Disclaimer: Not Mine

A/N: Written for the Help_Haiti auction at Live Journal. Smittywing won my auction and requested that I use the deleted scene from Birthright and show how our favorite couple could overcome Dave's three divorces and end up together. I'm pretty sure I didn't do what she really asked but I gave it my best shot. I need to thank losingintranslation and mingsmommy for their help and encouragement and general goodness. Bestest betas in the world.

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away… Okay, who am I kidding? All this happens right here in the good ol' US of A. There are no castles and no dragons and no wicked witches (except maybe wife number three). What we do have is a hero who is more than a little tarnished and a princess who deserves better, but loves him anyway.

The best way to tell this story is to start at the beginning, or almost. David Rossi, our hero, joined the Marines just out of high school. He knew it was the only way he was going to be able to go to college and make a life outside of Commack, Long Island. There wasn't a day that passed in Vietnam that he didn't ask himself if it was really worth it. He was pretty sure running numbers couldn't be all that bad, not compared to the hell of being in country.

Three years and a couple of lifetimes later, he enrolled in the local community college on the G.I. Bill. He studied hard and partied hard and worked part time at Emma's (we'll talk about Emma a little later) dad's restaurant and tried to stay out of trouble. Emerging almost four years later with a degree in Criminal Justice, he applied to the F.B.I. on a whim. When they accepted him nobody was more shocked than Dave. Hero or not, he hadn't honed his arrogance to such a razor sharp edge at that stage of his life.

When he left Commack for Quantico, he had a plan. But we all know what they say about plans, right? The day Emma called to tell him she was engaged to Boyd Schuller, Dave watched all his plans fall apart.

Now, you may be feeling sorry for our Prince Charming. But save that. He was the one who expected her to wait on him to be ready. He was the one who didn't want to be married while he was getting established with the bureau. Even the most perfect woman won't wait forever, no matter how long Sara waited for Grissom. That was just a television show, after all.

So, now that he's had his heart broken, what does Dave do? He finds a girl and gets married. Yep, you heard me. Married. This particular union was doomed from day one and he knew it, even if she didn't. Marrying one woman in order to forget about another was…well, it certainly wasn't conducive to celebrating very many anniversaries. Grace managed to tolerate him for five years. Five years that sometimes felt like fifty and sometimes felt like a mere blink. It was discouraging and it hurt (his ego more than his heart). But the great David Rossi was no quitter.

The ink was barely dry on the divorce papers when he met Alicia, the woman who would eventually become his second ex-wife. She was twenty-two to his thirty and she still believed in true love. And in a way, he did too.

For a while Dave thought he had it all: a beautiful wife, a nice house, a career that challenged him. Really, what more could a guy ask for? Ten years and one affair later (hers, not his), neither of them believed in true love or marriage or, very possibly, even happiness. The marriage fell apart and Alicia got the house and a sizable settlement and his American Dream became a thing of the past.

At forty, Dave, having sworn off marriage, made it his mission to work his way through all the available women in the FBI. The flaw in his plan was his definition of available. To his way of thinking, available simply meant willing. It wasn't his problem if they were married. He wasn't going to judge their morals, not when he was reaping the benefits without paying any of the freight.

The success of his first book couldn't have come at a better time. The rumors about his sexual escapades were climbing higher and higher up the ladder. His boss was on his ass about keeping his dick in his pants. Sexual harassment was becoming the new buzzword of corporate America. And suddenly his career with the BAU was in jeopardy. So, when the advance came in for a second book, he retired. He'd done his twenty; he was ready.

He met wife number three in a bar. She was the first woman in a long time who didn't succumb to the infamous Rossi charm. And…this may shock you…at forty-eight he was in the mood for a challenge. When he finally got her into bed, he told himself it had been worth the wait. When he proposed to her, he was positive the third time would be the charm.

As improbable as it may seem, Rossi's third divorce hit him hardest of all. Corrine was different than any woman he'd ever met and he was sure they could make it work. While they were dating, she made everything about him. She encouraged his writing and tolerated his book tours and speaking engagements. Hunting, while something she refused to do, was never discouraged. With her own career and her own friends, her independence drew him to her. Right from the start, she seemed to understand him. That unusual phenomenon lasted until the end of the honeymoon. Twelve days in Europe turned her into a raging shrew who hated everything about him. Two years later, Dave threw in the towel.

Now, if Dave's tales of woe haven't put you to sleep, we come to the good part, the part where our hero meets his match. So sit back and relax 'cause this could take a while.

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It is the Year of Our Lord, two thousand and seven, and our hero is headed back to work. Yep. You heard me right. Rossi is going back to the BAU. Dusting off the ol' badge and gun. Puttin' on his top hat… Oh wait, that's not right. Anyway, that's where he meets our princess for the very first time. No sparks flew, the angels didn't sing. But the ride…well, the ride got really bumpy.

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A tap on the door and Emily's voice brings Dave's head up out of file he's been reading. She's standing just inside the doorway with a sheaf of papers in her hand and barely contained excitement dancing in her eyes. "Garcia dropped these off. I thought you might want to see them."

"You look like the cat that swallowed the canary." With a grin, he waves her toward the chair across from his desk and then holds out his hand for the documents. "Let me see those."

Emily perches on the edge of the chair, her eyes glued to him as he reads through the pages. She's almost a distraction, the way she's practically vibrating with excitement. Dave can't remember the last time he was that hyped up about anything, even a case. Finally, finished with his reading, he looks up.

"So, what do you think this means?" He's pretty sure he knows exactly what she thinks, but for some reason he wants to hear it from her.

Dave has only been back at the BAU for a few weeks and he's still not sure how to deal with the new team dynamic that seems to be all the rage. Back in his day it was solitary agents in beat up beige K-cars, out on the road solving cases. Now, there's a jet and a group of people who collaborate on every case. Even though the solve rate is higher, the old way fit his lone wolf mentality a lot better.

