Emily Prentiss One-Shots

Emily/Rossi**

Title: Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder - Smittywing (Smitty) (Ao3)

Summary: "What kind of unsub gets his victims off before he has intercourse with them?"

"A considerate one," Emily said.

Rating:  Explicit 

Word Count: 12'392

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"Pick a name, any name," Garcia sang, waving a glittery red stocking in front of Emily's face. "Not your own. You can't pick your own."

"Why not?" Emily asked, grinning and reaching into the stocking. She fingered the little folded slips of paper, wondering if she could pick her Secret Santa by feel. "At least I know what I like."

"Nice try," Garcia said. "But I happen to know that you have already been selected."

"Oh, really?" Emily asked, counting the pieces of paper left. There were only three.

"Do you want to know who picked you?"

Emily pulled a piece of paper out of the stocking and rubbed it between her fingers. "No," she said, even though she kind of desperately did.

"Good, because I wasn't going to tell you anyway." Garcia stuck her tongue out and Emily grinned.

"This is kind of a sucker's game, isn't it?" Emily asked. "Pitting profilers against each other? We should have this all figured out inside of a week."

"I swear, you people," Garcia said, straightening up. She had on candy-striped tights and a sweater that showed a prodigious amount of cleavage. Emily had to admit, she was a little jealous. "I just figured this place could use a little Christmas spirit. After everything." She glanced up at Hotch's office and Emily sighed.

"Okay," she said, opening up her scrap of paper. Rossi, written in Garcia's loopy script. Great. What to get for the man who has everything and hates Christmas? She folded it carefully to dispose of later and when she looked up, Garcia's eyebrows were up around her hairline and her lips were pursed. "What?"

"Are you going to tell me?" Garcia demanded.

"No!"

Garcia heaved a significantly put-upon sigh. "Very well, madam," she said loftily. "Although I have to tell you, even Ebeneezer Scrooge up there was willing to share."

Emily followed her gaze up to the second floor and Rossi's open office. Speak of the devil, she thought. "Rossi has good reason for hating Christmas," she remarked. "It reminds him of the Galen case."

"We solved that, didn't we?" Garcia asked with a frown.

"Yeah," Emily confirmed. "But twenty years of associating Christmas with a bloody axe murder is...it's hard to get over, you know?"

"Mmm," Garcia hummed thoughtfully. "Also, that crush on famous crime writer David Rossi, hard to get over, huh?"

"Hey!" Emily pointed a finger at Garcia's beaming smile. "That is privileged information. And that was before - before he was part of the team. And I was drunk. Drinking. And you and JJ said you had crushes on him, too."

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Garcia said, getting to her feet. She blew an air kiss at Emily and sauntered off.

"Hamlet, Act 3, scene 2, line 254," Reid said behind her, and Emily rolls her eyes while he can't see. "Often misquoted; the true line is 'the lady protests too much, methinks.'"

"What's the lady protesting?" Morgan asked.

"Secret Santas," Emily said, hiding the slip of paper with Rossi's name in her palm. "Who did you get?"