again. His lips are working tirelessly with hers and she's sure she'll have beardburn on her chin later, but she doesn't care. Right now, she's getting lost in their kiss as his fingers are tangling in her hair. She doesn't even realise the location's changed until the back of her knees hit the edge of his bed. She's falling backward, trying to take him with her, when he tightens his grip on her and doesn't let go. He pulls away, they're both short of breath. She looks fierce, and he gathers his thoughts before speaking.

"I know I want this, but are you sure?"

"For someone with a reputation like yours, you're really bad at noticing when a woman wants you."

He doesn't take much more convincing. He lets her fall back on the bed and this time goes with her. Their clothes are soon discarded wherever they happen to fall. There isn't a spot on her body he doesn't touch, this is all about her. He's wanted this for a long time. For so long he didn't even want to admit it to himself, because when has wanting another agent ever ended well for him? But this is everything he's hoped for and more. There are awkward shifts and limbs in weird places and it's nothing like an X-rated movie or what you might find on the pages of a book, but it's beautiful and perfect in its own way. He knows about long relationships and short-term arrangements, he's familiar with tender lovemaking and, well, the opposite of it. He's even dabbled in some less usual activities in this field, and somehow with Emily it's all of the above and something completely new. He knows how far from perfect first times with someone new usually are, but for this being theirs, it's more seamless than first times tend to be. His calloused hands are harsh and needing on her skin, but he takes time to kiss her cuts and bruises. It's the perfect dichotomy of lust and care, rough and tender, with a sprinkle of fun. They're both just enjoying the other's company – and body. Perfectly in the moment, perfectly in tune. Afterwards, they lay still and he holds her close to him, tighter than he maybe should, as if he were afraid she'd disappear if he let go. There's a smile on each face and many shared kisses. Emily's hand is on Dave's cheek and his eyes are closed, cherishing the moment and wishing it'd never end. It doesn't for a while, because when morning comes, she's still in his arms, warm and happy and beautiful.