Emily tucks her hair behind her ears and leans forward. "He's not a serial. He's just a guy trying to disguise the fact that he murdered his wife. Married four times and then she files for divorce. I think it pushed him over the edge. He killed her first and then in an attempt to make it look like a stranger murder, he started killing random people."

He nods and drags a hand over his mouth. "And you think the divorce papers were the trigger?"

"Well," she shrugs, "I called the first three wives and story was the same every time. Apparently, Mr. Rollins couldn't keep it in his pants. Then, when they filed for divorce, he became very possessive, to the point of obsession."

"Ah," Dave leans back and crosses one leg over the other. "So, that explains everything?"

She stands and braces her hands on his desk. "Don't you think there's something wrong with a man who's been divorced three times, who still keeps making the same mistakes?"

Dave looks at her, his eyes hard and cold. "Do you?"

The hand she uses to cover her mouth doesn't disguise the mumbled, "Oh shit."

He watches as she blushes. Not the slow, easy flush he normally associates with pleasure, but the hard, hot flush of embarrassment. For a minute Dave just lets her dangle there. Then, with a jerk of his hand, he passes the papers back to her. "Write the report, Prentiss." He's already engrossed in another case before the door closes behind her.

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See what I mean? Emily, she's a great person, beautiful, smart, but sometimes she sticks her foot in her mouth right up to the knee. And Dave isn't the kind of guy to just let that slide. He's known (in the biblical sense) a lot of beautiful women who were plenty smart in their own right. He doesn't let any of that turn his head anymore.

To say that things are strained between them for a few days would be an understatement. Emily feels guilty, just like every good Catholic girl would. Dave is condescending because…well, he's David Rossi. The tension between them is so thick you could mistake it for my Great Aunt Gertrude's mashed potatoes (I really think she used glue instead of milk). And yet, for all their degrees and credentials, nobody seems to notice. Gives you a lot of confidence in their abilities, huh?

Anyway, after a week of tight smiles and stilted helloes, Emily holds out the olive branch.

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This is just what we need, Emily thinks, a flat tire in The Middle of Nowhere Virginia. It will take hours for AAA to find them and she's stuck with a man who can barely look at her. Sighing, Emily watches Rossi and Morgan through the windshield, her mind turning over that mess in his office one more time. The sigh almost turns into a groan when Rossi heads for the SUV and Morgan presses his cell phone to his ear once again.

"I spoke to J.J." He settles into the driver's seat. "The three of us are going to meet the retired sheriff at the station. Sort through the open case files."

"Oh. Okay." Pointing toward Morgan, she asks, "What's going on there?"

"There's a problem with the spare."

"Oh." Emily watches Morgan for a second. "Ah…I wanted to apologize for what I said in your office." She glances at Rossi, a nervous smile flitting over her mouth.

"You think I'd be offended by something like that?" His voice is smooth and calm. The tone he'd use for discussing something as inconsequential as the weather.

She meets his gaze and shrugs. "I don't know. I hope not."

He's silent for just a second and Emily realizes she's holding her breath. "Well, for the record, I moved out because my wife and I couldn't make it work. Not for any other reason." His eyes are on her again and she wants to shrink away. "You shouldn't let personal baggage cloud your judgment at work."

What?! If she didn't know it before she does now. David Rossi is an asshole. What does he know about my personal baggage? Not a damned thing, thank you very much.

Emily has never been so glad to see Morgan as she is at that moment. Even his puzzled look is welcome. Anything, just so she doesn't have to spend another second alone with Rossi. Anything.

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Yeah. I tried to tell you things didn't get off to a very good start. Our Prince was no prince and our Princess was NOT impressed. And then the strangest thing happened. Dave proved that he wasn't as big an asshole as Emily believed and she proved that she's the kind of woman any man would want in his corner. Trite, I know. Seriously, I thought Harlequin cornered the market on this kind of stuff years ago. Or maybe, just maybe, those writers have been right all along and we just didn't know it.

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"Goodnight," J.J. murmurs before slipping away.

"Night," Emily smiles a little nervously and takes another sip from her glass. Morgan left about half an hour earlier to get in some time on the treadmill and now she is alone with Rossi.

Dave drains the last of his drink and leans forward to set it on the table. "So, why are you here?"

"Because we're a team and you needed us." When he starts to protest, she shakes her head. "Look, Rossi, you've already proved you can be an asshole, I don't need another demonstration."

His lips tip up in a crooked smile and then he barks out a laugh. "I guess you're right." The waitress stops and he raises an eyebrow at Emily. When she shakes her head, he makes the motion for the check. "Maybe that's why I don't get you dragging the other two out here to help me."

"I didn't drag them." Her smile is wide and teasing and a slight blush colors her cheeks.

She's beautiful. Dave almost physically recoils from the thought. She's at least ten or fifteen years younger than he is. And a colleague. No way is he going down that road again. But for just a second, he can't help wondering how her mouth would taste, how it would feel opening against his.

The waitress reappears with the check and he signs it, leaving a hefty tip. Looking back at the woman across from him, he rubs a hand over his beard and smiles. "Are you hungry? I missed dinner."

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The night air is cool; it is early April after all. But the walk serves to counteract the effects of the alcohol. Emily hurries along the sidewalk beside Dave, hugging herself to stay warm.

"Here, take my jacket." He slows and slips it off his shoulders.

Emily shakes her head, avoiding his gaze. "No. I'm fine. It's only another block." For some reason, the thought of being wrapped in his jacket, being surrounded by his warmth, makes her oddly uncomfortable.

Dave definitely looks puzzled, but he shrugs the jacket back on and keeps walking.

Light from the diner spills out onto the sidewalk, and the buzz from the neon sign sounds like a hive of angry bees. The place is a greasy spoon, with steamed up windows and a handful of people hunched over plates of hearty food and cups of strong coffee.

Settling in to her side of the booth, Emily sucks in a deep breath and grins. "God, I love the scent of fried food. It's like smelling sin."

"Well, I've never been one to say no to sin." Dave returns her grin, his eyes sliding over her.

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Wait! Let me jump in right here. God, I love all this power. It's like having a universal pause button! Anyway, let's go back a bit to the day these two first met.

Very pretty is the first thing that runs through his mind. He's always had a thing for brunettes. Hell, according to the rumors still floating around the BAU, he's always had a thing for blondes and redheads, too. But from the time he was a kid gawking at pilfered Playboy magazines, he's always been attracted to dark haired women. And Emily, with her raven hair, porcelain skin and legs that go on for days, is definitely his kind of woman. The next thing that runs through Dave's mind is a whisper from his little voice. You know the one we all have that almost always gets us into some kind of trouble? Well, Dave is pretty sure the smarmy bastard is actually laughing when he says, How good would those legs feel wrapped around your waist?

Emily, for her part, doesn't seem to be overly impressed with her prospective prince charming. Oh, she's a little awe struck. After all, the man is a legend; one of the founding fathers of the BAU with three bestselling books to his credit. But she doesn't get all tingly inside, or think about how he would look naked. No. None of that. Instead, she wonders how this mildly attractive middle aged man with the slight paunch managed to become the office lothario back in the day.

Okay, folks, back to your regularly scheduled program.

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"Oh my god!" Emily snorts out a laugh. "You did not just use some version of a line on me!"

Shaking his head and looking as close to embarrassed as he is capable of, Dave nods. "I guess I did. Old habits die hard."

"That was pretty smooth," she chokes back a giggle. "Maybe you should offer to give Morgan lessons."

"Oh, I think Morgan has plenty of his own lines." He's watching her, wondering if Morgan's line would've gotten more than laughter.

Emily nods and takes a sip of coffee. "He does. But his aren't nearly that suave."

The waitress appears then, a plate in each hand. "Over easy?" she rasps, as the smell of cigarette smoke rolls off her in waves.

"That's mine," Dave says and picks up his fork as the plate is slapped down in front of him.

The other plate lands in front of Emily and the woman stomps off, her crepe soled shoes squeaking against the worn linoleum. With a shake of her head, Emily whispers, "Good thing I ordered scrambled eggs."

Dave shoots her a grin and drags a triangle of toast through the egg yolk on his plate. "What is it about breakfast at midnight that seems so…right?"

"I know. A steak or pasta just don't have the same appeal as eggs and bacon."

He waves a piece of bacon at her. "Exactly. Not that there isn't a time and place for truly good pasta."

"So, where do you get 'truly good pasta?'" Emily bites off a corner of her toast.

"I make it." Dave takes a sip of coffee and raises an eyebrow at her surprised expression. "What? You don't believe me?"

Emily merely shoves a bite of eggs in her mouth and tries to look innocent.

The rest of the meal is filled with laughter and easy conversation. Before either of them realizes what's happening, it's one thirty in the morning. Knowing they have to meet the others at seven for breakfast (which they both find incredibly funny, earning them a hard glare from the waitress) they head back to the hotel.

The streets are mostly empty and a couple of times Emily's arm brushes against Dave's. She tells herself that it's only an accident. The hotel is in sight when she breaks the silence that has descended between them.

"Thanks," she glances at him and bites her lip. "I had…fun."

He laughs again and it seems he's been doing a lot of that over the past couple of hours. "Don't sound so shocked, Prentiss. I'm not really an ogre."

"I don't think you're nearly as bad as you want people to believe."

Now it's Dave's turn to look shocked.

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Some of you may think the night doesn't end at the elevator. Well, you're wrong. As smooth as Dave's line was he still went to bed alone, which was just fine with him. He had no intention of sleeping with Emily Prentiss. He had stopped being controlled by his dick a long time ago, no matter what people might think.

If, for some reason, you understand that this isn't the beginning of a red hot affair, but of something deeper, then you have been paying attention. Oh, neither Emily nor Dave knew it then. While they are both very smart people, when it comes to matters of the heart, they're hovering somewhere just above moronic. But the seed was planted. It just needed a little nurturing.

Now, a couple of weeks pass, and the team is hit by one case after another. Still, Dave is the kind of man who likes to repay his debts. And repaying Emily for showing up in Indianapolis isn't something he can just let slide. He might have been pissed off to see the three of them, but he's smart enough to acknowledge that they helped him close that case. And he's smart enough to know Emily is the one responsible for that. So, he decides to do something for her; nothing too over the top, just a simple token of his appreciation. The thing about Dave is that even when he's trying to be nice, he still manages to be a jerk.

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Dropping her computer bag and purse in her chair, Emily frowns at the brown paper sack sitting in the middle of her desk. She looks over her shoulder at Reid. "Who put this here?" When he doesn't answer she rolls her eyes and huffs out a sigh. "Reid?"

"Huh?" He looks up, puzzled and a little disoriented.

"Who put this here?" Emily gestures to the sack.

"It was here when I got here." He shrugs and goes back to the file he's working on.

Great, she thinks, Reid would probably let somebody leave a bomb on my desk. Carefully, she unrolls the top and peers inside before reaching in and pulling out the contents. "What the..?" It's food. Actually, as she tilts the dish to the side and peers through the clear plastic, she realizes it's lasagna. Looking down in the bag once more she sees a note. She pulls it out and unfolds it.

Thank you for reminding me. It isn't signed, but she'd know that scrawl anywhere. If she wasn't confused before, she is now. Shoving the bowl back into the bag, Emily writes her name on it and goes to put it in the refrigerator.

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She knocks and waits until Rossi looks up before stepping inside his office. "Thank you," she smiles, but behind her back, her fingers are twisting together.

Leaning back in his chair, he says, "You're welcome."

Emily steps a little closer to the desk, her mind recalling what happened the last time she was in here. "What did you mean? Reminding you?"

"I haven't been part of a team since Vietnam. I think I actually forgot how." He taps his pen against the blotter. "I'm just thankful you didn't let me face that alone again."

She shakes her head, "It was all of us Rossi."

"They followed your lead."

"I would've done the same for any of them." Shrugging, she gives him a soft smile.

Dave raises an eyebrow. "Well, that may be true, but I wouldn't cook for any of them."

"You made that?"

Her shock has him laughing. "I told you I could cook. Did you forget?"

"No," she says softly. The room is filled with an awkward silence, the kind they haven't experienced since the diner. "Well, I'd better get to work. Thanks again."

"Emily?" She stops and turns around, eyebrow raised in a silent question. "I brought some for me, too. Would you like to eat lunch together?"

"Uh...sure. Just call me when you're ready." She slips out the door.

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Mid-April along the Potomac is amazing, and today is no exception. The sky is a brilliant blue with clouds so white they look like marshmallows and the sun is warming the top of his head. Dave can't remember ever using the picnic tables out on the patio before, but Emily wanted to eat outside. Now, as the breeze ruffles her hair, and the sunlight glints off the dark strands picking out the chocolate streaks mixed with the sable, he's glad he agreed.

"Oh god," she groans and her eyes slide closed as the first bite hits her tongue.

Pride swells inside him. "Does that face mean you like it?"

Her eyes flutter open. "Like it? Rossi, I want to marry it." She laughs. "Relax. I want to marry the lasagna, not you."

"I didn't..."

"Oh yes you did," she laughs out. "You almost swallowed your tongue."

Once again he laughs. And he wonders why it feels like it's been such a long time since he laughed this much. "Okay. You're right. I've just had a little trouble with marriage in the past."

"A little trouble?" Incredulous is the only word to describe her expression. Then she waves away whatever else she was thinking. "Aren't you being presumptuous? What makes you think I'd want to marry you?"

Dave holds up his hands. "I surrender. My ego can't take much more."

"Yeah, right," she chuffs out a laugh. "I'm pretty sure your ego can hold its own anytime, anywhere."

"You need to eat, Prentiss. It'll keep you from talking."

She snorts and jabs her fork at him.

"Hey," J.J. says, grinning down at them, interrupting whatever Emily was about to say.

For just a second Dave is pretty sure he sees disappointment in Emily's eyes before she turns to the other woman and grins. "Hi. Wanna sit down?" Without waiting for a response, she slides over on the bench to make room.

Dave eats his lunch and listens to the two women chatter about Walters on Team B and his super-secret fling with the cute receptionist, and Morgan's latest conquest and the really great shoes Garcia has on today. His mind wanders a little as their voices rise and fall around him. Sometime between Morgan and Garcia, he realizes how lucky he is that J.J. showed up when she did. He was well on the way to doing or saying something he shouldn't.

Soon, it's time to head back in and they all pile into the elevator and ride it up to their floor. When J.J. peels off to go to her office, Emily lays her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry," she murmurs so that no one else can hear.

"For what?" Dave does his best to look confused.

He must have succeeded, because she shoots him a look that he can't quite interpret and shakes her head. "Nevermind. I just assumed..."

With that, she walks away and he kicks himself once for being an idiot and once for being an asshole.

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See what I mean? Dave is an asshole. Not just an asshole, but a bona fide, certified, card carrying asshole. But for some reason, known only to her, our princess is undeterred. She likes him. Seriously, I wish you could see how hard I'm rolling my eyes right now. What's to like, you say? Well, at the core (where it really counts) Dave isn't all bad. Just wait and see.

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"Hey, Rossi?" Morgan calls across the bullpen, just as Dave is about to enter his office.

Walking to the rail, he looks down to see three upturned faces staring back at him. "Yes?"

"Want to go to a ball game this Saturday?" Emily's smile is brilliant, her excitement palpable. "The Potomac Nationals are playing Wilmington."

Morgan jumps in. "Cheap tickets and cold beer."

"I've never been to a baseball game," Reid says. "Although, I've read up on the subject, and…"

"Reid!" Derek and Emily say at the same time.

Dave laughs and shrugs. "Sure. Why not?" He hasn't been to a baseball game in longer than he likes to think about, and never to a minor league game, but seeing Emily's excitement tells him he'll have a good time no matter what.

"Cool." Emily grins up at him. "Now you can help us convince Hotch to go."

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It's the first Saturday in June and the weather is perfect for baseball. The grass is a brilliant emerald green, the sunlight sparkling off each individual blade. The smell of hotdogs and roasted peanuts fills the air, and occasionally music pounds out of huge speakers, competing with the noise of the crowd. The crack of the bat, the chatter from the dugouts and the voice of the announcer all remind Dave of summer evenings long past, when Jimmy's dad would take the two of them over to Queens to see the Mets.

"You look like you're a million miles away." Emily nudges his shoulder with hers. "Bored?"

"No," he turns and gives her a smile. "Just…nostalgic."

She sips from her cup, beer foam dotting her upper lip before she licks it off. "Go to a lot of games when you were little?"

"Not a lot. But after my father left, my best friend's dad tried to take up some of the slack. He would take us to see the Mets." Dave sees the sympathy in her eyes and quickly shakes his head. "So, did you go to any games as a kid?"

"A couple. When we were in the states." She takes another drink, her eyes tracking the action on the field. "But…I dated a baseball player in college." She tries to shrug it off with the roll of her eyes, "He wasn't a keeper, but the game was."

They are interrupted by Garcia and Kevin stepping over them to get to the aisle. "Beer run," Garcia announces. "You two want anything, sir?" She is practically bouncing with the laughter that's sparkling in her eyes.

Reaching for his wallet, Dave raises an eyebrow at Emily and she nods. She's trying to dig money out of her pocket when he hands Garcia a twenty. "Bring us both one?"

"Yes, sir." She is grinning and looking between the two of them. "Two beers coming right up."

Emily watches them leave and then snorts out a laugh. "Oh my god, Garcia thinks we're on a date. You should let me pay for my own beer."

"Seriously?" A bemused smile slides over his face. Then he leans over and mumbles, "She scares me."

"She's harmless. Sort of like a wild animal…she's way more afraid of you than you are of her." Emily gives him a wink. "Now watch the game, Rossi."

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The first explosion sends dazzling flashes of red and blue streaking across the night sky. Emily, her head tilted back, laughs even as her hand covers her heart. Leaning over, her hair brushing his shoulder, she says, "I love fireworks; they're so beautiful, but sometimes they make my heart hurt."

He glances at her, loving the way her eyes sparkle, the way the colored lights play over her skin and hair. She's so beautiful and he wishes it was just the two of them out here with the fireworks and the warm summer night, because he would kiss her. He would forget all the promises he made to himself and kiss her the way he dreams about almost every night. "Sometimes beauty does that. Hurts your heart."

Emily looks at him then, eyes wide and luminous, and her mouth forms the most perfect 'O'. "Dave?"

"Watch the fireworks, Emily," he says gruffly, letting his hand brush hers in the dark.

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See? See? Sometimes he loses the assholiness (Yes, I made up the word. What's it to you?) and can be just a regular guy. Now, we know our princess is getting to him. They are 'hanging out', a term Dave finds ridiculous. They go places, they do things, they laugh and they argue. They're friends. Thing is, he's moving a little too slow for our girl. And, as we're about to find out, she's not above using her feminine wiles (and a little deception) to get the ball rolling.

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"Are we dating?" Emily watches him from across the table. She has to give him credit for his composure when he manages not to choke on the piece of steak he has in his mouth.

Carefully, Dave swallows then takes a sip from his wine. "What brought that on?"

"Come on, Rossi. Dating does follow a fairly common pattern." She's almost laughing at him. Almost. "You ask me to do something. You pick me up. We go out. We have fun. You take me home." She shrugs and gives him a crooked smile. "Sound familiar?"

"I think you left out the most important part." He's grinning at her now, his eyes sparkling.

"Oh yeah, we never talk about it at work." He glares at her and she does laugh then. "You're incorrigible." With a quick shake of her head she flicks her hair behind her shoulders. "Well, since we are leaving out the most important part, I guess that means we aren't dating."

"I guess so." Dave nods and cuts off another bite of steak, his relief obvious. "Why is it so important?"

"I don't suppose it is." She spears a tiny new potato. "My college roommate is trying to set me up with a guy she knows who just moved here. I just didn't want any misunderstandings. That's all." She pops the potato into her mouth.

That's all? She can't believe how easily those words rolled off her tongue. There is no blind date. And she hasn't heard from her college roommate since joining the BAU. There's nobody waiting in the wings except her creepy neighbor who wants to watch the entire series of Smallville with her. The thing is…Rossi doesn't need to know that.

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Ah, the seed is planted. A little misdirection, a few 'I'm sorry, I have plans,' all for a good cause. She does stop short of sending herself flowers. After all, she's not desperate. As for Dave, well he's swallowed that bait…hook, line and sinker, even if Emily doesn't know it yet. Then they catch a case in Colorado and Emily gets hurt and Dave tips his hand to the boss. The Bard himself said it best. "The course of true love never did run smooth."

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Emily drifts in and out of consciousness, the transitions so smooth Dave probably wouldn't even notice if he weren't afraid to take his eyes off her. The EMTs gave her something for pain at the scene, then loaded her into the back of the ambulance. He didn't even bother asking Hotch, or telling him, for that matter. He just climbed in beside her.

"Dave?" Her voice is barely more than a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

His heart clutches in his chest, a giant fist squeezing until he's sure it will never beat the same way again. "Making sure you're okay."

"I'm fine." Her tongue tests the split in her lip and she winces. "Why do we have the need to do that?"

Her question catches him off guard. "Do what?"

"If you have a place that hurts, you want to keep poking at it to make sure the pain is still there." This time she probes the deep bruise around her eye with gentle fingers. "See what I mean?"

"Maybe you're poking to make sure the pain is gone." He shoves his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her.

"Hmmmmmmm." Her eyelids droop and she smiles a little. "Glass half full?" she mumbles before her breathing evens out once again.

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It seems like Dave has always been a sucker for a damsel in distress. Or maybe he's just always been a sucker for a damsel – even without the distress. Either way, listening to Emily being beaten and not doing anything to stop it has our hero on edge. Then the sight of her; bruised and bloody and moving like a ninety year old woman is almost more than he can stand. At that moment, he realizes he's been fooling nobody but himself. Yep, our boy is in love with the delightful princess. Now, what to do???

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"What the hell are you doing, Dave?" Hotch stares down into his glass.

Dave, for his part, doesn't pretend ignorance. "I don't know, Aaron. I really don't know."

"You can't just leave a scene like that." Hotch shakes his head.

"There were plenty of state and local boys there to work that scene." Dave drains his glass and signals for another.

"I don't give a damn if the entire United States Army was standing at ready. It's your job to be there." Hotch runs a hand through his hair. "Damnit, Dave! You know the rules as well as I do."

Nodding his thanks to the bartender, Dave takes a long swallow of scotch, relishing the burn. "I'm not sleeping with her, if that's what you're worried about."

"Yet?" Hotch adds, his eyes burning into Dave's.

With a sigh, he stands, leaving his unfinished drink on the bar. "Look, Aaron, I know the rules and I know I'm not good enough for her. Quit worrying. I'm old enough to control myself." He digs in his pocket for his wallet. "But I was responsible for her out there. I was responsible for what happened to her. I made the choice to not go in and get her. I'm the one who has to live with that and with what she looked like when we did get her out. Don't forget that." He throws some bills on the bar and shoves his wallet back into his pocket. "Have a nice night."

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Oddly enough, Dave doesn't pursue his interest in Emily. He's trying, for once, to do something honorable. Then…then there's Las Vegas.

Ah, Vegas. Land of glitz and glamour and sin. Now, if you remember, our couple talked about sin earlier, way back in Indianapolis. So what happens when you throw in a town where sin is almost a requirement and a whole lot of alcohol? You're about to find out.

There were pre-dinner drinks and wine with dinner and then one last drink before they all went their separate ways. It wasn't often the team had a chance to sit down in a restaurant together and they took full advantage of the extra night in Vegas. Then Hotch started mumbling about paperwork, and J.J. rubbed a hand over her very pregnant belly and stifled a yawn. Those two departed, leaving Morgan, Dave and Emily to make their own plans.

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Morgan looks around at the glittering lights of the strip and says, "Hey, Rossi, you ready to hit the town?"

Laughing, Dave shakes his head. "I don't think I could keep up with you."

"Come on, man. Vegas is full of honeys. You can't leave them all to me." He preens a little. "I am only one man."

Emily laughs. "Finally, the truth."

"What about you, Princess?" He grins at her. "You wanna come watch me in action?"

"As tempting as that offer is, I'm gonna say no." She laughs again at his wounded look. "I wouldn't want to scare off any of the prospects."

Winking at her, he says, "As fine as you are, they should be scared."

They are both laughing too hard to notice Dave moving a fraction of a step closer to Emily.

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"So, what do you want to do?" Emily asks as soon as Morgan is gone.

Dave shoves his hands in his pockets and thinks for a second. "There's a great bar inside the Bellagio. The music is probably more my style than yours, but we could give it a shot. Then we could see the fountains if you want."

"Okay," she says, grabbing his arm. "Let's go."

"Are you sure you want to hang out with me?" He looks down at her, his eyes sparkling. "You could be out meeting honeys."

"Well, since I'm not into women, I don't need to meet any honeys." Her smile is wide and her eyes flash with humor. "And I'm not really interested in meeting any other men. So you're stuck with me."

Dave almost asks what she means by other men, but thinks better of it. "Then let's go."

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Emily has just finished her fourth pretty pink drink when she says, "Dance with me."

Dave knows he shouldn't. Because even in the clothes she dug out of her go-bag, she's beautiful. Because he's been wondering for far too long what it would feel like to hold her. Because here, in Sin City, with nobody else around, anything can happen.

He stands and holds out his hand.

The dance floor is the size of a postage stamp. But the song is 'Sunday Kind of Love', and his arms are full of Emily. Dave is pretty sure the moment is absolutely perfect. Then she lays her head on his shoulder, and presses her body a little closer to his and he knows he was wrong before, because this is perfection.

"Dave?" Emily lifts her head and her breath tickles over his ear.

"Hmmmmmm?" He hums a response even as his hand slips just a little lower to rest above the swell of her ass.

"You remember when you said we were leaving out the most important part?"

Now her lips are actually brushing his skin and he can't think. He can barely breathe. He nods and tightens his arm around her.

"I really want to do that with you." The hand she has resting on his shoulder slides up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. "But that would mean we're dating, and we aren't allowed to date." Her lips brush over his cheek, soft and warm and inviting. "Besides, we'd probably suck at dating. But I'm pretty sure we'd be really, really good at that other part."

Dave rubs his cheek against hers and feels her shiver. Then his lips are on hers and her moan is a vibration against his mouth. She's drunk, his rational mind is screaming. But for now, right now, he's only paying attention to the desperate need to taste her. As Etta gives way to Gladys Knight, Emily's mouth opens and his tongue touches hers for the first time, warm and rough and seeking.

Easing back, he cradles her face in his hands. "Let's get out of here."

"Okay," she lets out on a breath.

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"Emily," Dave stops in front of her door, "hold on for just a second."

She looks at him, all wide eyes and flushed cheeks and he knows he's going to regret what he's about to say.

"I'm not coming in." He watches as confusion changes to understanding changes to embarrassment. "But not because I don't want to."

"It's okay, Rossi. You don't have to explain." She's fumbling with the key card, her hands shaking.

"Wait." He wraps his hand around her wrist. "Just listen for a minute. Please." She pulls away from his grasp, but makes no move to go inside. "I want you. I want to go to bed with you. But you've been drinking. A lot. And as bad as I regret not sleeping with you right now, you would regret it twice as much if we did."

She studies him, looking for something in his eyes. Finally, she nods. "I'm only a little pissed off right now. Tomorrow I'm going to be embarrassed and hung over. So I'm going to tell you now that you are a great guy, David Rossi. And those women…well, they must have been crazy." She touches her fingertips to her lips and then to his. "Thank you."

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Well, I tried to warn you. Now close your mouth, you look like you're catching flies. You see, Dave doesn't really know how to handle Emily. He wants her, there's no doubt about that, but he knows sex changes things. And he's pretty sure she isn't the kind of woman he can have a one night stand with. Even if she agreed, he's pretty sure one time would never be enough. So, he refuses to mention what happened in Vegas (best to let it stay there), and continues to spend time with her. And if her face is the one playing in his mind when he jacks off in the shower, well she doesn't need to know. And she'd probably never find out if it weren't for Atlanta and Viper.

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"I'm not sure I'm talking to you." Emily keeps her gaze trained out the small window of the plane as he slips into the seat beside her.

Dave chuckles. "Hey, I wasn't the only one standing there."

She turns then, glaring at him out of narrowed eyes. "I thought we were friends. You could've had my back."

Looking around, he notes Jordan and Hotch discussing an open file and Morgan with his headphones firmly in place. Reid is engrossed in a book. "If it makes you feel better, I didn't like sending you in there."

"Well, you should've…" Her voice trails off when she sees his face. For a few seconds she simply stares at him, eyes wide and confused. "Dave?"

"I don't like the idea of you trying to pick up men in a bar. Work or not." Dragging a hand over his goatee, he quirks a smile, "I don't have any right to feel that way, but I do."

"If you want the right, Dave, all you have to do is say so." Her tongue darts out and wets her lower lip and he has to fight back a groan. "Is that what you want?"

"It is." His hand slips off the armrest and clasps her fingers. Giving them a brief squeeze before letting go, he asks, "Can I see you later?"

Emily nods. "You mean like a date?" Her eyes, her voice are suddenly sultry and he knows just what she means.

"Like a date," he agrees.

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"I'm a little nervous." Emily's laugh is low and sweet.

Dave smiles at her. "It's just dinner. We've done this hundreds of times."

"But it's never been a," she looks around furtively then whispers, "DATE."

"Are you gonna get all weird on me, Prentiss?"

Emily takes a drink of her wine. He'd like to call it a sip but it's really more of a gulp. "In case you haven't noticed, I am weird."

"Oh, I've noticed a lot of things about you. Weird was definitely one of them." He laughs when she breaks off a small piece of her roll and throws it at him. "Hey. I'm just trying to put you at ease."

"Then maybe we should have done the important part first."

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The sweat is cooling on their bodies and Dave is pretty sure he hasn't been this content in a very, very long time. A sublimely naked Emily is pressed along his side, her head resting on his shoulder. She circles his nipple with one slim fingertip. Around and around, the motion soothing and erotic at the same time.

From the darkness, her voice whispers, "Dave? Tell me a secret."

For a second he panics. He's really not sure where to start. After all, he has a lot of secrets. So, he picks the one he thinks she needs to hear first. "I'm in love with you."

Emily sighs and places a kiss on his chest. "I'm in love with you, too. But I wanted you to tell me something I didn't know."

With a growl, he flips her over and covers her mouth with his.

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"Prentiss," Emily says, pressing the phone to her ear.

"Guess who I just saw leaving your building? At ten o'clock on a Saturday morning." J.J. sing-songs into her ear.

Panic pounds through her, but Emily tries to play it cool. "Let's see…it's almost Christmas. Santa?"

J.J. laughs. "Not unless he's lost about two hundred pounds and turned into David Rossi."

"Oh God," she groans, covering her eyes and silently praying that this is all a bad dream. "Please, J.J., you can't tell anybody. It was only…this was the first… Oh shit. I'm serious. We could be in so much trouble. You can't say anything."

"Emily," J.J. tries to stop the flow of words. "Em! Relax. I won't tell a soul."

Emily is pacing now, back and forth from the living room to the kitchen. "Thanks. I don't know how to even begin to repay you."

"Just tell me one thing." J.J. says.

"Anything. You name it." The pause should've warned Emily about what was coming next, but she was distracted.

"Is he as good as the rumors say he is?"

"J.J.!" Emily shrieks, then starts laughing as J.J.'s giggles reach her ear. With a self-satisfied smile, she says, "And then some," before hanging up on her friend.

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I must say that J.J. is totally my kind of girl. Some people would've just pretended they didn't see anything. But not my girl. Nope. She didn't, of course, tell anybody. Not even Garcia. Especially not Garcia.

So, our hero and heroine are together, and it's good. However, nobody is above a little bit of jealousy. Not even a princess. Especially when she knows about Dave's past.

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"How's Cleveland?" Emily sinks back into the corner of the couch and tucks her legs up under her.

Dave's voice rumbles through the phone's speaker. "Cold and lonely."

"Here too." She clutches the phone tighter. "How was the signing?"

"It was good. Nice turnout." He chuckles. "I got a phone number."

A tiny (okay, not so tiny) pang of jealousy hits her in the center of her chest. "Should I be worried?"

"No." He soothes. "It's the store manager's number. She must've slipped it into my bag when I wasn't watching. I just found it."

"Oh. Okay."

"Hey," Dave's voice is gentle, a little bit teasing, a little bit serious. "I need for you to trust me, Emily."

"I do."

His sigh is soft and patient. "I know what it feels like to be cheated on. I wouldn't do that to you."

She shakes her head and blinks against the sudden stinging in her eyes. "I'm just…missing you and being stupid."

"You're not stupid. And I miss you, too."

For several heartbeats the line is silent as they listen to one another breathe, taking comfort in that tiny bit of closeness. Then Dave says, "So, cara, what color panties are you wearing?"

With a blush heating her cheeks, Emily asks, "Who says I'm wearing any?"

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There comes a time in every relationship (at least ones that last longer than twelve hours) when the hurdle of meeting the family must be cleared. Dave and Emily are no exception. Now, you need to understand that our princess is an only child with an absent father and a mother who was always more concerned with her next political appointment than she was with raising a daughter. And Dave, well, he grew up with two sisters and a brother. His father was absent, but he had people who loved and cared for him, and he never had to question that.

So, when one of his sisters in going to be in town for a weekend, his first thought is to have Emily meet her. Honestly, it's probably better to ease the poor girl into the family a little at a time.

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"My sister Renee is coming to town on Friday." Dave's eyes scan along the street, searching for anything out of place.

Emily bites her lip as she squints at the guy leaving a bar half a block away. "Okay." She knows she sounds disappointed, but she's gotten used to spending her off time with Dave.

Morgan's voice rumbles in their ears, alerting everybody that his team is in position.

"I thought I'd cook dinner for the two of you Saturday."

"Oh?! Okay." Emily chuckles then. "I'm starting to sound like a broken record."

"A little." He glances at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners before darting away to resume watching the sidewalk. "Unless you don't want to meet her?"

"No. Of course I do." Emily fumbles with the words. Then Hotch's voice is in her ear, "Go! Go! Go!" And they are running toward the circle of cops and agents at the other end of the block. Sprinting past him, gun held low at her side, Emily calls back, "Hey, Rossi. Just tell me what time."

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"How long have you two been together?" Renee raises an eyebrow as she looks between her baby brother and his latest conquest.

"A couple of months." Emily can feel her cheeks flushing, and she picks up her wine glass, hoping to hide her discomfort.

"Ah, but she had me from the first time she insulted me." Dave pipes in from where he's stirring risotto on the stove.

Emily chokes on her wine. "I didn't insult you. Not on purpose."

Dave is about to respond when Renee waves a dismissive hand in his direction. "Don't worry about that. He grew up with the three of us. He's used to being insulted."

"True. It was a way of life in our house."

"Now," she grins at Emily, "how do you feel about kids?"

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"You don't have to go." Dave has his arms around her waist and his lips against her neck, both in an effort to change her mind about leaving. "My sister knows I have sex."

"But she doesn't know you have sex with me," she says, even as she tilts her head to give him better access to her skin.

"Oh, she knows." He grins, then changes tactics. "Okay, just sleep with me. I missed you last night."

Emily shakes her head, not as forcefully as before but it's still a no. "When does she go home?"

Sighing in resignation, he rests his forehead on her shoulder. "Tomorrow. Her flight is at three."

"I'll see you at four." She presses a kiss to his temple. "Come on, Rossi. It's cold out here. Kiss me goodnight and make me regret that I'm leaving."

Winding his hand through her hair, he tugs her mouth to his and kisses her like he's a soldier going off to war. From inside the house, they hear Renee's laughter as the porch light starts to flash on and off.

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Emily survived Renee. Actually, she liked Renee, despite the question about having kids. With that hurdle behind them, things seemed to be smoothing out for our couple. Then someone from Emily's past comes into town and rocks her to the core. And Dave can't just sit back and let her struggle through this on her own. So, he does something he can't ever remember doing for another human being. He sticks his neck out and expects nothing in return.

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"Feel like going for another ride?" Dave asks as he steps into the elevator with her.

"What are you doing?" Emily glances at him.

Studying the numbers as they blink by on the little digital display, he says, "Helping you."

"Hotch sent me home. I…I'm out of this." She swipes angrily at a tear that dares escape.

"You'd do it for me." It's a simple statement. "You have done it for me."

"Dave, I can't let you do this."

His hand finds the small of her back and he guides her out of the elevator. "You don't have a choice."

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It wasn't an easy few days. Emotionally, Emily was a wreck. She wasn't sleeping or eating and all Dave could do was push every button and pull every string he could find to help her out. He called in favors, he worked the case side by side with her with no concern for himself or his state of employment. And, when all else failed, he bullied Hotch (which isn't always easy).

When it was all over, he gave her space. He let her have some time alone to think and grieve and wrap her head around what was happening. But not too much time. Because he needed to know she was okay, needed to know she was going to shake off all the bad memories. So, he waited for her while she walked in the snow. Then, when she got home, cold and sad and tired, he made her coffee and fed her and held her and listened to her. When she slid her mouth over his and started to unbutton his shirt, he gave her that too. Anything he could do to take away her pain.

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"He was using me, wasn't he?" Emily is sprawled face down on the bed, the long line of her bare back still glistening with sweat from their love making, the sheet bunched around her hips.

Dave trails a finger along her spine. "Maybe."

"Why?" She pushes the hair out of her eyes. "Why show up now and involve me in this?"

"He was in trouble and he needed somebody who would get him out of it." Now he traces the line of her jaw.

She's quiet for a while, but Dave can almost hear her thinking. Finally, she asks, "Do you really think he was possessed?"

"By a demon?" Dave shrugs. "I doubt it."

"But you believe it's possible?"

"I'm Catholic. Of course I believe it's possible." He grins and runs a hand along her arm. "I meant what I told Morgan. You can't do this job and not believe in evil…in all its forms."

"Yeah. You're right." She rolls onto her side and tugs the sheet up to cover her breasts.

Dave hooks one finger under the material and tugs it down. "I like it better this way."

She gives him a tired smile and tugs it back into place. "It's been a rough few days. You've…um…you've learned a lot about me."

"Yeah." He nods, meeting and holding her gaze.

Her lips tremble. "If any of that changes anything…"

Before she can finish, he presses a finger to her mouth. "If you thought that changed things then why are we here?" He waves a hand indicating the two of them and the bed.

Eyes shiny with unshed tears, Emily shrugs. "If this was the last chance I had, I didn't want to miss it. I wanted this week to end with a good memory."

"Crazy woman." Dave lifts a hand and brushes the backs of his fingers over her cheek. "If any of that had changed the way I feel about you, I wouldn't be here now." His lips press against hers, soft and lingering. "I love you. Get used to it."

"I love you, too," she whispers against his lips.

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You know, I'm not the kind to get all sappy about a love story. Really. But there's just something about two people who have been dealt some really crappy things in their lives finally getting it together that just makes my tiny little heart sing.

I'm not going to tell you they live happily ever after. Because a love like theirs, true love isn't a fairytale. It's a challenge. Besides, who really knows what the future will hold?

Even though there aren't dragons and witches in this story, there are psychotic killers and bureaucratic bullshit and just the tiniest bit of commitment phobia on both sides. But our Princess and her hero know that no matter what happens, as long as they face it together, they'll make it through. And, really, in this world that's more than enough.